Archangel's Legion: A Guild Hunter Novel

by Nalini Singh

  “How’s Vivek?” Sara said, after sending Deacon a photo of Zoe sitting in the snow.

  “Aodhan is supervising his transformation.” Elena had made certain Vivek was in hands she trusted. “I haven’t been to visit him—he asked me not to. I don’t think he wants any of us to see him while he’s so vulnerable.” Paralyzed he might’ve been, but Vivek had never been helpless as long as Elena had known him. “You know how much he likes to be in control.”

  “I get it, but he’s still a proud idiot,” Sara said, her tone deeply affectionate.

  “Keir’s personally monitoring his progress.” Sara had met the healer during her visit to the Refuge, knew the deep respect with which he was held in the immortal world. “It’s been a long time since the Making of a mortal with such a significant long-term injury.”

  “Mommy!” Zoe ran back to them in that wild, almost-falling-over-at-any-instant way. “Isses!”

  Crouching down to snuggle her little girl in her arms, Sara smothered her adorable face in the requested kisses. The two looked so gorgeous together that Elena snapped a photo with her own phone, Sara’s deep purple coat vibrant against Zoe’s orange outfit, their faces creased in identical smiles. Zoe giggled when Sara pretended to tickle her, then gave her mom a smacking kiss on the cheek before holding up her arms to Elena, dark eyes bright. “Nantie Ellie!”

  Laughing, “Nantie” Ellie lifted Zoe into her arms and, after sneaking a cuddle, threw her into the air, catching her in a firm grip on the downward flight. Zoe squealed happily, her hood falling off to reveal gorgeous curls of bronze threaded black tied in two neat pigtails. “Zoe fly, Nantie Ellie!”

  “Yes,” she said, utterly besotted with Sara’s baby. “You’re flying, Zoe.”

  Five goes later, the little girl was seduced by the sight of an angelic feather drifting to the snow from a passing squadron and raced off to snag it for her collection.

  “I swear,” Sara muttered, “I have a heart attack every time you and Deacon decide to treat my tiny, tiny baby like she’s a damn basketball.”

  Elena grinned. “She’s your kid—you’re the one who jumped off a building in pursuit of a vampire.” Leaving Elena swearing a blue streak as she stared down at the alley, fully expecting to see her friend’s broken body. “And you caught him, too.” Sara had calculated her jump to take her into a Dumpster full of food waste. Nasty, but safe.

  Now, her best friend pointed a finger at her. “You do not tell stories like that within earshot of Zoe.”

  “Give it up, Mama Bear. She has the ex-Slayer for a father and the kick-ass Guild Director for a mother, plus a totally awesome hunter-born for an aunt.” Patting Sara’s shoulder, she said, “Kid’s never going to be satisfied sitting at home doing jigsaw puzzles.”

  “Deacon made her a miniature crossbow.” The look on Sara’s face was an odd mix between horrified and proud as she said, “Zoe’s a crack shot already. Thank God her ‘bolts’ have sponge heads or we’d all be dead several times over.”

  “You know she’ll have every hunter in the Guild, and if I have my way, every angel and vampire in the Tower, looking out for her.”

  Sara brightened. “There is that . . . though it’ll probably drive her to rebellion. We must fine-tune our cunning plans to insulate her from danger.”

  The subject of their machinations raced back right then, breathless with excitement. In her little fist was a feather of deep brown edged with black. “Angel,” the little girl said, stroking her finger gently over the filaments she’d taken care not to crush.

  “Well done, baby.” Beaming, Sara crouched down again. “Do you want me to keep it safe for you?”

  Sara didn’t speak again until Zoe had returned to her play, and when she did, her words were heavy with concern, her face solemn. “Vivek’s going to need us after he wakes up. I can’t bear to think he might have to keep his distance.”

  Neither could Elena. “I’ve got an idea on how we can make sure he has that support without him violating his oath to Raphael and the Tower.”

