Archangel's War (Guild Hunter #12) - Nalini Singh Page 0,66

mortal in the vicinity appeared to gasp when Raphael landed in the citadel courtyard, but he felt no concern. He and Elena had run a test at dawn to confirm his immunity to the poison that had taken Favashi; they’d landed in a ghost village and Raphael had deliberately cut himself so the ash could get in.

Wildfire had erupted at once around the wound. His body would not allow the infection to get in, and if Elena didn’t have enough wildfire to fight anything that managed to cling to her, he could give her what she needed.

Striding through the courtyard with his hunter by his side, he was met halfway by one of his own people, a senior angel Dmitri had seconded to China as part of Raphael’s contribution to the Cadre’s combined forces. “Sire.” Gadriel went down on one knee in front of Raphael, his head bowed. The sword on his back had a weathered and old hilt, but Raphael had no doubts the blade was razor-sharp.

“Gadriel,” he said. “Tell me what is happening here.”

The angel rose to his feet, and inclined his head at Elena before he spoke. His eyes were a haunting gray mixed with green, his height an inch below Elena’s, his skin pale with an edge of pink, and his body tautly muscled. “Riva has become erratic over the past week. He was doing an excellent job of managing the city before then.”

“You’ve sent through a report to Jason?”

Lines flared out from the corners of the angel’s eyes. “No, sire. I thought to give Riva a little leeway—he mourns Favashi’s disappearance yet. He was not simply a courtier but one of her closest lieutenants.”

“I would’ve made the same choice.” Raphael clasped Gadriel on the shoulder. “He is nine thousand years old and not apt to fall down in his duties. Still, these are strange times. Tell me of his actions just prior to the alteration in his behavior.”

“He rode out on his motorcycle to do a routine sweep of the city, but came back hours later than he’d indicated.” Gadriel’s wings were a deep brown with hints of bronze woven into the filaments and they glimmered under the late afternoon sunlight. “At the time, I thought nothing of it. All of us need time alone to shrug off the cobwebs. Especially here, with the constant screaming tension under the surface.”

The steel and wildfire of Elena in his mind. You think something got to him?

The dead captain in the ghost village preys upon me. We do not know how many operatives Lijuan has in the world and what she can do with them.

Aloud, he instructed Gadriel to lead them to Riva.

“Sire.”

Elena had met Gadriel once before—in the Refuge. Though he was named after a legendary angelic painter renowned for the sumptuous sensuality of his works, the gray-eyed angel with chestnut hair was a bit stuffy and set in his ways. More importantly, however, he was deeply loyal to Raphael. Now, she took in everything around them as he walked on ahead, his comment about the “constant screaming tension” resonating.

Lijuan might be gone, but the echo of her presence lingered in the air. It was stares on the back of Elena’s neck from people in the courtyard, dust in the air that tasted of distant death, electric sensations beneath her boots—as if tiny insects were attempting to penetrate the soles and enter her bloodstream.

Favashi, she thought, had come into a tough situation even before the infection.

Shadows passed overhead right before they left the courtyard and entered the citadel, a wing of angels coming in to land. It was cool and dark inside, the stone walls smoothed by time. Elena felt the age of the building in her bones and when she put her hand against the wall, history itself spoke to her.

Nothing in New York was this old, this woven in time.

Gadriel led them to stone stairs far narrower than in modern angelic buildings, but still with enough span to accommodate wings. All the spaces in the citadel, she came to see, were built for angels. But it wasn’t an angel who sat in the center of the large chamber into which Gadriel showed them.

The vampire, his scent cardamom crushed with ice and rippled with a thick treacly sweetness, sat with his head in his hands. His skin was ebony, his hair kinky curls darker than his skin. He wore battered leather pants, along with a black jacket and tee of faded brown, and when he lifted