Aodhan shook his head, the movement scattering shards of light in a brilliant, unexpected rain. “No one can stop the growth of an angel.”
Ice cracking her heart, Elena went straight into Raphael’s arms when he returned home from an offshore drill. “Why didn’t you tell me about Illium?”
“Because he is your favorite and you would worry when there is nothing to be done.” Wings of white gold licked with the cool flame that appeared and disappeared without warning, wrapped around her. “Your Bluebell’s development can’t be halted.”
“Could he become an archangel?”
“One day far in the future, yes. If he ascends now . . . he’s not ready.” Raphael held her tight, his voice taut with a hard thread of unvarnished emotion as he said, “Illium’s body will break apart from the power overload and he’s not old enough to survive such total annihilation.”
Elena wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and wipe away the horrific image. And if she felt that way, she couldn’t imagine her archangel’s grim anger and concern. He’d known Illium since Illium was a boy, and Illium’s mother, Sharine—known among angelkind as the Hummingbird—held a special place in his powerful heart. That heart knew how to love, how to be loyal.
“What the hell is happening, Raphael?” she said, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “One of our friends is heading right into the heart of that crazy bitch’s territory, and another is on the verge of a catastrophic change.”
Raphael’s voice crashed into her mind, the bright sea and cold kiss of it intimately familiar. The Cascade has no allegiance and it chooses no sides. No one is safe.
9
Naasir crossed the border into Lijuan’s territory just before dawn the next morning. He’d done it many times. Then, his task had been to take the temperature of the land, discern the mood of her people. He’d prowled in the shadows of villages and cities and he’d listened, then reported back.
Today, he was racing against time through a landscape lashed with the brilliant colors of fall. If Xi’s squadron had flown straight from the Refuge to the citadel, Andromeda had already been in Lijuan’s clutches for at least twelve hours.
Naasir didn’t think she’d survive much longer than another forty-eight at most. She was a warrior and a scholar, but she wasn’t sneaky. Okay, maybe a little sneaky since she’d fooled him with her civilized skin, but not deep-down sneaky—Naasir wasn’t sure she’d be able to mislead Lijuan long enough for Naasir to get to her.
Because one thing he knew: Andromeda would not betray what she knew about Alexander. Others might doubt her allegiance because of her bloodline, but he’d seen the truth of her as he held her pinned to the earth. Her honor was an indelible part of her, embedded into her true skin in a way nothing could erase.
Winter storms and lightning.
He changed direction at the scent in the air, running through the long grasses without bothering to lower his body. The sun hadn’t yet risen, the light dim and gray. Even had it been noon, no one saw Naasir in the grasses when he didn’t want to be seen. He was a shadow, a striped mirage. The angel who waited for him beneath the spreading branches of a large tree dressed in leaves of scarlet and gold was another kind of shadow.
Wings of black held tight to his back and his body motionless, Naasir wouldn’t have seen Jason if he hadn’t caught his scent. He approved. To him, the spymaster had always been one of the most dangerous members of the Seven. It caused Naasir no surprise that Jason had found him. As Naasir could track by scent, Jason had methods of his own.
“You’ll help me find Andromeda?” he asked on reaching the black-winged angel, because if Jason had another task, Naasir couldn’t assist, not today.
But Jason nodded, his tattoo bared by the neat way he’d pulled his hair into a queue at his nape. Naasir had gone with Jason on one of Jason’s trips to the Pacific Island home of the artist who’d done the work. Jason had walked alone for a long time, but sometimes he didn’t seem to mind a curious Naasir tagging along.
Naasir felt the same way about pain as he did about cold: he could bear it, but he didn’t choose it. However, he understood Jason’s choice to go through the grueling process that meant the tattoo would “stick” to his immortal skin. The tattoo was like Naasir’s stripes—an acknowledgment of the wildness inside Jason.
Now, Jason spread out the midnight of his wings to stretch them, then folded them back in, the smooth motion a wave of silent darkness. He was the only angel Naasir knew who could, when he wished, move his wings with zero sound. No susurration, no rustle, nothing but pure silence.
“I’ve confirmed the scholar has been taken to Lijuan’s central citadel.”
Naasir bit back a harsh, nonhuman sound at Jason’s words. He had no argument with the spymaster’s intelligence—Jason was never wrong about things like this. It was the idea of Andromeda shut up with Lijuan’s ugliness that made his claws emerge, the curved blades gleaming even in the murky light. “Can you get her out?” he asked, because getting Andromeda to safety was the important thing, not who did it, and the skyroad was faster than the ground.
Jason shook his head. “Not alone. Also, the fact she doesn’t know me could cause a dangerous delay.”
“Then we go in together, get her out.”
“You’ll need to practice patience for this, Naasir.” Jason closed the short distance between them. “I know you can get in, but we have to get in and out with her without being seen and without alerting her guards.”
“You’re strong. You can kill them.” He’d seen Jason’s black fire ignite the sky. “I’ll help you.” Naasir could fight many men at once.
“We’re not strong enough to defeat the sheer number of troops stationed in and around the citadel.” Jason’s voice was quiet but hard, demanding attention. “You must use the primal part of your nature in this. You must be cunning and stealthy and unseen.”
Naasir flexed his fingers and thought about what Jason had said. “Can I kill some of them?” They had taken—and probably scared, maybe hurt—someone in his care; he wanted to mete out punishment.
“Only if it won’t lead to us being exposed.”
Forcing his claws back in, he stared at Jason. “All right,” he said at last, trusting Jason’s advice because Jason was one of his family and had stood with Naasir whenever it was necessary. “I can get in—but if I’m to get Andromeda out without Xi’s forces being aware of it, you need to tell me the layout of the citadel.”
Jason pulled out a map from a pocket, unfolded it.
For the next ten minutes, Naasir contained his impatience and listened and learned. He was smart. Dmitri had told him that as a child when he’d refused to go to Jessamy’s school; the older vampire had found him sitting atop a high shelf in the stronghold library, arms folded and face set.