  Two hours later, she tracked Aodhan to the top of one of the massive towers of the George Washington Bridge, his legs hanging over the side as he sat atop the metal frame, and his eyes on the traffic below. He’d have been a hazardous distraction had it been a sunny day, but the overcast sky kept the sunlight from refracting off him, the drivers unaware they were being watched.

  She thought about how to bring herself down safely on the relatively narrow surface, and managed it on her second attempt. “Not bad.” Grinning, she didn’t draw attention to the fact that Aodhan’s hand had shot out to grab her when it appeared she might slip and fall. Automatic though it had no doubt been, it was a sign the angel’s dislike for touch wasn’t so deeply rooted as to trump his instinct to protect.

  “Your balance is excellent,” Aodhan said, his expression thoughtful, “but you need to strengthen the muscles used to hold a low hover.”

  “Any specific exercises?” she asked, happy to learn anything that would make her more efficient in the air.

  “Yes.” Attention returning to the passing traffic, he added, “I can teach you.”

  Curious as to what had him so captivated, she took a seat beside him, careful to ensure their wings didn’t brush. “Are you looking for someone?”

  A shake of his head. “I find myself fascinated by the fact that even though the river was full of blood less than a day past, it appears to be business as usual for those who call this land home.”

  Elena laughed. “New Yorkers are a tough breed, Aodhan.” Reaching back, she tightened her ponytail. “Kick us and we might go down, but we’ll come back up with fury in our eye and grit in our souls.” She loved the bloody-minded strength of her city. “No outsider will ever see us cry.”

  Eyes of shattered glass met her own, her face reflected back at her in startlingly beautiful splinters. “I haven’t forgotten our talk of fear and aloneness,” he said, before shifting his gaze toward Manhattan. “You and this city teach me much about coming back after pain and fear. You’re right—I’ve licked my wounds long enough.”

  Stunned at the openness with which he’d referred to his emotional scars, she went with her gut. “We’re all allowed time to curl up and recover from shock or hurt. But if it goes on too long, it begins to eat away at you.” Elena knew that from experience, her angry pain where Jeffrey was concerned having left her with indelible scars of her own. “It’s better to face the pain, neutralize the acid of the memories.”

  “And if that fails? If I fall again?”

  “You will,” she said, because the truth was a far better weapon against the darkness than any false hope. “Over and over. Sometimes, it’ll get so brutal that curling up and hiding again will seem the better choice.” She thought of the way she’d wanted to shut down in the aftermath of the nightmare in Amanat, of the exhilarating, hot-blooded knife fight that had followed. “Don’t give in, Aodhan, because you can’t imagine the glory that waits on the other side. Fight to see it; fight to own it.”

  His responding words held an undertone of heart-piercing joy she’d never before heard from him. “It was worth the risk to play a game with my friend again,” he said, the diamond-coated strands of his hair brushing against his cheekbone in the gentle wind. “Until I threw that ball at Illium over the river, I didn’t understand I hadn’t felt alive for over two hundred years.”

  A companionable silence fell between them for the next few minutes, until Aodhan said, “You searched me out on purpose?”

  “Yes. I wanted to ask you something.” Her eyes on his profile, his skin—alabaster lovingly caressed with fine gold—flawless. “Does Vivek belong to you? Since you Made him?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “All vampires belong to the archangel in the territory where the vampire is Made. Supervisors are chosen from among the senior angels.”

  Damn. “So I’m too young to supervise a vampire?”

  “In ordinary circumstances, yes; a new-Made vampire c
an sometimes be violent, difficult to control, and you are weak in angelic terms. Vivek Kapur, however,” he said, making it clear he understood why they were having this discussion, “won’t come into his full physical strength for some time and you have Raphael’s resources at your command.”

  “So it’s doable?”

  “It is done.” He held her gaze. “You understand you’ll be responsible for the hundred years he has Contracted to serve—and that service must be completed.”

