Archangel's Consort (Guild Hunter 3)

Raphael? She tried to keep the worry out of her mental question. Raphael had landed with her and Illium, told them to wait while he did a preliminary survey, then disappeared into the clouds. That had been over fifteen minutes ago, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sense the familiar rain of his scent. Archangel?

A glint of gold in the clear blue sky. Shading her eyes, she looked up and felt her heart sigh. Hey, what’s with the silent treatment?

Still no response. Deciding to hold her peace, she watched with aching wonder as he made his way down toward the canopy—his movements powerful, precise, making the act of flying appear effortless. “He’s the most magnificent male I’ve ever seen.” The words just spilled out.

“You wound me, Ellie.”

Her lips curved, but she didn’t take her eyes off Raphael as he circled around the temple before turning to head back to them. “Ah, but you are surely the prettiest.” All eyes of gold and wings of blue, Illium should have been too beautiful, and sometimes she thought he was. What woman would dare walk beside him?

“Prettier than Ransom?” His wing brushed hers as he shifted to nudge at her shoulder with his own.

“Well now, depends if a woman likes eyes the color of ancient Venetian coins, or hair that’s a sheet of ebony silk.” She razzed Ransom about his hair, but it really was gorgeous.

A wash of wind against her face as Raphael backwinged to a landing in front of her. “You prefer the crashing hue of the sea, do you not, Elena?”

“Heard that, did you?” But she wasn’t smiling. “Why didn’t you reply when I was talking to you?” She tapped her head to make sure he understood.

His expression grew watchful. “I heard nothing.” Glancing at Illium, he said, “Did you attempt contact?”

“Once, Sire. I thought you preoccupied when you didn’t answer.” Illium’s face was suddenly that of the man Elena had seen amputate the wings of his foes with pitiless efficiency. “Something in this place attempts to break you away from us.”

Elena stared down at the mountainous terrain. “She can try, but she won’t succeed.” It was a challenge, and when lightning shattered the sheet blue of the sky, she knew the challenge had been heard.

Raphael touched the back of her neck. “Stay close, Elena. You are the easiest to hurt. And this entire region . . . sings to me. She is here, somewhere.”

In response, Elena pulled down his head and took his mouth with fierce, possessive hunger. “You’re mine,” she whispered. “I won’t let anyone take you from me, not that creepy Lijuan and not her.”

Raphael’s bones stood out sharply against his skin, that skin holding a faint glow as he spoke against her mouth. “Come, warrior mine. Let us find her wherever she may Sleep.”

Diving off the mountain with him, Illium on her other side, she kept her senses wide open as they flew to the old tiled roof she’d seen from a distance. As they came close enough to look down at it, she glimpsed the remains of what could well have been the curving arch of a torii guarding the entrance, confirming her supposition that it had been a temple. Or perhaps shrine was the correct word. Now, it stood abandoned.

The forest had encroached over and through it to the extent that vines crawled into windows that had long lost their coverings, while fallen leaves and other debris lay at least a foot deep in the doorway. Most of the roof, too, was covered by vines and mossy growth, while below, the roots of an ancient sakura tree appeared to have slipped under and buckled what might’ve once been a small courtyard.

“Elena, collapse your wings.” Raphael dropped just below her and went vertical, as Illium did the same on her other side.

Realizing what they intended to do, she snapped back her wings. One strong masculine hand closed on each of her upper arms at the same instant—as they came in for a tight landing in the courtyard where people might once have waited to enter the shrine. Or maybe ... Bending down when Illium and Raphael released her, she brushed away the leaves and dirt to uncover traces of a gritty white substance. “I think this might’ve been a sand garden.”

Neither of the men spoke, moving away toward the building. Looking up, she glanced around. Given the size of the shrine, it was possible that the sand garden may have been part of a larger garden—complete with velvet green grass and trees planted after the utmost thought and care alongside a small bubbling stream, perhaps a tiny Japanese maple or two with leaves that would turn a brilliant orange red come autumn.

So quickly nature takes over, she thought, rising to her feet and dusting off her hands. Now, though enough light came in through the canopy that they could see what they were doing, it was soft and shaded by the time it hit the ground, and the roots of several forest giants had not only overwhelmed the sand garden, they appeared to have gone under then cracked upward through the floors of the shrine itself.

Walking to one huge root, she put her hands on the wood and vaulted over, her wings trailing across the knotted surface as she did so. “Find anything?” she called out to Raphael, unable to see Illium.

He glanced over at her from where he stood by the entrance. She took a startled step back. His eyes . . . “Raphael, talk to me.”

That unearthly glow continued to shine unabated as he held out his hand. “Come here, Elena.”

Walking carefully over the twisted and broken remains of two low steps, she reached out to take his hand, let him pull her up beside him. “What do you see?”

That inhuman gaze focused on something in the forest. “I see nothing, but I hear her.”

Raphael.

Elena shivered. “I heard that, too.” Looking down at their clasped hands, she realized the glow from his skin was traveling over hers in a glittering wave. “What’s happening?”

Raphael shook his head, silken strands of midnight black hair sliding across his forehead. “I do not know. But I know that my mind is clearer when you stand beside me.” His eyes continued to smolder with that preternatural fire, as if he was burning huge amounts of power ... to keep Caliane at bay, she realized.

She dropped one of the knives from her arm sheath down into the palm of her free hand. “Do you still want to look inside the shrine? The debris in front of the door isn’t too bad.” What little she knew about Japanese shrines said this was unlikely to have been the main entrance—but from what she’d seen in the air, the front was inaccessible.