Shaking her head, Honor cupped his face in her hands. “You’re perfect exactly as you are,” she whispered with so much love that he felt as if he was being hugged. “I just don’t want you hurt.”
He smiled at the last, knowing he was forgiven for having scared her. Lifting her up in his arms and off her feet, he squeezed her tight. She laughed, silhouetted against a cloudless sky of chrome blue, and, when he put her back down, said, “Be on time for dinner. I asked Montgomery for the recipe for the spiced meat you like.”
Making the promise, Naasir walked her back into the Tower and realized he’d jumped onto the balcony right outside her study. He was thinking about curling up in a sunny armchair in the corner and just napping when he felt the crashing wave, the biting, fresh touch of water, that was his archangel’s voice in his head.
Naasir, I need to speak to you.
I’m on my way, sire. Leaving Honor with a rub of his cheek against hers that she permitted with a smile, he made his way to the room in the Tower from which Raphael ran his territory. Spearing through the Manhattan sky, the city’s Archangel Tower held countless rooms, all with a purpose. Above this floor were the private suites.
Naasir had one, but he preferred to stay with Honor and Dmitri.
Why would he want to be by himself when he could be with family?
Entering Raphael’s office, he was disappointed to find that Elena wasn’t there. He liked sparring with his sire’s consort and they’d done it several times since Naasir had finally been released from long-term duty at Amanat, the city held by Raphael’s mother, Caliane.
Caliane’s forces had grown strong as more and more of those who remembered her rule returned to her and swore their allegiance once again. It was no longer necessary for Raphael to second one of the Seven to Amanat, though Naasir knew the sire would continue to assist his mother while she adapted to the modern world.
“Sire.”
Raphael’s wings were backlit by the sun where he stood behind his desk, his feathers sparking a white gold as metallic as Naasir’s hair, and his gaze on an array of blades spread out over the polished volcanic stone of his desk. Even after all these centuries of being one of Raphael’s most trusted men, part of Naasir always felt a punch of awe at the violent power embodied in the archangel in front of him. That punch came from the primal core of his nature, the part that had never been meant to be within such proximity to an archangel.
“Are you rested?” Glancing up, Raphael held his gaze with eyes of a blue so pure that as a child, Naasir had thought they must be made from actual gemstones.
Fascinated, he’d used to creep up on Raphael and try to touch them. It was to Raphael’s credit that he’d dissuaded Naasir’s persistent efforts without ever terrifying or hurting him. Only as an adult had Naasir understood just how tolerant and lenient Raphael had been with him.
Even before he’d become an archangel, the sire had been a power.
“Yes,” he said in response to Raphael’s question. “I’m glad to be here.” He didn’t mind the work at Amanat—he liked and respected his partner in the task, and it had been fun sneaking over into Lijuan’s territory to check on the emotional pulse of it. But the posting had been distant from all his family.
If Venom, Raphael, Janvier, and Ashwini hadn’t visited Amanat during the six months since he’d left New York, Naasir might have returned to his feral roots. As it was, he’d made Janvier and Ash stay for a week longer than they’d intended, delighted to have playmates who understood the way his mind worked. “I don’t want to leave,” he said to the archangel to whom he’d given his loyalty the day Raphael had found him.
Naasir had been a tiny boy then, and at that instant, he’d been feeding in the clawed open chest cavity of the Ancient angel who’d Made him. He must’ve looked like a small blood-covered monster, but instead of killing him, Raphael had lifted his growling, ferocious body into his arms and said, “Quiet. You don’t want to eat that meat.”
Naasir hadn’t been sure what those words actually meant, since his Maker didn’t talk to him like a human, but the tone had gotten through. He’d stilled and allowed Raphael to carry him into the clouds and to his home in the angelic stronghold of the Refuge. Not once since that day had Naasir felt the urge to challenge the male who’d taken him from the ice and from the evil.
Raphael was the alpha of his family and Dmitri was the alpha’s second.
Naasir had been a cub, but he wasn’t any longer.
Coming around the desk, his wings held off the floor with the unconscious strength and discipline of a warrior, Raphael met him in the center of the room. “I know you want to stay in New York,” he said, the painful blue of his eyes continuing to hold Naasir’s gaze. “But you’re not built for this environment—you’ll start to buck at the civilized skin you have to wear in the city.”
Naasir felt his hands clench as a growl built up inside his chest. He wanted to lie, to tell Raphael that he could stay always in the city, but the lie wouldn’t come. Already, his nature was starting to rebel, to ache for open spaces where he could run and climb and explore. “My family is here,” he said instead. “I don’t want an alone task.”
“You also have family in the Refuge.”
Interest sparked in his blood. “Am I to go there?” Honor wouldn’t be there, but Jessamy would be—his relationship with her was different from the one he had with Honor, but he loved the angelic Historian and Teacher the same way he loved Honor. Venom and Galen, too, were currently based in the mountains of the Refuge.
“Your task will begin there,” Raphael said, “and while you will have to leave the Refuge and your family for a time, the task is one I think you’ll enjoy.”
Since Raphael understood him, too, Naasir waited.
“I want you to discover where it is that Alexander Sleeps.”
Naasir went motionless. The Sleeping place of an angel or archangel was a taboo thing. Even Naasir, who didn’t have much respect for rules, hadn’t broken that one. “Do you want to kill him?” If Raphael needed to kill Alexander, Naasir would help him. Because Raphael didn’t, had never, smelled like bad meat. Once, before Elena, he’d started to smell disturbingly like cold and ice, but that was gone, too.
Now he smelled of himself and of touches of Elena.
Naasir wanted to smell like his mate, he thought with an inward snarl. Why was she hiding from him?
“No, I have no desire to kill Alexander.” Raphael’s tone chilled. “Jason has been in and out of Lijuan’s territory this past month.”
Naasir hissed at the sound of Lijuan’s name. That one was bad meat through and through. As a child, he’d once thought he wanted to kill and eat her, but now he knew he wouldn’t touch her even if he was starving. He still wanted her dead, however. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”