Angels Dance

it. “You realize my wing is not what it should be,” she said, and it was a question within a statement.
    A shrug, fluid and graceful. “You’ll notice I can’t fly either.” Finishing off the liquid in his glass, liquid that sang with life and death both, he said, “Tell me, do you belong to him?”
    There was no need to ask who he meant. “If I do?” she said rather than answering, because what she had with Galen was precious, private.
    “I might be many things,” he murmured, “but I don’t steal women . . . at least not those who don’t want to be stolen.”
    “It’s time for me to go.” The night and this morn had thrown everything she knew into confusion—it was no time for her to be crossing words with a vampire who was clearly an expert in the art of flirtation.
    “Until next we meet, my lady.” The dark promise followed her as she left the library and walked up to the roof, and out into the crisp morning air. If Trace spoke the truth—and he had no reason to lie—then it might well be that other men would approach her now that they knew she was open to the idea of a courtship and relationship.
    “If that’s all you feel, it’ll cut me in two, but it won’t stop me from being the best friend you will ever have . . . You’re free.”
    Her heart clenched at the thought of never again tasting Galen’s kiss, but no matter if it made her bleed inside to accept his decree, he was right in this. If she gave in to the unquenchable need deep within her, need that bore Galen’s name, and went to him now, the specter of gratitude would always lie between them. It would hurt and it would corrode, and it would destroy. No, she thought, nails digging into her skin, she wouldn’t do that, not to Galen, and not to herself.
    The first rays of the sun hit the horizon at that very instant, its golden fingers bringing the world to life.
    * * *
    W ord came two days later.
    “Alexander Sleeps,” Dmitri said, joining her and Galen where they stood on a high Tower balcony, “in a location known only to him.”
    “The vampire who attacked Jessamy?” Galen asked, expression grim.
    “An acolyte of Emira, the vampire you”—a nod toward Jessamy—“described as being with Alexander the day you spoke. Emira was one of his elite guard.”
    “It surprises me,” she said, absently tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Alexander’s people are loyal.”
    “Emira was, too, but her loyalty was to Alexander and she considered her duty complete the day she knew he was safe in his place of Sleep.” Dmitri’s eyes met Jessamy’s own, the darkness in them impenetrable. “Still, I think she would’ve held her peace if she’d believed Rohan would fulfill his promise to Alexander—to inform the Cadre of his father’s decision. When she realized he had no intention of doing so, it hardened her resolve not to serve him.”
    Galen’s hair flamed in the sunlight pouring down on them. “It’s certain, then—Rohan did attempt to seize the territory?”
    Dmitri nodded. “Never realizing the vampires under his command were planning insurrection. The only thing that worried Emira was that someone would become suspicious about Alexander’s continued absence.”
    “A needless worry.” Jessamy shook her head. “Without the assassination attempt, who knows if I would have ever recalled the memory of my talk with him.”
    “However it came about,” Dmitri said, “the end result is the same. Without Alexander, the region is no longer stable. The Cadre is currently working on a caretaker regime until another angel comes into full power.”
    “Michaela,” Jessamy said quietly. “She is on the cusp.” No one knew what the line in the sand was, but they all knew when an angel was approaching it. An archangel would be born in that moment of change, and they were as different from angels as mortals were from vampires.
    Neither male said anything, their attention on the cloudless sky beyond, where angels dived and flew in training for a war that would not happen—at least not this time. Her own eyes, however, lingered on the muscular body of the barbarian who had kissed her, courted her, promised to fly her wherever she wanted to go . . . and she wondered who he was to her.
    * * *
    G alen saw Jessamy laughing with the one they called Trace the next day, and had to turn away before he gave in to the primitive need to pound the skinny vampire to the ground. One or two well-aimed punches