“Hey, badass. How’s it hanging?” Insinio gives me a tough but endlessly kind smile from his ridiculously handsome face. Most Archangels I’ve met are wan and thin, tall and almost impossibly beautiful, like Elves.
But though Insinio is towering, well over six-six, maybe even seven feet in height, his burly frame is strong, his brush-cut black hair unruly, even though it shines. His strong-jawed face is beyond handsome with his almost luminous skin, as he stares at me now with an intense calm in his vivid silver eyes.
Clean shaven, he’s like a motorbike Superman as he stands before me in a black leather jacket, black T-shirt, and dark blue jeans with men’s black motorcycle boots. His massive wings flow through the chapel with their haunting silver-black color, each beautiful filament somehow edged in the brightest light, like sunshine gleaming off a sword.
An actual sword is strapped across his back in a harness; a massive, ornate Archangelic longsword, it’s nearly as big as he is, as he watches me with his impressive wings sighing all around him.
I don’t know why his wings are dark grey instead of white; every Archangel I’ve ever met has had white or tawny wings, except for Insinio and his partner in the Intercessoria, Heathren Merkami.
The duo usually shows up together, though Heathren is nowhere to be seen, as the tough but rough-and-fun side of their pair watches me now. As I finally get my shit together, Insinio’s full lips crack into a smile. He nods, and it’s everything a warrior needs to head back into battle.
Because he knows I can handle it, the shit I’m going through.
Even if I seriously doubt myself right now.
“Nice leathers,” I say at last, gesturing to the ensemble he made for me. It’s my way of thanking him, and he gets it, his smile widening and his vivid silver eyes becoming appreciative as his gaze roves over me.
“They suit you. You sure you aren’t an Archangel, with all that white-blonde hair and that beyond nice ass?” He ribs me now, grinning to beat the band.
“You wish,” I grin, heaving a deep breath and reclaiming myself. Because the fact is, I like the big Archangel’s sexy teasing. Insinio and I have always had an easy, warrior-like flirtation every time we meet, and I’m grateful for it now.
It makes me feel like myself again—rather than someone I don’t know anymore.
“Hey. You called me.” He lifts his straight dark eyebrows, as he gets to asking why he’s here.
“I didn’t. I don’t have a phone.” I’m confused now, as I wonder how he did get my call.
“You called my number in your mind.” Lifting a finger, he taps his temple. “Archangel, remember? I can hear things like prayers—especially when they’re aimed at me.”
“I thought that was your phone number.” My eyebrows rise, incredulous.
“It is.” He chuckles as he pulls out a very normal-looking smartphone from an inner pocket of his jacket. “Mypersonalphone number, rather than my Intercessoria one. So all this, right now, is off the clock, if you get what I mean. Just one badass warrior of an Archangel helping a friend, one badass warrior of a Blood Dragon. You get me?”
“I get you.” I know what Insinio’s saying. Though he came to my call, he won’t be able to use any Intercessoria resources to help me with whatever I need him for.
And that’s fine by me—as I still don’t even know why I called him, or how he can help.
“Talk to me, chica.” Insinio stretches his wings wide—and then they resorb into his spine until there’s nothing left. He unbuckles his sword harness, laying it down gently upon the floor before he turns, taking a seat on the lowest stair before the altar and patting for me to sit. I do, shoulder-to-shoulder with his towering hugeness.
Grateful.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I say as I shake my head.
And then my entire story, ever since the blast at that Outer Island when we saw each other last, comes tumbling out of me.
Insinio listens, nodding and occasionally making a soft noise of amazement in his burly chest as I tell the most insane parts of my past two months. He nods as I tell him about the Black Dragon, the Council, and my memories—currently crystal-clear thanks to Mikkel, even though being with him seriously destabilized my magic today.
All through it, Insinio listens. Occasionally, he asks clarifying questions, and I fill in the details. As I come to the end, telling him about my current destabilization in power thanks to Mikkel, Insinio heaves a hard sigh. As I fall silent, he does nothing, just sits with me in blessed silence for a long moment.
Then he glances at me—silver fire roaring in his eyes.
“Those fuckers who did this to you are gonna pay,” he growls now as he watches me with that fire of Archangelic vengeance roaring in him. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed, as I grip his burly arm and squeeze it in thanks.
He sets his big hand atop mine, solid.
“Rikyava, I need you to know this is some big shit,” he says now as he watches me, warning in his intense silver eyes. “I know you’re a strong drakaina… but you need to know that you have been thrust right into something so big, even the Intercessoria are buzzing like hornets about it. You may feel overwhelmed, you may feel at your limit right now… but that’s because this is something so bad, so scary, that even Archangels fear it—and they have a right to. You get me?”
“Tell me more.” I heave a hard breath, because Insinio’s words have suddenly made me feel a helluva lot better at what I’ve been up against.
