“I’ve learned never to underestimate him.” Aodhan leaned forward, his forearms braced on his thighs and his gaze on the waters of the East River, the Hudson not visible from their current position. “Have you noticed the changes in Illium?”

“Hard to miss.” The blue-winged angel’s power had escalated in the months after the battle, until it burned in the gold of his eyes and pulsed in his skin.

He still teased Aodhan as wickedly, insisting on calling him Sparkle, still made Elena laugh with his open and unrepentant flirtation, but he was also growing away from them and it hurt. She couldn’t bear to think of a New York without Illium, because while she respected all of the Seven, her relationship with Illium was different.

He’d been the first one she’d truly come to know, his humor and wit critical in helping her adjust to this new life. Even among the Seven, he seemed to hold a special place: no one was ever angry at Bluebell. The idea that power might change him, chill that joyous heart was even worse than the thought of losing him to it.

“He’s too young.” Aodhan’s voice was quiet, his left hand fisting on his thigh. “Like you can’t do certain things, he isn’t physically old enough to control that much power.”

Stomach knotting, Elena turned to look at Aodhan’s flawless profile, his skin not white or cream but something other, alabaster kissed by sunshine. “The Cascade?”

A nod. “The sire believes it’s accelerating Illium’s natural development—only his body isn’t catching up.”

She gripped the edges of the balcony so hard her bones pressed up white against the dark gold skin she’d inherited from her Moroccan grandmother. “Is there anything we can do?”

Aodhan shook his head, the movement scattering shards of light in a brilliant, unexpected rain. “No one can stop the growth of an angel.”

Ice cracking her heart, Elena went straight into Raphael’s arms when he returned home from an offshore drill. “Why didn’t you tell me about Illium?”

“Because he is your favorite and you would worry when there is nothing to be done.” Wings of white gold licked with the cool flame that appeared and disappeared without warning, wrapped around her. “Your Bluebell’s development can’t be halted.”

“Could he become an archangel?”

“One day far in the future, yes. If he ascends now . . . he’s not ready.” Raphael held her tight, his voice taut with a hard thread of unvarnished emotion as he said, “Illium’s body will break apart from the power overload and he’s not old enough to survive such total annihilation.”

Elena wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and wipe away the horrific image. And if she felt that way, she couldn’t imagine her archangel’s grim anger and concern. He’d known Illium since Illium was a boy, and Illium’s mother, Sharine—known among angelkind as the Hummingbird—held a special place in his powerful heart. That heart knew how to love, how to be loyal.

“What the hell is happening, Raphael?” she said, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “One of our friends is heading right into the heart of that crazy bitch’s territory, and another is on the verge of a catastrophic change.”

Raphael’s voice crashed into her mind, the bright sea and cold kiss of it intimately familiar. The Cascade has no allegiance and it chooses no sides. No one is safe.

9

Naasir crossed the border into Lijuan’s territory just before dawn the next morning. He’d done it many times. Then, his task had been to take the temperature of the land, discern the mood of her people. He’d prowled in the shadows of villages and cities and he’d listened, then reported back.

Today, he was racing against time through a landscape lashed with the brilliant colors of fall. If Xi’s squadron had flown straight from the Refuge to the citadel, Andromeda had already been in Lijuan’s clutches for at least twelve hours.

Naasir didn’t think she’d survive much longer than another forty-eight at most. She was a warrior and a scholar, but she wasn’t sneaky. Okay, maybe a little sneaky since she’d fooled him with her civilized skin, but not deep-down sneaky—Naasir wasn’t sure she’d be able to mislead Lijuan long enough for Naasir to get to her.

Because one thing he knew: Andromeda would not betray what she knew about Alexander. Others might doubt her allegiance because of her bloodline, but he’d seen the truth of her as he held her pinned to the earth. Her honor was an indelible part of her, embedded into her true skin in a way nothing could erase.

Winter storms and lightning.

He changed direction at the scent in the air, running through the long grasses without bothering to lower his body. The sun hadn’t yet risen, the light dim and gray. Even had it been noon, no one saw Naasir in the grasses when he didn’t want to be seen. He was a shadow, a striped mirage. The angel who waited for him beneath the spreading branches of a large tree dressed in leaves of scarlet and gold was another kind of shadow.

Wings of black held tight to his back and his body motionless, Naasir wouldn’t have seen Jason if he hadn’t caught his scent. He approved. To him, the spymaster had always been one of the most dangerous members of the Seven. It caused Naasir no surprise that Jason had found him. As Naasir could track by scent, Jason had methods of his own.

“You’ll help me find Andromeda?” he asked on reaching the black-winged angel, because if Jason had another task, Naasir couldn’t assist, not today.

But Jason nodded, his tattoo bared by the neat way he’d pulled his hair into a queue at his nape. Naasir had gone with Jason on one of Jason’s trips to the Pacific Island home of the artist who’d done the work. Jason had walked alone for a long time, but sometimes he didn’t seem to mind a curious Naasir tagging along.