Izzy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Coming closer, he reached out a finger to Elena’s arm, hovered.
“Go on,” she said. “I should warn you I have no idea what will happen.”
The warriors around him looked even more intrigued. Izzy was undeterred. “I’m part of your Guard, Ellie. Your power won’t hurt me.” He touched his finger to a section of her skin that held tributaries of liquid gold. The gold twined around his finger for a second before returning to her and continuing on in its business.
He dropped his hand, his smile a thing of beauty. “See? Your power knows me.”
Patting his cheek because seriously, he was the most adorable adult angel she knew, she said, “Long as you don’t steal the last slice of pizza like you did last time. Then all bets are off.”
As his friends laughed and slapped him on the back, the sky continued to swirl blood red, and Elena knew the power in Raphael’s veins was bedding in, becoming a permanent part of his cells.
Later, back in the suite, their first goal was to be clean.
“I have dirt on top of my dirt,” she muttered, but it wasn’t a true complaint. No soldier cared about being clean when those few minutes might mean the fall of their city. This time was a luxury.
Soon as they’d stripped, Raphael scooped her up in his arms, her wings lightning and fire around them, and took her straight to the bath. Steam rose from the top of it.
“I swear, Montgomery has better spies than Jason.” She sighed as Raphael lowered her into the bath before following her in. It was a place where they often played, but not today. Today, it was about scrubbing off the dirt while their wings brushed against each other and their legs touched.
Afterward, they jumped in the shower for a final rinse. That was when Raphael lifted her up by the hips and pinned her to the wall. They came together in a hot, hard fury, a moment stolen on the eve of a battle where all could be won . . . or lost.
No foreplay, no teasing, just the raw need to be one.
Limp against him in the aftermath, she sighed when he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. They took a long second more to be together, to find strength in one another before they drew apart and began to dry off.
They didn’t dress in full combat gear, but put on enough that they could be on the battlefield in a matter of seconds should it be necessary. Clean, ready, they lay down in bed, Elena’s head on Raphael’s chest and her wings sprawled over him in a dance of lightning, while he cupped her nape with his hand, his thumb stroking absently.
They talked about Lijuan and about the knowledge the Legion had tried to give them, attempting to make sense of a shattered kaleidoscope of memories. Elena fell asleep at some point; her exhausted body still felt very mortal at times. When she woke, it was to a reddish light falling through the balcony doors they’d left uncurtained all night.
Raphael remained in bed with her and awake, his free arm bent behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. His other arm was yet wrapped around her. He was warm and strong and smelled like home—and the glow of power burned from his skin.
“Mirrors and channels,” he said, picking up their conversation as if she hadn’t conked out in the middle of it. “Let us recap our thoughts, hbeebti: mirrors reflect objects and light, but a certain kind of mirror can make light stronger, too, focus it.”
Elena yawned, her brain fuzzy. “Gimme a minute to throw some water on my face.” It took more like five, but she was refreshed by the time she returned to the room. “What time is it?” It had been long enough for her own glow to disappear, though her veins did turn to liquid gold now and then without warning.
“Seven in the morning.”
She poked her head out the balcony doors. In the distance was a gray sky that might mean it was raining out there, but directly above . . . “Raphael, the bloodstorm sky is still swirling away above the Tower.” A slow-moving cyclone with a heart of red so dark it was black.
“I know.” Raphael’s voice was a little absent. “I decided to let the enemy wonder what exactly is happening to me.”
“Excellent evil plan.” Going back to the bed, she took a cross-legged position facing him. “How about an experiment? Throw a little power at me.”
When he did, the energy sank into her, only to release back into him the instant she made contact. “I guess that’s a mirroring effect in a way, but I don’t think that’s what the Legion meant.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples, squeezed her eyes shut. “I have fragmented images of massive explosions, of power narrowing to a single point . . . and a sense of things being made . . . bigger. Does that make sense?”
“The Legion want us to do something that magnifies power.” Raphael sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist and his bare chest a seduction.
But no matter how they approached it, they couldn’t find the truth hidden in the Legion’s enigmatic words—or in the memories the Primary had tried to pass on. The only thing that was indisputable was that even wildfire could only injure Lijuan now. If they did what they’d done before, they’d waste the Legion’s sacrifice for no final outcome. Yet doing nothing wasn’t an option.
When they rose not long afterward, Elena ate, then flew across to the front line to relieve a gunner who’d stayed up overnight. “I’ll take the day,” she told him. “Get some rest, and you need blood, too.” The male was too pale, his face thinner than was his normal.
When he protested that he was fine, she pointed out that he’d be useless as a gunner if he fainted mid-shot.
“I do not faint.” Arms folded, eyes narrowed, affront in every breath.
Jeez, four-hundred-year-old vamps could be so tetchy. “Then do it for me,” she said. “I need to feel useful.”
“Consort, no one could ask more from you.” Arms unfolding, his expression earnest. “You fight by our side every day.”
Despite his response, her words did convince him to take the break. That done, she turned her attention to another vampire. “You, too.” She pointed a finger. “Take the time while things are quiet. It’s all going to go to hell sooner rather than later.”
Setting down her weapon, the experienced vampire with whom Elena regularly played poker, sniffed at her. “Ellie, did you have a shower?” A gasp.
Elena waved her hand from her body toward the other woman. “Smell my lemony freshness. You, too, can have this scent if you leave before Her Evilness wakes.”
“I’m gone.”
Seeing that others who’d taken a rest break were arriving to relieve the remainder of the night watch, she settled in to her spot. It was raining on this side of the city, but the thin drizzle didn’t penetrate her jacket or pants. She’d walked up to this roof after landing lower down on a balcony invisible to Lijuan’s forces. At which point, she’d retracted her wings and covered her hair under a black knit cap.
The energy fissures didn’t often happen on her face, so if she kept the knit cap snugged down and her hands in her gloves, no one from Lijuan’s side should make her. Should that change, she’d return to the Tower.
She was here to help, not draw danger down on their troops.
Raphael, meanwhile, was in a meeting with Elijah and Michaela. The three archangels needed to make strategic plans about how best to utilize their energies in battle. For one, while it was clear Michaela could hurt Lijuan a little, her strikes would have more impact if she waited until Raphael had softened up the goddess of fricking zombies with wildfire.
They couldn’t afford to waste any advantage.
A strange calm hung over the city. A shooter would fire a potshot from Lijuan’s side every so often, and Raphael’s side would retaliate, but for the most part, things were eerie in their stillness.