The other hunter winced, lifted her shoulders. “Sorry, Ellie. I don’t have any experience in that field.” Biting down on her lower lip, she snapped her fingers. “Wait, didn’t Keir come in last night? I bet Caliane likes Keir.”
“You’re a genius!” Kissing the other woman on the cheek, Elena ran out the balcony door and swept down to the infirmary floor. Keir was amused at her panic but promised to join them for a late supper if Caliane was not exhausted and wanted company.
“She has come to see her son, Elena,” the healer said, his hand gentle on her cheek and his eyes warm. “I think she will require little entertaining.”
Hoping that was true, and that Caliane would decide to ignore her for the most part, Elena flew homeward, the Legion fighters who fell in with her silent shadows. The Enclave house was lit up like a glowing beacon, and Montgomery—damn, but the man deserved a raise—had set up hundreds of tiny candles in the snowy yard, each protected from the elements and the wind generated by angelic landings by a glass cage.
It was astonishingly beautiful from the air.
Landing in the circular area that had been left clear for that purpose, Elena walked inside to find the house in a bother. It was highly efficient, but everyone had somewhere to be, and no time to waste. Montgomery actually had a hair out of place. “Guild Hunter,” he said, his relief obvious. “I took the liberty of putting out one of your gowns in readiness.”
“Great, thanks.” Elena took the stairs two at a time, while Montgomery kept pace with her. “Is there anything else I need to handle?”
“I’ve prepared the blue suite for Lady Caliane, and Sivya is ensuring we’ll have plenty of dishes for her to choose from,” he said as she walked into her and Raphael’s rooms and began to unstrap her weapons.
Crossbow, knives, the throwing stars Ash had given her, the blade sticks that had been a gift from Mahiya. Leaving it all in a pile on a table, although she usually made sure to clean and neatly store her tools, she began to unlace and pull off her boots. “It sounds like you’re on top of things.” She frowned, tried to think like a consort. “Run her a bath so it’s ready and at the right temperature when she arrives. She’s had a long journey.”
“Of course.”
“And get a few flowering potted plants from the greenhouse,” she said, remembering the lush gardens of Amanat. “Put them in her suite and her bathing chamber.”
“I’ll do it now.”
“What about clothes?” Elena’s head jerked up. “If she came alone, she might not have brought anything.” Nothing of Elena’s would fit her, Caliane being smaller and with more curves.
Montgomery looked momentarily green, but pulled himself together with commendable speed. “I’ll contact the tailor. He must have a suitable piece he can alter quickly, and I’ll have him work through the night to produce others.” The butler pulled the door shut behind himself.
Tearing off her clothes, Elena showered at the speed of light, then slipped into the dress Montgomery had chosen. It was wildfire white with a haunting shimmer and, as far as gowns went, it was comfortable, being a column that began at her neck and skimmed down her body, but split into four overlapping panels at the hips.
The overlap meant her modesty was preserved, while she had the ability to stride about—and to fight. The back was open to accommodate her wings; she normally didn’t like showing that much skin, but it worked with the severe front, and honestly, she was happy not to have to figure out any straps or wing-slit buttons at the moment. Button the collar at the side of her neck, the closure discreet, and the dress was done.
Montgomery really deserved a raise.
Brushing out her hair, she pulled it into the twist Sara had taught her, then anchored it using Mahiya’s blade sticks.
Still feeling naked and weaponless, but knowing she couldn’t plaster herself with knives, had to find more baubles instead, she opened the wooden jewelry box that sat on the vanity. Her eye fell on the sweet, sweet blade that Raphael had given her. The sheath and handle embedded with gemstones, it appeared decorative—and could slice through bone if used correctly.
Yes, her lover knew her.
“I love you, Archangel,” she said with a smile as she fixed the soft black sheath around her upper arm, the blade sparkling shiny and fancy in contrast to the white of the dress.
