Valerius stayed in his seat, his attention apparently on his sword, but Elena had no doubt he was aware of every possible threat in the room. Those eyes missed nothing.

Cristiano appeared more lax, but Elena had come to know the vampire during her friendship with Hannah, knew he was as dangerous as Aodhan. The man might give off a lazy vibe, might’ve once told her he liked nothing more than sunning himself like a cat, but he could move lightning fast when necessary.

“Yes.” Hannah glanced around, grooves forming around her mouth. “I appreciate the idea behind the Gallery. So many of our people’s treasures would’ve been lost or damaged without the stewardship of the Luminata, but I cannot agree with the limited nature of access to it.”

The jeweled pins in the elaborate bun in which she wore her hair caught the light, sparkling in beautiful shatters. “When I create works of art, I do it because it is part of me and I must create. But afterward, when the work is done, I hope that it’ll speak to people, that it’ll open up their hearts or their minds. That cannot happen if the art is buried for safekeeping.”

“It’s a kind of hoarding, don’t you think?” Elena murmured. “The Luminata renounce sex, worldly possessions, all that, but they have this archive of treasures that belongs to them.”

“It belongs to all angelkind.”

“Lip service, Hannah.” Elena glanced down at the exhibits all but empty of life below them. “If a random, nonpowerful angel rocked up and asked to enter the Gallery, do you think he or she would be admitted?”

Hannah bit down on the lush curve of her lower lip, but despite the hesitant act, she was very much a consort in that instant. Contained and graceful, and with a spine that held a pure, unbreakable strength. “I want to think so, Ellie,” she said softly, “but being here, feeling the pulse of this place. It is . . . not right.”

“Secrets have a way of rotting foundations when those foundations are meant to be built on truth and honor.” Her gaze wanted to go to Aodhan, her soul itching to look at the miniature he’d retrieved.

Forcing patience, she kept her attention on Hannah. “You ready to leave, get some air?”

The other woman looked torn. “An oddness to the air or not, there is so much here for me to see. I do not know when Elijah and I will be able to return, not with the upheaval in the world.” She put her fingers to the glass again. “Will you be very angry if I stay?”

“Of course not. This is your jam.”

Hannah sighed. “I will be a very bad friend this trip, I’m afraid.”

“I’d be the same if you threw me into a room full of weapons across the ages.” She frowned. “Speaking of which, where are the weapons? I know for a fact that at least one of Deacon’s pieces was never used, but was commissioned to be displayed for its artistry.” Her best friend’s husband might be mortal, but his skill was revered by vampires and angels as well as humans. If he hadn’t been so loyal to the Guild, he could’ve worked only for the immortals and wallpapered his home with money.

As it was, the Guild’s hunters always came first for Deacon—hunters, he said when queried about his choice, needed their weapons to stay alive. He’d repair those weapons, create new ones when needed, then work on pieces for immortals. First the weapons meant to be used in combat. Last came the commissioned “art” pieces, or ones he guessed were meant to be displayed.

“I build my weapons to be used, not to be kept shiny and clean and under glass,” he’d said to her the last time she’d been over at their place for dinner. “I only do the odd show-piece because it means the immortal involved owes me a favor—which means he or she owes Sara a favor.”

And the head of the Hunters Guild did occasionally need to call in those markers.

Raphael had gone with her to that dinner, had nodded at Deacon’s reasoning. The two men had become friends of a kind over the past two years. Not the type of friendship Raphael shared with his Seven—it was too soon for that—but one that wasn’t simply a surface acquaintance. They’d been forced into contact because of Elena and Sara’s relationship—after Elena declared that the Archangel of New York would henceforth be attending all social events to which she was invited.

That had caused a certain ripple.

The funniest had been the day she landed at Guild Academy for a party and Raphael landed beside her. Everyone’s jaws had dropped. The sole person who’d bet that Raphael would turn up that night—Ransom—had made a killing. Of course, her archangel hadn’t stayed long, aware that his sheer power altered the balance of the situation, put everyone on edge.

It was different with Deacon and Sara: though they, too, felt the impact of his power, they weren’t in awe of him, saw him first as Elena’s man. Everything else, even the fact he ruled North America, came second.

“It is as when I met Dmitri,” Raphael had said to her after their third dinner with the other couple. “I knew I had met a friend and it made sorrow fill my veins to know that he would be gone in a mere heartbeat.”

Except Dmitri had been Made a vampire against his will, while Deacon was content to live a mortal life. Elena knew because she’d asked both her best friend and Sara’s husband if they wanted to be tested to see if they could become vampires. Not everyone had the right biology for it. Beth didn’t.

Sara had hugged her, smiled, then shaken her head. “We’re happy to be mortal, Ellie.”