  “I know. It’ll breed resentment otherwise.” As far as Elena knew, Dmitri’s wife, Honor, was the sole exception to the Contract rule in Raphael’s territory, and it was an exception not a single immortal would ever question. Dmitri had, after all, been Raphael’s loyal second for a thousand years and counting, had spilled his own blood countless times in defense of his archangel.

  “What are your plans for the term of his Contract?” Aodhan asked.

  “He’ll be with Tower communications as discussed, but as soon as he regains use of his limbs, I plan to put him in training at Guild Academy.” It was what Vivek had decided on when they’d discussed things prior to his Making; a man didn’t need to be physically strong to become a lethal shot. Vivek planned to practice his shooting skills while building up muscle. “In the meantime, he’ll be attending intensive lessons at the Academy to bone up on areas of practical knowledge he didn’t need in his previous position.”

  “That won’t be enough,” Aodhan said, just as she glimpsed wings of distinctive silver-blue changing course to head toward them. “He must be seen to be in your service.”

  “The training will be to ready him for a position in my Guard.” That wasn’t something she’d known to offer Vivek before, but it seemed the perfect solution. Still, Elena had no intention of forcing the decision on her fellow hunter; Vivek had already had too many choices taken from him. “I trust him down to the bone and he’s already saved my life more times than I can count.”

  “Good,” Aodhan said slowly. “Once your intent becomes known, it’ll be assumed he was Made to serve in your Guard, explaining the extraordinary effort expended on his behalf.”

  Illium arrived before she could respond, landing to grab a seat beside Aodhan. “Why are we sitting on a bridge presenting postcard shots to the tourists on that boat?” he asked, waving at said tourists, who jumped up and down, their squeals carrying on the winds.

  “No one noticed us until you deliberately did a low flyby over that same boat,” Aodhan pointed out.

  “Wave to the nice tourists, Sparkle. I promise it won’t cause pestilence and firestorms.”

  Elena bit the inside of her cheek at Aodhan’s glare—she’d never seen anyone crack his reserved shell. “Sparkle and Bluebell, nice.”

  “Never,” Aodhan said, hands stubbornly on the girder, “ever repeat that. Illium seems to have forgotten I promised to separate his tongue from his mouth should he utter it again in his immortal lifetime.”

  “You have to catch me first,” Illium taunted . . . and fell backward over the edge of the bridge tower.

  “Illium!” Elena cried out as he tumbled toward the heavy traffic, his wings tangled.

  “He’s playing a trick,” Aodhan said calmly. “He used to do that to his mother all the time, until one day, she did it back to him. I do not think I have ever seen Illium so chastised and white.”

  “No, Aodhan, he’s falling too fast.” Heart in her throat, Elena twisted in desperate readiness to take off, try to help . . . except it was too late: Illium was about to be crushed between two trucks. “No!”

  Silver-blue wings snapping out at unbelievable speed, his nimbleness on astonishing display. “Ellie”—wicked laughter in the gold when he flew back up—“you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I am not talking to you.” Breathless from the fright, she spoke to Aodhan instead. “I’m going to tell the Hummingbird he’s been up to his old tricks.”

  Aodhan’s lips kicked up in the slightest, slightest smile.

  “Hey! Wait!” Illium tried to get into her line of sight. “Don’t tell Mother. I promise I—”

  Elena’s phone rang right in the middle of Illium’s plea for mercy. “Sara, I—” she began, wanting to share the good news about Vivek.

  Her best friend cut in, tone stark. “Ashwini spotted a sick vampire in the Port Jersey container terminal. She thinks she can corral him, but she’ll need the Tower to take him off her hands.”

  Elena’s blood turned to ice. “We’re on our way.”

  28

  Ashwini was bleeding badly from cuts on her arms and scratches on her face when Elena arrived with Aodhan and Illium. “Sick vamp didn’t touch me,” she said, before Elena could ask. “Cuts are from before—the retrieval I have immobilized in the car. Idiot male had nails like fucking knives and I was stupid enough to get too close.” She nodded down the row of shipping containers. “Your vamp is in there. I managed to herd him into a dead end.”

