ARCHANGEL’S LINEAGE (GUILD HUNTER #16) BY NALINI SINGH – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Nalini Singh
- Language: English
- Genre: Paranormal / Sci-Fi
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3.2 MB
- Price: Free
Oh, you must not.
Your tears wound me, but there is no choice. I cannot go on. I have tried
until I have no more breath in the shell of my body and no heart in the core
of my self.
The river—
—is eternal. What falls will always rise. One civilization or another,
what does it matter to me?
My love, you were never this heartless. You ever cared for your people. I
saw you cradle newborn mortals in your arms and kiss their soft cheeks.
You see why I must do this, beloved. Do I not, I turn slowly into a
monster cold and without sympathy for those who are smaller, weaker, my
shell all that remains.
Ah, my heart. Come to me. We will lie inside my fire this day and the next
and the next until eternity ends.
And in the heartbeats between lifetimes, I will look into your eyes and I
will be whole.
2
Elena kicked out a booted foot to check the give in her opulent ball gown
and grinned when the falls of fabric around her legs parted like they weren’t
there. “Montgomery strikes again,” she said, then busied herself slipping
her throwing knives into the decorative sheaths at her forearms.
At some point during her roughly two decades as Raphael’s consort,
she’d said to hell with it and decided to give herself a new trademark: arm
sheaths. These days, no one blinked an eye at her preference for weapons as
jewelry; it definitely took the edge off, not having to find places to secrete
weapons.
Not that she didn’t also always have hidden weapons.
Elena was never not going to have a concealed garrote or a dart that blew
drug-laced needles somewhere on her person. The latter had been a joke
birthday gift from her hunter friends, but she’d realized the real thing could
pass as a decorative pendant in situations where other weapons might be
seen as a sign of aggression.
Setting her personal style as including arm sheaths had ameliorated the
latter threat. Who cared if the snooty old angels called it a “mortal
affectation” with their condescending noses so far up in the air that it was a
wonder they didn’t unbalance and fall over backward. The idiots thought
they were insulting her. Hah. Having a mortal heart, a mortal soul, was a
gift she cherished in this world where so many frittered away entire
centuries because they always had one more day.
What had taken her aback was when a cohort of “edgy” young courtiers
began to copy her with jewel-encrusted monstrosities they dared call blades.
Those insults of weapons couldn’t fly a single foot in a straight line, much
less actually hit a target, but per Illium, that’s what she got for being a
fashion “icon.”
Their pretty Bluebell was going to get his feathers plucked one of these
days.
The unbound near-white of her waist-length hair being brushed aside, a
kiss pressed to the back of her neck that made a shiver ripple over her body
as wings of white-gold opened in her peripheral vision.
Her stomach tumbled, as if this was the first time Raphael had ever
touched her
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