There was no way in hel she’d be able to fight that thing trapped like this, but there wasn’t any time to do—“Idiot, shit.” She was moving even as the thought entered her head, rol ing off to her right and into the pit, wings flared wide to control her descent. She had a feeling she did not want to drop down to the bottom—who the fuck knew what waited below, but she could use this space to maneuver. She didn’t let herself consider the fact that the whole thing might snap shut, crushing the life out of her—maybe, just maybe, Caliane had heard enough to decide to give her a chance.
Twisting so that she faced the last known position of the creature, she beat her wings up and sliced out with the short sword. A scream of rage and the thick, pungent odor of body fluids told her she’d scored a hit. Her elation lasted only an instant—before agony blazed down her left side and she realized the creature had spit at her again.
It felt like her flesh was being peeled off her bones. Tears streamed down her face though she tried to fight them, knowing she couldn’t give in to any vulnerability. Then her left wing began to drag, and she knew the acid had hit something vital. Fighting to keep herself afloat, she slammed into a wal inside the hole, felt the roughness of it scrape away the skin on her arms, her face, to expose her flesh to the air.
A second after that, she heard the slithering below.
Jesus. Swal owing, she beat her good wing faster in an effort to rise, but only succeeded in slowing her momentum a little. Archangel, if you have something up your sleeve, now would be the time.
A slam of crashing noise and then light, so bright that it made her cry out, shade her eyes with her uninjured arm as rocks and stone ... and wetter, slimier things, rained down from above. Ducking to the side, she scrabbled at the coarseness of unfinished stone as one wing col apsed completely.
“Raphael! Down here!”
A nail tore off her finger, another, blood slicking over her skin. Hurry!
Strong hands clamping over her shoulders. Two seconds later, she was being hauled out through a gaping hole where there had once been a door.
Blinking against the sudden light, she tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out past gritted teeth, the agony on her left side starting to crawl to the right.
Raphael brushed the hair off her face. “I have you, Elena. I have you.” The warmth from his hands began to soak into her skin, chasing out the vicious pain that made her feel as if her organs were caught in a massive grinder.
Giving in to the need, she buried her face against his chest and fisted her hand in his damp shirt as he used his power to heal her. He was big and strong and warm, and she wanted to strip him to the skin and wrap herself around him until nothing could touch either of them. Sucking in a breath when his hand brushed her stil -burning hip, she set her jaw, holding on with a white-knuckled grip.
Sooner than she’d expected, the pain was nothing but a memory.
“How bad is it?” she asked against his chest. “My wing?” It felt dead, gone. No, please no.
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His arms around her. “The creature’s poison was not as bad as Anoushka’s.”
“Not reassuring, Archangel.”
“Your wing was paralyzed, not damaged—the acid didn’t have time to eat through the tendon and bone. You’l be able to fly again in a few minutes.”
So relieved that she was shaking, she pul ed away to sit up—and got a good look at her side. Her clothing had been eaten away in spots large and smal to expose her flesh. And it was flesh, the skin having been burned to nothingness by the acid. Bone gleamed white through one section and the sight of it made her want to retch.
Tensing her stomach against the urge, she wiped off her tears and blew out a breath. “Not as bad as it could’ve been.”
“They go for the eyes,” Il ium said, sounding coherent and functional as he stood guarding the gaping hole in the stone below the dais, his sword in hand. “Good thing it was dark in there or your eyebal s would’ve been leaking down your face by now.”
Elena stared at him. “Thank you for that cheerful thought.”
The damn blue-winged idiot winked at her, those astonishing lashes closing over one golden eye.
“Raphael, can we kil him now?” she muttered, trying not to think about the fact that she had holes seared into her flesh.
Raphael’s bones cut against his skin as he helped her to her feet. “Not yet, Elena. We may have need of him.” It was said with such frigid calm that for a moment, she thought he’d taken her seriously.
Then she fol owed the direction of his gaze into the dark maw of the chamber where she’d been trapped. “No.” She gripped his arm. “You’re not going in there.”
A glance so arrogant, she knew most beings—mortals and immortals both—would’ve fal en to their knees in submission. “Leave me, Guild Hunter.
Il ium wil take you to the roof, to safety.”
“Sire—” Il ium began, no hint of laughter in his expression now.
“Il ium.” A single word. A command.
Il ium looked as if he wanted to argue, but in the end, he bowed his head. However, Elena wasn’t one of Raphael’s Seven. She didn’t have to obey his orders. Moving around to face him, she folded her arms. “If your mother is so powerful,” she said, “then she can meet us out here just as wel as in that pit.”