Wrapping her tight in his arms, Raphael held her close as Elena cried for a woman who hadn’t been able to bear that awful reality, no matter that she had two living daughters who loved her, needed her to kiss away their own shocked horror. Marguerite Deveraux had put a rope around her neck and ended her pain—and it had been Elena who’d found her. For that, Raphael would never forgive Marguerite, no matter how much pity and sadness he felt for what she’d suffered.

Elena’s nails dug into his back, her wet cheek pressed to his chest. “It’s like our family is cursed.”

“If it was,” Raphael said, “then you have broken the curse.” Cupping the back of her head, he pressed his jaw to her temple. “No one will take my Elena from me. I’ll destroy the world before I allow that to happen.”

“You’re scary, Archangel,” his hunter whispered, shifting back to face him with a tear-wet face that nonetheless held a smile. “But I want to dance with you anyway.”

The words were an echo of the ones she’d spoken to him as they fell in New York, Elena’s broken body in his arms and his wings shredded and useless. Knhebek, hbeebti.

He took another kiss, poured power into her until her skin glowed with it, tried to kiss away the pain that lived so deep in her. He wanted to love her in the most primal way, to drive away the dark with raw pleasure, but in the next room lay a broken Luminata, and above them, the skies pounded with lightning.

“We’ll dance when we are home,” he said, the words a promise.

“Done.” A shaky breath. “It’s such a rush when you do that thing you do.” Her breasts were flushed, her nipples tight.

Raphael smiled. They’d only been able to experience this little eroticism of late, as she became strong enough to bear the merest hint of power he shared with her, bonding them during intimacy. Her body couldn’t hold on to that power for longer than a few seconds, but it was more than enough to ignite pleasure through both their bodies.

“Imagine how much better it’ll feel as we grow together,” he whispered, dropping his head to kiss one pouting nipple.

Elena shuddered. “You’re lethal. And I”—a tug on his hair, a hard kiss—“am your willing victim.”

* * *

Elena dressed in the full set of warrior leathers she’d packed just in case, complete with boots that came up to her thighs and would double her protection against knife strikes. The top was sleeveless but had a high neck, and the blades strapped to her upper arms should give pause to anyone who wanted to strike at her. Over her wrists and forearms, she wore metal reinforced leather gauntlets that had been a gift from Titus.

For Raphael’s warrior, he’d written in the note that had accompanied the gift the Archangel of Southern Africa had sent her after the block party in New York.

They fit perfectly and, even better, weren’t decorative but meant to be worn as protection. On the underside, there was a built-in knife sheath, which she now utilized. Then she strapped her crossbow onto her right thigh and, pulling aside her ponytail, slipped her long spine knife into its hidden sheath. The crossbow bolt sheath was easy to wear on her back, designed as it was to sit on her spine and not get in the way of her wings. “Can you pass me those knives, Archangel?”

Raphael handed over the small, sleek throwing knife set she always had on her. With the glamour still around both of them, she could be sure no one was watching as she secreted the blades all over her body.

Her lover’s eyes glinted. “You’re missing something.”

“I am?” Elena glanced at herself. “I’m pretty sure I’m bristling with as many weapons as possible.” She was pissed off at what had been done to Ibrahim as well as the brutal fate that had probably befallen her grandfather—and that had led to her grandmother’s death in a land far from her home.

Raphael lifted a closed fist, opened it. On his palm lay a deadly blade star that could cut a throat if thrown just right. “Ashwini came over to give this to me the morning of our departure, while you were in the shower.”

The other hunter was an expert with the stars, could probably decapitate someone with a slightly larger version, and she’d been teaching Elena how to use them effectively. Eyes wide, Elena picked up the star with utmost care, aware it could slice right through her finger if she wasn’t cautious. “Why are you giving it to me only now?”

“Your strangely prescient friend told me to give it to you once we’d found the broken man.”

As long as Elena had known Ash, her friend’s occasionally spooky predictions still made her shiver. “Did she say anything else?”

“Only that you’d need it.” Raphael’s jaw grew hard. “If you do, use it. Sever the arteries, do whatever you have to do to survive.”

“I have no intention of letting anyone hurt me, Raphael.” Her words were a vow. “These bastards might have terrorized my grandmother, but I’m no simple town girl. I’m a fucking hunter, and I’m the fucking consort to the Archangel of New York.”

Hauling Raphael down to her after slipping the blade star carefully into a spot in her leathers built to hold the weapon, she kissed him with red-hot fury. “Now let’s kick these assholes into oblivion.”

Raphael bit at her lower lip. “Are you tired? From the wildfire transfer?”

“Not tired, but I feel like I’ll need more sleep than usual when I crash.” Another kiss. “But I’m not crashing anytime yet.”