That she didn’t question him after that, simply changed trajectory so that she flew into his arms ... it broke him. Then it reformed him anew. “Elena,” he whispered into her hair as he crushed her to him.
She wrapped her arms around him, his fragile consort with her incredible will and her refusal to surrender. “Tell me,” she whispered.
And he, an archangel used to keeping a thousand secrets, told her.
10
Evening shadows lay heavy on the horizon when Elena walked out across the lawn behind Raphael’s—their—home, heading for the edge of the cliff beyond the trees. After leaving the Tower earlier that afternoon, the intimacy of those moments on the balcony a tight warmth in her chest, she’d called a delighted Sam using the Web link in the library.
“Ellie!” His grin had stretched from ear to ear. “You didn’t forget me!”
“Of course not.” Laughing as he bounced in his seat, those wings that looked too big for his body rising and falling in excitement as loose black curls tumbled over his forehead, she’d asked him how his day had gone.
“Father took me flying again!”
Since Sam had been forbidden from using his wings for another month, his father had begun to carry him up into the sky in his arms, his love for Sam a fierce thing no one could miss, in spite of the fact that he was a man of few words. “Was it fun?”
An enthusiastic nod. “He can go so fast.”
Their conversation had lasted half an hour, with Elena exchanging a few words with Sam’s mother as well. The tiny angel with hair of the same lustrous blue black and wings of dusty brown streaked with white, still touched her baby with protective care, but she smiled just as often—and for the first time, Elena truly believed that the small family would be okay.
She’d spent the remaining time doing flying drills, all of them geared to build up her muscles, with an oddly subdued Illium. Having discussed it with Keir, Raphael had told her that she wouldn’t be able to achieve a true vertical takeoff without wing strength of a kind she simply did not have. It was a physical impossibility.
“Your immortality,” he’d murmured as they stood on the balcony, “has not yet grown deep enough into your cells. But,” he’d added, “given your hunter strength, you may well be able to learn to do a bastardized version that relies not on the power of your wings, but on sheer muscle.”
It’d be a much harder road and each takeoff would hurt like a bitch even after she mastered it, but Elena wasn’t about to be a sitting duck, not if she could do something about it. Maybe she was an immortal new-Made, she thought now, trying to see through the straggling clouds, but she would not be easy prey.
There.
The magnificent breadth of Raphael’s wings came into view as he descended to join her on the clifftop, the tips flaming as they caught the last vestiges of a sun that had finally made an appearance late that afternoon. “You go to visit the Guild Director and her family?”
Pushing off strands of hair that had escaped her braid, she said, “Come with me.”
A slow blink. “They are your closest friends, Elena. They wish to have you to themselves for this night.”
“I’m becoming part of your world—come become part of mine.” She saw the surprise on his face, saw, too, that he’d very much not expected the invitation.
His body was a hard wall of muscle against her as he pulled her close, until her br**sts pressed against his chest. “What will Sara and Deacon say to that?”
She ran her hands down the wings he spread for her, indulging in the ability to touch him as she pleased. “Not scared of a couple of hunters are you, Archangel?”
A flare of absolute blue as his lashes lifted. They may choose to sever their friendship with you rather than welcome me into their home. You cannot forget the actions I took in the Quiet.
“No.” But she also knew something else beyond any shadow of a doubt. “You have your Seven. I have my friends—they’d cut off their right arms before they’d shove me out into the cold.”
Such loyalty, Raphael thought. He wouldn’t have believed mortals capable of it except that he had known Dmitri when he was human ... and he had known Elena. “The invitation is very welcome,” he said. “I will accept it another day. Tonight, I must remain here.”
Pale gray eyes sparked with intelligence. “What’s happening?”
“I have a meeting with Aodhan.”
“Here? In New York?”
“I, too, am surprised.” Aodhan preferred the seclusion of the Refuge. “We meet at the Tower.”
Tucking back another flyaway strand of hair, his consort looked him full in the face. “I want to talk to you about something else, too.”
“What would you have of me, Guild Hunter?”
“I don’t need a bodyguard anymore—Illium’s trick today with the helicopter seems to have gotten the message across to the media hounds.”
You are my heart, Elena. He would not allow anything to happen to her.
She took a step back. “No chains, Raphael.”
He closed his hand around her nape, refusing to permit her to distance herself. “I have allowed you much freedom, but on this I will not budge.”
Temper sparked off her. “It’s not up to you to allow me anything. I’m your consort. Treat me as one!”
Yet she was so very mortal still—even the Angel-born remained vulnerable for over a hundred years, and Elena had started out mortal. Immortality had barely kissed her blood, had had no real chance to intertwine with her cells. You will not win this argument, Hunter.