Nonetheless, Elena had seen enough to confirm their theory about intelligence and planning. The assailant had been dressed in a long coat, boots, and a brimmed hat, with a scarf wrapped around their face. From this distance, she could see no details of their features, but even their run was measured and purposeful rather than panicked. A person who moved as if they had a right to be there. A visitor in a rush.
Nothing to cause alarm.
“Can you copy the footage to me?” Elena caught Al’s gaze. “I’d also recommend you not try to do anything yourself. This individual is dangerous.”
“Oh no, don’t worry, dear,” he said while his wife gasped, “I leave the heroics to young people like you.” He took down her details. “I’ll put the files into the cloud and send you the access link.”
“Thank you.”
“You take care in the snow, honey!” Anita called after her. “And if you decide you want pie after all, come on back!”
Smile curving her lips, Elena continued to do the rounds, but no one else had anything to offer. Her back and shoulder muscles ached badly by the time she called things to a halt—all from just making sure her wings didn’t drag on the ground. The task hadn’t been this wearing since the weeks after she woke up with wings and was learning how to fly, her body unused to the exertion. Good wing posture had become second nature in the years since.
Her left wing threatened to drop again.
She was standing by Beth’s house fighting the urge to lie down flat to ease the strain on her back when the throaty purr of a motorcycle engine sounded down the street. She glanced over . . . and grinned.
“Why are you prowling these streets?” she said to the black-leather-garbed rider who stopped in front of her. “Sara said you were around earlier, too.”
Ransom pushed up the visor of his helmet to reveal gorgeous green eyes that had seduced more than one woman. “Coupla kids tagged a pic of you walking around the neighborhood. Showed up on my feed.”
When she raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “Nyree wants to move around here in preparation for when we start trying for a mini-me. I’m doing reconnaissance.”
Elena knew him well enough not to fall for his put-upon scowl. The hunter who’d avoided entanglements like the plague was delightfully entangled with a woman who took no bullshit and who loved Ransom with ferocious honesty.
Elena grinned. “How about a ride?”
“Any time.” He patted the back of the motorcycle he’d only recently bought, after his previous one fell down a cliff during a fight with a young vampire in bloodlust. He’d loved that bike, but he hadn’t sulked at the loss—he’d said it was worth it to stop a vampire who’d already murdered three innocents.
The vampire’s angel had paid for the new bike—and requested Ransom for all future hunts. Elena wondered how her friend would handle things when he did have children. Most people transitioned to teaching at the Academy or low-risk hunts for stupid vamps, but Ransom wasn’t the kind. Hunter-born rarely were.
“Hold still.” She straddled the bike behind him but didn’t sit—no way to do that safely with wings. Instead, she got her feet settled on the foot stands and put her hands on his shoulders. “Ready.” She lifted her face to the wind as they roared off and, yes, it was just as much fun as she remembered. Especially when they stopped at traffic lights and a bored driver glanced over . . . to do a serious double take.
Elena waved at him. He waved back, his eyes like small moons in his face.
“You should take a photo or no one will believe you!” she yelled over.
Scrambling for his phone, he managed a shot before the light changed and they roared off. She could feel Ransom’s shoulders shaking as he laughed. Whooping, she enjoyed the ride with a friend she’d known since she was sixteen. It was only as Ransom brought the bike to a stop by the Tower that she remembered the cuts on her arm.
Yeah, she probably shouldn’t be acting the hooligan on a motorcycle without a helmet. “Thanks.” Getting off, she exchanged high fives with Ransom before he roared off to pick up Nyree from a book club meeting.
Elena went directly to her and Raphael’s Tower suite to eat two loaded sandwiches and drink more of Nisia’s mix. After which she found the healer to ask about immortal ringworms.
Though Nisia was seated while Elena was standing, she managed to look down her nose at Elena. “You don’t have worms.”
“Did you check?” Immortals had a way of assuming certain things, and what if she did have a very normal mortal problem? “I’m not fully immortal. They could survive in my gut.”
“Ringworm isn’t caused by worms. It’s a fungus. Which you also don’t have. Your skin didn’t fluoresce under black light when I ran it over you as part of my tests.”
Elena stared at her. “You keep up with modern medicine?”
“No, I prefer to treat my patients with bucketloads of leeches.” A stern pursing of the lips. “Now go away so I can continue to study the results of your various tests. Though . . .”
That sounded ominous. “Though what?”
“I didn’t check for a parasite of another kind.”
19
Elena’s heart raced as Nisia walked over and put her hands on Elena’s abdomen. “Not a flicker of power,” she announced, “and considering the other genetic donor, it’d be a conflagration.”
“What?” Elena demanded again.
Raising an eyebrow, Nisia said, “If you were pregnant.”
“Christ, Nisia, you can’t just say things like that!”
Back at her chair now, Nisia waved off Elena’s shock. “You’re not with child, so stop panicking.”
“I’m not panicking,” she squeaked out; she was so not ready for a baby.
“Yes, of course not.” Dry words. “You’re far too young anyway. But with the Cascade”—Nisia shrugged—“I thought better to check.”
“Right.” Elena’s head spun madly at even the idea of it. “Wait a minute. Did you call the possible baby a parasite?”
“The basic definition of a parasite is an organism that lives on or inside a host and feeds off that host. Therefore all fetuses are technically parasites. A fetus with DNA from an archangel will be a super-parasite,” she added cheerfully. “It’ll suck you dry of energy, so you’d better be really old and strong before you start thinking about the flitter-flutter of tiny wings.”
Elena slitted her eyes and pointed. “You’re having fun making my future offspring”—and jeez, she was never going to be ready for those—“sound like energy-draining horrors.”
Nisia smiled beatifically. “Strange how that happens when you question a four-thousand-year-old healer about immortal worms.”
“It was just a question!” Elena protested but decided to haul ass before Nisia got in the mood to put more nightmare images in her head. “Parasites,” she muttered under her breath. “No wonder she’s not in angelic obstetrics.” Keir was the expert in that, and she bet he didn’t take pleasure in terrifying poor hunters who had perfectly legitimate questions about ringworms.