She poked small diamond earrings into her pierced earlobes, dusted on makeup, and, deciding that would have to do, raced on to the next critical thing on her list—a face-to-face call with Jessamy. The slender angel’s eyes, a rich burnt sienna, went huge when Elena told her what was about to happen. “This is a highly unusual situation, Ellie,” the other woman said, flipping rapidly through her books. “You are greeting an Ancient who is the mother of your consort, but he is also an archangel.” Lines marred her smooth forehead. “It all complicates the usual order of things.”
“Give me something, Jess,” Elena pleaded. “It’s her first visit to our home.” Caliane had Slept for over a thousand years, rising to consciousness less than a year past, during Lijuan’s first overt attack on Raphael. Since then, Raphael’s mother had remained in the lost city that had arisen with her, focusing on the well-being of her people.
Elena ran a hand over her face. “It’s critical I make a good impression.” Not because she cared for Caliane’s approval, but because Caliane was Raphael’s mother.
If her own mother could come back, could pierce the veil of death, she thought on a wave of grief that had never ceased to hurt, Elena would want her and Raphael to be friends, to like one another. The latter was improbable with Caliane, but at least the two of them could have a cordial relationship that might, in, oh, ten thousand years or so, thaw into mild liking.
“This will have to do,” Jessamy muttered. “It’s an account of a younger archangel greeting an Ancient. You’re not an archangel, but as Raphael’s consort, you carry his status by association in this situation.”
Five minutes of swift instruction later, Elena headed downstairs, the slippers that matched her dress in one hand. Leaving them by the door, she went into the kitchens to discover controlled chaos. Waiting for a pause in the movement, she said, “Thank you. I know it’ll mean a lot to Raphael that you’re giving his mother such a welcome.”
Smiles on each and every face, the stress draining away.
She made sure to personally thank Montgomery as well. Maybe she didn’t know exactly how to be a consort, but she knew the members of a team functioned better with acknowledgment. And these people were all part of her team now—part of her family.
Then the rain, the crashing sea, was in her mind. Guild Hunter, I give you a five-minute warning.
A five-hour warning would’ve been better. She slipped her feet into the flat evening slippers and headed out into the snow to find that Montgomery had arranged for a pristine black carpet to be rolled to the landing area. We’re going to have a discussion when you get home about your idea of appropriate prep time. Though she had to admit he’d been right to cut it so fine—the rush had given her no real time to stress.
A kiss against her mind. I did not wish to steal your enjoyment in chasing your vampire rat.
What did I tell you about your new sense of humor? Conscious of Montgomery walking briskly outside, to stop several feet behind and to the left of her, she looked toward Manhattan.
Raphael’s wings were as distinctive to her in silhouette as they were in color, his wingspan extraordinary against the night sky, the white fire of them dazzling. That had to be Caliane by his side, smaller but with the same exquisite flight control.
A full squadron flew at their back.
Dmitri must’ve organized a welcome escort, but the escort fell back halfway across the Hudson, and it was Raphael and Caliane alone who landed in front of her. Eyes of excruciating blue and hair of midnight, there was no doubting they were mother and son.
“Lady
Caliane,” Elena said, stepping forward with both hands extended as Jessamy had decided would be acceptable. “You are welcome in our home.”
Part of her was expecting the Ancient, dressed in weathered red-brown traveling leathers but with a bearing as regal as always, to reject the overture. She was ready to pretend it didn’t matter, for the sake of keeping the peace, but Caliane’s fingers closed over her own, the power in her bones a hum against Elena’s skin.
“I thank you for your generosity,” Caliane responded before breaking the handclasp. “I should’ve sent word of my journey.”
“This is your son’s home,” Elena said, going with her gut. “You are always welcome.”
Raphael’s eyes met hers. You are kind to my mother, hbeebti. I think she is embarrassed at her impetuous behavior now that she is here.
Thanks for the heads-up. Smiling at Caliane, Elena waved toward the house. “Everyone is excited to meet you.”
Caliane hesitated for a second, then fell in step with her. When Elena introduced Montgomery, Raphael’s mother was pure grace, as she was with the other staff members who’d lined up to meet her, every single one spic and span.
