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)
Tari had been different yet again, the recordings taken by her cousin, Sam, showing the now-senior wing commander singing sweetly to unsettled babies until they calmed, their tiny bodies curled up in sleep.
“It is considered a boring task by most warriors—before they do it,” Raphael said. “Afterward…it changes us for the better. To be in charge of protecting such fragile new lives, it defines who we are—who we should be—as warriors.”
“Protectors,” Elena said.
“Yes, just so.” He opened out his wings, one magnificent wing brushing over her own, before he closed them back in. “While most nursery watches are quiet…sometimes, things do go wrong.”
Lines carved into his face, he continued. “During my time on watch, I was in the Medica when first one, then a second woman died while with child.” The words were wrenched out of him. “It is a known complication and risk with angelic births—even Keir cannot stop it when things go that horribly wrong. Both times, we lost the mother and her child.”
Raphael shuddered out a breath.
“Listen, Archangel,” Elena said, her hands cupping his face and her voice firm—because she wasn’t about to allow this fear to torment him. “I have archangelic cells in my body.” Her ability to heal was akin to that of a much, much older angel. “I know there are no guarantees in life, but I can tell you that our little spark feels as strong as…well…a super-parasite.”
Their child kicked just then, as if to prove the point.
Her “oof” made the searing blue of Raphael’s eyes flash with untrammeled emotion before he looked down. Taking his hand, she placed it on the spot where the kiddo’s knee or foot or elbow was trying its best to poke its way out of her body. “See?” she murmured. “Probably going to out-feral Naasir and Andi’s cubs.”
“I’ll be proud that our child is such a wild creature.” An exhale as he wrapped her up in his wings and arms. “I have tasted fear before this, when I thought to lose you—now, that fear is multiplied until I can’t breathe at times.”
She slid her arms around him. “We’ve got each other to hold on to,” she told him, because no one knew her own fears as well as Raphael. “And we’ve got each other to lean on—when I falter, I lean on you. Lean on me, beloved mine.”
Shuddering, he bent his head so that his cheek rubbed against hers, and they stood there in the forest created by the Legion that was a little piece of magic. She thought she caught a flash of light from the corner of her eye, as if the Legion mark had glittered, but when she looked, she saw only the subtly glowing outline of the stylized dragon. That often happened when Raphael came to the forest.
Here, he was closer to their Legion than anywhere else in the world.
37
Aeclari.
—The Legion, to their Aeclari (Eons past, Eons lived, Eons to come)
Three weeks later—and hovering very close to the date they’d leave for the Refuge—Elena sat in a corner of Raphael’s Tower office with her feet up on another chair. She had several throwing blades in her lap as she polished, cleaned, and checked them for damage or wear before placing them on the folding table she’d set up next to her.
“Weapons or pickles, I knew I’d find you with one of those two things.” Raphael dropped a kiss on his consort’s unbound hair as he went to sign a number of documents waiting on the paper-thin device that sat atop his desk; he was careful to pass behind her so that his wings didn’t inadvertently disturb her deadly collection.
Elena held a shiny blade up to the light, a soft smile on her face. “Zoe made me this one last year. Deacon would’ve been one proud dad at her faultless workmanship.”
“Yes,” Raphael said from behind his desk, hit with his own memories of the quiet, dangerous hunter who’d once been the Guild’s Slayer, the hunter who hunted his own who had gone bad. “The weapons-maker was never a big talker, but that he adored his wife and child with every part of him was as apparent to me as if it were written across his face.”
Putting the blade on the folding table, she said, “Remember how he made Zoe her own area in his workshop when she was barely beyond a toddler? She had a plastic tool set she used to ‘build’ things with while—”
She never got to finish the thought, because Dmitri—black combat pants, black tee, tumbled hair against honey-dark skin—was in the doorway, his expression grim. “Huge fucking shadow on the far horizon. Invisible to our satellites—Sam’s taken his wing out to do a reconnaissance flight.”
Raphael’s mind went from affectionate warmth to lethal focus. “No one gets within a fucking mile of the city,” he said. “I don’t care what we have to do.”