He got up so abruptly that his chair clattered to the floor. “Where’s my helmet?” Manic expression, head swiveling this way and that.

“Right behind you.” Elena frowned. “But I don’t think you should be driving in that state. What’s wrong?”

Everyone but Ransom had gone quiet and watchful, a group of lethal hunters waiting to spring into action for a friend.

Ransom stared at her before throwing out his hands as if it should be obvious. “Nyree’s having our baby!”

A collective intake of breath, then they moved like a well-oiled machine. Demarco took charge of Ransom, shoving him into a Guild vehicle; Kenji and Rose piled in the back. Ashwini got on Ransom’s bike, Honor behind her, and they roared off in the wake of the vehicle, while Elena took to the air.

Nyree was already in the maternity suite by the time they arrived at the hospital and they made sure they got Ransom to the right place. Elena had never seen him so shell-shocked—but his shoulders straightened as he went through the doors of the suite, his expression shimmering to pure calm.

The rest of them waited like anxious parents themselves. Elena drew a bit of attention, but all the weapons bristling on their bodies kept the curious at bay. Or maybe it was the whole group that was drawing attention. Demarco was wearing a sword in a spine sheath, while Ashwini’s gun hung at her hip; she played throwing stars around her fingers—the light glinted off the viciously sharp edges.

Kenji had taken a seat and begun to snap a garrote between his fisted hands, while Rose was practicing throwing a pretend knife. A passing doctor ducked as she sent one invisible missile flying. Honor, meanwhile, was “catching” Rose’s throws and sending them back.

“Did he spill yet if it was a girl or a boy?” Demarco wrapped one arm around Elena’s waist, careful to keep his forearm away from her wings.

Elena shook her head. “Said they don’t know. Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I’m going to kill all of you.” Sara rushed into the waiting room on black high heels, her outfit today a fitted dress in deep plum and her hair swinging glossily across her shoulders.

“We know you’re magic, boss.” Demarco, with no regard for his life, sent Sara a quick salute. “Had zero doubts you’d make it here in time.”

Sara glared at him. “Any news?”

“No.” Honor brought up her legs to sit cross-legged on the hard plastic chair. “Doctor said since it’s Nyree’s first, it might take a while.”

But it was only two hours later that Ransom walked out with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m a dad.”

They swarmed him with hugs and congratulations and questions. After Sara corralled the lot of them into order, they snuck in to see mother and baby in groups of two or three. Nyree had already told Ransom it was all right.

Elena entered with Demarco and Rose to find Ransom on the bed beside his wife, his arm around her back and his hand stroking the tiny head that lay nestled against Nyree’s skin. The new mother looked a little tired, her dusky skin paler than usual and her black curls wildly tumbled. Her smile, however, was radiant.

“He’s so tiny.” Demarco’s tone was awed; he kept his hands scrupulously behind his back. “Jeez, Ransom, how’re you going to handle him without breaking him?” Not a smart-ass question, an honestly petrified one.

Ransom ran the pad of his finger over his son’s head again. “You have no idea of my current level of fear.” His grin didn’t fade an inch. “But I can’t wait to do the dad thing.”

“Nyree,” Elena whispered, “you grew a human.” With miniature fingernails and skin so new it was dewy.

“I can’t believe it myself.” Ransom’s tough little wife pressed a kiss to the downy hair on top of the baby’s head. “You’ll all be babysitting so start studying up.”

A collective spike of terror shared between her, Demarco, and Rose.

Nyree’s laughter filled the room.

At that instant, all was right with the world, Lijuan’s reign of death forgotten in the gift of this tiny new life. But things deadly and violent were stirring awake even as Elena dared touch a careful finger to the baby’s fragile hand.

36

Archangel! I have the best news!

Stepping out onto the balcony outside his office to meet his consort, Raphael went to ask the reason for her joy when a lightning strike speared out of the sky. Elena jerked out of the way just in time, and the bolt hit the balcony beside her.

The surface cracked, fine fault lines spreading across the entire space.

More bolts appeared out of the cloudless sky on the heels of the first, deadly arcs of energy that could fry an angel’s wings and crash him to the earth.

LAND! NOW! He sent the mental command to the edges of his ability, saw angels begin to arrow down to land wherever they could. A number of the Legion did the same, but one of them couldn’t avoid a strike.

His body disintegrated.

