Stupid. Her archangel had chosen her when she’d been a breakable mortal. Theirs wasn’t a love that was brittle and conditional. It was forever and it was brutal in its need. No matter their physical state.
He thrust his tongue inside her mouth, molding her breast with one hand. She moaned and gripped at his hair, rubbing her body against the sleek muscle of his. She was covered in so much of his power at this point that she could no longer tell when it sank into her. It was electricity over her skin, living electricity that tasted so deeply of Raphael that she had no compunction in laying herself bare to it.
A moment to gasp in a breath, Raphael’s voice harsh as he said, “Does it disconcert you? The lightning?”
And she realized the same stupid fear gnawed at the deadly archangel who held her. “If you’re into a mildly glowing skeleton,” she said against his kiss-wet lips, “I’m into a sexy archangel painted in lightning.”
Their next kiss was a slow and erotic thing infused with piercing love. When Raphael nudged her into the right position, she held her breath and sank down on him. Her inner flesh was slick with need and swollen with arousal, her hands braced on his chest, his holding her hips. It was a tight slide but she didn’t take it slow—she couldn’t, not the first time. Her pelvis met his, his cock held possessively inside her.
She shuddered in a relief so deep that it brought tears to her eyes.
Raphael sat up, cradling her against him as she straddled his body. They pressed their foreheads together, Elena’s fingers brushing his jaw and his hand stroking up her spine. “I love you until I can’t breathe.”
“It will only ever be you for me, Elena. I am yours.” His wings came around her, enclosing them in a cocoon of white-gold energy so brilliant that the only other thing she could see was the violent blue of his eyes.
They began to move together. Far slower and with more care than they’d ever before done, but this wasn’t about wild sex. Their need was far more visceral. When tears rolled down her face, Raphael kissed them away. And when he buried his face against the side of her neck and squeezed her painfully tight, she stroked his hair and kissed his temple and whispered that they’d make it, that nothing would tear them apart.
When the wave broke, it did so in a blaze of white-gold that caused dazzling afterimages behind her eyes. Holding on to her archangel, Elena allowed his power to burst into every cell in her body. Fear had no claim on her anymore.
Not here. Not with her archangel.
Cold Cascade power or not, no part of Raphael would ever hurt her.
Lightning cracked her skin and exploded from her pores.
17
The Legion
The Legion saw searing light pour out of every window of the Tower suite that was the aeclari’s and they saw angels all over the city land on any available surface. High on the Tower, the Blade ran inside from where he’d been standing on the balcony, and the Viper ran in with him.
In the streets, mortals looked up, and froze.
But the Legion didn’t rise, didn’t head to the Tower. Instead, the Primary stretched his mind and spoke to the Blade. Stop.
No response, but thirty seconds later, the Blade returned to his balcony. Hard, dark eyes landed on the Primary—who had flown on silent wings to crouch on the edge of that space.
“Why?” the Blade asked, a device in his hand that the Primary had learned was used for communication. Others in the world did not speak to their brethren as the Legion did. Others were not always together even while alone. It was a difficult thing for the Legion to grasp and had been since their inception.
The Primary considered his words. “Elena and Raphael are not afraid.” That which tied the Legion to the aeclari had become stronger in the aftermath of their return. The Primary could not hear their thoughts and did not know what they were doing, but he felt a visceral peace at this moment, a sense of acceptance without boundaries.
He understood joy in its purest form.
He struggled to put this knowledge into words for the Blade, who was as loyal to the aeclari as the Legion. Then he understood. “They are home.”
The Blade’s jaw worked, but he gave a curt nod and began to bark orders into the phone. “No one approaches the suite. Cordon off that level until we hear from Raphael or Elena.”
The Primary swept off the balcony and back to his perch on the building which was the Legion’s. We must make many seedlings, he said to his brethren.
The voices that returned to him were his and theirs both.
For her. For Elena.
Her growing things are gone.
We will make more.
Aeclari. We hear their song.
18
Raphael’s mind emerged from the wild storm of pleasure wrapped in incandescent love to find his hunter limp against him, her arms lazy around his neck. Always, she would hold him. Even when he harbored a power colder than winter’s icy kiss. “Elena?”
“Mmm.” A yawn against his neck. “I didn’t think you could get any better at this, studmuffin, but you’ve proved me wrong. Pretty sure my bones have melted. Also sure I don’t care.”
Cheeks creasing, Raphael ran his hand down her spine. And frowned. “Hbeebti, sit up.”
Elena kissed his throat before obeying. Her hair was tumbled around her face, her hands on his shoulders, her lips swollen from his demands as well as her own. “What’s the matter?” She lifted her arm, stared at it. “Am I imagining it or do I look more normal?”
Raphael realized he’d missed the most obvious change: she remained far thinner than her usual muscled sleekness, but was no longer of a weight that would draw concerned attention. “Your entire body has gained a layer of flesh, and the alien glow is gone from your skin.”
“Eyes?”
“No change excepting the lack of a glow.” A liquid silver with a hint of blue and a touch of gray. A blending of mortal and immortal. All good . . . but for one critical thing. “I can’t feel your tattoo.” He ran his hand over the area. “No ridges, nothing but your spine and skin.”
Going motionless, she said, “That’s extremely weird because I still feel as if you’re stroking my feathers. Sensation’s actually grown more intense than before we had crazypants sex flavored with white fire.”
“Turn so I can see your back.”
She began to untangle herself from him. “Don’t look until we can look together.”
Raphael nodded, then got out of bed and held out a hand.
Elena took care joining him, her hand locked to his. But she grinned the instant her feet hit the carpet. “I don’t think I need the crutches anymore.” Two seconds later, she proved that supposition correct: the two of them walked into the bathroom together.