Twenty minutes later, Noel leaned back against the wall beside Nimra’s writing desk and watched her walk to the armoire where she kept the Midnight. Her wings were an exotic temptation, reaching out to touch them an impulse he resisted only because neither of them was in the mood for play.
Less than half a minute later, she turned, the vial of Midnight delicate even in her fine- boned hands. Walking to the window, she held it up to the light. Darkness crawled a stealthy shadow across her face. “Yes,” she murmured at last, “you are right. There is not as much Midnight as there should be.”
He hadn’t wanted to be right. “You’re certain?”
A nod that sent liquid sunlight gleaming over the blue- black tumble of her hair. “The vial is ringed with circles of gold.” She ran her fingers over and along those thin lines. “It is no more than an aesthetic design, but I remember looking at the bottle when it was first given to me and thinking of what some would do for this infinitesimal quantity of Midnight— it just reached over the third line of gold.”
Noel crouched down by the window as she held the vial level on the sill. It took a bare few moments for the viscous fluid to settle. When it did, it became apparent that it now hovered between the second and third line. He blew out a breath.
“I would that you were wrong, Noel.” Leaving the Midnight in his hands, Nimra walked across the room, her wings trailing on the amber- swirled blue of the carpet. “The fact that the assassin came into my chambers and took this means two things.”
“The first,” Noel said, placing the vial inside the safe and locking it shut, “is that he or she knew it was here.”
“Yes— I can count those who have that knowledge on the fingers of one hand, and not use up my fingers.” A desolate sadness in every word. “The second is that it means no other powerful angel was involved in this. The hatred is theirs alone.”
Noel didn’t attempt to comfort her, knowing there could be no comfort— not until the truth was unearthed, the would–be murderer’s motives exposed to the light of day. “We need to get an evidence tech in here to see if there are any prints on the vial or the safe that shouldn’t be there.”
Nimra looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “An evidence tech?”
“It is the twenty- first century,” he said in a gentle tease, his chest aching at the hurt she would soon have to hide, becoming once more the angel who ruled this territory, ruthless and inhuman. “Such things are possible.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Laugh at me at your peril.” But she didn’t resist when he tugged her into his arms.
He ran his hand down her back, over the heavy warmth of her wings. “I can get hold of someone we can trust.”
“To have such a person come into my home— it’s not something I welcome.” She raised her head, those amazing eyes steely with determination. “But it must be done and soon. Christian has begun to question your presence here beyond that which can be explained by jealousy, and Asirani watches you too closely.”
Prick or not, Noel had never discounted Christian’s intelligence. The only surprise was that it had taken the male angel this long to wise up— no doubt his feelings for Nimra had clouded his judgment. As for Nimra’s social secretary—“Asirani watches me to make sure I don’t hurt you.”
Nimra pushed off his chest, her tone remote as she said, “And are you not afraid that I will hurt you?”
Yes. Compelling and dangerous, she’d forced him awake from the numb state he’d been in since the torture. His emotions were raw, new, acutely vulnerable. “I’m your shield,” he said, rather than exposing the depth of his susceptibility to her. “If that means taking a hit to protect you, I’ll do it without the slightest hesitation.” Because Nimra was what angels of her age and power so often weren’t— strong, with a heart that still beat, a conscience that still functioned.
She cupped his face, such intensity in her gaze that it was a caress. “I will tell you a secret truth, Noel. No lover has stood for me in all my centuries of existence.”
It was a punch to the heart. “What about Eitriel?”
Dropping her hands, she turned her head toward the window. “He is no one.” Her words were final, a silent order from an angel used to obedience.
Noel had no intention of allowing her to dictate the bounds of their relationship. “This no one,” he said, thrusting his hands into the rich silk of her hair and forcing her to meet his gaze, “walks between us.”
Nimra made as if to pull away. He held on. Expression dark with annoyance, she said, “You know I could break your hold.”
“Yet here we are.”
9
He was impossible, Nimra thought. Such a man would not be any kind of a manageable companion— no, he would demand and push and take liberties beyond what he should. He would most certainly not treat her with the awe due to her rank and age.
Somewhat to the surprise of the part of her that held centuries of arrogance, the idea enticed rather than repelled. To be challenged, to pit her will against that of this vampire who had been honed in a crucible that would’ve savaged other men beyond redemption, to dance the most ancient of dances… Yes.
“Eitriel,” she said, “was what a human might call my husband.” Angels did not marry as mortals did, did not bind one another with such ties. “We knew one another close to three hundred and forty years.”
Noel’s scowl was black thunder. “That hardly makes him ‘no one.’”
“I was two hundred when we met—”
“A baby,” Noel interrupted, hands tightening in her curls. “Angels aren’t even allowed to leave the Refuge until reaching a hundred years of age.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do release my hair, Noel.”
He unflexed his hands at once. “I’m sorry.” Gentle fingers stroking over her scalp. “Bloody uncivilized of me.”
Unexpected, that he made her want to smile, when she was about to expose the most horrific period of her life. “We are both aware you will never be Christian.”
His eyes gleamed. “Now who’s walking a dangerous road?”
Lips curving, she said, “Not a baby, no, but a very young woman.” Because of their long life spans, angels matured slower than mortals. However, by two hundred, she’d had the form and face of a woman, had begun to spread her wings, gain a better understanding of who she would one day become.
“Eitriel was my mentor at the start. I studied under him as he taught me what it was to be an angel who might one day rule, though I didn’t realize that at the time.” It was only later that she’d understood Raphael had seen her burgeoning strength, taken steps to make sure she had the correct training.
Noel’s hand curved over her nape, hot and rough. “You fell in love with your teacher.”
The memories threatened to roll over her in a crushing wave, but it wasn’t the echo of her former lover that caused her chest to fill with such pain as no woman, mortal or immortal, should ever have to experience. “Yes, but not until later, when such a relationship was permissible. I was four hundred and ninety years old.
“For a time, we were happy.” But theirs had always been the relationship of teacher to pupil. “Three decades into our relationship, I began to grow exponentially in power and was assigned the territory of Louisiana. It took ten more years for my strength to settle, but when it did, I had long outstripped Eitriel. He was… unhappy.”
Continuing to caress her nape, Noel snorted. “One of my mortal friends is a psychologist. He would say this Eitriel had inadequacy issues— I’ll wager my fangs he had a tiny cock.”