Showing Caliane to her rooms afterward—her fingers discreetly crossed that Montgomery had managed to arrange a gown—Elena said, “Please take your time. We’ll wait for you in the library. The dining room is a little too grand for family.”
“Consort.” Caliane’s eyes were intense, her expression unreadable.
Elena’s hand tightened on the doorknob, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. Her primal hindbrain recognized Caliane as a threat, screamed at her to run, but of course that wasn’t an option. “Lady?”
“This house . . . it has a heart. I am glad my son lives in a house with a heart.”
Unsure whether that was a compliment or a simple statement, Elena inclined her head and left Caliane when the Ancient made to walk to the bath. She didn’t blow out a relieved breath until she was in the master bedroom. Walking straight into Raphael’s arms, she let him wrap his wings around her and the two of them stood there, ready to face this extraordinary visit as they’d faced everything else: together.
• • •
Ashwini dreamed of Felicity, woke with the young woman’s face at the forefront of her mind. It frustrated her beyond bearing to know that Giorgio and Cornelius remained free to exercise their perversions. Leaving the bed to find Janvier on the balcony on his phone, she put on a large T-shirt, stuffed her feet into thick socks, then went out to hug him from the back.
He was wearing just his jeans, his body warm against her in spite of the cold. Turning, he held her close with one arm around her shoulders as he spoke to Dmitri. “Giorgio has been connected to Lijuan,” he told her before returning to his conversation.
She could see from the lack of a smile in his eyes that there’d been no further breakthroughs. Stifling the urge to scream at the sky, she pressed a kiss to his chest, then ducked inside to shower and dress. She was putting her hair in a ponytail when she heard the sound of angelic wings nearby. Glancing out the balcony doors, she was just in time to catch the heartbreaking light of Aodhan’s wings sweeping back up.
Janvier walked in with a duffel the next instant. “Fresh clothes.”
“What exactly do you have on him that he’ll play courier for you?” she asked, bemused at the idea of being with a man who could call in angelic help like she could a ride from a fellow hunter.
Walking backward into the bathroom, he winked. “That is between me and Sparkle, my khoobsurat and gorgeously dangerous Ashblade.”
Happy despite her raw emotions at the sense that Felicity remained lost, unable to move on, she left him to his shower and walked into the kitchen to make coffee. “I’m not giving up,” she said to the ghost of the woman who’d been punished for wanting only to believe in hope, in a future where she was cherished. “The evil pieces of shit will go down. I promise you that.”
A wintry sigh across her skin that made it pebble, her breath suddenly frosting the air as her lungs fought to deal with the sudden, excruciating cold . . . then warmth rushing back into her, and she knew that for the moment, Felicity was gone.
The kiss on the back of her neck ten minutes later was accompanied by the fresh, clean scent of soap and man. Facing him, she held up her coffee, having already eaten a couple of pieces of toast. “Sip?”
He nodded and took a drink, absorbing the pleasure of the taste with a sensuality that made her lower body clench. The chemistry between them was impossibly more powerful this morning, their bodies having learned exactly what they could do to one another.
Indulging herself by caressing him with her gaze, she caught the fine edge of tension in the line of his jaw. “When did you last feed?” She put aside her coffee.
“I’m not about to keel over, cher.” A slow smile. “I can pick up a bottle from the Tower.”
She tugged up the cuff of her black V-necked sweater to bare her wrist and raised it to brush his lips. His eyes went heavy lidded, his chest expanding on a deep inhale. “There is no obligation.”
“I know.” Stroking her fingers down his neck, she leaned in even closer, the side of her body aligned to his.
He shuddered, cupped the other side of her wrist, and pressed a kiss to her rapidly beating pulse. Then he licked out, drew in another long breath. Her blood seemed to rush to that one tiny point. Nipples rubbing against her bra and skin tight, she waited. When his fangs scraped over her skin, she bit back a moan.
His eyes flicked up. In them was pure sex and the lazy, possessive affection that had tied her up in knots long before she’d admitted he was far more than just a job to her. “Now,” she said, tone husky.
A sinful smile before his fangs pierced her flesh.
