17
The Legion
The Legion saw searing light pour out of every window of the Tower suite that was the aeclari’s and they saw angels all over the city land on any available surface. High on the Tower, the Blade ran inside from where he’d been standing on the balcony, and the Viper ran in with him.
In the streets, mortals looked up, and froze.
But the Legion didn’t rise, didn’t head to the Tower. Instead, the Primary stretched his mind and spoke to the Blade. Stop.
No response, but thirty seconds later, the Blade returned to his balcony. Hard, dark eyes landed on the Primary—who had flown on silent wings to crouch on the edge of that space.
“Why?” the Blade asked, a device in his hand that the Primary had learned was used for communication. Others in the world did not speak to their brethren as the Legion did. Others were not always together even while alone. It was a difficult thing for the Legion to grasp and had been since their inception.
The Primary considered his words. “Elena and Raphael are not afraid.” That which tied the Legion to the aeclari had become stronger in the aftermath of their return. The Primary could not hear their thoughts and did not know what they were doing, but he felt a visceral peace at this moment, a sense of acceptance without boundaries.
He understood joy in its purest form.
He struggled to put this knowledge into words for the Blade, who was as loyal to the aeclari as the Legion. Then he understood. “They are home.”
The Blade’s jaw worked, but he gave a curt nod and began to bark orders into the phone. “No one approaches the suite. Cordon off that level until we hear from Raphael or Elena.”
The Primary swept off the balcony and back to his perch on the building which was the Legion’s. We must make many seedlings, he said to his brethren.
The voices that returned to him were his and theirs both.
For her. For Elena.
Her growing things are gone.
We will make more.
Aeclari. We hear their song.
18
Raphael’s mind emerged from the wild storm of pleasure wrapped in incandescent love to find his hunter limp against him, her arms lazy around his neck. Always, she would hold him. Even when he harbored a power colder than winter’s icy kiss. “Elena?”
“Mmm.” A yawn against his neck. “I didn’t think you could get any better at this, studmuffin, but you’ve proved me wrong. Pretty sure my bones have melted. Also sure I don’t care.”
Cheeks creasing, Raphael ran his hand down her spine. And frowned. “Hbeebti, sit up.”
Elena kissed his throat before obeying. Her hair was tumbled around her face, her hands on his shoulders, her lips swollen from his demands as well as her own. “What’s the matter?” She lifted her arm, stared at it. “Am I imagining it or do I look more normal?”
Raphael realized he’d missed the most obvious change: she remained far thinner than her usual muscled sleekness, but was no longer of a weight that would draw concerned attention. “Your entire body has gained a layer of flesh, and the alien glow is gone from your skin.”
“Eyes?”
“No change excepting the lack of a glow.” A liquid silver with a hint of blue and a touch of gray. A blending of mortal and immortal. All good . . . but for one critical thing. “I can’t feel your tattoo.” He ran his hand over the area. “No ridges, nothing but your spine and skin.”
Going motionless, she said, “That’s extremely weird because I still feel as if you’re stroking my feathers. Sensation’s actually grown more intense than before we had crazypants sex flavored with white fire.”
“Turn so I can see your back.”
She began to untangle herself from him. “Don’t look until we can look together.”
Raphael nodded, then got out of bed and held out a hand.
Elena took care joining him, her hand locked to his. But she grinned the instant her feet hit the carpet. “I don’t think I need the crutches anymore.” Two seconds later, she proved that supposition correct: the two of them walked into the bathroom together.
“No breathlessness, no jelly legs,” she said once they were inside. “Crazypants glowing sex is now my favorite kind.”
Shifting on her heel so her back faced the full-length mirror, she took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at the same time that Raphael moved so he could see her back. The tattoo was gone.
Elena’s eyes narrowed. “Touch that area.”
A shiver ran through her when he did . . . and the outline of the tattoo reappeared . . . edged in white fire.
The coolly fiery silhouette held for a long moment after he removed his hand, before fading slowly into her skin.
Elena faced him. “Any ideas?”
Her entire body began to glow lightning gold before he could respond, the brilliance so vicious that it was a burn on his eyes.
She blazed like a star before the light disappeared without a trace.
