Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 139178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“I am grateful my son wishes to know me.” Her eyes turned stark, stripped bare in a way he’d only ever seen once before—when they’d found a very young Sameon broken and stuffed into a trunk in her Refuge stronghold.
Then she’d frozen in horror, her voice trembling as she asked if Sam was alive.
Today, she said, “I went into death trusting in the goodness of your consort to get him into Keir’s hands.”
Raphael didn’t interrupt, having the sense that Michaela needed to say this.
“Even when I had so often been nothing kind to her,” she said, “I knew she would keep her word to me—because she is a being of honor. I knew this even then, and when I am…more rooted in this time, I will say these words to her myself. But for now, I would ask that you tell her that I will never forget what she did for my son, and that none of you ever have to fear I will be as I once was.”
Raphael would’ve shrugged off that declaration at any other time—Michaela was a capricious creature. But…she’d never been this Michaela before. “You are changed.”
“I died.” Flat words. “Archangels aren’t supposed to die, not in such a way, but I died.” A wry smile. “Perhaps it has humbled me.”
Odd as it was, he would not see a humbled Michaela. That wasn’t who she was—but a wiser one? Yes, that would be welcome. “I wish you every happiness in your journey with Gavriel. He was a fine boy we loved fostering—and he’s grown into a man Illium is proud to have at his side.”
Michaela’s face glowed. “All I hear of him makes my mother’s heart beat with pride. I know I must earn that right, for I did not have the raising of him, but no one can begrudge what I feel.”
She smiled. “You will understand soon, when you hold your child. Even the merest movement of the babe’s finger or toe will make you the proudest being in all this universe.”
Raphael laughed, the two of them in harmony in a way he would’ve never predicted.
* * *
* * *
“I hope Michaela’s transformation lasts,” Elena said as they sat on their Tower balcony that night, the city glittering around them. “At least we know Gavriel will be a good influence.” She put down her mug of a hot herbal tisane that Nisia had recommended for a restful night’s sleep now that her pregnancy was in the advanced stages. “Any discussion of the border situation between Illium and the ass?”
“The babes have bought us a little time,” he said, one hand playing lazily with her braid. “No one wants to be the archangel who started a war on the eve of such a joyous double event.”
“Let’s hope the asshole gets caught up in baby fever and gives up on the whole idea of starting a war.”
Raphael didn’t think that would happen. “Hope is a good thing.”
Elena laughed. “Nice diplomatic way to tell the hormonal pregnant woman that she’s delusional.”
“Come on, hormonal pregnant consort of mine. I brought you a treat.” Tugging her back into their suite and through to the living area, he picked up the distinctive blue box on the coffee table.
“Eee!” Elena grabbed the bakery box from his hands.
“Angel-wing alfajores…special ordered with pickle juice in the dulce de leche mix.” Raphael shuddered.
He’d sent a junior from the Tower to place then pick up the order, well aware that he’d send the city into a furor should he turn up at the little bakery in Harlem.
Everyone would also then know that Elena was with child, a fact they’d managed to keep from the general populace thus far due to both Elena beginning to show so late, and her keeping to high elevations during the later stages.
Because per the junior—who’d been delighted to be assigned the covert task—the first thing the baker had done when he placed the order was raise an imperious eyebrow and say, “Hope it’s not your girl who’s pregnant. You’re too young.”
“This is so dewishous,” Elena said around a mouthful of the signature cookie—sans pickle juice—that had been part of New York since Illium’s time here.
The entire city knew not to mess with the little bakery. Once protected under wings of silver blue, it now bore the viper green symbol that was Venom’s. The times he was out of town, Dmitri stepped in.
No one would ever dare harm the little bakery that held a piece of Illium’s heart.
“I don’t think the herbal tisane will do for this—I’ll get you a glass of milk,” Raphael said with a grin as Elena sat down on the sofa with the open cookie box perched on top of her bump.
First, however, he nudged over an ottoman so she could put her feet up onto it. Then, awash in love, he bent to press a kiss to her hair.