He closed the distance between them to take the wineglass, his wings tight to his back. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Ensuring she didn’t touch him, she grabbed a seat at the table and began to slap together a sandwich. Montgomery would surely be horrified at the use to which she was putting the dishes on the table, but a good, hearty sandwich sounded perfect at that moment. She made one for Raphael, too, just to see the look on his face.
After almost a minute of silence, Aodhan moved to take the chair across from hers, his wings draping gracefully over the back designed for angels. He didn’t eat but drank the wine, and when she looked up, she found those strange, beautiful eyes on her.
“You’re an artist,” she said, wondering what he saw. “Did you notice my vase in the front hall?”
A spark of interest. “Yes.”
Swallowing the bite she’d taken, Elena said, “You can’t have it,” with a straight face. “Montgomery would only steal it back.”
Aodhan tilted his head a few degrees to the side, as if he was trying to understand her. But he didn’t say anything, and she decided not to tease him anymore. He wasn’t Illium, who’d fire back something wicked. Aodhan needed more careful handling—which wasn’t to say he wasn’t as lethal. She’d seen him fight, knew he could be as dangerous as the two blades he wore in parallel sheaths on his back—there was a reason he was part of Raphael’s Seven. But he was broken, too, on the deepest of levels.
A rustle of wings at her back, the scent of the sea lapping against her senses. “Hello, Archangel.” That was a quick shower.
There was no temptation to linger. A firm touch along the upper curve of her wing, making her entire body tingle. In front of her, Aodhan rose to his feet.
“Sire.”
“What do you have for me, Aodhan?” Nodding at the other angel to sit, Raphael took his own place. Lips kicking up at the corners when he saw what she’d put on his plate, he said, “I do not think this is what Montgomery had in mind for the bread rolls.” But he took a bite.
“It’s made with love,” she quipped, saw Aodhan’s eyes flicker with . . . surprise?
His voice, however, betrayed nothing. “As you know, the entire world has been wracked by rain and wind and snow. The Far East suffered considerable damage from floods, typhoons, and quakes. Japan, too, was hit ... except for one region that has remained untouched by even a quake that shook the rest of the island.”
Hairs rising on her nape, Elena put down her empty coffee cup as Raphael abandoned his meal and stood. “No disturbances at all?” he said, moving to stand by the unlit fireplace.
“None.” Aodhan rose, too, those wings of light and shattered glass unfolding a little, as if he’d grown comfortable enough to trust that they wouldn’t make any attempts to touch him.
“Where?”
“A specific area within a mountainous prefecture called Kagoshima.”
Getting up herself, Elena moved to lean against one of the bookshelves, so she could more easily talk to both men, though her next words were directed at Raphael. “You’re planning to head there.”
“I must.” Face expressionless, he glanced toward the storm-dark window. “Now that we may have narrowed the search to such a specific locale, I may be able to sense her place of Sleep.”
Elena made her next question private. What will you do when you find her?
What I must.
Her chest grew tight at the ice in those words—because she knew what lay beneath. She’d felt the power of his heart, knew how much he’d bleed if it turned out Caliane was still mad. “I’ll come with you.”
Midnight blue pierced her. “You have responsibilities here.”
“Your people are watching over my family, and as for any possible repeat of Boston—better to go to the source of the problem and sort it out.” She couldn’t take the task from him, didn’t have the power to kill an archangel, but she could, would, stand by him.
“She is worse than Uram, Elena.”
Her gut went taut, her heart seizing into a hard, fast rhythm. The bloodborn archangel, his body riddled with poison, had killed hundreds, would’ve slaughtered thousands more if they hadn’t halted his rampage. “We stopped him,” she said, speaking to herself as well as to him, “and we’re stronger than we were then.”
Perhaps. He turned to Aodhan before she could question him on that ambivalent assessment. “Speak to Dmitri. Organize the transport. We’ll fly out with the first break in the storm.”
Waiting only until Aodhan had left the library, Elena closed the distance between them. “Raphael,” she said, stomach twisted into painful knots, “your strength ... are you still more susceptible to injury, less quick to recover?”
“Yes.”
Guilt clamped steel claws around her. It was her. Somehow, she’d done this to him. “How bad is it?”
“My ability to heal others continues to grow, Guild Hunter. It is not a bad trade.”
Not in the Cadre. Not if he was going to survive. “Tell me.”
A small curve to his lips, an immortal’s dangerous amusement. “It matters little, Elena. Even were I at the peak of my strength, my mother would be a lethal adversary. She may well be a hundred times more powerful than Lijuan.”
Frigid cold in her veins. “I—”
“Stay here, Elena. This is no hunt for an immortal barely-Made.”
She knew that. But she also knew something else. “Logic doesn’t have anything to do with this, Archangel. To ask me to sit in safety while you walk into a nightmare. No.” A shake of her head. “I can’t do it. It’s not the way I’m built.”