“If Jessamy asks, tell her I followed the rules.” A feral grin.
Oh. “I will.” Glancing down, she focused on the plant in her arms. It was unusual, the red heart of the open pods lined with what appeared to be tiny barbs. Intrigued, she touched a careful finger to the red . . . and it tried to eat her.
Naasir laughed when she jumped, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. Coming up beside her, he said, “It took me hours and hours to find one in your city.” Pride in every word, he ran his finger over another open pod.
When the flower snapped its teeth at him, he snapped his own back. “It only eats small things.”
Elena was beyond fascinated. “Like insects?”
His eyes lighting up at her obvious interest, Naasir nodded. “If you put it in your greenhouse, it’ll eat any insects that bother your other plants.”
Elena wasn’t sure she had any insects in her greenhouse. Raphael, where do we get food for this plant? She’d never had a carnivorous greenhouse guest before.
It is your gift, hunter mine.
Thanks a lot. But she remained fascinated by the plant as unique as the vampire who’d given it to her. “Should we go put it in the greenhouse now, so it’s warm?”
Naasir nodded. “It’s like me; it doesn’t enjoy the cold.”
First, though, Elena took it inside to show the others. The gift was a hit.
Heading outside afterward, past an unflustered Montgomery, Elena didn’t bother to put on her coat. It was freezing out, but the greenhouse wasn’t far. Naasir prowled beside her, his nostrils flaring at the cold scents, the bitter night air. “Caliane is lonely,” he said without warning.
Elena almost stumbled. Righting herself, she carried on along the lamplit pathway toward the greenhouse, the grow lamps within giving it a welcoming glow. “Lonely?”
The silver strands of Naasir’s hair moved like liquid mercury when he nodded. “When she lived in the world before, Raphael was nearby. Now he is far from her, across an ocean, and the time she had with him at the ball did not ease her need.”
If there was one thing about Caliane that Elena had never doubted, it was the Ancient’s love for her son. “Can she leave her territory right now?” Amanat was a heartbeat away from Lijuan’s homeland in angelic terms.
“It may be the best time. Lijuan’s people are looking inward—they’ve put up defenses and are hunkered down behind them.”
“I’ll speak to Raphael.” The idea of having her Ancient mother-in-law over for a visit didn’t exactly make her want to jump for joy, but Caliane had appeared to be thawing toward her during their last meeting, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe. “Thank you for telling me.”
Naasir pressed his nose against the glass of the greenhouse before following her inside. She settled the carnivorous plant away from the others, not sure it wouldn’t decide to change diets, and turned to find the vampire standing in the aisle with a worried frown on his face. “Are you sure you’ll have enough insects?”
“Yes. I’ll take care of it, I promise.” A plant was a plant, even if this one had a slightly different diet. “I like plants.” And plants liked her back . . . more and more these days. She’d managed to baby an incredibly delicate fern back to life after it collapsed into limp brown strands as a result of her abandonment during the battle.
Then again, the plant’s recovery had probably been sheer luck.
It sat healthy and happy and green to the right, next to a cheerful pansy that had attracted Naasir. The vampire touched his fingers to the soft purple petals of the flower, stroking as if he liked the velvety texture.
“Here,” she said, showing him another plant. “You can eat it.” Breaking off a flower, she gave it to him.
He bit carefully, chewed. “I don’t understand why people eat plants,” was his succinct response, but he finished off the flower as they headed back. “We will spar?”
“I’ve been looking forward to it.” Fast and unorthodox, he’d be an excellent opponent from whom to learn. “Though we’ll have to have ground rules.”
He scowled. “You said cheating was okay.”
“It is—for me. Raphael’s an archangel. You’re a centuries-old vampire.” Elena wasn’t sure of Naasir’s exact age, but she had the feeling it had to be around the six- or seven-hundred mark. “I’m not as strong as you.” Raphael had told her she had to be blunt with Naasir.
He is highly intelligent, but he becomes frustrated with too much subtlety. That doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of understanding it—but that he gets annoyed with people who force such subtleties on him.
Tonight, Naasir looked at her with the silver eyes that held such wildness her senses kept telling her he was nothing known, nothing understood. “I could break your neck without effort,” he said, as if simply stating a fact. “The sire would not like that.”
“Neither would I.” Her dry response made him grin, fangs flashing. “I say we do a couple of practice runs so you can gauge your strength against mine.” Elena liked sparring with those stronger than her; it was the only way to get better. Their enemies sure as hell didn’t go easy on her because she was significantly weaker than the average adult angel.
But, she had to be smart about it. No use being too proud and ending up dead because Naasir didn’t realize he wasn’t dealing with a warrior angel his own age. “How about tomorrow?”
“I will ask Janvier if he and his hunter need help with their hunt.”
Elena felt her body tense again at the horror of what had been done to the Little Italy victim, at the idea that Lijuan might somehow have left a taint in their city. “I really wish the wicked witch would take a dive straight into hell.”
“Did Raphael tell you I once tried to bite her?”
“No.” Eyes wide, she turned to face him. “What happened?”
“I was a child. She laughed because she thought I was joking.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t—I wanted to kill her because she smelled like bad meat. Wrong.”
“In that case,” Elena said, “we’ll soon be best friends.”
Naasir wrapped his arm around her neck, his very sharp teeth close to her ear as he said, “You smell good, Ellie.” A tiny bite, playful rather than serious. “Do you think Janvier smells his hunter?”
Elena smiled at the whisper and decided to set aside thoughts of Lijuan and the death the insane archangel left in her wake. Tonight it was about loyalty, about friendship, and about the ties that bound them all to one another, angel, vampire, and mortal. “I hope so.”
Janvier watched Ashwini perch on the arm of the chair where Honor had taken a seat, Ash’s long, long legs clad in black jeans and her eyes bright as she listened to something Mahiya was saying to them both. His hunter appeared in good spirits despite her lack of success at unearthing a clue, but he’d felt the screaming tension in her when they’d first walked into the house. Others might’ve identified her response as fear at the proximity to an archangel but he knew different.
It was the history Raphael carried in his bones. At a thousand five hundred years old—give or take a decade or two—Raphael was young in relation to the other archangels. Lijuan was rumored to be ten thousand years old, while no one knew Caliane’s true age; Janvier had heard guesses that went from two hundred and fifty thousand years old to double that. He couldn’t imagine living that long—it made him better understand why older angels chose to Sleep for eons and why some vampires settled on a peaceful goodnight.
“You look at her as a man only looks at one woman in his lifetime, be he mortal or immortal.”
Janvier met the archangel’s gaze, the power in it staggering. “There has never been, nor ever will be, anyone like her.”
“Such gifts don’t often appear,” Raphael said, his attention on Ash. “In my lifetime, I’ve met three others like her: mortals who needed time beyond a human life span to allow their gifts to grow to their full potential.”