* * *
Walking out of his study and onto the lawn, Jason by his side, Raphael headed for the edge of the cliff.
Hello, Archangel.
His lips curved. Hello, hbeebti. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw his consort sitting on the roof with the princess Jason had brought home. The women had their faces turned toward one another, Elena’s hair a white flame, Mahiya’s ebony silk gathered neatly into a knot at the nape of her neck.
If he had ever considered the woman who would get through Jason’s shields, it would not have been this elegant princess from Neha’s land, with her flawless politeness and a personality that seemed a serene mirror without depth. And yet . . . Jason was his spymaster, skilled at seeing behind shields and beyond defenses. What do you think of Jason’s princess? he said to his consort.
That she has a will of iron, that she loves Jason with all her heart—and that there is far more to her than either one of us will ever know, she said as he turned his attention back to Jason. Nothing strange about that. Only you know all the pieces of me.
As Elena knew him, he thought as he and Jason came to a halt on the cliff above the Hudson. So many discussions he’d had with his spymaster on this very spot—Jason didn’t like being confined when he could be under the sky. “The princess,” he said, “has sanctuary here as long as she needs it.”
“Thank you, Sire, but I think she can safely live in the wider world.” Jason settled his wings. “She’ll have to be careful, but I am of the belief that threats aside, Neha is too proud to break her word. As for Mahiya’s mother, it’s a relationship she alone can learn to navigate.”
Raphael agreed with Jason about Neha. The archangel wasn’t mercurial like Michaela—honor meant a great deal to her, her own something she guarded. “Does the princess have somewhere to go?”
“Yes.”
Raphael let the breeze brush his face, weave its fingers through his hair, and waited, knowing Jason had something else to say to him.
“Sire.” Jason continued to look outward, toward Manhattan, his tone calm. “I release you from your promise.”
Raphael had lived a millennium and a half, had memories strong and weak. He remembered the exact day each of his Seven had sworn fealty—Jason had been so young, and yet there had been a contained strength to him that had spoken to Raphael. He had known the boy would become a man of tempered steel. And he had known that steel had a fatal flaw.
“I ask only one promise for my service.” Words Jason had said, his skin smooth and bare of the markings that would begin to appear in another decade. “I was not . . . formed correctly. Part of me is damaged and may one day shatter. When it does, I ask that you execute me cleanly rather than allow me to erode from the inside out.”
Raphael had never asked Jason about his past, but he had put the pieces together, understood that his spymaster had survived a childhood that would’ve left many too broken to function, and that he had scars that might never fade. Scars . . . and fractures. So he’d made that promise, and he had hoped never to keep it.
Now, a cool wind kissed his skin, his blood, the weight of the promise lifting from his shoulders. “I am glad of it, Jason.”
He continued to look out over the water, and just when Raphael thought Jason might speak again, he gave a near imperceptible shake of his head and kept his silence. Raphael didn’t know if Jason had found peace of a kind at last, or whether that peace was only a glimmer on the horizon, but he hoped the black-winged angel would never again have cause to seek such a promise from him.
For even an archangel could mourn.
* * *
Mahiya was in Elena’s greenhouse, gazing in wonder at the lush yellow flowers of a plant with wide leaves of spring green, when the door opened. She didn’t need to turn to know who stood in the doorway—her very skin seemed to sigh at his presence, her need for him a pulse deep within, for he had not touched her since before the battle. “I think this is my favorite place in all of this land I have yet seen.” Everything bloomed with life here, and there were no hidden aspects, no subtle politics.
“You can have a garden now if you wish.”
Her smile burst out of her. “Yes, I can, can’t I?” It was a wonderful thought, and one she’d put into practice as soon as she found a place to call home. Is your offer of a loan still open? Though he’d been physically remote, she hadn’t lost hope, for never once had he shut her out of his mind since the day he’d allowed her in.
Of course. “I have a house that may suit you until you decide otherwise,” he added on the heels of the mental confirmation.
Turning, she leaned her back against the bench that held the pot with the yellow flowers, the plant waiting to be transplanted into the larger pot beside it. Jason stood just inside the doorway, his wings caressed by the curling green of a vine that poured from a hanging basket. He should’ve looked too hard, too dark for this place, but somehow, he fit.
Wild, she thought, he is as wild a thing as these plants. They were only temporarily tamed by the greenhouse—left on their own, they would sprawl and spread until the glass walls were a sea of green. Jason, too, was only tame when he wished to be, a storm held fiercely in check.
“Is the house vacant?” she asked this compelling mystery of a man who had once sworn a blood vow to her. No . . . wait. “Jason, who releases the blood vow?” His task had been for Neha, but it was Mahiya’s blood through which the vow had been made.
