Archangel's Blade

It was, if she wasn’t mistaken, a scimitar. However, she didn’t get much of a good look at it before he was striding back, the weapon held to his side, his eyes flat with lethal intent. “Stay at my back, Honor. Kallistos is most likely gone, but we can’t assume that.”

“I’ll cover you,” she said, not arguing with the order because she knew about confronting your own monsters, and Kallistos was Dmitri’s.

“No, stay literally at my back. A gunshot won’t do me any significant damage, but could kill you.”

The idea of Dmitri bleeding for her made Honor’s hand clench brutally on the butt of her gun, but again, she kept her silence, knowing time was of the essence. “Let’s go.”

He was a sleek shadow in front of her, one who ensured she was never exposed to anyone who might be watching them from the building. Honor didn’t breathe until they’d traversed the open section to reach the door. He went in first, while she kept her eyes forward as she backed in behind him, gun pointed outward.

The only thing that met them inside was silence . . . and a broken angel. The boy—and yes, he was a boy still, his deathly pale face holding the fading softness of childhood—had been dumped on his front in the dusty lobby, his pale brown wings streaked with blood and dirt as they lay limp and crumpled on either side of him.

Wrong, there was something wrong with those wings.

Broken.

It was, she realized, feeling sick to her stomach, the only way to transport an unconscious angel if you didn’t want to use a huge truck and draw unwelcome attention.

“Honor.”

“I’ve got you covered.”

Crouching down, Dmitri touched his fingers to the angel’s cheek.

“He’s warm.” Putting down the scimitar, he used utmost care to turn the body, making sure not to further damage the boy’s wings. “No heartbeat.” But that didn’t mean all hope was lost. Raphael, how close are you? he asked, having felt the archangel’s mind touch his as he turned in through the gates.

Minutes away. Show me.

Dmitri opened his mind enough that Raphael was able to see through his eyes, assess the damage. Give him your breath, Dmitri. He will not survive otherwise.

Trusting Honor to maintain the guard, Dmitri began to breathe for the young angel, feeling that chest, heavy with the muscle necessary for flight, rise and fall under his touch. It wasn’t more than five minutes later that Raphael walked into the building. The archangel didn’t hesitate in kneeling on the dirty floor, his wings trailing in the accumulated dust and debris, to take the boy into his arms—replacing Dmitri’s lips with his own.

An archangel’s breath held incredible power.

As Dmitri watched, a faint blue glow suffused the place where Raphael’s lips met the young angel’s.

Rising, he picked up the scimitar and turned to glance at Honor, a hard-eyed hunter with a gun in her hands she wouldn’t hesitate to use to protect the vulnerable—yet one who had the heart to feel pity for what her abuser had suffered as a child. Dmitri had no such softness inside him, but he accepted that it was an integral part of Honor, this complex woman with ancient knowledge in those eyes of midnight green.

Nodding at her to hold her position, he began to check the area to see if he could glean anything that might speak to Kallistos’s whereabouts. Nothing but scuff marks in the dust from where the other vampire had dragged the young angel’s body inside. Kallistos had left the same way he’d entered, making no effort to hide his prints. Will he live? he asked, seeing Raphael break the life-giving kiss.

Eyes of unearthly blue locked with his. Yes. And he’ll be whole once more. But he will need care of a kind the mortal world cannot provide.

Dmitri nodded. I’ll organize transport to the Refuge.

No, Dmitri. I must take him myself. The archangel rose, the angel’s limp body in his arms. We’ll leave three days hence, after he has had a chance to regain a little strength.

Elena?

She is my heart. She comes with me.

Dmitri had expected nothing else. I will watch over your city, Sire.

It was as Raphael was leaving that Honor stepped forward. “Wait.”

Walking around to the archangel’s other side as if she hadn’t just halted the most powerful being in the country, she lifted up the young angel’s hand. It was fisted. “He’s hiding something in his palm.”

Raphael glanced at Dmitri. “Force it open.”

Dmitri managed not to break any bones, but he did have to bruise the boy to peel apart his fingers. To reveal the crushed but still recognizable remains of two sugar maple leaves. “Nothing to differentiate them from any other similar leaves,” he said, picking up the remains of the greenery.

Cupping the angel’s hand, Honor leaned closer. “He’s written something on his palm.”

“Eris,” Raphael said, his vision acute. “The word is ‘Eris.’ ”

Dmitri frowned. “Neha’s consort? No one has seen him for centuries.” Even as he spoke, his eyes fell once more on the leaves from the sugar maple tree. “Neha,” he said, an old piece of knowledge jarred loose in his mind, “has no properties in this territory, but Eris had a liking for it before he went into seclusion.” Whether that seclusion had been by choice was debatable, for Dmitri had heard rumors that Neha’s consort had betrayed her with another woman, been punished for it for the past three hundred years.

It wasn’t impossible that Kallistos’s position in Neha’s court had allowed him access to Eris, and, whatever else he had become, Isis’s lover had proven intelligent. More so perhaps than Eris—who had always been Neha’s gleaming ornament of a consort, a beloved plumed bird the archangel had showered with jewels and silks. “Kallistos must be using Eris’s estate as his base.”

“Go,” Raphael said, gathering the hurt angel’s body closer to his own. “Take all the men you need.”

“Sire.” I won’t leave the city vulnerable. There’s still a chance Neha’s hand is behind this. The archangel hated everyone who had helped execute her daughter, Anoushka—Raphael was amongst that number. This may be a trap to draw us away.

I’m more than capable of defending my city, Dmitri.

And she is more than capable of poisoning the air itself if it suits her purpose. I’ll go alone. I’m strong enough to handle Kallistos, even if he has more of his protovampires with him.

Raphael’s blue eyes were relentless. You will take Illium.

I am not blinded by the past. His decisions were rational, coldly so.

Nevertheless. Raphael’s expression changed the barest fraction. I would not lose my second.

Dmitri bowed his head in a slight nod. “Honor,” he said after the archangel walked out with his living cargo, “I’m going to take the chopper to Vermont—”

Stalking to stand face-to-face with him, she pushed at his chest. “If you’re even thinking about leaving me behind, think again.”

He should’ve stood firm, would have had it been any other woman. But Honor . . . she had her hooks so deep into him that it made the old, merciless part of him go motionless, examine the situation—and his sudden vulnerability—with icy focus. To destroy this strange, wonderful something between them, all it would take were a few well-chosen words of utmost cruelty.

Honor was smart, but she was also tender of heart. She didn’t know the depths to which he could go, the wounds he could inflict. He could make her bleed without ever raising a hand. “I am not a good man, Honor,” he said, touching his fingers to her jaw.

Instead of shying, she leaned into the touch. “You’re my man.”

You’re my man.

The echo of Ingrede’s words tangled with Honor’s, but then, his wife had been tender of heart, too. He’d protected that heart with all his strength . . . and he knew that despite the deep weakness she created in him, he would do so once more with Honor. It was a strange thing, to feel such tenderness again, to know he was capable of it. “Come. It’s time to beard the monster in his den.”

Venom was the one who most often piloted the chopper for use by the Seven, but Dmitri knew how to do it—he’d been curious when the machines had been invented. Though he found more pleasure in