“Yippee.” Slipping off the robe to reveal a body lithe and golden, she snuggled under the blankets.
He lay on his side atop those same blankets, tugging her hair from its knot to play with the wild silk of it. “Have you heard of the lost city of Atlantis?”
“Of course.” Her eyes widened, soft wonder in the silver-gray. “It was real?”
“My mother says the legend springs from a water city that existed millennia upon millennia ago—a city of remarkable artistry created by an archangel who had abilities such as those we now believe Astaad to have, except this archangel’s powers were at their height at the time.”
Bleak realization stole the wonder. “It was destroyed, wasn’t it?”
“Caliane is uncertain if some part of it does in truth lie below the ocean, protected by its archangel, but it fell victim to the last Cascade wars, as did many other great civilizations.”
“Such wonders lost forever, Raphael. Things that eclipse the creations of this modern world, until the boastfulness of today is that of children who have never seen true grace.”
Repeating Caliane’s judgment for Elena, he told her the rest, how the wars had circled the globe, soaking the earth in mortal and immortal blood both. “By the time they came to an end, a century after they began, half the world was gone and civilization had regressed by millennia.”
Elena shook her head, as if the knowledge was too terrible to bear. “These Cascades, there’s no way of telling how many have come and gone, how many times civilization has been all but erased only to start again.”
“Yes.” Shifting so his body covered her own, his hand in her hair, he told her the prelude to the final brutal fact. “Caliane has survived more than one Cascade.” That, he was certain, no one knew. “She says not all are equal, and that from the changes apparent in the Cadre so soon into the Cascade, this may be the strongest in all her eons of existence.”
Unhidden horror, his hunter’s arms holding him close. “If the last Cascade ended in the destruction of half the world . . .”
“Yes.”
• • •
Given Raphael’s ominous bedtime story, it was a miracle Elena slept as soundly as she did. When she woke, however, to a haunting quiet that told her more snow had fallen overnight, it was with a blinding need to escape the madness of the immortal world for a fragment of time.
Sara had the morning off—as much as a Guild Director could ever have time off—so Elena hooked up with her best friend and Zoe at a small neighborhood eatery for brunch. The owner and most of the regulars knew Elena from before her transformation and, while there were a few people who snuck photos, no one bothered them.
An hour and a half later, they stood in Central Park, watching a giggling Zoe try to catch the pigeons. Bundled up like a little polar bear in an orange snowsuit, the tiny girl would sit down in the snow every so often to rest, then be off again after the birds. Elena’s breath frosted the air as she laughed in delight at Zoe’s antics, the temperature freezing enough that Elena, too, was dressed for the weather, wearing a long-sleeved top underneath her black hunting leathers. Her immortal body might be tougher than a mortal’s, but it had become clear she was too young to shrug off this kind of cold—especially in flight, where she had to deal with wind chill as well.
“How’s Vivek?” Sara said, after sending Deacon a photo of Zoe sitting in the snow.
“Aodhan is supervising his transformation.” Elena had made certain Vivek was in hands she trusted. “I haven’t been to visit him—he asked me not to. I don’t think he wants any of us to see him while he’s so vulnerable.” Paralyzed he might’ve been, but Vivek had never been helpless as long as Elena had known him. “You know how much he likes to be in control.”
“I get it, but he’s still a proud idiot,” Sara said, her tone deeply affectionate.
“Keir’s personally monitoring his progress.” Sara had met the healer during her visit to the Refuge, knew the deep respect with which he was held in the immortal world. “It’s been a long time since the Making of a mortal with such a significant long-term injury.”
“Mommy!” Zoe ran back to them in that wild, almost-falling-over-at-any-instant way. “Isses!”
Crouching down to snuggle her little girl in her arms, Sara smothered her adorable face in the requested kisses. The two looked so gorgeous together that Elena snapped a photo with her own phone, Sara’s deep purple coat vibrant against Zoe’s orange outfit, their faces creased in identical smiles. Zoe giggled when Sara pretended to tickle her, then gave her mom a smacking kiss on the cheek before holding up her arms to Elena, dark eyes bright. “Nantie Ellie!”
Laughing, “Nantie” Ellie lifted Zoe into her arms and, after sneaking a cuddle, threw her into the air, catching her in a firm grip on the downward flight. Zoe squealed happily, her hood falling off to reveal gorgeous curls of bronze threaded black tied in two neat pigtails. “Zoe fly, Nantie Ellie!”
“Yes,” she said, utterly besotted with Sara’s baby. “You’re flying, Zoe.”
Five goes later, the little girl was seduced by the sight of an angelic feather drifting to the snow from a passing squadron and raced off to snag it for her collection.
“I swear,” Sara muttered, “I have a heart attack every time you and Deacon decide to treat my tiny, tiny baby like she’s a damn basketball.”
Elena grinned. “She’s your kid—you’re the one who jumped off a building in pursuit of a vampire.” Leaving Elena swearing a blue streak as she stared down at the alley, fully expecting to see her friend’s broken body. “And you caught him, too.” Sara had calculated her jump to take her into a Dumpster full of food waste. Nasty, but safe.
Now, her best friend pointed a finger at her. “You do not tell stories like that within earshot of Zoe.”
“Give it up, Mama Bear. She has the ex-Slayer for a father and the kick-ass Guild Director for a mother, plus a totally awesome hunter-born for an aunt.” Patting Sara’s shoulder, she said, “Kid’s never going to be satisfied sitting at home doing jigsaw puzzles.”
“Deacon made her a miniature crossbow.” The look on Sara’s face was an odd mix between horrified and proud as she said, “Zoe’s a crack shot already. Thank God her ‘bolts’ have sponge heads or we’d all be dead several times over.”