Page 58 of Archangel’s Lineage

A total stillness that told him he invited death. “I have very high standards for my blood.”

The hairs had risen on his arms when she went motionless, but why be a little reckless when he could go all the way? “Then,” he said, “I hope this vintage lives up to your expectations.”

Eyes yet frosty, she accepted the flute he offered her, but didn’t take a sip until he had his own in hand. He raised it in a toast. “To the text you managed to find out of thin air.”

The first sip was rich and luscious, his reaction to it a silent confirmation that he was no longer human in anything but his heart and thoughts. It was fire in his veins, a pump of energy visceral and rich. “Wow.” He turned to find her watching him with eyes that no longer seemed so frigid. “It’s good, admit it.” Yes, his mood was clearly for death.

“It’s passable,” was the cool response—but he knew he was safe. When she brought the flute to her lips again, she was no longer an inhuman ice sculpture but a woman powerful.

“When I first considered becoming a vampire,” Vivek said, savoring the lingering taste on his tongue, “I wondered how long it’d take me to get used to the taste of blood.”

“Only to wake up and realize that blood was the most delicious thing in the world to you,” Katrina completed. “Yes, it’s quite a shock, is it not, that first taste?”

“It still took me a while to get used to it,” he admitted. “My body wanted it, but my brain kept telling me it was blood I was drinking.”

“And now?” Katrina’s murmured question, the way her eyes lingered on him, made him feel like a teenager whose crush had finally deigned to notice him.

“Pure pleasure in my throat, ambrosia on my tongue.” He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his thighs. “I could keep on talking to you this way forever”—why pretend when it was obvious he had it bad for her—“but the situation is becoming worse by the hour.”

“Yes.” No more softness, but no ice, either; this was Katrina in business mode, focused and determined. “I have friends with children. They are beyond terrified for their babes.” The sound of glass against metal as she placed her flute carefully on the bench between them, then reached into a pocket of her dress.

He hadn’t realized it had pockets until that moment, but of course Katrina would demand clothing both stunning and practical. When she withdrew her hand, it was with a copy of a handbound but extremely thin book that appeared brand-new.

“The original was located in deep storage in the home of an angel of whom you need not know—he prefers to be left alone,” Katrina said. “I talked him through how to create a scan using a device that I had shipped to him.”

Vivek didn’t ask how the book had been located; that would be like asking a magician for their tricks. “Did you do the binding?” he asked instead. “It’s excellent work.”

“No. That was Xai.”

“Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Even a spy cannot know all the world’s secrets.”

Leaning back with a grin, he put his flute beside hers, then accepted the book. The image on the cover made his breath catch.

36

Vivek had seen the mark before—on Raphael’s temple.

Jessamy had also sent him images of the same symbol in old places in the Refuge. No one knew why the carvings had been done, or when.

Vivek had always thought they might be remnants of the last time the Legion had risen.

“That is a true copy of the book,” Katrina said as he traced the lines of the image. “I watched my acquaintance every step of the way. He didn’t attempt to skip or hide anything. For him, there was no reason to do so. He was far more interested in the scanner.”

Nodding, Vivek opened the book to the first page of text, but the moonlight wasn’t strong enough for him to read the words. He took out his phone, shone the light on a language that meant nothing to him.

“I can’t read it,” Katrina said before he could ask. “Even my acquaintance—who is very, very old—couldn’t read it. He did say it appears somewhat similar to the old angelic tongue—the one that is passed down from generation to generation unchanged.”

Vivek’s instinctive reaction was to argue that language always changed, but then he consciously considered what she’d said. And realized he’d missed a specific bit of angelic culture. “So that any angel who wakes after a long Sleep can still talk to other angels?”

An incline of her head, the diamonds glinting in the moonlight. “Old angels pick up languages at rapid speed, but even they can’t absorb it the minute they wake.”

“Smart.” Vivek continued to flip through the pages, hoping for another image, but there were none. “Is your acquaintance older than Lady Caliane?”

A pause. “No,” she said at last. “I’m fairly certain she is the elder. You should also send a copy of the text to the Librarian. The angelic Library holds exemplars of dead tongues.”

He hadn’t known that, either; it irritated him. Vivek hated being out of the loop. “If you can’t read it, and your friend couldn’t, either—”

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