Refusing to see the jagged cracks appearing in Illium’s flesh as raw power forced its way out of a body not built to hold it, Raphael “caught” that power with his own. He was running on blind instinct, had no reason to believe it would work. Though there were rumors and suspicions that Lijuan had gained the ability to siphon power from other archangels, from what Raphael had seen in the battle above New York, all she might be able to do was to feed on the Cadre much the same as she did with anyone else.
No archangel could capture another archangel’s true power.
Only . . .
Illium’s power surged up his arms and into his bloodstream. He directed the excess into the sky, where it turned into shattered lightning. When the lightning tried to pour back into Illium, he held it back with a shield of blue licked with iridescent wildfire, and he continued to capture the new energy pouring out of Illium.
The power he’d dispersed pushed against his shield, but it was new, fragile. Sending his own energy out into it, he made it break apart. Again and again and again. The rain continued to be glittering blue gold around him, but Illium’s breath began to come a little easier.
The golden light still pulsed below the surface of his skin, but it was no longer surging out through the fractures that didn’t bleed but glowed. Raphael didn’t know what would happen if he captured all the power, whether it would kill Illium or destroy his chance at ascension. He stopped.
“Can you fly down?” They were high enough up and had been encased in so much blinding light that no one could’ve seen what Raphael had done, but if Illium was to join the Cadre, he could not appear weak, least of all now.
His face drawn and eyes glowing a vivid gold, Illium gripped Raphael’s arm hard as he spread out his wings. “Yes.” Another strained word. “Not far.”
“Follow me. Head to Aodhan.” The Tower balcony on which he’d seen the other angel land was the closest viable point.
Then he dropped through the now dead-quiet air, having judged that Illium didn’t have fine muscle control over his wings. The new energy inside the younger angel’s body was overpowering him. He kept in mental touch with the other male throughout, making sure to land first so he could break Illium’s fall if he crashed. But the blue-winged angel managed to land on his feet . . . barely.
Aodhan, his face stark, went to reach out, stopped.
Illium’s eyes reflected a hundred different emotions as he stared at Raphael. “Sire.” His voice was so full of power it was barely understandable. “I’m not ready.” Blood bubbled out of his mouth, was washed away by a heavy rain no longer stained blue gold.
The power, Raphael realized, was crushing Illium’s internal organs. Left alone, it would kill him in a matter of minutes. Grabbing the side of the younger male’s neck, Raphael looked into his eyes and drew a touch more of the power into himself. He didn’t want to steal what was Illium’s birthright, but he would not let one of his Seven die.
“Focus on controlling it,” he said just as Elena landed on the edge of the balcony. “Hold the power in a tight grip.”
Illium clenched his jaw, stared into Raphael’s eyes, but the blood kept bubbling out.
Aodhan was suddenly there, his arm wrapped around Illium’s waist from behind as he held up his friend. “Focus,” he ordered. “You focus!”
Not far from Raphael, Elena was on her cell phone. “Lady Caliane,” she bit into the receiver. “No, I can’t wait! Get her!”
Mere heartbeats later, Elena said, “Lady, I’m sorry to be so rude, but Illium has ascended and it’s killing him.”
Running over with that abrupt greeting, she put the phone next to Raphael’s ear. “Mother,” he said. “I can leach off his power, but I don’t know what it’ll do to him.” As far as Raphael knew, no ascension had ever been halted or reversed, but compared to his mother, he’d lived but a firefly moment in time.
“The boy is bound to you?” Caliane said sharply. “By blood?”
“Yes.” The bond had been made when Illium became one of his Seven. It was partly why all of his Seven could initialize mind-to-mind contact with him regardless of age and whether they were angel or vampire.
“Absorb the energy, all of it. Now, before it’s too late.”
Not arguing when Illium was choking on his own blood in front of him, Raphael opened up his senses and did what he’d done instinctively in the sky. Power slammed into him, golden and filled with a joie de vivre that was pure Illium. Yet it melded with Raphael’s so flawlessly it was almost as if it had been meant for him.
It was strong . . . but young. Even so, the golden light bonded with Raphael’s cells in a way that said it was making him stronger on a permanent level. As if another brace had been added to the foundation of his power.
Not just an increase in strength. Evolution that took seconds rather than eons.
Gasping in air, Illium swayed but Aodhan kept him upright as Raphael continued to do the impossible and absorb the power of another archangel. Only Illium wasn’t Cadre. When two members of the Cadre stood next to one another, there was a faint repulsion effect, as if they were not meant to be so close. It was mild enough to ignore for short periods, but it was always present.
Raphael felt nothing akin to that with Illium.
“Yes,” he heard Elena say behind him just as he drained the last drop of the new energy from Illium. “I think it worked.” A pause. “Yes, I will.” Hanging up, she said, “Let’s get him inside.”
Between Raphael and Aodhan, they managed to get Illium into the office off the balcony—which happened to be Honor’s—and shut the door. Elena pushed the button that opaqued the windows and it was only then that Illium collapsed into the nearest chair, his wings spread out on either side. “What happened?” he said, his entire body shaking.
When Aodhan crouched in front of him and pushed back Illium’s dripping hair, the blue-winged angel shuddered and leaned into the caress. It took time for him to stop trembling, and when he did, it was to raise his head to meet Raphael’s gaze. “Sire, I am no archangel.”
“No,” Raphael agreed. “You might be one day, but your body and mind can’t handle the power at this age.” And with it living in Raphael now, Illium showed no signs of an ascension.
Having found a bottle of cold water, Elena gave it to her beloved Bluebell and, perching on the arm of his chair, gently patted his back, her fingertips brushing Illium’s wings.
“Did my mother say anything else?” Raphael asked her.
The gray of Elena’s eyes was dark, the ring of silver vivid. “She wants you to call.”
Not waiting in case Illium began to glow with power again, Raphael used his consort’s phone to make the call, putting it on speaker so all of them could hear what Caliane had to say. He expected to get the technician who monitored the communications system he’d had Illium organize for Amanat, but it was Caliane’s face that filled the tiny screen.
“Son,” she said, her expression drawn. “Is your city still standing?”
“Yes.” Her worried question made him understand the staggering truth: if he hadn’t been there to stop Illium’s premature ascension, the young angel’s death would’ve resulted in a catastrophic shock wave. “Have you seen this before, Mother?”
“Yes, in a Cascade at the very dawn of my existence. Before I was an archangel.”
Raphael couldn’t imagine that time—his mother had been a power his entire lifetime. “What happened?”
“An angel who was the commander of an archangel, ascended without warning. He was only seven hundred and his body could not hold the power.” Sorrow in her at the loss of that long-ago angel. “He died in a thunderous fury and he took over twenty thousand people with him.”
Blowing out a harsh breath, Illium rose to his feet. He was shaky but managed to make his way to Raphael’s side to face Caliane. “Lady,” he said, giving a deep bow. “You saved my life. I thank you.”