He found young Izak seated on the snowy ground with a number of his squadron. The angel was fast asleep with his head against a tree, his wings folded around his body like a blanket. A tumble of yellow curls fell across his forehead, making him look like a lost child, but Izak was not a boy. Not any longer.
Even in his rest, he had his sword by his side. Blood, dried an iron red, coated the soles of his boots and was sprayed across his feathers. Those feathers were a rich cream for the most part, except for the lower third of each wing—there, his coloring was cream speckled with dark blue, akin to the egg of some small bird.
Today, flecks of rust red joined the blue and cream.
“I want to find a blanket and snuggle it over him.” Elena’s whisper was followed by the brush of her wing against his, her stormfire arcing through his own feathers in an electric caress. “I know I need to treat him as a warrior, but he’ll always be Izzy to me.”
The entire world stilled. Snow began to fall, soft and delicate.
Raphael turned, cupped her cheek, and did what he’d been aching to do for the entire past day.
Dipping his head, he kissed her. He had never loved before her and he would never love after her—there was no after Elena for him. My love for you is the deepest truth of my existence. Spring and summer, fall and winter, I would spend all the seasons of my life with you.
Raphael. Her hand flat against his heart, his hunter kissed him back with a love that was fierce and defiant and forever. When our winter comes, I’ll go to sleep in your arms with a smile.
A glow surrounded them as they kissed in the falling snow, his golden lightning dancing over her skin and her stormfire possessive over his wings.
“Hello, Archangel.” Spoken against his lips.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the snow-cool skin of her cheek. “Hello, Hunter-mine.”
Around them, their people smiled and carried on in their tasks.
“Just so we are clear, hbeebti, I am not over the fact that you flew directly into an archangelic battle.”
A grin broke out across her face. “But I did it with a grenade launcher,” she said proudly. “Admit it, that was some major badassery on my part.” Her eyes flicked past his shoulder. “Speaking of which, damn but Imani is good with the war hammer. She’s got no manners at all when she goes to whack off an enemy fighter’s head.”
Raphael felt his lips twitch. “The rules of war are different from the rules of the household or polite society. If you recall, her etiquette guide had a full chapter on such ‘acceptable deviations from the norm.’”
“I was probably going la-la-la and trying to drown out your voice then,” she admitted, unrepentant. “After this war is over, you can read it to me again.”
Falling into step with one another, they carried on speaking to their people—including an Imani who had her curly hair tightly braided to her skull and was clad in armor of weathered black that featured layered arm plates as well as neck protection. “The young and foolish”—a pointed look at Raphael—“can expose their arms.” Lush lips pursed in a tawny-skinned face of arresting beauty. “I prefer to keep my limbs.”
Is Imani scared of anyone?
How did you describe her to me once? Ah yes. A grande dame who has no time for anyone’s bullshit. That is Imani. Raphael wanted to smile. I have always liked her for that.
I should’ve guessed. A laughing glance. You do have a thing for a certain kind of woman.
It is a weakness. Raphael sometimes thought he must’ve fallen for Elena the first time she stood toe to toe with him, though she’d been a mere mortal and he an archangel.
Later, after they’d moved on from Imani, she said, “Why don’t most of you wear arm and neck protection?”
“Such armor has little impact on one who fights with a heavy weapon such as a war hammer, but the added weight and stiffness causes a minor reduction in speed for those who use a lighter weapon.” And in a battle among immortals even that miniscule reduction could mean life or death.
“Got it,” Elena said at once. “Either you all wear it or none of you do.”
They reached a gathered squadron a moment later, and their attention shifted.
When they finally took off from Central Park, it was to heavy darkness. Flames flickered against the night sky, as both his people and Lijuan’s lit them for light, for heat. Elijah’s pulling energy from the city’s grid had blown out critical circuits in many areas. The Tower itself had large generators, but they’d decided to prioritize use by the infirmary and by the Tower’s technical team.
Raphael’s side also had flashlights and high-power lanterns at the ready, batteries stored all over the place. They would show none of that right now, however. Let the enemy believe that Raphael’s army was blind in the dark, too. All the while, Naasir and his team crept about in enemy territory, their task to cause as much destruction as possible.
It was time they took the war to the enemy’s door.
65
The explosions came at three o’clock in the morning.
Warned by Naasir, Raphael was high in the sky near the main front, while Elijah had taken the other half of the city. Their troops were hunkered down and ready to move using the cloudy and moonless night as a shield. Ten senior squadrons had made their way to rooftops close to enemy territory.
Others watched to ensure Lijuan’s people weren’t doing the same.
Elena had joined one of the archer and shooter teams. She’d given him all the wildfire she’d regenerated, but it had little to work with in him—the constant battles against Lijuan’s proxies had taken a toll, his body struggling to produce wildfire at a fast enough speed to keep up with his expenditure.
So be it.
He remained an archangel, one more skilled in strategy and tactics than Lijuan. Lost in her delusions of godhood, she could be pushed into unwise decisions. If she rose today, it wouldn’t be at full strength—he’d husband his and Elena’s combined wildfire, use it in a strike that turned Lijuan into a mindless creature of screaming pain.
Regardless of the threat posed by Lijuan, they couldn’t not launch the assault today—they had to find a way to cripple her army or his and Elijah’s troops wouldn’t have a fighting chance of survival. Another major battle and their people would be massacred, the streets awash with their blood.
A fireball punched the night sky as the windows of the first building blew out with a massive smash of sound. Many of Lijuan’s troops had bedded down in that building. They died in a hail of heat and crumbling foundations. Another building blew at the same moment, then a third.
Raphael scraped the sky with angelfire in the aftermath, cutting down the disoriented mass of fighters attempting to escape the shrapnel from the buildings.