His lashes came down, his throat moving as he fed . . . and her blood, it turned to honey. Legs trembling, she shifted to lean against the counter. He followed, one hand going to her lower back to caress her lightly as he continued to feed.
He wasn’t drawing much blood, she realized with the part of her mind that wasn’t dazed. He’d taken most of what he needed in the first two pulls, was now sipping . . . enjoying. She was enjoying it, too. The arousal kept building and building, a fist low in her belly. It was different from sex, not as intimate . . . except this was Janvier. Slipping his fingers under her top to caress her skin, he lifted his lashes again, their eyes connected, and the fist exploded outward.
Shivering through the ripples, she opened eyes she didn’t remember closing to see him licking the wound closed. He did it several times, until she couldn’t see anything but tiny pinpricks that would fade in a day. Satisfied, he slid a hand around her nape and jaw, running the thumb of his other hand over her lower lip. “I could become used to this breakfast.”
She nipped at his thumb. “Gotta say, it’s not a bad morning wake-up.” Yeah, he’d turned her inside out, but he wasn’t exactly in control, either, his erection aggressive against the zipper of his jeans. “Maybe next time we should do it before we get out of bed.”
“I vote yes.” Rubbing up against her, he groaned. “We have—”
Both their phones beeped at once. The message was identical: One victim awake. Wishes to talk.
Arousal doused, they headed out and to the hospital without further conversation. It was Brooke who was awake and stable enough to talk. Fear was a metallic taste in the air around the brutalized woman, but when she grabbed for Ashwini’s hand, Ashwini didn’t protest.
Stomach muscles clenched against the barrage of pain and panic that made nausea shove at her throat, she met Brooke’s bruised brown eyes. “You’re tough,” she said. “Good. The bastards wouldn’t have expected that.”
Brooke’s smile turned into a grimace as her abused facial muscles attempted to stretch. “You haven’t found—” She coughed, but waved off the chips of ice Ashwini offered from th
e cup on the bedside table.
“No,” Ashwini answered, putting the ice back. “We haven’t tracked them down yet, but we will. Do you know any place Giorgio might hide?” Pulling out her phone, she went through each of the properties they’d already cleared.
“You got them all.” Rasping, barely audible words. “Only . . .”
40
“Only?” Ashwini could tell Brooke was in severe pain, but the woman had nixed pain medication prior to this meeting because she wanted to talk, wanted to help. Ashwini wasn’t about to second-guess her courage.
“Cattle,” Brooke whispered, her hand tightening on Ashwini’s. “Cattle give him things.”
Ashwini frowned, focusing ruthlessly on the facts rather than the silent scream of terror that continued to slap at her, making her skull throb. “How?” she asked. “His pattern seems to be going after women who have little.” Even the showpiece cattle had all proven to be from modest or deprived backgrounds. Brooke herself had been an exotic dancer in a low-rent part of town before Giorgio plucked her for his adoring harem.
Despite that, the financial wizards had checked them out, found no properties.
“Pattern right.” Brooke coughed again, accepted the ice chips this time, her breathing a serrated scrape. “Make us grateful.”
“He’s a predator.” Ashwini squeezed the other woman’s hand. “One who’s had hundreds of years to hone his skills. Don’t you ever blame yourself for what he is.”
A shaky nod. “Th-thanks. Needed to hear.” The other woman seemed to be about to lose consciousness, but blinked rapidly, managed to stay awake. “Cattle poor . . . but Penelope got in-in-inh . . .”
“Inheritance?”
Another faint nod. “T-turned out her McScrooge aunt was rich. L-left it all to her five y-y-years ago.” Air noisy in her lungs, her hand spasmed on Ashwini’s. “It’s in sp—” Throat dry, she couldn’t speak until Ashwini had eased more ice into her mouth. “Aunt didn’t like Giorgio,” the hurt woman said clearly, eyes so bright it was clear she was fighting desperately to communicate all she knew. “House is in special legal trust where Pen can use it till death, but she has no . . .” A wracking cough.
Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7) Page 33