  Elena went in with Illium and Aodhan, while Ash watched their backs, in case there was more than a single infected vampire in the area.

  “Don’t touch him,” she said to the others when they spotted the vamp, who was indeed mobile. “One thing to believe we can’t be infected, another to know.”

  The vamp had seen them, too, was trying to shuffle-run across the wide space, his fingers in a rigid clawed position and his eyes red. The pustules on his face had burst, the ones on his arms infected.

  “Stop!” she called out.

  No response, the vampire continuing to close the distance between them.

  Taking her lightweight crossbow from where she’d strapped it to her thigh, she took aim at the vampire’s left leg. He didn’t even hesitate, leaving her no choice but to fire.

  The shot was clean, the vampire going down with a high-pitched scream that just sounded wrong. Her gut roiled at his agony, though she knew the wound would heal within hours. “Keir said a live victim might help him better understand the disease.”

  “I’ll arrange a retrieval team in suitable biohazard gear, then contact the healer.” Aodhan lifted off in a whisper of sound.

  The vampire continued to scream as if hot pokers were being driven into his flesh. “This isn’t right.” The fact that his suffering might help save the lives of others didn’t make it seem any less like torture. And that was a line she would never cross. “We have to end—”

  “No.” Illium retrieved his sword, Lightning, from the sheath on his back. “He is not in such pain. The location of the injury means it hurts going in, but it’s only a dull pulse once the bolt is embedded.” Striding forward, he put the tip of his sword on the vampire’s chest while staying out of reach of the creature’s torn, bloodied fingernails. “Quiet.”

  The vampire froze.

  Crossbow raised to cover Illium, Elena walked close enough to look into the vampire’s face, and what she saw made pity rain in her veins. “You want to die.” Those bloody eyes held a glimmer of true consciousness, enough that this vampire understood what was happening to him even though he couldn’t stop it.

  “Can’t kill,” the vampire said, a tear rolling down his face, the liquid pinky red. “Can’t kill.”

  Can’t kill?

  “Did you try to kill yourself?” she asked, but he was gone, febrile madness crawling over his eyes to leave him clawing out chunks of his own face.

  “I can’t watch this.” Not wanting to end the vampire’s life when Keir might be able to help him, she took a gun and flipped it, intending to knock him out with a tap to the head.

  “Wait.” Illium stared at the vampire, his eyes burning true gold . . . and the sick male stopped writhing, his hands falling to the sides and absolute peace in his expression as his lashes closed.

  Elena looked at Illium with new eyes. He was, she realized, not just powerful. He was becoming a power.

  “Why are you looking at me like that, Ellie?” Sliding away his sword, darkness in the gold. “You’re afraid.”


  “Not of you. I just realized you might one day leave the Seven.” No one as powerful as she suspected Illium would eventually become would want to be in service to another—if that was even a choice. “I can’t imagine you not being a part of this city, of my life.”

  “It’s not going to happen anytime soon.” A dazzling smile that erased the shadows, his wings spreading to brush her own before he folded them back in. “Forget the coming war, the Tower would fall down without me.”

  “So modest.” Her smile faded as her eyes landed on the vampire, who slept so peacefully and who she knew would probably never wake, though she hoped Keir could save him. “What does it say about the archangel behind this, that he has the ability to create disease?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  Yes, unfortunately, she did. Power corrupted, and often the corruption was absolute and ugly.

  Glancing at the angel, beautiful and gifted, who crouched down to more closely examine the victim, his wings a carpet of exquisite blue and silver on the concrete, she hoped that when the time came, when his power matured to its full strength, he’d have someone who’d act as his anchor, as she and Raphael did for one another. She couldn’t bear to think of Illium corrupted. Not Illium.

  • • •

  The vampire died twelve hours later, having never wakened from his sleep. “It was a blessing,” Keir said, before he left the city—the healer had arrived in time to examine the victim while he lived. “The disease had eaten its way into his internal organs, would’ve caused him excruciating pain had he been conscious.”