gorgeous and competent.”
That, he thought, was what annoyed her the most: Tasha was someone Elena might actually like if not for the fact that Tasha had made it clear she’d enjoy picking up where she’d left off with Raphael. It had been foolishness on Tasha’s part, with no chance of success, but it meant Elena and Tasha would never be friends.
“Montgomery has no doubt already assembled a suitable wardrobe for you.” Most of what his consort called her “fancy clothes” had burned up in the inferno of Raphael’s power. “Speaking of which—Maeve is asking if we’d like the house rebuilt as it was, or if we want changes.”
“It was a spectacular house.”
“How about a special room for all your knives?” he said in a small joke between an archangel and his consort, but Elena lit up like a candle.
“Really? You don’t think that’s excessive? It could be a small room. Just with lots of wall space.” A sudden frown. “Were you making fun of me?”
“A little, but now I will build you the best knife display room you’ve ever seen.”
Elena’s lips twitched. “Don’t forget the spot for my crossbow.”
“It will have a podium of its own with a dedicated spotlight.”
“As it should.” Feet bare and grin wide, she stood on his booted feet. “Talking about blades makes me hot.”
“Any more sharp objects on you today?” he murmured against her ear.
“You’re safe.” Her mouth was wet and soft on his chest, her tongue licking him up in tender flicks.
His blood felt so cold at times these days, but never when he was with her.
Hand pressed against his heart, she threatened a playful bite . . . then paused, her head cocked slightly and tiny lines flaring out at the corners of her eyes. “Put your finger on the pulse in my neck.”
“I have never partaken of this deviant sexual act.”
“Funny man. Fingers, neck.”
When he obeyed, she said, “Listen. To your pulse and mine.”
As with most living beings, Raphael wasn’t aware of his pulse in the course of normal day-to-day life. It took him a second to tune in to the sensation. “Our hearts are beating in time.” In perfect synchronicity.
“It can’t happen all the time, or we’d be constantly out of tune with our surroundings.” A kiss pressed to his skin. “Must be a resting-state effect. I like it.” The eyes that lifted to meet his were liquid silver, haunting and immortal.
But her kiss . . . it was Elena. Mortal, courageous, untamed.
She would not be taken by the Cascade, would not be broken. Raphael wasn’t so certain about himself. Because the frigid cold of his new power, it was seeping deeper and deeper into his cells with each day that passed. The more he owned it, the more it became a part of him . . . and the more he had to fight to be Elena’s Raphael.
Yet without that power, he could not make enough wildfire to defeat Lijuan.
For she would rise into her reign of death.
Cassandra had foreseen it. And Cassandra was never wrong.
26
They flew first to Amanat, their plan to rest the night, then head to China in the morning. Because Elena needed to conserve energy, after the Tower jet landed at a major airport in Kagoshima, she got into a helicopter for the rest of the journey to Amanat, while Raphael rode the wind.
The sunlight danced off the fire of her archangel’s wings as they moved over Kagoshima’s green and mountainous landscape. He was far enough not to be affected by the chopper’s blades, close enough to respond should the craft suffer technical difficulties. It didn’t matter how often she saw him fly, she felt the same sense of possessive awe—he was hers and he was magnificent.
“Does it burn?”
Startled, she glanced at the pilot, not sure she’d heard him correctly through the headphones. One of Caliane’s people who’d returned to her after his lady rose again, he’d told Elena he’d spent years flying commercial jetliners before switching to helicopters. His skin was as deep a hue as finest dark chocolate and as smooth as silk.
He was old, this one. Old enough that vampirism had begun to refine his features into a kind of ethereal beauty that no mortal would ever possess. The odd thing was, Dmitri was older, but he remained as hard-edged as always. So could be, the change wasn’t inevitable. Maybe, each vampire subconsciously influenced the shape of their features.
Dmitri, of course, would always want to look like a hard-ass.
“Burn?” she asked, as