A quick, shy smile from the youth that had Raphael ruffling his hair as he so often did with Illium. “Whatever happens,” he’d added, “always remember what I said first—these are the actions of others. They do not in any way define you.”
Aodhan had taken a deep breath, exhaled. “At times, I wonder what it would be like to be normal.”
“Naasir says normal is overrated,” Raphael had answered. “He says it’s far better to be a one-being and keep everyone guessing.”
Aodhan’s smile had turned dazzling, his entire being alight. “I will aim to be more like Naasir, sire.”
That delighted smile was what burned in Raphael’s mind as he flew high above the clouds, while Naasir ran far below, a hunter invisible. Illium flew slightly behind Raphael, Jason with him, while Dmitri held the fort for Raphael, and Galen kept an eye on the Refuge base of their enemy.
Because that angel was now Raphael’s enemy. Sachieri had dared take Aodhan, dared take one of Raphael’s people. She would pay the price. At present, she and her equally guilty lover, Bathar, were in her Refuge home, but even had she been at the stronghold where she’d most likely imprisoned Aodhan, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Sachieri was a dealer of rare antiquities for immortals. No warrior, no power, certainly no match for an archangel. What mattered was to find Aodhan before any of her people got to him and attempted to use him as a hostage.
Which was why all the angels were above the cloud layer, while Naasir crept up to the stronghold. He wasn’t quite human today, hadn’t been quite human since he’d passed Sachieri in the Refuge a week earlier and caught a hint of Aodhan’s scent on her clothing.
Not an old, faded scent like Naasir told him existed yet in parts of Aodhan’s studio, but a fresh, bright scent that spoke of recent contact. That Aodhan was an angel uncomfortable with touch except for his closest family, lovers, and friends, just made the implication of the scent all the more enraging.
“I would rip out her throat,” Naasir had said to Raphael, his silver eyes as bright as a tiger’s and a growl in his throat. “After we find Aodhan.”
“If she has a throat left after I am done with her.” Raphael’s rage was a cold, cold beast, one who understood that vengeance could last an eternity.
Naasir had tilted his head to the side. “He is one of your cubs. You can go first.”
Despite having seen Aodhan grow up, Raphael didn’t think of him as a child. He saw in him a young warrior any angel would be proud to have among his people. But Aodhan was his, and no one was permitted to hurt Raphael’s people. Jason, how is Illium?
In control, was the cool response from the spymaster who’d searched with a relentless will that had left him as thin as Illium, yet who blamed himself for not having found Aodhan. He won’t act precipitously and put the operation in jeopardy.
And you, Jason? Can I trust you to maintain?
Yes, sire.
His word was enough for Raphael. Jason wouldn’t be his spymaster if Raphael didn’t have implicit trust in him. What Sachieri had done, however, had damaged the black-winged angel, as it had damaged all of them—including the already fractured Lady Sharine. At least her broken mind had protected her somewhat; at times, she forgot Aodhan was gone and talked as if they’d painted together the previous day.
Strange mercies.
But when this is done, Jason added, I intend to erase Sachieri and Bathar from angelic history. I plan to steal every document in which either of their names is mentioned, and to strongly encourage anyone who has had dealings with them to forget they ever existed.
Jason wasn’t a violent angel—but he burned with a smoldering power. For most, his encouragement would be difficult to resist; Raphael would take care of any who remained. I think, Jason, you will have the cooperation of more people than you know.
Angelkind’s fascination with Aodhan could be used to gain him justice of a kind that would be a horror to an immortal: to be so forgotten that thousands of years of life added up to nothing. Neither has a child. Their bloodlines end with them.
For Aodhan’s captors would both die. But it wouldn’t be quick. Not for this crime.
They flew on.
Until at last, Naasir’s mind touched Raphael’s. Technically, the other man shouldn’t have been able to speak to him this way, not given who and what he was—but Naasir had never been one to follow the rules. Sire, I am going inside.
We’ll hover above the cloud layer until you give us the go-ahead. Take care, Naasir. You are smarter and stronger, but vicious cowards are not to be underestimated.
I will be the stealthy hunter, Naasir promised. Our prey will never see me.
Raphael kept an eye on Illium as they waited, all but able to see the rage that boiled in his blood. Illium hadn’t laughed or smiled for anyone but Lady Sharine since the day Aodhan failed to arrive at a courier waypoint; and even for his cherished mother, he could only manage bright falsehoods that didn’t fool her except for when she was far into the kaleidoscope.
The rest of the time, he was grim rage.
Raphael could’ve never imagined such an incarnation of their laughing, playful Bluebell.
I have Aodhan’s scent. Sharp. Strong. He can’t be far. Fierce exultation in Naasir’s voice. The servants are weak and lazy. No threat. But I will find our sparkles, make sure he is alone.
Blood fury hazed Raphael’s mind the next instant, Naasir still connected to him as he went into a sudden killing frenzy. Go! he ordered Jason and Illium, even as he dived through the clouds toward the stronghold situated in the midst of what would be rolling green hills in the summertime.
Cloaked in snow and ice this winter’s day, it appeared a beacon of glimmering gray stone—look only at the elegant outside and you’d never deduce the filth and malice that coated its walls.
The counterfeit sense of peace broke right then, transformed into screaming anarchy.
Angels flew up from every corner, their wings beating in terrified desperation, while below, vampires ran out into the snow. A number stumbled and fell, crawling insects who deserved no mercy.
Raphael struck them all down with a single modulated blow of archangelic power. Enough to slam them into unconsciousness—and cause a few broken wings and bones for the angels in flight.
No death. Not yet.
Anyone who’d worked in this stronghold was liable to be guilty of abetting in Aodhan’s torture, but he would make certain of that. No one who’d helped harm Aodhan, if only by their silence, would ever again know anything but terror.
Jason.
I’ll take care of the stragglers. Sire—Illium won’t stay with me. He’s heading after you.