bathe. You stink.”
“You’re not exactly a fragrant rose yourself, Barbarian,” Dmitri muttered.
A snort from the speakers. “Don’t speak to me about bad smells until you’ve been covered with half-fried reborn flesh.” Venom’s languid voice. “Your wife threw a grenade into a knot of them that scuttled toward us like crabs even while on fire.”
Dmitri grinned in a way that would’ve shocked those who had never seen the man under the deadly thousand-year-old vampire. “That’s my Honor.”
As his Seven began to speak among themselves, taking a minute or two to feed their souls, Raphael walked to the balcony and took in his abused city. Smoke snaked into the sky from areas where groups of reborn had been spotted and eliminated. To the left was a huge scar in the landscape, barren and black.
It was a small mercy that the insect incident hadn’t been repeated.
In all likelihood, Charisemnon could only make so many at a time before his ability flatlined. As far as Raphael was aware, the only one of them whose Cascade power was limitless was Lijuan—and that because she fed off others. Raphael’s healing and Charisemnon’s disease creation both had a limit.
Not that any of them were taking the latter fact for granted. A group of wounded soldiers did nothing all day but zoom in on any suspected enemy movement in the streets no matter how small. They’d discovered multiple reborn and three vampiric stealth operatives, but no insects.
Spreading his wings, he took off into the dusty, smoky sky.
It took him time to reach his destination. His troops were scattered all over the city; whenever he saw a group on a rooftop, or gathered in the street, he landed and spoke to them. He couldn’t speak to each and every member of his army, but he knew word would travel through the ranks. It would matter that he cared enough to check in with junior vampire soldiers and senior squadron leaders both.
Rising into the air after a short stop to speak to a young ground unit, he sent a message to his army. You have courage, and you have heart. This is our city and we will never surrender it. But for now, if you can, rest. We must be ready to strike when the battle begins again.
He saw movement on several rooftops, noticed a number of gunners lay down their weapons and begin to stretch out their shoulders. The Tower had already sent out the same instruction, but it was different coming from their archangel. He knew the watch would remain constant, that no one would fall into a deep rest, but any break was a good thing.
He made it to Central Park five minutes later.
The ensuing conversations were much the same as those he’d had on the journey here. All knew that their status was dire, but again, there was no talk of defeat. They spoke only of skirmishes won, or ideas they had for future operations.
He listened to all of them.
He found young Izak seated on the snowy ground with a number of his squadron. The angel was fast asleep with his head against a tree, his wings folded around his body like a blanket. A tumble of yellow curls fell across his forehead, making him look like a lost child, but Izak was not a boy. Not any longer.
Even in his rest, he had his sword by his side. Blood, dried an iron red, coated the soles of his boots and was sprayed across his feathers. Those feathers were a rich cream for the most part, except for the lower third of each wing—there, his coloring was cream speckled with dark blue, akin to the egg of some small bird.
Today, flecks of rust red joined the blue and cream.
“I want to find a blanket and snuggle it over him.” Elena’s whisper was followed by the brush of her wing against his, her stormfire arcing through his own feathers in an electric caress. “I know I need to treat him as a warrior, but he’ll always be Izzy to me.”
The entire world stilled. Snow began to fall, soft and delicate.
Raphael turned, cupped her cheek, and did what he’d been aching to do for the entire past day.
Dipping his head, he kissed her. He had never loved before her and he would never love after her—there was no after Elena for him. My love for you is the deepest truth of my existence. Spring and summer, fall and winter, I would spend all the seasons of my life