Raphael had no time for the games of the former Queen of Constantinople. “Michaela, I’m already scheduled for extra shifts as a result of my absence and I had a good excuse. I do not think my mother will look kindly on your shirking of this duty.”
Michaela lifted a hand to rub her face, the lush tumble of her hair a mass of dark brown and bronze with traces of other colors. “I convinced Charisemnon by hinting I’d allow him to put his hands on my body. I convinced Titus by feigning illness—he is so soft about such things.”
Hbeebti, I can feel the laser burn of your glare.
She doesn’t sign off soon, I’m telling her to get her ass lost. Screw archangelic etiquette—you need to rest and she needs to do her job.
“For you, however,” Michaela murmured, “it must be the truth.” A faded smile that actually managed to look truly tired, but Raphael didn’t soften; Michaela was a master manipulator with a hundred faces.
“I know you will not believe a word I say,” she added, “not after the last time, so I will simply show you. And trust you not to use it against me.” Michaela rose from her chair . . . and the gauzy sides of her gown split over the tautly rounded curve of her abdomen.
32
Oh. My. God.
Elena’s mental imprecation echoed Raphael’s own shock. There was no way the Archangel of Budapest could be faking that. Not when the rest of her body also evidenced signs of advanced pregnancy now that he knew to look for them. The sharpness in her face, the shimmer in her skin, her slower rate of respiration and the way her hair appeared thicker, even more luxuriant.
All were common in angelic pregnancies.
Cupping the mound with both hands, Michaela looked down, her expression vulnerable in its softness. “Now you see why I can’t do my scheduled shift.”
“You appear close to full term.” Raphael forced himself to stay calm—as if an archangel being pregnant wasn’t an extraordinary moment in time. The last time this had happened, it had been his mother.
“Less than a month remains.” Michaela took her seat again, her movements unwieldy in a way he’d never before witnessed in the stunning, capricious woman who’d brought emperors to their knees and led another archangel into blood-fueled carnage.
“Why are you not at the Refuge?” Angels didn’t give birth outside of the Medica; Amanat was the sole exception to that rule.
“I trust very few with such a precious gift.” Michaela’s face hardened. “Keir has been aware since I first knew, and he will attend me. Even now, he prepares to come to Budapest. The only others currently in my stronghold are those who would allow me to cut their throats should I ask—they will defend me and my babe to the last.”
“Is the babe’s father among them?”
A flick of a hand that was very Michaela. “The father is of no consequence. This is my child, an archangel’s child.” She placed her hand below the screen and he guessed she was cradling her belly again. “I know you will not betray me in this—you are too human now. I never thought I would consider that a gift.” She exhaled with slow care. “Your mother has borne a child. I trust her to honor my truth.”
“Why didn’t you speak to Caliane directly?” A pregnant archangel was the weakest she would ever be—should Raphael want to kill Michaela, he would never have a better opportunity. “Why expose your weakness to me?”
“Lady Caliane intimidates me. You, on the other hand, are my compatriot.” Her smile was lush, deep, reached her eyes—and would’ve dazzled had he not been immune to her methods of getting what she wanted. “Even if you have refused to be my lover.”
I see pregnancy hasn’t altered her winning personality.
Resist the temptation to throw that blade at the screen, warrior mine. It would be awkward to explain to Mother. “The child is safe?” he asked Michaela.
Her practiced mask crumpled, her throat moving. “Keir has sensed nothing amiss. No remnants of Uram. The child in my womb is healthy in every way and he is mine.”
“A boy child?”
“I couldn’t wait. I asked Keir to ascertain it for me.” Her smile was a dawning light, real in a way that couldn’t be counterfeited.
Wow. Elena’s voice held wonder. That kind of beauty . . . She could own the world if she stopped trying to manipulate everyone.
“I am to be a mother again, Raphael.” A whisper. “At long last, my pain will end. He is my redemption.”
“I will talk to Caliane. I can promise nothing—she will make her own decision.”
“So,” Elena murmured after Michaela ended the call.
“She’s manipulating us.”
“Of course she is—that’s status quo for Michaela.” Elena played a knife through her fingers. “But she is also super pregnant.”
“If Keir has confirmed all is well, then we do not have to fear this will be anything but a child.”
His consort shuddered at the reminder of Michaela’s last “birth.” “No argument that she loves her kid already, but all that ‘my redemption’ stuff rubs me up the wrong way.” She made a face. “Maybe it’s because I don’t like her—and jeez, now I feel like shit.”
“No, Elena. I feel the same.” Walking to their balcony with her by his side, he leaned on the railing and looked out over the night-blooming flowers of Amanat. “She is making this about her and not the child.”
“I guess it’s understandable since she once lost a child.”
His hunter’s soft heart was there in every word. And it was hers now. His own had never been that empathic; what compassion he had, what humanity, it came from her.
“Kid’s probably going to be overprotected all to hell,” Elena said, “but I don’t think Michaela would hurt her baby.”
“To my knowledge, Michaela has never caused harm to a child.” Raphael watched a firefly flicker in the lamplit dark. “She is not the threat that concerns me.”
Sliding away her weapon, Elena leaned against the railing next to him, her body brushing his. It was instinct to spread his wing to cover her. She ran her fingers over the sensitive inner surface. “You’re worried about Uram?”
“I’m certain we destroyed his lingering phantom.” The dead archangel had somehow managed to leave behind a “ghost,” an energy echo that had sought to possess Michaela. “I’m more worried about whether she sustained any permanent damage as a result.” He shook his head. “It’s a foolish worry—archangels aren’t so easy to scar.”