Page 26 of Archangel’s Lineage

Raphael understood that fury better since he’d fallen in love with his hunter. She’d made him face the cruelty with which many immortals treated mortals and vampires—but that knowledge didn’t change the undeniable fact that if it came to a war, angelkind would win.

That had been proven through time.

It was impossible to defeat a race of beings that had archangels at their core. As evidenced by the story Qin had written of his dismemberment, a mortal could blow Raphael into a million pieces... and he’d still rise.

Again and again and again.

Better, then, to never give mortals even the faintest hope of easy angelic prey. So it was that angelic children were never visible except in highly constrained circumstances that made them effectively untouchable.

16

Elena decided to walk home; her wing hurt enough that she didn’t want to risk taking flight, and it wasn’t as if New York’s streets would ever be unfamiliar to her. Steam rose out of the grates that lined the street, the sidewalks were clean from the night’s rain, the air spring-crisp, and while traffic was flowing smooth enough for morning, the horns and shouts had already begun.

She’d wanted to stay longer with her father, but after Jeffrey’s sudden decline, a newly distraught Gwendolyn had clearly needed private time with her husband. Elena had left her stepmother holding on to Jeffrey’s hand as she murmured words loving and gentle to her father.

The poor woman couldn’t have slept more than three or four hours before Elena rang to tell her what had happened. Despite Gwendolyn’s obvious exhaustion, Elena hadn’t even considered not informing her straightaway; it would’ve devastated her stepmother if Elena had made that choice and Jeffrey slipped away before Gwendolyn could see him again.

“Hunter angel! Try my coffee!”

Normally, that moniker made her groan and threaten to murder people. Today, however, she didn’t have the heart or the will. She took the coffee the smiling cart operator held out, even managed enough of a return smile that he beamed. “Thanks,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”

“On the house!” Short and shiny-faced, with a mop of light brown curls against freckled skin, his accent was less New York and more something on the other side of the Atlantic.

“I’m paying,” Elena insisted, uncomfortable with the power dynamic. “If it’s good, I’ll still tell everyone.”

They haggled a bit, with the vendor finally throwing up his hands with a scowl. “Bloody New Yorker!” His accent thickened. “Try to do her a favor and whaddya get!”

Elena was startled into a laugh. “I’ll be a bloody New Yorker even if I live to be ten thousand years old.”

He scowled, but it was for show, his grin peeking out at the corners of his mouth.

Her own smile faded with every step she took, the hot coffee doing nothing to thaw the chill within. Deep inside, she’d always known that Jeffrey would one day die. Today she’d learned that she’d never be ready for it. Because Jeffrey was the parent who’d stayed.

Even during their worst moments, she hadn’t forgotten that.

Part of her remained the little girl who’d been so, so angry at her mother for choosing to end her terrible pain at the cost of her grieving younger children. That swaying shadow on the wall, the tumbled high-heeled shoe on the checkboard tile, the way Elena had rushed to scoop Beth up and out of the house before her baby sister saw, none of the memories of discovering her mother’s body would ever leave Elena.

In the same way, the wounded child within her had apparently believed that her father would be endless, too—except in life, not death.

A wash of wind, an angel landing beside her.

She wasn’t the least surprised when Illium threw an arm over her shoulders, their wings companionably crushed against each other. “He called you, didn’t he?” she said.

“Yup,” answered the angel with wings of dazzling blue and black hair dipped in the same shade, his scent a fresh and tart lime intermingled with an exotic element more luxurious. “The sire didn’t want you to be alone. And I am your favorite.”

She elbowed his tautly muscled gut. “Don’t let that head get so big it explodes.” But she was glad for his presence as they walked. Because Illium, playful and vulnerable in ways that echoed her own wounds, was her favorite of the Seven.

More than anything else, she felt loved by her archangel. Though he couldn’t be with her, he’d made sure she wouldn’t be alone. “Did he tell you what happened?” she asked after chucking her empty coffee cup into a trash can.

“No. Just that you might need a friend.” He squeezed her closer. “I don’t need to know, Ellie. I’m just here to astound you with my wit and genius.”

“I can literally see your head expanding.” Despite her dry words, Elena told him the basics. The rest, she’d talk about only to Raphael. “It’s a shock—coming face-to-face with his mortality.” Her chest ached all over again.

“He’s still young in mortal terms.” Illium turned her down a street that led in the wrong direction for the Tower, and, more than happy to meander, she didn’t protest. “I’d have been shocked, too, were he my friend.”

The streets were busier now and Elena managed faint smiles for the people who walked past and said hello or waved. No one but the odd slack-jawed tourist paid any mind to the fact Elena and Illium were walking together, wing over wing. The people of their city had long ago cottoned on to their friendship and that they were both very much entangled with their chosen lovers.

“How’s Aodhan?” she asked, no longer wanting to talk about Jeffrey. The shock was too new, the memory of his sudden decline too bright. Nausea lurched in her gut at the smallest remembrance of it. “He still shut up in his art studio?”

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