Chapter 2
Such glory you are, prophecy of mine. I will wake again when you next change the world…
—Archangel Cassandra (War’s End in the time of the Death Cascade)
Elena woke to a dawn that was a sweeping wash of orange-kissed pink beyond the balcony doors, but it was the piercing blue of her archangel’s eyes that held her attention.
His hair was tumbled over his forehead, his skin aglow in the morning light, and his wings a shimmer of white gold.
The Archangel of New York remained the most beautiful being she had ever met.
“Happy Birthday.” Leaning on his elbow, he held out his palm—on which sat a small box of verdant green tied with a gauzy ribbon that was a rich hue caught between purple and blue.
Her voice was husky with sleep when she answered. “I already have everything a woman could want.” They’d long ago stopped giving each other physical gifts on specific days—instead, it tended to happen when they spotted an item they thought the other would enjoy.
Despite her words, however, she was smiling as she took the box off his palm. Tilting her head to the side, she shook it gently by her ear. “Hmm, jewelry?” She wasn’t a woman who wore much of it—mostly his amber and sentimental items like the bracelet that Beth had gifted her.
“I know you’ll miss us after we’re gone,” her baby sister had said, her face seamed by a life joyously lived, and her spirit at peace in a way that had made her far older than Elena in that moment in time. “If I’ve forgotten anyone, you have space to add more links.”
Beth’s gift never got old. No link ever broke. Because Raphael had it quietly repaired each time it began to show signs of damage.
The blades and gauntlets that Sara and Deacon had given her, Elena had preserved in a memory box when time and use began to make her fear for them.
Not so they’d be hidden away, but so she could still take them out every decade or so and touch the leather and metal that had been given to her in love by her best friend in all the world—and by the man whom Sara had loved.
Five hundred years ago, Zoe had seen the memory box, realized how precious the contents were to Elena…
and turned up a year later with exact copies of both the gauntlets and the blades.
“I know it’s not the same,” Sara and Deacon’s adored only child had said, “but I thought you might like having them to use…and it makes me happy to remember Mom and Dad through this.”
She’d been hesitant that day, Sara’s baby girl who had grown into a tough and confident woman.
Dark eyes, curls that had been streaked bronze and black at the time, long limbs and skin of warm brown, Zoe had been dressed in a sleeveless leather vest and leather pants, her only jewelry a miniature dagger that hung from one ear—and the bracelets of hammered metal that were a memory of her parents.
She’d looked exactly like the badass she was.
That badass had brought Elena to tears—and cried along with her as Elena whispered, “They’re perfect,” of items that carried as much love as the originals.
So it was that every time Zoe saw that Elena was wearing down the gifts, she renewed the blades and gauntlets both, a continuous line of love and friendship from Elena’s mortal life.
Last time around, Zoe had smiled and said, “Dad would be so proud I can make these to his standards time after time. He was a tough weapons-maker to apprentice under, you know. Five percent off on the balance wasn’t good enough.”
An affectionate grin. “But when I got it right, he’d say ‘that’s my girl’ and I’d just beam—because I knew Dad never, ever just said that. He meant it.”
“You’re still doing him proud, Zoe.”
“I know, Aunt Ellie.” A cheeky smile that was very much a remnant of the little girl she’d been—a delightful part of Zoe that most people would never see, because they’d only ever known her as a dangerously competent adult.
“Just like I know that Mom would be delighted that we’re still so close,” Zoe had added. “She always said that as long as you were in the world, I’d have family to call on, no matter what.”
Elena and Sara had spent many a night talking about Zoe’s future after Zoe was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that had meager odds of survival even with the most rigorous treatment. Vampirism had been her only option if she was to live longer than a year at the most.
The transition would preserve her in amber while she was still in good health, the disease inside her a stealthy predator—the only reason Zoe had even been diagnosed was because she’d had to undergo a complete physical prior to getting a berth as a sailor on a round-the-world yacht.
It was to have been her first big adult adventure.
Sara had never pushed Zoe to choose vampirism, never wanted guilt over her parents’ grief to play a role in her daughter’s decision.
But she’d broken down to Elena. “I don’t want to watch my baby die, Ellie.