He went so motionless, she could almost believe he was not there. “The party to whom it is made.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Then I release you.” She didn’t want him tied to her by a forced bond of any kind. “Is that all I need to say to do so?”
“Yes.” His stillness didn’t abate. “Caretakers alone live on the property,” he said, answering her earlier question. “Trusted vampires recommended to me by Dmitri—they would be glad to see the house come alive again. They prefer to make their home in a separate building, but it’s mere seconds away on foot.”
“The property, is it nearby?” The gleaming city across from the Enclave wasn’t right for her, but she didn’t want to be so far from it that she couldn’t nurture the fledgling friendships she’d made—with Elena, with a vampire named Miri who worked in the Tower, but who had been at the Angel Enclave house several times this past week. For a woman who had never been free to have friends, these were cherished gifts.
“Three hours of flight at an average pace, ninety minutes if you push yourself,” Jason said. “It’s a large estate, enough that no one will be able to come upon you without running afoul of the security system but not so isolated that you need ever be alone should you wish for company.”
It sounded perfect, but she had expected no less from the best spymaster in the Cadre, the man who knew people better than they knew themselves. But, did Jason know himself? Lips curving, she crossed the distance to him, put her hands against his chest, unsure of herself and of him in this new place, but unwilling to surrender the claim she’d made.
His arm came around her without hesitation, his fingers splaying on her lower back. “Do you wish to see the house?”
“Yes.” It felt so good to be near him again. “I am falling ever further in debt to you.”
“This is no debt, Mahiya.” His hand moved in a gentle circle on her back. “Not between us.”
Her heart kicked, and she wanted to snatch at his words, force him to explain himself, but such demands would never work with this man. “No,” she said, “you must allow me to repay you in some way until I have the funds to clear the loan.” She pushed off his chest just enough that she could look up into his face. “My home will be yours, so long as you wish it to be.”
A flicker in his eyes, but his response was a quiet incline of his head, an acceptance.
The wickedness in her, born of the same will that had kept her personality her own all these years, stretched awake after a lifetime of restraint. “Since I will not have enough money to repay any loan for years, perhaps I’ll beg your indulgence with sensual favors.”
Darkness shadowing his face, his hand falling away to leave her bereft. “I would not ask such of you.”
Laughing, she cupped his face. “Jason, I’m teasing you.” She had never initiated a kiss, but encouraged by the way he’d returned her touch, she did so now, sipping and tasting at those firm, beautiful lips until he held her again. “Any sensuality I share with you is freely given, and always will be.”
He pressed her closer to his body with the hand he had on her lower back, his free hand rising to angle her chin exactly as he liked, and then he took control of the kiss, stroking his tongue against her own in a caress that made her toes curl, the black fire of him a dark, beautiful thing. You should not tease me so, Mahiya.
Someone must. Heart racing at the sinful perfection of him, she tucked her feet between his boots in an effort to get closer and asked a question she felt too shy to do so out loud. Is the estate isolated enough that we can dance?
A fine, fine tremor slivered through Jason’s powerful frame. No. But I know a place that is.
Good. Because she wanted to dance with her spymaster, the sensual erotic dance of angelic lovers that was part courtship, part a test of strength and skill, and—if done right—all pleasure. Never before had she trusted anyone enough to share herself in that way. I cannot wait to tangle wings with you, Jason.
Breaking the kiss, a hint of color on his cheekbones, Jason said, “I’ve created accounts in your name and transferred the funds you’ll need to get on your feet.” His tone was stripped of tenderness . . . but he continued to press her against him, his wings curved in protective display around her until all she saw was lush black. “The debt isn’t due until you feel able to repay it, at an interest rate of zero percent.”
“Jason!” Laughing, she fisted her hands against his chest. “That is the most terrible loan I ever heard of—you will lose on every account.”
Jason’s expression was solemn. “No, I won’t. Because so long as you owe me a debt, I will have a home.”
Everything in her went quiet, even her pulse, time itself standing still. “Then,” she whispered in a voice raw with love, “it is a debt I will never repay.”
Before he’d spoken, before she’d understood the depth of his need, she would’ve insisted on repaying the loan to the last cent as a sign of her independence. Now she knew this wasn’t about money or about controlling her. Jason had had centuries to accumulate wealth. It meant little to him beyond the practical.
But a home?
That, he hadn’t had since he buried his mother. Neither had she, the fort no safe haven for her. So she grasped what it meant to him to have a home, understood, too, that he needed the unambiguous link created by the debt.
One day, she thought, he wouldn’t need that tie any longer, would come to accept he would always be welcome in the place that was their home. Then they’d laugh over her long overdue debt, and perhaps she would tease her black-winged angel about having allowed a wet-behind-the-ears princess to tie him to such a terrible deal.
