Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 139178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“You manage to keep your cats alive.” Greta’s first cat had been Roar, of the line of Illium’s beloved Smoke.
He’d gifted Greta a kitten from Smoke’s one and only litter—it turned out that, per Illium, Smoke had had “a secret boyfriend” prior to her journey to New York. Which Illium had discovered when he took her to the vet for all the routine procedures, having been unable to do so in China, devastated as it was at the time.
Greta had ever had a cat from then on.
“Cats are rather more independent than babies.” The other woman squeezed Elena’s hand. “I am saying I understand your fear.”
This friendship, though it had stood a far longer span of time than her friendship with Sara, remained new in so many ways. Greta knew about Ari and Belle and Marguerite, but she hadn’t shaken Elena awake from screaming nightmares, hadn’t been by her side when Jeffrey threw her out, hadn’t stood with her as she farewelled her mother and sisters in a final goodbye.
Don’t you keep that new best friend in the dark, either, you stubborn fool. Let them in. Let them be what they should be to you.
Sara’s voice again, her memory a haunting Elena hoped would never end, never fade. As for Sara’s advice…I can’t, Sara. Not yet.
Not with the nightmares so fresh; she’d had another one last night, and this time she’d drowned in her sisters’ blood before Raphael managed to wake her. “I don’t know if even I understand my fear,” she said, the skin of the Tower smooth and glittering blue under her tight grip.
“Our baby’s father is one of the ten most powerful beings in the entire world. And no one is in danger of going megalomaniacal like in the first decades of my angelic life.”
The name Zhou Lijuan had been all but erased from angelic history. Not her crimes, for those had to be known, had to be remembered and denounced. Only her identity—she was noted in the records as a cipher that meant To be forgotten.
Immortals could be pitiless.
“There’s no logical reason for my fear.”
“Elena.” Greta shook her head. “You, my friend with a mortal heart, should be the first person to realize that emotions aren’t logical. Fear most of all.”
Elena bit down on her lower lip, but Greta wasn’t done. “Here,” she said, handing Elena a neatly folded printout that she’d pulled from a pocket of her pantsuit—technology and fashion might march on, but Greta would give up both her printer and her favorite form of clothing when she was good and dead.
“A vampire has given in to bloodlust in White Plains. Murdered two people, and was heading toward a school last he was spotted. Guards are already onsite, school quietly locked down, but the vampire is too old and deadly for anyone to be complacent. Go fight a monster, Ellie.”
Elena’s entire chest compressed, her insides tight and hot. “Thank you.”
Then, dropping off the roof without further words, she went and fought a monster—and in the bloody aftermath, as she stood with her blades dripping red while a school full of children sat safe and innocent, she found a small peace within.
8
She was a good ruler. Before the madness, she was what an archangel should be.
—Raphael to Elena (Once, while Caliane, Archangel of Amanat, yet Slept)
Dressed only in loose black pants that were cool silk around his body, Raphael stood staring out at the sparkling night of his city.
He’d returned home three hours earlier, his entire being raw with the need to be here. Elena had been awake and waiting for him, her need as primal as his own. Now, at last, the woman who owned his heart in every way lay fast asleep, her rest an easier one this night.
If he could, he’d thank Greta for reminding Elena that she was no longer a terrified little girl, but a warrior honed and lethal. The vampire, however, wouldn’t appreciate his words—for Greta wasn’t one to expect or want accolades. The only thing she’d ever asked of Raphael was that he never add her to his official senior team.
“I do not wish to wear a public face, sire. I wish even less to go to formal or even informal events, including dinners at the Enclave. I want only to be left alone to do what I do best.”
Never would he have predicted that this most reclusive member of his staff would become a friend true and loyal to his consort.
A consort he’d held long after she fell into sleep, slipping out of bed only when he began to worry that he’d disturb her with his wakefulness. His entire body was tense, his muscles rigid and his breath a spiked weapon in his chest.
Such things he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. The last had been when Elena was mortally wounded, her life hanging by a thread. Everything in him had seemed to misfire, not quite working right.