Nalini Singh: Archangel's Consort

But Caliane turned her head, her hair lifting in the breeze. “My son.” Unbridled pride. “He is of Nadiel and I, but he is better than both of us.”

Raphael winged in to land in front of Caliane then, and Illium shifted aside enough that Elena was able to watch mother and son come face-to-face for the first time in more than a thousand years.

Raphael’s heart, a heart he’d thought had turned to stonebefore he met Elena, stabbed with daggers of pain at the expression of love on his mother’s face. It brought back memories that usually broke through only during anshara , the deepest of healing sleeps.

He remembered not simply that she’d left him broken on that forsaken field, but that she’d held him when he’d cried as a child, wiping away his tears with long, elegant fingers before kissing his face with tenderness that had made him throw his arms around her, hold her tight. “Mother,” he said, and it came out quiet, husky with memory.

Her responding smile was shaky. Reaching forward, she raised her hand to his cheek, her fingers cool against his skin, as if her blood had not yet begun to truly pump through her veins. “You’ve grown so strong.”

It was an echo of the dream, and it made him wonder what she remembered of it. “I cannot allow you freedom, Mother.” It had to be said, no matter that the boy in him was reeling in stunned wonder at having her so close, so very near.

Her hand fell off his cheek and to his shoulder. “I do not seek freedom. Not yet.”

Giving in to the need within him, a need that had survived over a millennium, he reached out and drew her into his arms. She wrapped her own around him, laying her head against his-heart, and for a frozen instant, they were nothing but mother and son standing beneath an impossible sky.

I was not meant to survive your father, Raphael. We were two halves of a whole.

The sorrow in her tone made him tighten his hold. He could not live.

His mother said nothing for a long, long moment. When she drew back, her expression was different, more formal. So, you have a mortal consort.

“Elena,” he said out loud, refusing to allow Caliane to shut out the woman who made the idea of eternity a breathtaking promise. He placed a hand at the curve of her back when she came to stand beside him, “She is no longer mortal.”

Caliane’s eyes moved from him to Elena and back again. “Perhaps, but she is no mate for an archangel.”

Elena spoke before Raphael. “Maybe not,” she said, “but he’s mine and I’m not giving him up.”

Caliane blinked. “Well, at least she has spirit.” Folding away wings she’d spread out after his embrace, she looked back at Raphael. “Even your blood carries the taint of your mortal.” With that, she turned and walked to the edge of the roof. “I must look after my people.”

“Your awakening changes the balance of the Cadre.” Lijuan was no longer the strongest of them all—and after her Sleep, Caliane was a complete unknown.

“Later.” She raised a fine-boned hand. “I have no wish for politics at present. However, make it known that this region is now mine.”

Since Lijuan wasn’t likely to return to face Caliane anytime soon, that claim would, Raphael knew, remain unchallenged. There is no way to know what she will do , he said to his consort. If I am to have any chance of killing her, it must be now.

Elena curled her hand around his. She’s done nothing as yet that another member of the Cadre might not have. The impact on you, Elijah, and the others was an unconscious effect, so you can’t blame her for that.

She attempted to harm you more than once.

I rest my case—even your Seven isn’t sold on me. I never expected your mother to welcome me with open arms.

Raphael looked down at his hunter, at the piercing ring of silver around her eyes and knew that Elena would do anything to have another moment with her own mother; that her pain, her need, might blind her to the brutal truth. If this choice is wrong, thousands could die.

We won’t let that happen. Her voice was resolute.

Even as she spoke, silver blue flashed on her other side and then Illium was standing beside her, his wing touching Elena’s in an intimacy that made Raphael raise an eyebrow. Illium’s lips curved in a wicked smile that did little to hide the intensity of his emotions. I would not watch you die again, Sire. His veins stood out against his skin as he gripped the wrist of one hand with the other.

Raphael met those eyes of gold that had stood beside him for centuries. If I had done so, I would have gone knowing you would keep my heart safe.

Illium’s gaze went to Elena. Always. “I will remain behind with your mother.”

“No, Illium.” Stroking his hand down Elena’s hair, he shook his head. “I will send Naasir.”

The blue-winged angel’s jawline turned knife-blade sharp. “Naasir has no wings should he need to follow Caliane.”

“Jason will take care of that part of the equation.” Shaking his head when Illium went to argue, he said, “I need you in the city when Aodhan arrives.”

When both his hunter and Illium gave him intrigued looks, he said, “Later. For now, we will leave Caliane. She told the truth in that much at least—she has always cared for the people of this place and will not venture from it until they are thriving once more.” Taking a last look at the lost city of Amanat—lost no more—he rose with his consort into the skies, through the shield of power and into the rain-dark night beyond.

Standing in the huge bathroom of the penthouse apartment in Kagoshima-shi, the capital of the prefecture, Elena looked at her side in the mirror, saw that she no longer had holes in her flesh. Raphael had sent healing warmth racing through her before she walked into the shower, insisting on it though she was more worried about him.

Relieved nonetheless, she wrapped a plush white towel as firmly as possible around her body and padded out into the bedroom, heading to the windows. There was no angelic tower in this city, but the striking building across from this one seemed to be the center of operations, with angels flying in and out on a regular basis.

As she watched their silhouettes arc against the glittering skyline now clear of rain, she thought over the events of the day. What would it do to her if Marguerite suddenly rose from the grave and took flesh and blood form?

Pain. Need. Guilt. Love. Anger.

It was such a tumultuous blend that she took a shuddering breath in an effort to control herself, then another and another until she could shake it off. Tonight, this, it wasn’t about her. It was about her archangel. Raphael. He’d taken a quick shower of his own, then gone out to speak to the angel who ran this city. She hadn’t wanted to let him go, the terror that had torn through her as Lijuan’s evil spread through his veins a living, breathing entity, but as she was a hunter, he was an archangel.

I can see you, Guild Hunter.

Smiling, she pressed her fingers to the glass and looked out at the angels flying away from the ultramodern high-rise, its balconies asymmetrical—almost seeming to hang in midair. It took her less than a second. Less than a fraction of a second. He was the strongest, most compelling of them all, his wingspan magnificent. Are wings proportional to body size?

A glow of silver on his feathers as they were hit by the lights from a nearby billboard, the Japanese nightscape a technological wonderland. You know what they say about men and their wings.

She laughed, and it was a sweet, unexpected gift. Yeah? Come here and show me.