“Here I am!”
Startled, she looked up to find Sam flying over to her on wings that looked far too big for his small body. “You can fly already?”
“Can"t you?” He hovered beside her.
“No.”
“Oh.” A wobbly left turn and he was landing at her side.
“Then I"ll walk, too.”
She had to fight a smile as she saw his wings drag along the scrupulously clean pathway. “Is it easier for you to stay airborne?”
“Sometimes, if there"s a good wind.” He tugged at her hand, pointing to someone on the other side of the courtyard. Looking up, she saw a wide-shouldered angel with wings patterned like an eagle"s coming to land. “That"s Dahariel. He"s one of the old ones.”
Dahariel"s eyes locked with hers.
Age. Violence. The whiplash of strength.
It was all in that single glance before he gave a curt nod and walked away in the direction of what she"d learned was the archangel Astaad"s territory. She shivered in spite of the sunlight.
That one, she thought as Dahariel disappeared from sight, might just be capable of beating a man with such heartless precision that nothing whole remained.
Sam pulled at her hand again. “Come on.”
As her tiny tour guide took her through the small campus, the sky agonizingly clear overhead, Elena allowed her mind to go quiet. These children were immortal-born, many of them likely older than she was, in spite of their appearance. But age was a relative thing. In their faces, she saw the same innocence she"d seen in the face of Sara"s baby, Zoe. They hadn"t yet tasted the bitter tears the world had to offer them.
It seemed the older, more powerful angels, for all their cruelty, made an effort to keep this part of the Refuge free of the stain of violence. It was an oasis of peace in a city that whispered with a thousand dark secrets.
Air over her head, the wash of an adult angel"s wings.
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Glancing up, she saw a flash of wild blue and then Illium was landing. Shrieks and giggles abounded as the children, Sam included, swarmed him like so many little butterflies. “Save me, Elena,” Illium said as he took off into the air . . . but not so high, not so far that the little ones couldn"t follow.
Smiling, she sat down on a piece of playground equipment and watched them swoop and dive.
Belle would"ve loved this, she found herself thinking. Her brash older sister had had a secret—she"d loved butterflies. Elena had given her a coin purse in the shape of a monarch once, a pretty thing she"d found at a yard sale for a dime. She"d used her own pocket money to buy it. And Belle had had it in her jeans the day Slater Patalis broke her legs into so many pieces, she"d looked like a child"s forgotten doll.
Elena could still see the bright orange sequins glittering in the sea of blood, Belle"s lifeless fingers dipped in red.
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X
Raphael landed on the outer balcony of Elijah"s base in the Refuge, knowing Elena would have liked to meet Hannah. But she was still an immortal barely born—Raphael would never trust her life to the mercurial moods of his fellow archangels and angels. And it wasn"t coincidence that both Elijah and Michaela had chosen to come to the Refuge at this time.
The scent of magnolias preceded Hannah"s entrance onto the balcony. “Raphael.” She held out both hands. “It has been too long.”
He took those hands and bent his lips to her cheek. “Over five decades.” Hannah didn"t often leave her South American home. “You are well?”
Hannah"s ebony skin shimmered under the afternoon sunlight as she nodded, her hair a mass of black curls shot with embers that caught the sunlight. “I"ve come to meet your hunter.”
“You surprise me, Hannah.” He dropped her hands as she turned to lead him inside.
She laughed, and it was a warm, gentle sound. “I have my flaws. Curiosity is one of them.”
“Elena will be flattered to know she has drawn you from your home.”
Hannah went to a small, beautifully carved table and picked up a bottle shaped from the most delicate glass. “Wine?”
“Thank you.” He looked around the room, saw the touch of Hannah"s artistic hand in every painting, every piece of furniture. “You travel more than people know.”
A small, secret smile. “Elijah will be through soon. We arrived not long ago.”
“Thank you.” He took the golden liquid she held out, and the glow of it reminded him of another time, another place. A dying hunter in his arms, her hair a sheet of white. And a heart he"d thought long dead breaking open in anguish.
“What does it taste like?” Hannah asked.
Raphael shook his head. Ambrosia . . . that moment—it was indescribable . . . and utterly private.
After a second, Hannah bent her own head in silent acquiescence. “I"m happy for you, Raphael.”
He met her gaze, waited.
“I"ve always thought of you as a friend,” she said quietly. “I know that if the others decided to come after Elijah behind his back, you wouldn"t join in.”
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