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Hanging up the phone after getting some further details from Jason about the developing situation, Raphael turned to where his consort stood on the other side of the private office attached to their Tower suite. She was currently sliding knives into the special forearm sheaths she used for the most lightweight of her blades, a scowl on her face.
    “Damn it.” Pure aggravation. “I really need to replace these—this side’s threatening to fray right off.”
    “Deacon would not do such shoddy work,” he murmured, naming the weapons-maker so respected that he handled commissions from immortals around the world, his waiting list extending years into the future. However, regardless of the incentives offered, Deacon’s first loyalty was to the guild of hunters of which he had once been a member.
    Elena colored. “I’m too embarrassed to ask him to make me new ones—I bought these on a whim from a weapons-maker in Turkey. I feel like I cheated on Deacon.” Ripping off and throwing the sheaths on the bed, she put her hands on her hips. “So, Lijuan’s up to her old tricks?”
    “It’s not so surprising—she believes herself beyond even the Cadre.” Raphael had once thought Lijuan right, but now he’d seen her wounded, knew the other archangel could be stopped.
    Elena reached back to redo her braid with quick, competent hands, one of which bore a healing knife wound she’d sustained during a training session. It would be gone within the next two hours, her strength growing at an unexpected rate—but then, his consort had never once done the expected.
    “You’d think after seeing the results last time, no one would volunteer to become reborn,” Elena said, her eyes filled with memories of the horrific night in the Forbidden City when a dead woman had jerked back to shambling life in front of them. “She has to be coercing them…” A shake of her head. “No, most of her people treat her like a goddess, so I can believe they’d sacrifice themselves to her vision, even knowing the horror. She could conceivably build an army.”
    “Yes.” It was a future that could not be permitted to come into being, for Lijuan’s reborn were a plague. “Jason’s information is that she’s only making one or two at a time before executing her creations—but we cannot stop monitoring her.”
    Braid done, Elena picked up the inferior knife sheaths and chucked them in the trash, putting her throwing knives onto a table with the mournful look of a woman being parted from the most precious of jewels. “No, and not only because of the reborn—Lijuan isn’t going to be satisfied until you’re dead.” Her irises gleamed metallic silver around the rims, immortality having taken a stronger hold on her in the preceding months. “And I won’t be satisfied until the bitch is boiling in her own blood.”
    Raphael raised an eyebrow. “I would say you’ve been spending too much time with Dmitri were he here.”
    “No, that’s all me,” she said with a smile that was a blade to his heart, it cut so deep. “She tried to hurt you, and she’ll keep on trying to hurt you because she knows you have the potential to destroy her. I don’t intend to sit back and let her, archangel or not.”
    A warrior, he thought, his wings unfurling, that was who he had taken for his consort. “If you will permit,” he said, “I would assist you in your task. Lijuan cannot be allowed to blanket the world with her perversions.”
    His consort’s face dissolved into laughter before she reset it into a suitably haughty expression. “I do permit.” Walking across to join him where he stood with his back to the plate-glass window that looked out over the steel spires of Manhattan, she ran her fingers across the inner surface of his left wing. “Your wings…the gold filaments aren’t like before. It’s as if each has been coated with finely crushed glass, until it glitters like living flame.” That she found him beautiful was an unspoken