Archangel's Storm

through wings, locked in a battle of wills Mahiya couldn’t comprehend. To kill not only your sister, but your twin . . . I cannot imagine it, Jason.

They are fools. A harsh summation. They do not comprehend that what they were given was a gift not to be squandered.

Understanding sang a nocturne, melancholy and haunting, through her bones. Neha and Nivriti had been born as two halves of a whole. Had they remained locked together in friendship and loyalty as the centuries passed, Neha would have been an archangel with the most trusted of allies beside her. And Nivriti would’ve been the second to an archangel, the strongest of positions if one was not Cadre. More, they would’ve both had someone they could trust to tell the truth, no matter the question. Such a trust might well have saved them making the mistakes they had, given them a happier life.

But they had wasted that gift, allowed pride and conceit to tear them apart, until Neha was a woman without consort or child, and about to kill the sister of her blood. Meanwhile, Nivriti was a woman so consumed with rage that she’d rather chance never again seeing her child, than walk away from her quest for vengeance.

The glow around Neha turned white-hot.

“Angelfire,” she whispered, naming the deadly force that could kill even an archangel.

Jason shook his head. “Neha cannot create angelfire, but what she can create is just as deadly to the others in the Cadre.” Even as he spoke, a whip of green snapped out from Neha’s hand, a vicious thing as fast as the serpents that came so easily to the archangel’s hand.

Nivriti shut her wings and dropped at almost the same instant the snap left Neha’s hand, a move of such speed that Mahiya couldn’t follow it with the eye. “What was that?” She wasn’t sure if she was asking about Neha or Nivriti.

“The Cadre calls it the poison whip,” Jason responded. “A single brush against skin and it releases a deadly toxin into the bloodstream. As with angelfire, an archangel could beat a certain number of glancing blows, but an ordinary angel would die in seconds. A full strike with the whip to the heart or the head equals total death for even the archangels.” Jason’s eyes tracked the two women as Neha hit out with the whip and Nivriti dodged, her speed unnatural. “Did your mother also have power over snakes?”

“No, birds.” Her fingers spasmed on his as the poison whip came within what looked like a hairsbreadth of Nivriti’s face.

Suddenly the sky was full of fire. Their wings crisped, angels screamed and fell, crashing onto city roofs. Jason knew that while their bodies might be broken and burned, the majority would survive. So long as the head remained attached to the body and the flames were extinguished before they reached the internal organs, the charred, blackened remains would continue to breathe, continue to suffer.

“Neha’s new ability,” Mahiya whispered.

The fire winked out as quickly as it had exploded across the sky, but Nivriti’s troops had been decimated, though Nivriti herself had been fast enough to avoid the cauldron of flame. Now, she did something with her hands and a web of acidic green identical to Neha’s poison whip snapped out to wrap around the archangel, wings and all.

Neha fell.

Right when it appeared she’d crash onto the burning city below, she snapped the bonds, halted her descent, but Nivriti did not relent, continuing to entangle her in that clinging green web. It seemed to Mahiya that she heard Neha scream in rage as the archangel broke the bonds again and again before releasing the poison whip once more.

Nivriti dodged, wasn’t fast enough this time, and the poison touched the edge of one wing. However, contrary to the known impact of the poison on ordinary angels, she didn’t sicken and fall. Instead, she shot higher into the sky.

Neha followed, her wings ablaze with power, her hands wreathed in green. Nivriti turned, dropped a net of green filaments that wrapped around Neha, encasing her entire form. The archangel struggled, a fly caught in a web, and again she fell, but this time, the green turned white and cracked off her in pieces brittle as glass.

Ice.

The second aspect of Neha’s new abilities—but like the fire, it appeared limited, for the archangel did not attempt to freeze her opponent out of the sky.

“Jason.” Mahiya leaned into him, his wing sliding protectively over her own. “My mother should be dead, shouldn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Yet Nivriti continued to evade Neha.

A moment later, she did more than that. She threw the sticky web at Neha once more. Clearly confident she could neutralize it, Neha made no effort to dodge the net. But this time, the green strands blazed incandescent, and the archangel’s scream was of such agony that every fighter in the sky froze in place.

Mahiya reached out a hand, to whom she didn’t know. It just seemed terribly wrong that they should kill one another. Because Neha, flames licking around her body, had broken the trap at the last second—and Mahiya’s mother was close enough that she couldn’t avoid the strike of the poison whip.

It wasn’t a direct hit, but it did damage.

Mahiya stifled her cry of loss, but Neha didn’t follow the strike with a deadly second hit, her flight path erratic. “She’s badly injured.” Impossible—Neha was an archangel. And yet . . .

Fire licked the sky again, fell onto the city to set more of it alight. The sticky green threads her mother flung out in return, one of her wings dragging, missed Neha to alight on that same city. Screams rose up from the ground, eerie and anguished, the city beginning to glow orange as the flames took hold.

Mahiya’s blood filled with horror, a ravaging need to do something gripping her throat, images of the toymaker’s innocent son circling in her mind. Right when she would’ve spoken, Jason spread his wings. “I must stop this.”

“Yes.” Between them, Neha and Nivriti would devastate the city and keep going, both too angry and enraged to give up, though it was clear they were injured enough that it might yet be lethal. Ignoring the hows and whys of how her mother could’ve harmed an archangel, she squeezed Jason’s hand. “We need to stop this. For now, these are my people and I will not let them burn.”

She’d readied herself to fight, but Jason touched her jaw in a fleeting, unexpected caress before giving a curt nod. “Neha’s side is in as bad a position as your mother’s. Seeing her hurt demoralized them.”

“I have value as a hostage again.” Mahiya nodded. “I’ll stick close to you.” It bloodied her to think of Jason hurting in order to protect her, but as he understood her need to do this, she understood he was a man who would never allow his woman to go into danger unaccompanied and unshielded.

Mahiya?

That tenderness again, something she never heard in his physical voice.

Yes?

Do not get hurt.

It was an order, followed by a hard kiss that left her breathless. Intending to pull her weight, Mahiya picked up the crossbow she’d dropped, along with a case of ten spare bolts she hung over her arm. She’d purloined an old crossbow from the guard several decades ago, on the rationale that unlike swordplay or hand-to-hand combat, it was something she could teach herself.

In the intervening years, she’d had to steal replacements, but her plan had worked. She’d managed to sneak in target practice in the mountains at least twice a month until her last crossbow broke five weeks ago. I’m no expert, she said to Jason, but I usually hit my target.

Good. I’ll need you to watch my back.

With that unexpected statement, he led her on a low flight path over the blistering heat of the city, until they were positioned between Neha and Nivriti. She’d assumed he’d fly up to where they fought, somehow attempt to stop the battle, but he drew his sword, pointed it downward. A second later, black lightning crackled along his arms and over the hands he had fisted around the hilt of the sword, and she realized he was shoving his midnight power down through the conduit of the blade.

A trickle of sweat poured down his face, his biceps rigid . . . and shadows began to coalesce throughout the city, thick and heavy, snuffing out flame, stopping agony. People screamed at the river of soft black until they saw it