The lightning stopped.
A heartbeat later, the stone above the caves cracked in a jagged fury that sounded like the earth screaming, and then an angel was rising out of them. His wings were pure metallic silver, his hair rich gold, and his skin a paler gold. His beauty was flawless. Like that of a statue carved out of marble. But this statue was born of rage, his hands full of silver fire.
That fire arced toward Lijuan like directed lightning.
Lijuan laughed when Alexander’s fire didn’t penetrate her shield, then she attacked with her deadly black rain. Alexander swept aside fast enough to avoid a direct hit, but he was sluggish. If Andromeda could see that, so could Lijuan.
The Archangel of Death beat her wings upward in a decisive move, and Andromeda knew she intended to rain down her death on Alexander from above. There was no way he could move fast enough to avoid it.
* * *
Naasir broke the neck of the angel who’d slammed into one of the booby traps when a lightning bolt fried part of his wing, then moved to check on a wing brother who’d fallen under Lijuan’s rain. He was gone, only a smear of ash to mark his existence. Hissing out a breath, Naasir ran to make sure Andromeda was all right.
She wasn’t on the ground.
He looked up, his heart painful it was beating so fast, and found his strong, courageous mate in the air. She was winging her way to Lijuan, and by some miracle, hadn’t yet been spotted by the half of the squadron that had survived the lightning bolts. “Keep the angels busy!” he yelled to the wing brothers who could hear him and they renewed their efforts with the crossbows.
The snipers on the cave roof were trying to reach Lijuan with their bolts, but she stayed out of range. The longer-range missiles had ceased to be of any use as soon as Alexander rose; given his diminished strength, an aerial shockwave could take him down. As it would Andromeda.
Naasir bared his teeth and silently promised his mate he would punish her for this, but on the ground, he grabbed a portable missile launcher from the supplies they’d hidden throughout the area, and put it on his shoulder. The shock wave from this weapon should be far more contained. As Andromeda shot crossbow bolts at Lijuan’s back in an effort to give Alexander a little more time to gather his strength, Naasir unleashed the missile.
Lijuan managed to avoid it, but the maneuver left her off-balance long enough that Andromeda was able to drop like a stone and arrow herself toward the trees. Naasir’s blood pulsed in a roar as Lijuan spun around and tried to come after Andromeda, but Alexander hit her with his silver lightning again and this time, her shield was down.
Screaming high and shrill, she turned to throw that hard jewel-like black rain at Alexander. The Ancient couldn’t avoid it this time. It hit, and where it hit, his skin grew black, as did his hair and his wings.
Alexander began to fall to the earth, as if those large, powerful wings no longer worked right.
Ice white hair turned a lustrous black and crackling with power, Lijuan threw back her head in laughter Naasir could see from the ground. As she raised her single regenerated hand to deliver the killing blow, Naasir loaded up a second missile, was about to shoot when he felt the crash of the rain, the fresh bite of the sea in his mind.
Focus on the squadron, Naasir. I will take care of Lijuan.
42
Raphael didn’t bother with subtlety.
Falling through the heavy cloud layer in a controlled dive, he hit Lijuan hard and fast with the wildfire that came from inside him but was kissed by his hunter’s mortal heart, and was the antithesis of Lijuan’s deadly rain. She hadn’t expected him, hadn’t seen him, and so her body was totally unshielded.
His hands slammed into her back, right above her heart, and the wildfire crawled all over her, burrowing through her wings and clothing to touch skin as it fought to get to her internal organs. Though she screamed, he could tell she was fighting it off.
He hit her again.
This time, she turned and began to wing away. He had a choice at that moment—go after her and try to do fatal damage, or to save Alexander. It was one of the most difficult of his life. If he killed Lijuan, he could be saving tens of millions of lives. But if he allowed Alexander to die, he would lose a powerful ally who might help in the fight against Lijuan should she survive.
There was no guarantee the wildfire was strong enough to kill her—she’d survived his and Elena’s last attempt to end her, and before she’d run today, he’d seen the way the black rain ate at the wildfire, seen how it had put up shields against the ravages. Whatever she’d become, Lijuan was no longer like the rest of the Cadre, and Raphael had the gut instinct that no one archangel would ever be able to execute her.
Dropping down toward Alexander while Naasir and the other defenders fired up at the squadron that had turned to follow Lijuan, he landed beside Alexander’s fallen body. The Ancient, his clothing not so different from that of his fighters, had come down hard on the rough stone that covered the caves, some distance from the snipers Raphael had spotted.
Leave this place, he ordered those snipers. Go assist your brethren.
Alexander’s left wing was crumpled under him, his right leg shattered so badly that had he been mortal, it would’ve been impossible to put him back together. Blood dripped from his mouth, but his eyes were open and they were pure obsidian.
Remembering his own blindness under Lijuan’s attack, Raphael took the Ancient’s hand. “Alexander, it is Raphael.” He reached out with his mind, the interference that had stopped him from contacting Naasir—likely caused by Alexander’s waking presence—no longer a problem. It had cut out as Alexander fell.