Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 139178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Elena had never seen that side of Majda—but then, she only knew the other woman as her grandmother, had never known her as a young woman. She also didn’t have any idea of Majda’s relationship with Jean-Baptiste except that it was as solid as the stone of the Refuge.
“Did you slam doors?”
“Ah, but that is my secret.” Dancing eyes when she looked down at Elena. “But perhaps you should ask your grandfather about my temper. He has been known to say that I tricked him into believing I was a maiden meek and mild.”
Elena snorted. “Oh, that’s a definite lie.” Her grandmother’s steel spine had been obvious from their first meeting; no one would’ve survived what she had without having a great big streak of “fuck you” in them.
Laughing, Majda wiped away her tears, and then, as they sat there in a room drenched in bright winter light, they shared stories of family. Not just the people Elena had known, but those who’d been part of Majda’s childhood. An entirely different generation.
Phoenix, Elena thought, would grow up with a strong sense of his history.
And if the universe decided to grant them another gift, then he’d also know his paternal grandmother. I hope you’re healing, Caliane, she thought, knowing that Raphael remained wounded by the loss of his mother. The threat of madness would hang over him until she woke sane and herself once more.
Elena hated that for her archangel, but she knew that as the terror of her childhood had forever altered her, so had Nadiel and Caliane’s descent into murderous insanity marked him.
All they could do was lean on each other—and love their son.
52
I thought you’d wish to see your Bluebell before we leave.
—Raphael to Elena (Once, at the Enclave)
Three weeks out from the birth, and Elena was sitting in a swinging rattan chair lined with plush cushions on one of the stronghold’s balconies, Phoenix in her arms and the area heated by the clay pots, when she glimpsed wings of distinctive blue against a cloud-gray sky.
She was certain she was hallucinating—because surely, with border tensions continuing to simmer, Illium would stay close to his territory.
The blue came more and more into focus.
Until there was no denying it. “Raphael! Illium is here!”
Her archangel, who’d been working inside the study just behind her, stepped out onto the balcony. “Of course he is,” he said in a wry tone.
Illium landed on the balcony with all the dazzling lightness of which he was capable.
A small blue feather floated up into the air, a dancer as light as their Bluebell.
“Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?” he said, his hair wild and his breath uneven—which indicated exactly how fast and hard he’d flown.
Archangels didn’t easily lose their breath.
Wanting only to hug him, she said, “You’re a lunatic.”
He grinned, unabashed, as he greeted Raphael the way the two always did when alone—with the forearm clasp of warriors that ended in a back-slapping hug. “Hello, fellow archangel who is not my sire,” Illium said, as cheeky as always. “I’ve come to visit my nephew.”
“Nephew?” Raphael raised an eyebrow, “How do you figure that?”
“Well, I am definitely going to be Uncle Illium, so he must be my nephew.” He was by Elena’s chair now, his eyes on a wide-awake Phoenix, who she’d wrapped in a soft yellow blanket gifted by Honor and Dmitri.
Smiling so hard that her face might crack, Elena lifted the baby toward Illium, knowing that Raphael—hyper-protective mode or not—would never worry while their Nix was with their Bluebell. “Here,” she said, “you can hold him.”
But Illium first looked to Raphael, who gave a small nod.
“Wait.” Illium stripped off his leather jerkin to expose a sleeveless undershirt of soft, well-worn cotton.
Then, taking Nix in careful hands, he cradled him to his chest as baby and Bluebell stared into each other’s eyes.
Elena’s heart swelled.
“Can you say ‘Uncle Illium’?” A deep murmur. “I’ll even accept ‘Uncle Blue.’ ‘Illium’ is a bit of a mouthful.”
“How did you get away?” Raphael put one hand on top of the swing chair. “Is Aodhan holding the territory?”
Illium made a funny face at the baby. “I flew out under cover of darkness using glamour. The dickhead doesn’t sit at the border, just has his troops there, and he’s the only one who would’ve been able to see through that, so my territory’s safe against a surprise attack. I’ll be back before he even knows I’m gone.” He nuzzled Nix. “Uncle Blue, Nixie,” he whispered.
Elena looked up at Raphael. Trust Bluebell to call him Nixie. It had thus far been her and Raphael’s private pet name for their son, but it seemed right that Illium should instinctively use it. He’s never going to change.
He did threaten just that when he first became Cadre. Raphael had worried for the man he’d watched grow from the time he was a tiny blue-winged boy, boisterous and loving; he hadn’t known how Illium would survive the lethal politics of the Cadre, not when his heart was so wide-open.