Dmitri nodded. “I wasn’t expecting that, either, but Honor says she’s a quick study and determined to be ready to fight Lijuan when her aunt rises again.”
“A motive to be respected. Especially after the torture she suffered under Lijuan.”
His second’s expression was dark, but his tone pragmatic as he continued his update. “Haven’t heard much from Astaad and Alexander—they’ve both been busy coping with massive ice storms.”
Parts of Alexander’s desert territory were susceptible to ice, but Astaad’s territory was nearly all tropical. “The islands?”
Dmitri nodded. “Residents barely own cardigans, much less snow gear. I’ve sent supplies and so have Michaela and Lady Caliane.” He shoved a hand through the black of his hair. “That’s not all of it—Alexander’s also been hit with flash floods, while the monsoon season in Neha’s territory is threatening to become monsoon year.”
“Elijah?”
“Plagues of wasps. Swarms have killed at least ten people so far.” He braced his hands on his hips. “Titus and Charisemnon have the opposite problem to Neha: drought. Wildfires are running rampant across the savannah.”
“It’s gotten worse.”
A nod from his second. “We’ve been lucky in the scheme of things. A couple of torrential lightning storms, a few more minor geothermal issues in the area you already evacuated, and, bizarrely, an infestation of ladybug beetles in a small town. No damage from the bugs, but they creeped out a bunch of people.”
Dmitri cocked an eyebrow. “Did you know fear of ladybugs has a name? Coccinellidaephobia.”
It was an amusing thing he’d have to tell Elena. The rest however . . . “Favashi?”
“No sign of her since she disappeared into the lava with Cassandra. As for her territory—Lady Caliane keeps me updated when she isn’t threatening to boil me alive for not letting her see you, and she says that while Neha’s had to cope with some refugees from China, it’s nowhere near the number she expected. Not even after accounting for the vanished villages.”
“Lijuan’s people are loyal.” Many would say to the edge of madness. “Aodhan, Naasir, and Galen remain at the Refuge?”
“Yes. Galen wanted to send the others back to New York, but I told them to stay. I didn’t want to leave him without powerful backup.”
Raphael locked eyes with Dmitri. “What has happened?” Galen was Raphael’s weapons-master and well able to deal with any threat excepting attack by one of the Cadre.
“Things are moving under the Refuge.”
The Refuge never shook. Legend said it had been anchored by the cataclysmic power of Sleepers who wished never to wake. “Do not tell me you believe in the legend of the Ancestors, Dmitri?” Said to slumber below the Refuge, the Ancestors were whispered to be the first of Raphael’s kind, angels so old they were another species.
“Sire, at this point, I’m ready to believe in the fucking tooth fairy.”
Raphael clasped his second on the shoulder. “Thank you for holding my Tower safe.”
“Next time, I’d appreciate you warning your mother that you’re about to take a nap.” A black scowl. “Lady Caliane’s last threat included having me drawn and quartered.”
“You survived.” That he had was a measure of his mettle; Raphael’s mother, after all, was an Ancient.
Dmitri’s next question was quiet. “Elena?” A worry in his dark eyes that would astonish Raphael’s consort, the two were such determined adversaries.
“The Cascade has underestimated my hunter’s will.” He opened out his wings to check their status. They remained aflame but the odd feather was beginning to show through, so the white fire was apt to settle in the coming hours. “I must go and close the chasm from which Elena and I arose.”
“Raphael.” Arms folded again and feet set apart, Dmitri got in his way. “Contact your mother before you go or I swear I’ll tie your wings together and drag you inside to make the call.”
The cold power in him whispered for him to take offense at such insubordination, but Raphael had no intention of becoming its puppet. “I will do it as soon as I fulfil a promise to Elena.” Dmitri was right—Caliane might’ve once been mad, might’ve left him bleeding and broken in a forgotten field, but she’d risen sane and she’d been firmly on his side since.
Nodding, Dmitri left to return to his duties, while Raphael swept off the balcony to head to the storage unit where Elena kept her childhood. She visited the space regularly, made sure her things were free of dust, told him stories about pieces when he was with her, but while she’d given her sister Beth anything she wanted from within, she’d never brought a single item home herself. Today, however, when he returned with the quilt and opened it over her, she tugged it closer and snuggled down.
He brushed his hand over the near-white silk of her hair, what he felt for her such a huge violence inside him that it had no name. “To the end and beyond, hunter-mine.”
Forcing himself out of the room, he shut the door quietly behind himself, then went to the screen mounted on one wall of the suite’s library. He could’ve used a phone to call Amanat, but Caliane didn’t trust in such things. She was barely comfortable with the system that allowed them to see each other as they spoke.
The face that answered on the other end was a familiar one: uptilted eyes of dramatic green, hair of a deep, deep red, skin that was close to translucent and wings of copper silk.
Tasha would never pass unnoticed through a crowd.
Her eyes widened at seeing him, a gasp exiting her throat. But the woman—and warrior—who’d been his lover when they were young angels first spreading their wings was already moving out of shot, and he knew she was getting his mother.
Tasha was as loyal to Caliane as Dmitri was to Raphael.
When Caliane appeared on the other side, it was with a frown marring her forehead. “What—” She cut herself off, her face softening in a way it only ever did for Raphael. Placing her hand on the screen on her side, she whispered, “My son. You are home.”
Raphael echoed her gesture on this side, placing his palm over hers. “We will speak further soon, Mother. I must take care of my territory now.”
Caliane had been an archangel longer than Raphael could imagine; she didn’t argue against his priorities. “That upstart vampire you call second needs to learn how to speak to his elders, but he has done you proud.” Regal and a touch haughty, Caliane’s words nonetheless held the approbation of an archangel who had never been afraid to have strong people around her. She had taught him how to rule by example.
Until the madness. Until the death.
“I never doubted he would.” He inclined his head. “I will go now.”
“Before you do—your consort?”
Once, that might’ve been a barbed question, but Caliane and Elena had made their peace. It would always be an odd peace with jagged edges, but that was what happened when two strong women collided and one of them was used to being obeyed in all things—while the other obeyed only the dictates of her conscience.
“She is resting,” was all Raphael said; he and Elena would have to speak when she woke, decide their next course of action. Until then, he’d share nothing of her physical state.
After ending the call, he looked into the bedroom. A glint of hair of near-white . . . and the muted glow of her skin beneath the quilt. His hunter was curled up on her side in a tight ball, her knees tucked to her chest and her spine curved, her head curled over her knees. The tattoo on her back pulsed with light in time with her heartbeat.