“Blood and flesh?” he asked, conscious of Elena remaining uncharacteristically quiet beside him. Some would"ve said she"d been cowed into silence. He knew very well that she was listening, honing her knowledge, making note of any possible weakness.
“That would be a devolution,” Lijuan said, her hair feathering as if caressed by ghostly fingers,
“and I am evolving.”
Elena waited until they were behind the closed doors of their bedroom before giving in to the shivers. “She"s . . . what is she?”
“Power in its purest form.” Walking to the painted wooden doors that led to their private courtyard and balcony, he spread them open. “Come. The air will cleanse.”
She took the hand he held out, let him lead her into the crisp winter air. The Forbidden City spread out like a sea of multicolored stars before her, dancers still swirling gracefully in the main courtyard as music played, haunting, evocative, beautiful enough to bring tears to the eye.
Standing in the circle of Raphael"s arms, her head against his shoulder, her arms around him, she took her first real breath in hours. Her lungs sucked in the air as if parched, her throat seeming to unlock with a quiver of relief. “That music—what is it?”
“Theehru .”
For long, quiet moments, they just stood there, letting the music soak into their bones. Elena was the one who spoke first. “You don"t think she steals power from others?”
“No.” Raphael stroked his hands over her wings, and the rush of sensation was welcome, a reminder that she was real, nothing like the creature who"d sat across from them in that room full of silence. “If she could do that, her courtiers wouldn"t be so healthy. Lijuan has always first played in her own territory.”
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“Like with the reborn.” She shivered again, slipped her hand under his shirt to touch the uncompromising masculine heat of his skin. “That vampire—he smelled of sunshine and paint.
He was new . . . fresh.”
“He thinks he"s been given a second chance,” Raphael said, remembering the loyalty in that dark gaze as it had swung to Lijuan.
“When do they start to rot?” she forced herself to ask.
“Jason is almost here.” He could sense his spymaster getting ever closer. “He"ll have the most recent information—but from what we know, it depends not only on the amount of power she expends, but on what she feeds them.”
“Flesh,” she whispered. “Human?”
“Or vampire. It seems to have little significance.” There"d been no reports of angels being sacrificed for Lijuan"s pets, but Raphael wouldn"t put that depravity past the oldest of the archangels.
Elena"s head lifted up at that instant. “Storms,” she whispered. “Jason smells of the wildest of rainstorms, lightning and fire.”
“Has the new aspect of your ability stabilized?”
“No.” Her eyes followed Jason"s descent from the sky, though the black-winged angel was but a shadow. “It switches on and off. Mostly off.” She pressed her lips to Raphael"s jaw. “But you, you"ve always been the rain, the wind, inside my mind. I taste you when I sleep, when I wake, when I breathe.”
If Jason hadn"t landed then, Raphael would have drawn Elena inside, taken his fill of her own unique scent. As it was, he ran his hand to close over her nape, brushing his mouth over the sweet curve of her ear. I will taste you tonight, Elena .Be ready for me—I won’t stop until you scream your pleasure.
He heard her heart hitch, her breath catch. But his hunter had never yet backed down from a challenge. Anytime, angel boy.
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“Sire.” Jason folded his wings behind him and waited for permission to speak.
Raising his head, Raphael nodded in greeting. “Come, we"ll talk inside.” Lijuan"s strange sense of honor would ensure their living space was free of spies—real and technological. She"d consider it beyond the pale to intrude upon her guests" privacy.
Inside, Elena leaned up against the dresser as Raphael and Jason stood in front of it. The angel"s tattoo was almost totally re-inked, a piece of living art that covered the left-hand side of a face and spoke of ancestry from lands far distant from one another. The story of Jason"s parents was considered one of the great angelic romances. And for a while, it had been.
“Were your men able to discover anything else?” he asked his spymaster.
“Whatever it is that she kept in that room in her stronghold,” the black-winged angel told him, his voice crystal clear, perfectly pitched, “it has been shifted here.”
“One of the reborn?”
“Yes, but a special one—extreme care has been taken to protect it on the way here.” That perfect pitch altered just enough to telegraph Jason"s revulsion. “There are reports of young women missing along the caravan route.”
“She"s feeding her reborn with the living?” Killing humans was no taboo, but for this, in this way . . . it might disgust even Charisemnon.