Archangel's Consort by Nalini Singh Page B

into the lock without further jerking her chain. Her eyes were drawn to the droplets of blood on his shoulder. “You bring out the worst in me.”
    Nudging open the door, he turned, a faint smile on that face meant for silk-sheeted bedrooms and blood-soaked fields of battle. “Thanks.”
    “Did you come inside before I got here?”
    “No.” He leaned in the doorway while she walked through and into the living room. “I hear your Bluebell is here.” A pregnant pause.
    Neck prickling in warning, she shifted to keep him in her line of sight. “What?”
    “Be careful with Illium, Elena.” A soft caution. “He’s vulnerable to the humanity you carry within.” He was gone the next instant.
    Frozen by the impact of the unexpected words, she started when she heard the whisper of angelic wings. “Stay there.” She kept her back to Illium as she spoke. “I want to do a walk-through first.”
    “Your wish. My command.”
    His unruffled agreement cut the taut rope of tension running up her spine. Glancing over at him, she saw that he was playing a carved silver knife in and around his fingers, each flick blindingly fast. Her friend, she thought. He was her friend, just like Ransom, just like Sara, and she wouldn’t damage that friendship with false worries.
    He has a fascination with mortals.
    Raphael had said that to her before she’d woken with wings of midnight and dawn.
    “Why are you staring at me, Ellie?” Illium said without taking his eyes from the blade dancing around his fingers.
    The words were instinctive, something she might as easily have said to rib Ransom. “You’re so pretty, it’s difficult to resist.”
    A flashing grin, a hint of that aristocratic English accent in his response. “It’s hard to be me, it’s true.”
    Snorting, but with her composure restored, she began to inspect the apartment. It was much as she’d expected. Ignatius had been neat enough, but not obsessive about it. She could see a glass in the sink, a sweater thrown over the sofa, and the bed, though made, was done so in a way that said he was more worried about comfort than anything else. There was even a flower in a vase on the bedside table—a bit exotic for her taste, but vampires tended to go for the dark and lush.
    Returning to the living area, she nodded Illium inside. “There’s nothing weird here. No scents that shouldn’t belong, no signs that he was losing his mind.” Vampires in bloodlust often destroyed their homes during the first surge. “Supports what we saw at the scene—that he was in control of his faculties when—”
    “Elena.” Illium’s voice was as lethal as the sword he wore along his spine.
    Guard up, she walked to where he stood in the bedroom doorway, followed his gaze to the glossy black of the hothouse orchid that stood on the bedside table. “Tell me what that means.”
    He didn’t reply, his gaze focused inward.
    An instant later, the wind and the rain, crisp and clean, filled her mind. Illium tells me it is a pale, scentless facsimile of the original, but it is nonetheless her symbol. Raphael’s voice was so strong, she knew he had to be in the Tower. My mother is waking.
    Sucking in a breath, she stared at the luxuriant black of the petals, a color so deep and rich she’d never before seen its like. She was controlling Ignatius?
    Perhaps. It’s more likely she simply took advantage of urges he would have otherwise kept contained.
    Elena blew out a breath, biting down on her lower lip. It’s a little pat, don’t you think, Archangel?
    A pause. Wait there. I will join you.
    Turning to Illium, Elena raised an eyebrow. “How did you know about the orchid? You weren’t born until hundreds of years after Caliane’s disappearance.”
    “I did read some of my history books in school.” A disgruntled look. “Jessamy used to threaten to tie me to a desk unless I did my homework.”
    She could just see him, a blue-winged boy with eyes of gold and a smile full of mischief. But