Archangel's War (Guild Hunter #12) - Nalini Singh Page 0,178

it was Charisemnon who died. Good. Those who betray the Cadre are better off as forgotten fragments of dust.” Right then, Neha was a warrior queen, one who had old blood splattered on her leathers.

“We heard of the situation in your lands,” Astaad said to Neha in his quiet, elegant voice. “It is a horror your people have faced.”

Neha’s mouth firmed into a hard line. “My troops will survive this, and afterward, we will find a way forward. For now, I have left them to come here so we can end this forever. Never again will an archangel dare to use children as battle fodder.”

“It is a breach that will not be forgiven or forgotten,” Caliane added, the echo of nightmares in her eyes. “But my son, do not tell me that Alex has let us down?”

“He fights to save his people,” Raphael said, because he could understand Alexander’s choice even if he didn’t agree with it; it would’ve torn out his heart had he had to leave New York in the same situation.

“It will not matter if he wins the battle there if he is left to fight Lijuan alone.” Caliane pursed her lips. “I spoke to him personally before these new ways of communication stopped working and made it clear the war must be won before we can begin to fight lesser battles.”

Elena spoke into the small silence that followed Caliane’s words. “I don’t suppose any of you sank a ship full of reborn?”

Everyone but Titus shook their heads.

Ah well, Archangel. One out of three isn’t bad.

69

The war room burned with so much power that the tiny hairs on Elena’s arms stood straight up. Vivek wouldn’t even go near the knot of angry archangels. “Cadre’s fucking terrifying as a group,” he muttered to Elena when she came to get some information for the discussion. “You get my balls of iron award for this century.”

It was as she was walking back to the Cadre that the salt-laced sea crashed into her mind. Alexander has just been spotted entering the territory, together with Zanaya.

Every single archangel in the world would soon be in Manhattan.

When it was time, the two of them excused themselves to go welcome the Archangel of Persia and the newly awakened Ancient. Zanaya, stunning in a way that slapped you in the face then wrapped around you with sensual grace, gave Elena the once-over.

“A mortal turned angel,” she said, her lips soft and full, and her body clad in a simple black wrap that barely brushed her thighs. “How extraordinary. And such wings.”

A statement like that could be made or lost on tone, and Zanaya’s lyrically accented one held only wondering astonishment. Elena felt a bit like an interesting bug, but not one the Ancient wanted to squash. She went to compliment Zanaya on her sword—it was serious metal, not a pretty toy—when her gaze was caught by a rippling light beyond. “The sea aurora’s back.”

Zanaya’s lips tilted up. “Qin’s legend, that is what we called it in child tales. An old one. Will he rise, do you think?”

“He does or he doesn’t,” Alexander snapped. “We must prepare for battle.”

Leaving the lovely beauty of the sea aurora to play out on the water, they walked into the war room. Do you think Lijuan will try to attack this Qin? Elena asked Raphael.

It will be madness on her part. His aurora may play there, but it does not mean he Sleeps directly beneath.

“I left my territory overrun by reborn to come here.” Alexander met the violent blue of Caliane’s gaze across Dmitri’s strategy table. “We must end this here and quickly.”

Dude has no idea, Elena muttered to Raphael a half hour later, while Aegaeon spoke about how they could take Lijuan if they all worked together.

He is used to fighting ordinary foes, and even the experience in India cannot change the imprint laid by millennia. Raphael nodded at Dmitri and the drop-down screen opened up. “Before we go any further, you should all watch this.”

It was a replay of their last two encounters with Lijuan. The replay was choppy, the footage cobbled together from various surveillance and spy cameras, but it told a chilling tale.

“That is the fire with which you made her retreat in the past?” Astaad asked, dark eyes intent and hands braced on the edge of the table; his biceps were bunched, the sleek muscle of him evident for the first time since Elena had met him.

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed. “And this”—another glance at Dmitri—“is