Blinking past the shards of shadow and brightness in front of his eyes, Raphael saw his hunter had acquired a new tattoo. It was on her left temple and it was an exact mirror of the Legion mark on his right temple, except that hers wasn’t a glittering blue touched with wildfire white. It was a verdant forest green that shimmered.
“Did I grow a third nose?” Elena winced. “I have, haven’t I? Or is it an extra ear?”
Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her to face the mirror. Lips forming into an “Oh” Elena brushed her fingers over the mark. “Aeclari are mirrors,” she whispered, repeating words the Legion had first spoken.
Then it happened again. Golden lightning erupted along the side of Elena’s face. When it disappeared, so did the mark. Elena brushed her fingers over her once-more pristine skin. “I’m glitching as my body tries to find equilibrium. I woke too early, before everything was in place—but, on the flip side, I have an archangelic heart and access to power that’s yours by right.”
“Perhaps.” He ran his hand down her spine again.
No fiery outline of wings on her back this time, her skin a smooth dark gold.
“Looks like that glitch has corrected itself.” Elena’s gaze was on the mirror, her voice soft. “I didn’t feel you caress my feathers.”
“Hbeebti.”
Fingers brushing his jaw. “It’s okay, Raphael. Truly.” A determined smile over a foundation of grit and loss. “I had an experience no mortal could ever hope for—I flew in the skies on my own wings. Now I’m a weird-ass hybrid who glows randomly. It’s going to be a new adventure.”
He wrapped her up in his arms, his mind ice-cold.
Were the Cascade a living being, he’d shred it to pieces.
* * *
• • •
He made contact with Elijah that night, using the large screen in his and Elena’s living area. “Eli,” he said, “I would do this in person, but I cannot leave my territory yet.”
“I would not expect such, my friend,” Elijah replied, his golden brown eyes warm. “It is good to see you.”
“I thank you for the assistance you offered by sending your birds and cats. It is a debt between us.”
Elijah shook his head, the golden strands of his hair bright even in the artificial light of the room where he stood. “Such things are not a matter of debt. I know you would do the same were the situations reversed.”
A few years past, Raphael wouldn’t have known whether he would or not. Now, he was a little bit mortal and he’d built a relationship of trust with another archangel. The cold power born in the Cascade might battle him when he made such choices, but he had too many pieces of Elena in his blood for it to succeed.
He had not forgotten his earlier thoughts of godhood. Had he fallen for the sinuous whispers of the Cascade, would he have become a parasite akin to Lijuan? Would he have gone so far as to feed from Elena’s soulless facsimile? His gorge rose, rage a scalding burn through his blood.
“Yes,” he said past the ugliness of it. “Should you ever need my help, I will be there.” Such generosity and empathy did not come as easily to him as it seemed to come to Elijah, but he was well over three thousand years younger than the South American archangel so perhaps that was a kind of maturity that grew with age—if the seeds were present.
“Have you heard the news about China?” Elijah’s expression turned grim.
“The empty villages? Yes. My spymaster will be giving me a full briefing tonight—he returned from China only hours prior to my own return.”
“Mine flew homeward a week ago, and he reports signs of increasing vampiric unrest. They skitter in fear at the archangels who fly overhead but they know they are not under constant watch—and sanity falls when bloodlust rises.”
“I see Neha is currently on watch.” Prior to calling Elijah, Raphael had glanced at the updated oversight schedule sent through to Dmitri. “I do not think we have to fear rampant blood madness.” The Queen of Poisons, of Snakes had very little patience for such anarchy.
It was one of the regrets of Raphael’s life that his friendship with Neha had broken so badly in the aftermath of her daughter’s execution. Yet she hadn’t tried to take advantage of his absence, so perhaps all was not lost between them.
“No.” Elijah resettled his wings. “But when you speak to your spymaster, ask if he saw signs of unusual activity among villagers in the most remote areas. My spymaster is convinced the villagers are not acting ‘human’ but he was unable to find any evidence that they are reborn.”
Zombies two-point-o, a pajama-clad Elena muttered into Raphael’s mind from where she sat on the sofa wrapped up in a soft blanket, out of sight of the screen; the Guild director had sent over a few more weapons for her from the Guild’s stores, and she was examining them to see if they’d suit, while buffing off any marks with a soft cloth and adding oil where it was needed. Of course our favorite batshit crazy archangel is creating creepy things even in her Sleep. Because the creepy, it never rests.