It was Hannah who held the capacity to surprise the heck out of everyone: Elijah’s consort was nowhere near as flawlessly ladylike as even Elena had once believed. If she’d really thought about it, she’d have realized the truth long before she and Hannah became friends. No artist ever walked in a straight line. And no warrior as powerful and as intelligent as Elijah would so deeply adore a woman who was a graceful ornament.
“Regardless of the fact you are mine,” Raphael said, folding back his wing, “it is too much of a coincidence that Ibrahim was beaten so badly within hours of interacting with you in a way that, to a jealous eye, would’ve been unacceptable.”
“If you’re right, then they must hate you.” Her knife was in her hand between one breath and the next, the hilt a familiar hardness. “Whoever it is must want to annihilate you.” She bared her teeth. “Good thing you’re an archangel.”
Raphael’s responding smile was as lethal. “Yes. As I do not believe this is one of the Cadre, I am in no real danger.”
Glad her lover was such a tough and dangerous opponent, Elena put both hands on her hips. “I agree—I don’t think anyone in the Cadre is carrying a secret torch for me,” she said dryly. “Which leaves one of the guards or escorts or the Luminata. I know who I’d bet on.”
A sudden thought had her focusing on Laric. “Did you ever see a woman here who looked like me? It would’ve been decades ago. She had hair like mine, skin a little darker.”
Instead of moving his hands to answer in the silent tongue, he took the notepad and wrote out his answer. No. But I have heard rumors of a woman with moonlight hair who threatened Gian’s luminescence with her seduction.
Elena hissed out a breath. “Everything I’ve learned so far says this woman loved her husband, was true to him. She wasn’t having an affair with anyone, much less Gian.”
Elena.
She met Raphael’s eyes, forced herself to breathe. She loved her husband, Raphael. Like he was her stars and her moon. And she loved her child enough to run to protect her.
People make mistakes. He held her gaze. I’m not saying she betrayed her mate, but she was involved with Gian in some way. We must not dismiss the possibility out of hand. Aloud, he said, “Everything points to Gian.”
Elena nodded. “There’s a chance it’s a loyal flunky, but my money is on Gian.” Those eyes that watched her, the lies he’d told, the G in the book of bad love poetry Hannah had found. “Can we move on him?”
“I can kill him now,” Raphael said flatly, his eyes metallic in their coldness.
“And it’d cause all kinds of political issues.” Elena put her hand on his forearm. “No, we get evidence no one can dispute, then we confront Gian.” You don’t need more problems with war hanging on the horizon.
Laric was writing again, held out the notepad a moment later.
“Well fuck,” Elena muttered, turning the notepad to Raphael and then Aodhan. On it was written: Gian’s closest ally in Lumia is a tall and thin man named Gervais. Like a shadow, he does what Gian does.
“Not the lover but the man who coveted what the lover had?” Raphael’s eyes remained cold. “Possible.”
“Whether it is Gian or Gervais,” Aodhan said, “a man who would beat someone so badly for the ‘crime’ of having Elena touch him, this to me speaks of obsession.”
“Transference?” Elena braced her hands on her hips. “The Luminata was obsessed with my probable grandmother and now he’s transferred that obsession to me?”
Aodhan nodded.
Laric wrote something on his notepad, held it out with a hesitant hand. When Raphael rather than Elena took it, his hand trembled. The kid was clearly intimidated by standing this close to an archangel. Just like Elena had once been—but she knew this man now, saw Raphael, not the Archangel of New York.
“This is no surprise after what we learned in the town,” Raphael said, turning the notepad toward Elena.
The Luminata vow celibacy when they come to Lumia as initiates, but I think they do not all hold to that vow. I have seen mortals flown in late at night.
Elena wondered if those mortals came here by choice, was forced to admit the vast majority likely did—angel groupies were a serious thing. “I guess, technically, I’m your number one groupie,” she said to her archangel.
Raphael raised an eyebrow, in pure Archangel of New York mode. “I should hope that to be the case.”
An unexpected laugh built in her, faded all too soon. “Groupies or not, I can’t forget the fear in the town, the way Majda was scared of being taken, what Riad’s great-grandfather said about the Luminata’s interest in ‘the prettiest women and the most beautiful men,’” she murmured. “Clearly, they’re not just scooping up the groupies. But why would angels need to coerce mortals when so many throw themselves at angels?”
Married or unmarried, single or in a relationship, it didn’t much matter. Angels apparently didn’t count when it came to infidelity—she’d heard that gem from a married hunter she’d met, a man who’d lusted after angels. This had been before Elena herself had become an angel and consort to one, but even then, she’d disagreed on a gut-deep level.
Fidelity was fidelity in her book. The end.
“For some,” Aodhan said quietly, “it isn’t about sex at all. It’s about power.”