Chapter 4
I would rather die as Elena, than live as a shadow.
—Elena Deveraux to Archangel Raphael (Once, high above Manhattan)
One hand cupped around his consort’s head, his other arm tight around her, Raphael released a jagged exhale. Elena’s pain devastated him. “No one will hurt our child,” he said, because he knew it was that fear that lay at the heart of her nightmare.
She’d survived a monster, but that same monster had stolen the lives of her two elder sisters—and ultimately, the life of her mother.
Marguerite Deveraux might have taken her own life in the aftermath of the murder of her daughters, but the reason for her suicide had been the irreparable damage done to her soul the day Slater Patalis forced her to listen as he brutalized Elena and murdered Belle and Ari.
That psychic injury had never healed.
Elena was afraid that history would repeat itself, that she wouldn’t be able to protect their child as she hadn’t been able to protect the sisters she idolized.
“No one who wishes our babe harm will ever come within a city block of them.” He kissed her temple.
“They will be beloved and cherished by all our people and the entirety of your Guild.”
Elena had a habit of joking that she’d outstayed her license at the Hunter’s Guild, but he knew that bond not only utilized her hunter-born instincts, but helped keep her anchored to her humanity even as she grew deeper into immortality, deeper into her own power.
These days, though she took on only the most dangerous hunts—hunts that might be deadly for a mortal—she also taught multiple classes at the Guild and mentored new recruits who were without family.
She had generation after generation of hunter loyalty behind her.
“There was so much blood.” Her voice trembled. “I’d forgotten after all these years…thought I’d forgotten. His voice, it was so vivid. More vivid than my memories of Belle’s voice, Ari’s voice, and I hate that.”
Raphael would have long ago offered to erase those memories for her—only he knew that any such intrusion would be a far worse nightmare for Elena. She’d once told him that she’d rather give up her life than surrender her memories.
For her memories were what made her.
“That you remember and mourn your family so,” he murmured, “is a testament to your heart.”
Her tears were wet against his chest. “I know it’s not the same,” she said. “I know. Our baby will have a guard around them in any situation where they might be vulnerable…but…” A hard swallow.
“I understand, Elena-mine.” He pressed her to him, and then he admitted his own vicious fear.
“My mother went mad, broke me. My father went mad before her. I, too, thought I’d laid my fear to rest…
but I dreamed of that forgotten field tonight, dreamed of the wild blooms covered in droplets of my blood as I watched her walk away. ”
Her soles had been a glistening red in his dream, his mind supplying imagery so vivid that it was as if he lay in that field again, his bones shattered far beyond his young body’s ability to quickly heal.
“Archangel.” It was Elena’s turn to squeeze him tight, her turn to kiss his skin and stroke his spine.
They stayed locked together until dawnlight began to lance through the curtains.
At his age, Raphael needed minimal sleep, but while Elena no longer needed as much as she’d done as a mortal, she did need more than an archangel.
Raphael always made it a point to lie with her those hours.
It had become habit during the early years, when the nightmares had haunted her night after night, but now, it was just to be together.
He loved having her in his arms, loved spreading his wing over her, loved nuzzling her awake when it was time.
Often, sleep-warm and lazy, they’d fall into passion, wings and limbs entwined, but today, they held on to each other with the quiet desperation of two people who knew that, in eight short months, they’d be in charge of the safety of a tiny, helpless, and infinitely precious being.
He shuddered, exhaled.
There is no war, no strife, he told himself. There are no enemies seeking dominion. No evil that stalks the innocent. Our child will be safe.
But while that was Elena’s nightmare, it wasn’t his.
He might be his child’s worst enemy, their most terrible nightmare.
Raphael’s heart cracked, the fault line filling with pain such as he’d never before felt.