Archangel’s Enigma (Guild Hunter #8)(75)
Author: Nalini Singh

Sire! Illium is falling!

Even as he alerted Raphael, Aodhan knew his archangel wasn’t close enough. He’d spotted Raphael’s wings on the other side of the city not long before Illium whistled at him. Heart screaming as he willed himself to drop faster, he searched the air for any other help, but everything was moving by too fast, the wind burning his skin. His only advantage was that he was an aerodynamic bullet, while Illium’s wings were causing drag, slowing his descent a minute fraction.

Aodhan didn’t take his eyes from that falling blue form . . . and then he was passing it. He snapped out his wings less than two hundred meters from the roof of a high-rise and, back facing Illium, braced for impact.

It slammed through his bones, rattled his teeth, and sent him spiraling down in an uncontrollable fall. He could feel Illium sliding off his back, couldn’t slow it down.

They were going to hit the roof at bone-breaking speed.

Aodhan wasn’t sure either one of them would survive. No, he thought. No.

Managing to grab hold of Illium’s wrist as his friend tumbled off him, he felt his arm wrench out of its socket. He refused to release his grip. And then he was seeing white fire in his vision, Raphael rising up from below and scooping Illium into his arms bare meters from the roof. I have him.

Aodhan let go.

Too close to the roof himself and with too much momentum to stop the collision, Aodhan braced himself for another hard landing when he’d only just recovered from the last one.

Having closed his eyes instinctively, he didn’t know at first what hit him. He just knew he’d been rammed hard enough to crack several ribs. Eyes snapping open, he saw he’d been pushed into clear air.

Spreading his wings, he spiraled out of control a couple more times before finding his aerial balance. Sweat-soaked and with his heart racing what felt like a thousand beats a minute, he looked up to see Elena and the Primary flying toward him.

“Are you okay?” Elena yelled when she was close enough. “We couldn’t catch you in time so we rammed you!”

“Thank you,” he managed to get out, able to see a bruise already forming on Elena’s face and upper arm. “Illium?”

Stark eyes. “I don’t know.”

The three of them turned as one to the Tower. Landing on the balcony outside the infirmary, he and Elena ran in while the Primary waited outside. The senior Tower healer and Raphael were bent over Illium’s limp form, the room otherwise empty.

Aodhan wasn’t used to seeing his friend so still. Illium was never still. Even when he was lying down, his eyes sparked, his mouth laughed.

“Aodhan.” Elena reached out a hand as if to take his, dropped it halfway. “He’s alive,” she said, her voice fierce. “You saved him.”

Aodhan felt as if he was still falling. “There’s blood on him.” It came out a whisper.

Elena’s breath trembled, and though she’d only known Illium a mere heartbeat in contrast to the centuries of memories in Aodhan’s head, Aodhan knew she, too, was close to panic. Time made little difference; it was the heart that mattered, the ability to love. And Elena loved with a passion that had melted the ice-cold shields of an archangel.

Her unhidden fear for Illium made it easier for Aodhan to reach out and lock his hand with hers, to make voluntary contact with anyone other than his closest friend. The sensation would’ve been a shock at any other time; at this instant his mind and his soul had room for no other emotions but those already threatening to drown him.

Aodhan willed his friend to wake up, trying not to see the wings lying so limp on either side of Illium’s body, the bloody tears smeared on his cheeks. If he lost Illium . . .

His hand clenched on Elena’s.

27

Naasir stayed in touch with the Tower throughout the night. Dmitri had called all of the Seven outside New York minutes after Illium’s fall, to ensure they heard the truth, not rumor.

“He hasn’t woken,” Dmitri told him two hours before his and Andromeda’s planned departure. “But the healer says this is a natural sleep.” Grim relief. “He’ll likely wake while you’re en route. I’ll let you know the instant he does.”

His own relief clawing at him, Naasir said, “The Hummingbird?” Naasir didn’t have a mother, but he liked Illium’s. She was soft and kind and even before she’d had her own son, she’d been gentle with Naasir.

During art lessons at school, she hadn’t even minded if he used his hands to paint, or if he made a mess. “She’ll be scared.” The Hummingbird hadn’t always been so fragile, but Naasir knew to be careful with her now; she was wounded inside.