Naasir had been a tiny boy then, and at that instant, he’d been feeding in the clawed open chest cavity of the Ancient angel who’d Made him. He must’ve looked like a small blood-covered monster, but instead of killing him, Raphael had lifted his growling, ferocious body into his arms and said, “Quiet. You don’t want to eat that meat.”
Naasir hadn’t been sure what those words actually meant, since his Maker didn’t talk to him like a human, but the tone had gotten through. He’d stilled and allowed Raphael to carry him into the clouds and to his home in the angelic stronghold of the Refuge. Not once since that day had Naasir felt the urge to challenge the male who’d taken him from the ice and from the evil.
Raphael was the alpha of his family and Dmitri was the alpha’s second.
Naasir had been a cub, but he wasn’t any longer.
Coming around the desk, his wings held off the floor with the unconscious strength and discipline of a warrior, Raphael met him in the center of the room. “I know you want to stay in New York,” he said, the painful blue of his eyes continuing to hold Naasir’s gaze. “But you’re not built for this environment—you’ll start to buck at the civilized skin you have to wear in the city.”
Naasir felt his hands clench as a growl built up inside his chest. He wanted to lie, to tell Raphael that he could stay always in the city, but the lie wouldn’t come. Already, his nature was starting to rebel, to ache for open spaces where he could run and climb and explore. “My family is here,” he said instead. “I don’t want an alone task.”
“You also have family in the Refuge.”
Interest sparked in his blood. “Am I to go there?” Honor wouldn’t be there, but Jessamy would be—his relationship with her was different from the one he had with Honor, but he loved the angelic Historian and Teacher the same way he loved Honor. Venom and Galen, too, were currently based in the mountains of the Refuge.
“Your task will begin there,” Raphael said, “and while you will have to leave the Refuge and your family for a time, the task is one I think you’ll enjoy.”
Since Raphael understood him, too, Naasir waited.
“I want you to discover where it is that Alexander Sleeps.”
Naasir went motionless. The Sleeping place of an angel or archangel was a taboo thing. Even Naasir, who didn’t have much respect for rules, hadn’t broken that one. “Do you want to kill him?” If Raphael needed to kill Alexander, Naasir would help him. Because Raphael didn’t, had never, smelled like bad meat. Once, before Elena, he’d started to smell disturbingly like cold and ice, but that was gone, too.
Now he smelled of himself and of touches of Elena.
Naasir wanted to smell like his mate, he thought with an inward snarl. Why was she hiding from him?
“No, I have no desire to kill Alexander.” Raphael’s tone chilled. “Jason has been in and out of Lijuan’s territory this past month.”
Naasir hissed at the sound of Lijuan’s name. That one was bad meat through and through. As a child, he’d once thought he wanted to kill and eat her, but now he knew he wouldn’t touch her even if he was starving. He still wanted her dead, however. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”
“Jason hasn’t been able to glimpse her, but all signs point to that.” Features grim, Raphael stretched out his wings before tucking them back into his body, the white fire that licked over his feathers appearing an illusion created by sunlight.
Naasir had been fascinated by angelic wings since childhood. When Raphael first found him, he’d gripped at the feathers hard, pulling off a large white one with golden filaments that he’d held possessively in his fist. He hadn’t known he wasn’t supposed to touch angelic wings, that it was an intimacy permitted only to friends and lovers, and even though he didn’t have that excuse now, he did still sometimes touch one without asking.
Only of his friends and family, however. Only people who wouldn’t look at him as if he’d done a terrible thing. Yesterday, he’d lain on the grass with Elena after a sparring session, and she’d put her wing across his chest so he could stroke the sleek beauty of it as much as he wanted. Black and indigo and midnight blue and dawn and white gold—Elena had such fascinating feathers that he’d been tempted to steal one of each shade, except the colors blended seamlessly into each other.
Then she’d fallen asleep on the grass beside him.
He’d thought about reminding her that he was dangerous, but since he wasn’t ever going to hurt her, he’d let her sleep and played with her feathers instead. He was as fascinated by Raphael’s wings, but he resisted the temptation to grab at them when Raphael turned to head to the balcony. He wasn’t sure the unpredictable white fire wouldn’t burn.
Naasir followed the sire, going to crouch at the edge in his favorite position. He could see a stream of tiny yellow cabs from here, flowing along the straight ribbon of the road. The scents this high were faint but he caught a hint of the river and of the green, growing things in the Legion’s home. The green smells made him want to break free, to stretch out in a way he couldn’t, even in Central Park. “Is Lijuan searching for Alexander?”
“Jason isn’t certain, but he’s seen hunting parties being dispatched from Lijuan’s citadel. A member of one had a little too much to drink when they halted for the night, and Jason heard him boasting of how they were planning to find Alexander.”
“He’s not like Lijuan, is he?” Naasir had only been two hundred when Alexander went to Sleep, didn’t remember much about the silver-winged angel with golden hair. He did, however, have one faded memory of a powerful being hunkering down in front of him when he was yet a boy, the silver eyes that met his gaze as near to Naasir’s own eyes as he’d ever seen. “I think he gave me one of his feathers once. I wanted it because it was like my hair.”