Angels' Blood

By: Nalini Singh


Elena squeezed her friend’s hands. “I woke up exactly twenty-four hours ago. The first person I asked to see was you. But don’t tell Ransom, or he’ll get jealous.”

“You were in a coma for a year?” Sara’s mouth dropped open. “How come you’re mobile? Are you? Your muscles—”

“Yes,” she said before Sara’s fears could take root all over again. “I don’t know. They said something about healers and exercise but I’m sorta stuck on the wings.”

Sara shook her head, reached out to touch, then snapped back her hand. “Angels don’t like it when—”

Elena grabbed her friend’s hand, put it on the sleek feathers that were her own. “I’m still me.”

Sara’s hand whispered over her wing, and though the sensation was nothing like when Raphael touched her, it was a kind of intimacy—the kind between friends. “Ransom still with Nyree?”

Sara nodded, laughter in her eyes as she dropped her hand back down to the sheets. “I don’t think he can believe it himself. So, you have wings.”

“Yes.”

“Angels don’t Make other angels.”

“Then what am I? Chopped liver?” A disturbing tendril of thought wormed its way into her brain. She’d said she was still the same, but was she really? Could she share everything with Sara now when to do so might be to expose the secrets of an entire race? Later, she told herself, she’d think about that later. “So, do you like my wings? Aren’t they the most exquisite things you’ve ever seen?”


Sara started laughing. “Vanity, thy name is Elena.”

“Thank you very much,” she said on a wave of determination. Losing Sara’s friendship wasn’t an option. And if she had to fight an archangel to keep it, so be it. “Now, tell me all the goss.”





Outside, on the jagged rocks that guarded the Refuge, Raphael stood shoulder to shoulder with Dmitri. “A human sits in the Refuge,” he said, his hair whipped back by the wind. “It breaks one of our deepest taboos.”

“She has no idea of the location—you can wipe her mind to ensure she can’t betray what little she does know.” Practical words from the leader of his Seven.

“Yes.” But he wouldn’t and that was the change that was his. “Or I could trust Elena’s word on Sara’s sense of honor.”

Dmitri nodded, and when he next spoke, his tone was quiet. “Elena will change us.”

“She already has.” As wild and relentless as these fierce mountain winds, his hunter would never simply accept the way of things. And for a race of immortals, that might be the rudest of awakenings. Anticipation hummed in his blood.

“Jason’s returned,” Dmitri said, pulling him back to the present.

“When?”

“Two days ago. Some of Lijuan’s reborn managed to injure him, but he’ll recover within the week.”

Raphael nodded, knowing that more changes were afoot than the Making of an angel. “So it begins.”