"The bitch not only came after me, she hurt Illium. Is he - "
"He's one of my Seven," Raphael said. "He'll live - though I wouldn't say the same for Michaela's men."
"Poor Bluebell," she said, looking out to see Illium bring down the last angel who'd been fighting with him. "It seems he's always being wounded for - " Her throat closed up as Illium sliced the wings off the fallen male with a sword he'd pulled out of literally nowhere. "Raphael . . ."
"It's a fitting punishment." Rising to his feet, he went to Michaela's body. The other archangel made a moaning sound as he lifted her, but didn't regain consciousness. "Stay, Elena. I will return for you."
She watched him take off, not entirely sure the female archangel would survive the cold rage that had turned Raphael's expression remote in a way she hadn't seen since they became lovers. Bracing her hand on the column behind her, she struggled to her feet just as Illium walked into the pavilion. Blood streaked his face, his hair, his sword.
"Where did the sword come from?" she asked as he took up a sentinel position in front of her. His back was bare, his shirt ripped off him. Spreading his wings, he hid her from sight, until her world was a wall of blood-streaked male muscle and feathers of silver blue drenched with fluid turning to rust.
"I failed you again." It was a tight response.
She took several deep breaths, touched her hand over her heart, still able to feel those phantom fingers clawing at her. "Illium, you took down five other angels. And sliced their wings off." With cold, calm efficiency.
He turned his head to meet her gaze, the faintest trace of a British accent in his frigid tone as he said, "You feel sorry for them?"
"I just - " Shaking her head, she tried to find the words. "When I sat in my apartment watching the angels land on the Tower roof, I used to envy them their ability to fly.
Wings are something special."
"They'll grow back," Illium said. "Eventually."
The callous coolness of his voice was a shock. It must've showed, because he gave her a smile formed of ice. "Your pet has fangs, Elena. It disgusts you."
It was the slap she needed to clear the remaining mental fog. "I think of you as my friend. And most of my friends can out-tough a prissy angel any day of the week."
He blinked. Once. Twice. That familiar wicked smile slashed its way across his face.
"Ransom has very long, very pretty hair. Maybe I should introduce it to Lightning?"
Of course Illium would name his sword. "Try it and I bet you, you'll be missing some feathers when you get back."
The blue-winged angel lifted the long, double-edged blade as if to sheathe it at his back.
She was about to warn him that his harness was gone . . . when the sword disappeared.
"We all have our talents, Ellie." A sheepish smile. "Mine is a useful one. I have no personal glamour, but I can make small objects close to my body disappear."
Elena wondered if that meant he'd one day become an archangel. "Have you been wearing a sword the entire time I've known you?"
A shrug. "A sword, a gun, occasionally a scimitar. It's excellent for beheadings."
Elena shook her head at the bloodthirsty recital, then froze when that head began to spin.
"Go wash off the blood, Bluebell."
"After Raphael returns."
Elena took a few steps around the pavilion after pushing at Illium to move. "I can walk home." She could feel the bruises blooming, but it wasn't as bad as it could've been -
especially when it came to her heart. She rubbed the heel of her hand over it. A little sore, but otherwise okay. "And since I'm not suicidal, you can escort me there."
"The sire asked you to stay."
Actually, Elena thought, it had been more of an order - with no expectation that she'd choose to do anything else. "Illium, you should know something about me if this friendship's going to have a hope in hell of working. I'm unlikely to obey Raphael's every order."
Illium's face filled with censure. "He's right, Ellie. You're not safe here."
"I'm hunter-born," she told him, the words husky. "I've never been safe."
"Oh, my little hunter, my sweet, sweet hunter."
Jerking off the memory like an unwanted coat, but knowing it would return to claim her again and again and again, she began to walk. Illium tried to get in her way, but she had the advantage - she knew he wouldn't lay a finger on her.
She'd forgotten about the angels he'd left in the gardens.
They looked like broken birds, their blood staining the ground, turning the field of flowers into an abattoir.
Chapter 12
Blood and pain scented the air in a rich perfume that seeped into her very pores.
Suddenly, she missed her apartment, the bathroom she'd turned into a personal haven, with a strength that made her tremble inside, her stomach tight enough to hurt.
"How long will they lie there?" she forced herself to ask.
"Until they can move themselves," Illium said, each word a razor. "Or until Michaela sends someone to retrieve them."
That, Elena knew, would never happen. Turning away from the mass of bodies, severed wings, and crushed flowers, she walked slowly up the path. "Wait. My book."
"I'll retrieve it for you after Raphael returns."
Elena hesitated, but knew she didn't have it in her to turn back and walk past the bodies again. "Thank you." She'd only taken a few more steps when the scent of rain, of the wind, infiltrated her every sense.
Illium melted away in silence, and it was Raphael who walked beside her. She expected a reprimand for deviating from his orders, but he said nothing until they were inside the walls of their private wing. Even then, he simply watched her strip off her clothes and enter the shower.
He was waiting with a huge towel when she stepped out, and as he wrapped it around her, the tenderness of the gesture threatened to break her. She looked up, met his eyes as he pushed damp strands of hair off her face. His words were quiet as he said, "The violence of our life shocks you."
Under her palm, his heart beat strong and sure. It was such a human sound, so honest, so real. "It's not the violence." She'd killed her own mentor when he went mad, butchering young boys like they were so much meat. "It's the inhumanity of it all."
Raphael stroked his hand over her hair, his wings unfolding to surround her. "Michaela came after you for a very human motive - she's jealous. You're now the center of attention, and she cannot stand it."