Archangel's Heart
Page 115
While her grandmother wore a flowing gown of misty blue that looked strangely new, her grandfather was all but naked, the rags that clothed his body having fallen off as he healed. Elena tried not to look that way. It was clear he didn’t like being near-naked in front of his granddaughter—and wow, yeah, that was definitely a trip, that these two beautiful, ageless people were her family.
Following Raphael as he hauled Gian up the passageway by the neck, the Luminata’s feet and wings dragging on the floor, she asked him to wait when they reached the suite where the women had been kept. She entered with care lest another Luminata had somehow managed to come in, quickly cleared the area, then began to search the wardrobes, hoping some of the Luminata had forgotten clothing.
There was an edge to her grandfather’s stance that told her he was a man of quiet pride. She would not take that from him, would not let the Luminata gawk at him when they entered the main part of Lumia.
She found nothing suitable in what had been Josette’s room, but when she checked the room that wasn’t in use, it was to discover a stack of civilian male clothing. She tried not to think about the fact that some of these clothes could well have belonged to young males who’d been taken and who’d never gone home again. “I’ll get vengeance for you,” she whispered.
Stepping out, she found Raphael had sent her grandparents into the plush waiting area. Elena kept her eyes resolutely on her grandmother as she said, “I found male clothing in there.”
Majda and Jean-Baptiste slipped into the room without further discussion, their linked hands never breaking.
Dropping Gian in one corner after coming into the suite, Raphael brushed away strands of hair stuck to her cheek from perspiration she hadn’t even felt in the heat of the moment. “So, hbeebti.”
“Yeah.” Rubbing her cheek against his palm when he spread it open on her skin, she blew out a breath. “I’m the grandchild of a vampire.”
“Two vampires.”
She bit down on her lower lip, shook her head. “Majda wasn’t a vampire when she had my mother.” Riad’s great-grandparents had made it clear Jean-Baptiste couldn’t find an angel who’d fast-track her application. “I have a feeling she was Made after she left France.” As for the how of the latter, and where the bus crash fit in, she’d get the details from her grandmother later.
Raphael considered it, sliding his hand down her arm. When she caught his hand, he smiled, linked his fingers with hers. “You may be right.” A dangerously calm glance over at where Gian whimpered and gasped, his eyes bugging out of his head as he continued to dig at his throat. “Quiet.”
Gian flung his fist at Raphael, but no green-gold energy came from it.
“You have lost half your volume of blood and your body is focusing on healing your throat,” Raphael told the other angel in a voice so cold it raised every tiny hair on Elena’s body. “You have no resources to muster an attack. Do not attempt it again or I’ll forget about a trial in front of the Cadre and turn you to dust where you crawl.”
His eyes were deep Prussian blue when he returned his attention to Elena, the otherness of him a heavy presence in the room. You look a little terrified, Elena-mine.
In a good way. She wove her fingers even tighter with his, banishing the chill of violent power and long immortality with the love that lived in her, in him, between them. No matter how scary you get, Archangel, I always want to dance with you.
Majda and Jean-Baptiste returned from the room right then. To Elena’s surprise, both had changed. Her grandfather wore black pants and a simple white shirt that suited his blunt handsomeness. He didn’t have the prettiness developed by some vampires. No, he was like Dmitri—he’d retained a harsh edge to his features that said he was a dangerous man, but vampirism had given him unblemished white skin that needed the kiss of the sun, and hair that gleamed with silken health.
As for Majda . . .
Gone was her grandmother’s gown, in its place a pair of brown pants that she’d rolled up at the bottom and tied tightly around her waist using a belt Elena remembered seeing in the wardrobe. On top, she wore a woman’s shirt, so that must’ve also been in the wardrobe.
And Elena knew without asking that the gown had been forced on Majda by Gian.
Majda’s lips suddenly curved, her eyes bright.
Following the line of her gaze, Elena realized her grandmother had seen Raphael and Elena’s linked hands. “Let’s go get rid of the garbage,” Elena said softly.
42
As Elena slipped out her crossbow in readiness for any possible threats, Raphael grabbed Gian once again, his grip so powerful that Gian couldn’t have escaped it even at full strength. When Elena heard angry murmuring behind her just after they reached the paving area onto which she’d stepped with a quiet “Forgive me,” she looked back over her shoulder and shook her head at her grandparents. “The angels have far more brutal methods of punishment than you could ever imagine.”
“But will they punish one of their own when the victims are no one important?” A deep voice, deeper than it had been before, Jean-Baptiste clearly still healing in the wake of the infusion of archangelic blood.
