Dmitri snorted. "Her precious Bluebell's going to fall in love with her, and then you'll have to kill him."
"What better guard for Elena than one who loves her?" As long as that guard never forgot it was an archangel's mate he watched over. Betrayal would not be tolerated.
"When's Michaela scheduled to arrive?"
"Within the hour. She's extended an invitation to dinner."
"Accept it." It was always better to know your enemy.
Elena woke from a mercifully dreamless sleep to the knowledge that she wasn't alone.
And it wasn't the clean scent of rain, of the wind, that filled her senses. Her shields, however, remained down. Shifting on the bed, she glanced through the open balcony doors to see Illium's distinctive blue wings spread out as he sat nonchalantly on the railing, his legs hanging over the steep plunge of the gorge.
Silhouetted against the starlit sky, he appeared a being out of myth and legend. But as she'd seen this afternoon, if this place was a fairy tale, it was the dark and blood- soaked original. "You'll fall off if you're not careful."
He turned to glance at her. "Come sit with me."
"No thanks. I just finished healing all my broken bones." She'd shattered so many when she'd fallen in New York. But strange as it was, there'd been no pain in those final moments. All she remembered was a sense of peace.
And then Raphael had kissed her.
Golden and exquisite, erotic beyond compare, the taste of ambrosia had filled her mouth as Raphael's arms held her safe, as her archangel seized her from death itself.
"The look on your face," Illium murmured. "I once had a woman look at me that way."
Elena knew Illium had lost his feathers, lost his ability to fly, for speaking angelic secrets to a mortal . . . a mortal he'd loved. "Did you look at her that way, too?"
Those eyes of beaten gold were compelling even with the distance between them. "Only she'd know. And she went to earth long before the world grew cities of steel and glass."
He returned his attention to the vista before him.
Sitting up in bed, she stared at the curving beauty of his wings, shimmering silver blue in the dark, and wondered if Illium still mourned for his human lover. But that was a question she had no right to ask. "The vampire?"
"His name is Noel. He hasn't regained consciousness." His voice was a na**d edge.
"He's one of ours."
And she knew they wouldn't stop until they tracked down the assailant. The hunter in her approved. "What about this angel's attempt to become Cadre?" The world didn't need another archangel with a penchant for the most malicious kind of pleasure.
"Secondary." A flat statement. "It'll be taken care of when we execute him for the insult to Noel, to Raphael."
Elena understood about cutting off evil at the root, but she wasn't used to the swift justice of immortals. "I'm guessing angels don't have a judge and jury system."
A snort. "You saw Uram - would you have wanted him to have a day in court?"
No. Mind turbulent with the memories of Uram's atrocities, she said, "Tell me about Erotique."
Illium raised an eyebrow at her mention of the exclusive Manhattan club patronized by vampires. "Thinking about a career change?"
"Geraldine worked as a dancer there." Elena would never forget the plea in the other woman's eyes as she lay dying after Uram slit her throat. "She wanted so badly to be Made."
"I don't know that she would've enjoyed immortality." Swinging his legs off the railing and down onto the balcony, Illium walked over to lean his shoulder against the doorway.
"Geraldine struck me as a natural victim."
Elena remembered that pale, pale skin overlaced with the scent of vampire. The world would have called her a vamp-whore, and once, Elena would have agreed with them -
that was before she'd stood in a room full of vampires and their lovers, before she'd understood that while seduction could be a drug, it could also be the most adult of exchanges, a game in which the victor would spend the night seeing to the loser's pleasure.
But Geraldine hadn't been like the men and women Elena had seen in the Tower, full of an easy sensual confidence. Illium was right. She'd been a victim. "And she'd have been that for eternity."
"Yes." Wings a delicate arc over his back, Illium met her gaze. "Trust me on this, Ellie.
It's not a good thing to be."
"Why do you sound as if you know?" she asked, aware she'd never forget the mute desperation of Geraldine's dying plea. "You're no victim."
"I Made a human once," he murmured, his lashes shading the expression in his eyes. "He was biologically compatible, and he passed all the personality tests. But he had no . . .
core, no sense of self. I only discovered that later, when it was too late. He'd tied himself to another angel by then, one who enjoyed having a victim."
"He's dead?"
"Of course. Victims never last long."
It was a stark glimpse into one of the darker sides of immortality. "The longer you live, the more mistakes you make."
"And the more sorrows you carry."
Perhaps she should have been startled by the solemn comment, but Illium, she was beginning to learn, was an angel who rarely showed his true face to the world. Much like the man he called sire. "Do you remember everything?"
"Yes."
A gift. A curse.
Bruisingly aware that memories could make you bleed as effectively as any razor, she took a step back from the past. It would return to haunt them both soon enough. "Are your eyelashes like your hair?"
He followed her lead without skipping a beat. "Yes. They're very beautiful - want to see?"
Her lips twitched. "Vanity is a sin, Bluebell."
"When you have it, flaunt it, I say." Grinning, he wandered over to perch on the side of the bed. "Look."
Curious, she did. He'd told the absolute truth - his eyelashes were inky and black tipped with the same bright blue as his hair, a startling contrast against the gold of his eyes.
"They're okay," she said offhandedly.
He scowled. "And here I was about to offer to brush your hair."
"I'll brush my own hair, thank you." Pushing at his shoulder, she nudged him off the bed. "Grab me the brush."
He threw it to her before returning to the balcony. "Why haven't you asked why I'm here?"
"I'm not at full strength, Raphael is overprotective, it's not difficult to do the math." Her frustration at her current physical state did nothing to negate the cold, hard truth - her headwould make a mighty fine trophy for more than one immortal. Especially the most beautiful and most vicious one of them all.