"If the trap had been successful, it would've taken two more archangels out of the equation."
Weakening the Cadre, leaving room for a power play that would turn a sociopath into an archangel. "I need to check the grounds," she said, forcing herself to think past the abhorrent nature of this act, to ignore the gut-wrenching sight of Sam's blood on her hands, her clothes. "There's a chance the vampire left here on foot."
Illium pulled out his sword. "Go."
Michaela's vampires smelled like many things - cloves and eucalyptus, burgundy and agar, with base notes as far apart as sandalwood and the darkest cherry-flavored kiss. But there wasn't even a hint of citrus, of oranges dipped in chocolate. "Nothing," she said more than thirty minutes later, having checked in an almost hundred foot radius around the house, vividly conscious of their silent audience.
A few vamps had moved out into the open, their eyes gleaming as they trailed her. One had even smiled. It made her beyond glad that she was armed to the teeth.
"Do you want to do a sweep from the air?"
"Yeah." But she wasn't hopeful, not given how much time had passed.
Illium flew her over the estate several times, but she had to shake her head in the end.
"No." They didn't speak again until he brought them to an easy landing in front of a low white building that blended harmoniously into the fine coating of snow. "Hospital?"
A small nod. "This is the Medica."
She strode inside . . . and almost stepped off a ledge and into thin air. Illium caught her as she backpedaled. "Damn it," she muttered, her heart racing. "I will remember this!"
"It'll become second nature after a while."
Rubbing her face, she looked down. Wings filled her vision, a hundred different shades, a thousand unique patterns. And still she couldn't see to the bottom of the cavernous space - which meant the building was more than three-quarters underground. "Is this the waiting room?"
"They're here because of Sam," Illium said, sliding his arms - muscular, familiar now -
around her in a caress of warmth. "Come, I'll take you to him."
That won't be necessary.Elena found herself being plucked off the ledge by an archangel, her palms pressed against his chest as he took them down through the cascade of wings and to the wide open space at the very bottom. "Were you able to track the vampire any further from Michaela's?"
"No. Looks like his angelic accomplice brought him in, took him out." She kept her mind on the mechanics, not sure she could handle thinking about the assault on Sam. The poor baby had to have been so afraid. "The question is - how did they get into the house in the first place? Her security is impressive."
"But are her men loyal?" Words potent with the coldest of rages as they entered an area of pristine quiet.Riker might be her creature, but she hasn't yet broken them all. "Come, you must meet Keir."
She went to reply, but the words stuck in her throat. "Sam." The glass enclosure in front of her was drenched in soft white light. Sam's fragile body lay unconscious on a large bed in the middle, his wings attached to some kind of thin metal frame that spread them out on the sheets. His mother sat beside him, leaning into the embrace of a shaggy-haired male angel with solid shoulders. Sam was badly injured, but he looked better than when she'd first taken him into her arms. "Am I imagining it?"
"No." The taste of the wind, of the sea, clean and fresh, an unspoken assurance. "He recovered a little of his spirit during the flight to the Medica."
Slipping her hand into his, she squeezed it in silent relief just as an angel rounded the corner from the opposite end. The male was maybe five feet six and as slender as an eighteen-year-old boy, his uptilted eyes a warm brown, his black hair framing a dusky face that was pretty in an almost feminine way, his jaw pointed, his mouth lush. What saved him was the confidence with which he carried himself, the sense of male-ness that was justthere .
"I feel as if I know you," Elena murmured, staring at that face that defied categorization.
He could've been born in Egypt, in Indonesia, in a hundred different places.
Raphael's hand released hers to curve around her neck. "Keir watched over you as you slept."
"And sometimes" - a smile on that perfect mouth - "I sang to you, though Illium begged me to stop."
Light words, but that smile . . . old, soold . Elena's bones sighed with the knowledge that notwithstanding the fact that he looked like a teenage boy on the cusp of adulthood, Keir had seen more dawns than she could imagine.
"Are you keeping Sam asleep?" Elena asked.
"Yes. He's too young to remember not to move his wings, so we won't bring him back to full consciousness until the bones have knit back together."
Raphael's fingers tightened on her skin. "Are any of his injuries likely to cause long-term harm?"
Elena stared through the glass in dismay. "Angels can be hurt that way?"
"When we are very young," Keir said, "yes. Some injuries take centuries to heal fully."
Brown eyes lingered on Raphael's face. "It takes a ruthless kind of will to survive that much pain, but Sam won't need it. He has no hurts that won't heal within the next month."
Elena pressed her palm to the glass. "I can't understand the malice that could lead someone to do this."
Fingers brushing the pulse in her neck, her archangel's rage so fiercely contained, she wondered what it cost him. "You've seen innocents drown in blood, and yet you ask?"
"Bill," she said, naming the hunter who'd butchered a string of young boys before Elena had ended his life, "did what he did because of a mental illness that eroded the soul of the man he was. But this was a calculated act." The brand on Sam's cheek, the ugliest of abuses, had been covered by a bandage. "Will that fade before he wakes?"