At least the Legion would rise again, unlike an angel who was hit. “Stay down, Elena. I must see if I can protect them.” The strikes were coming faster together now and many angels had been high, couldn’t drop fast enough.

Be careful! A mental shout as she got to the shelter of the doorway and he took off.

The lightning altered direction to angle toward him. He permitted a small bolt to hit him so he could gain further information, absorbing the impact with the strength that made him an archangel.

No strange Cascade energy. This was simply weather run amok.

But, for some unknown reason, he drew the violence like a lightning rod. Maybe because the energy that danced on his skin was akin to the lightning. Instinctively creating a shield around himself, similar to the one he used when he and Elena dived into the ocean together, he headed out toward the sea.

Guild Hunter, do not take to the air under any circumstances. You carry enough of my power to attract the lightning. It wasn’t chance that the first bolt had hit the balcony next to her. I’ll survive it. You won’t. Not at these levels.

Don’t you dare get hurt!

Wings floated in the ocean below him as he left the skyscrapers and high-rises of his city behind him; the squadron must’ve been flying home when he gave the landing order. All appeared uninjured, including an angel with wings of wild blue.

Sire? Illium’s voice. I can join you.

No, stay in the water until I give the all clear. The lightning continued to strike at his shield; he couldn’t guarantee the safety of anyone flying beside him.

He flew until he was far enough away from the downed squadron that the water wouldn’t conduct any energy release to them. Dropping low enough to the blue that he was just touching it, he pointed his feet and his hands downward . . . and dropped the shield.

The lightning hit him in a rapacious burst, jetting through his body and over his skin in arcs of fire that arrowed into the sea. The water boiled and surged, mist curling up into the air. Cold fire burned him from the inside out, but he knew it wouldn’t cause permanent harm.

Gritting his teeth he rode it out.

It was only after the sky went quiet at last that he realized the state of his clothes. Elena would not be happy. Have the skies cleared? he asked his consort.

Yes. Are you all right?

My clothing is a touch scorched, but I sustained no damage. I’m homeward bound. He told his angels it was safe to get in the air as he headed back.

Illium met him halfway.

It was no surprise the young angel had headed Raphael’s way; headstrong and loyal, Elena’s Bluebell was an angel Raphael was proud to have in his Seven. The icy Cascade power in his veins agreed; Bluebell was an asset. Not only because of his fidelity but because of the potential that burned in his body.

Raphael didn’t fight the cold calculation of that power head-on. He’d begun to understand that he had to stamp this power with his mark rather than attempting to leash it. So he stirred his memories, bringing the past to the fore. A past in which he’d given a toddler with nascent wings of blue a piggyback ride before taking the thrilled little boy on a flight through the Refuge gorge.

Rafa! I fly!

Illium would never be just a source of power to him.

“Well,” the angel said across the calm winds between them, “that was strange.”

Raphael felt his lips twitch. It was not chance that Illium and Elena were such good friends. They had a way of taking the most eerie, most deadly events and making them somehow human. “It appears the Cascade was merely taking a breath before it pummeled us once more.” The lightning strikes may have been nothing out of the ordinary as far as their composition, but their behavior had been distinctly abnormal.

“At least it seems to be maintaining a certain level and not increasing in power or virulence. I’ll worry when the sea turns blood red.”

“Should that happen, we will all have wine and watch the end of the world from a good vantage point.”

Grinning, Illium peeled off as they hit the edge of the city, and there was Elena, coming toward him on wings of stunning stormlight, several of the Legion in tow. The lightning in her wings seemed stronger, more violent.

“A touch scorched!” she yelled when they were close enough to exchange words. “You don’t have on a tunic anymore and your pants look like they were hacked up by a designer who charges five thousand dollars for his scissor skills.”

Her scowl deepened the closer she got. “And the soles of your boots are smoking!”

“I acted as a lightning rod. I’m surprised I still have boots in any form.” He’d half expected that they’d blow right off. “Whatever I did, I cannot explain the physics of it.”

“Let’s just call it Cascade weirdness and leave it at that.” His consort flew all around him, then back. No one but Elena had ever worried so much about him.

“Will I do?” he asked when she finally came to fly beside him once more, as inside him, the Cascade power morphed under the sheer force of her love, the ice infiltrated by a tendril of wildfire and steel that flat out refused to leave. And he knew. This change was permanent, anchored in the pieces of her heart in his bloodstream.