Raphael was the one who answered. “You are family,” he said, his wings suddenly afire and cuttingly bright in the gloom of the shaft. “It does not matter what anyone else in the Cadre says or believes, I have the right to punish those who seek to harm my family.”
Following Raphael as he hauled Gian up the passageway by the neck, the Luminata’s feet and wings dragging on the floor, she asked him to wait when they reached the suite where the women had been kept. She entered with care lest another Luminata had somehow managed to come in, quickly cleared the area, then began to search the wardrobes, hoping some of the Luminata had forgotten clothing.
There was an edge to her grandfather’s stance that told her he was a man of quiet pride. She would not take that from him, would not let the Luminata gawk at him when they entered the main part of Lumia.
She found nothing suitable in what had been Josette’s room, but when she checked the room that wasn’t in use, it was to discover a stack of civilian male clothing. She tried not to think about the fact that some of these clothes could well have belonged to young males who’d been taken and who’d never gone home again. “I’ll get vengeance for you,” she whispered.
Stepping out, she found Raphael had sent her grandparents into the plush waiting area. Elena kept her eyes resolutely on her grandmother as she said, “I found male clothing in there.”
Majda and Jean-Baptiste slipped into the room without further discussion, their linked hands never breaking.
Dropping Gian in one corner after coming into the suite, Raphael brushed away strands of hair stuck to her cheek from perspiration she hadn’t even felt in the heat of the moment. “So, hbeebti.”
“Yeah.” Rubbing her cheek against his palm when he spread it open on her skin, she blew out a breath. “I’m the grandchild of a vampire.”
“Two vampires.”
She bit down on her lower lip, shook her head. “Majda wasn’t a vampire when she had my mother.” Riad’s great-grandparents had made it clear Jean-Baptiste couldn’t find an angel who’d fast-track her application. “I have a feeling she was Made after she left France.” As for the how of the latter, and where the bus crash fit in, she’d get the details from her grandmother later.
Raphael considered it, sliding his hand down her arm. When she caught his hand, he smiled, linked his fingers with hers. “You may be right.” A dangerously calm glance over at where Gian whimpered and gasped, his eyes bugging out of his head as he continued to dig at his throat. “Quiet.”
Gian flung his fist at Raphael, but no green-gold energy came from it.
“You have lost half your volume of blood and your body is focusing on healing your throat,” Raphael told the other angel in a voice so cold it raised every tiny hair on Elena’s body. “You have no resources to muster an attack. Do not attempt it again or I’ll forget about a trial in front of the Cadre and turn you to dust where you crawl.”
His eyes were deep Prussian blue when he returned his attention to Elena, the otherness of him a heavy presence in the room. You look a little terrified, Elena-mine.
In a good way. She wove her fingers even tighter with his, banishing the chill of violent power and long immortality with the love that lived in her, in him, between them. No matter how scary you get, Archangel, I always want to dance with you.
Majda and Jean-Baptiste returned from the room right then. To Elena’s surprise, both had changed. Her grandfather wore black pants and a simple white shirt that suited his blunt handsomeness. He didn’t have the prettiness developed by some vampires. No, he was like Dmitri—he’d retained a harsh edge to his features that said he was a dangerous man, but vampirism had given him unblemished white skin that needed the kiss of the sun, and hair that gleamed with silken health.
As for Majda . . .
Gone was her grandmother’s gown, in its place a pair of brown pants that she’d rolled up at the bottom and tied tightly around her waist using a belt Elena remembered seeing in the wardrobe. On top, she wore a woman’s shirt, so that must’ve also been in the wardrobe.
And Elena knew without asking that the gown had been forced on Majda by Gian.
Majda’s lips suddenly curved, her eyes bright.
Following the line of her gaze, Elena realized her grandmother had seen Raphael and Elena’s linked hands. “Let’s go get rid of the garbage,” Elena said softly.
42
As Elena slipped out her crossbow in readiness for any possible threats, Raphael grabbed Gian once again, his grip so powerful that Gian couldn’t have escaped it even at full strength. When Elena heard angry murmuring behind her just after they reached the paving area onto which she’d stepped with a quiet “Forgive me,” she looked back over her shoulder and shook her head at her grandparents. “The angels have far more brutal methods of punishment than you could ever imagine.”
“But will they punish one of their own when the victims are no one important?” A deep voice, deeper than it had been before, Jean-Baptiste clearly still healing in the wake of the infusion of archangelic blood.
Raphael was the one who answered. “You are family,” he said, his wings suddenly afire and cuttingly bright in the gloom of the shaft. “It does not matter what anyone else in the Cadre says or believes, I have the right to punish those who seek to harm my family.”