” A voice raw with tears. “I want her to have the chance to grow into the glorious creature she’s meant to be. ”
“If she decides to be Made, I’ll take care of her.” Her own heart breaking, Elena had held Sara’s hand tight. “I’ll treat her like she’s my own daughter.”
“I know.” Sara’s grip had been bruising. “She’ll never be alone, not with you there.”
Elena hadn’t told Zoe any of that—that was and would always be between Elena and her best friend. To Zoe, she’d just muttered, “Sara told me she’d haunt me if I didn’t look after you.”
Zoe’s laughter was a thing of pure joy. “If only she knew that I had to escape New York to get out from under your overprotective eyes!” A huge hug from the side that took the sting out of the words. “Love you, Aunt Ellie. Thanks for being my port in any storm.”
“I take being haunted by Sara very seriously.” In truth, she’d be glad to see her best friend even as a ghost.
“Nah, you’re safe. She’s too busy hanging out with Dad.”
Zoe had always handled her grief far better than Elena—and in doing so, Sara’s daughter—Elena’s goddaughter—had showed Elena the path forward.
“They’re happy beyond the veil.” A warm acceptance in Zoe’s tone. “They never wanted immortality—they had faith their spirits would meet on the next plane of existence, and so do I. I’ll see them again, when it’s my time.”
Elena had internalized that, accepted it. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss Sara…miss Beth…miss all of them.
Raphael’s thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear—and it was only then that she realized she was crying. “Is it so very hard today?”
“I don’t know why.” Her voice came out rough, her tears sandpaper in her throat. “I navigated all the other milestones, but a thousand…” A long exhale. “Wow.” Her emotions felt huge and on the surface, until she wanted to nestle into Raphael and not face the day.
But that wasn’t who she was; and it wasn’t who this territory needed her to be. She was Elena Parker Deveraux, Guild Hunter and Consort to the Archangel of New York. Who had given her a birthday gift in a small box tied with a filigree of ribbon.
Snuggling against the warmth of Raphael’s chest as he stroked her hair off her face with the love of a man who had been with her through all the seasons of her long life, she undid the ribbon, lifted off the top half of the box…and smiled so hard that it felt as if her cheeks would crack.
It was a single crystalline bead about the size of a large pea, inside which grew the tiniest jacaranda tree in existence.
A living tree. “I’ve heard of these!” Sitting up, uncaring of the sheet that slid off her breasts, she picked it up with careful fingers.
“But I thought they were still in the lab!”
Living trees encased in glass wouldn’t excite her, but these crystal trees could be grown. These were effectively seeds.
“Does it work?” she asked her archangel, who was looking up at her with a grin that said he was delighted with himself for this gifting home run.
“We put the bead in the earth with a certain mix of fertilizer—and a miniature living tree, blooms included, will emerge from it within the month, growing to its full natural height in a year?”
Raphael shrugged. “I have no idea, Elena-mine. But I had to sacrifice an archangelic kidney to acquire one of the prototypes so you could find out.”
“I love you, I love you!” Bead held with utmost care, she leaned down to pepper his face with kisses, her mood spiking from sorrow to a buzzy happiness. “Let’s go plant it! Come on!”
* * *
Two days later, Raphael landed on their Enclave lawn at the crack of dawn, the dew a shimmer on the grass and the light yet gray with the fading night, to find his consort sitting beside where they’d planted the bead.
She was sobbing out her heart.
“Elena!” He went to his knees beside her. “What has happened?” His hunter rarely ever cried this way—the last time had been the night after the day she’d laid her best friend to rest.
She’d managed better with Beth, perhaps because Sara had gone first, the path of grief already carved on Elena’s heart. “Talk to me,” he demanded, even as his wings glowed, his power surging in response to her distress.
“It’s just…s-so-so beautiful,” Elena said, her face awash in tears as she pointed to the currently barren patch of dirt encircled by rocks. “Life held in a bead.” She sobbed again.
Raphael’s brain short-circuited, an impossible prospect thrusting itself to the forefront without warning. No, he thought, surely not. Only Elena—his tough hunter who hadn’t cried even when she lay bleeding and broken in his arms as they fell to the earth—was sobbing over literally nothing.
The last time he’d seen a woman do that…
Fuck.