Archangel's Kiss

2

His pet. His weakness.

“Her words or yours?”

“Does it matter?” A negligent shrug. “It’s true.”

She threw the knife with deadly accuracy. Raphael caught it in midair—by the blade. His blood flowed scarlet against the gold of his skin. “Was it not you who bled the last time?” he asked conversationally as he dropped the knife to the formerly pristine white carpet and tightened his hand into a fist. The blood flow halted within a single second.

“You made me close my hand over a blade.” Her heart was still racing from witnessing the sheer speed of him. Dear God. And she’d taken this man to her bed. Craved him even now.

“Hmm.” He rose to his feet, walked to her.

At that moment, though he’d said he’d never hurt her, she wasn’t so sure. Her fingers clenched on the sheets as he came to sit in front of her, one of his wings lying over her legs. It was a warm, surprisingly heavy weight. Angel wings weren’t for show—as she was beginning to learn, they were pure muscle and tendon over bone, and like any other muscle, they had to be strengthened prior to use. Before, she’d only had to worry about tripping if she overtired herself. Now, she had to worry about falling out of the sky.

But that wasn’t the danger that danced in front of her eyes right then.

No, all she saw was blue.

Never before Raphael had blue meant the color of sin, of seduction. Of pain.

He leaned in, brushed her hair from her neck with fingers that could bring pleasure so excruciating it hurt . . . and pressed a kiss to the ragged beat of her pulse. It made her shiver, and she found she’d tangled her hands in his hair. He kissed her again, causing the warmth in her stomach to uncoil with lazy grace through her body, demand in every slow pulse.

When something glittered at the edge of her vision, she realized he was covering her in angel dust, a decadent, delicious substance that mortals paid enormous amounts to possess. But Raphael had a special blend just for her. As she breathed in the motes, the seduction intensified, until all she could think of was sex, the ache in her wings, even her anger, forgotten.

“Yes,” he whispered against her mouth. “I think you’ll intrigue me through eternity.”

It should’ve shattered the moment, but it didn’t. Not when there was such erotic promise in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. She found herself trying to draw him closer, but his jaw tightened. “No, Elena. I’ll break you.” A blunt statement. A truth. “Read this.” Dropping the envelope onto the sheet, he rose, those magnificent wings of white—every filament tipped with luminous gold—flaring out to dust her in ecstasy.

“Stop that.” Her voice was breathy, her mouth filled with the hotly masculine taste of him. “When will I be able to do that?”

“It’s an ability that develops over time, and not every angel gains it.” He folded back his wings. “Perhaps in four hundred years’ time, you’ll know.”

She stared. “Four hundred? Years?”

“You’re immortal now.”

“How immortal?” It wasn’t a stupid question. As she’d learned too well, even archangels could die.

“Immortality takes time to grow—to set—and you’re barely formed. Even a strong vampire could kill you right now.” Tilting his head slightly to the side, he turned his attention to the sky beyond the glass he’d told her was reflective, affording her privacy to study the Refuge without worrying about being watched in turn.

“It seems the Refuge is a popular place today.” With that, he strode to the balcony doors. “We must go to this ball, Elena. To do any less would be a sign of fatal weakness.” Closing the doors behind himself, he spread his wings and took off in a straight vertical flight.

Elena gasped at the unintentional show of strength. Now that she’d felt the weight of the wings at her back, she’d realized the extraordinary nature of Raphael’s vertical takeoffs. As she watched, he swept in front of the balcony and away. Her heart was still pounding from the combination of his kiss and the display of aerial brilliance when she finally glanced down at the envelope.

The fine hairs on her arms stood up the instant she grazed the thick white paper with her fingertips. The sensation was eerie—as if the envelope had been somewhere so cold, it wouldn’t warm up, no matter what. Some would call it the chill of the grave.

Goose bumps broke out over her skin.

Shaking them off, she turned the envelope over. The seal had been broken, but she could see the image once she lined up the edges. An angel. Of course, she thought, unable to stop staring at it. It was inked in black but why that should disturb her, she didn’t know. Frowning, she brought it closer to her face.

“Oh Jesus.” The whisper rippled out of her as she glimpsed the secret hidden within the image. It was an illusion, a trick. Looked at one way, the seal was a kneeling angel, his head bowed. But change your focus and that angel stared directly at you, his eye sockets empty, his bones bleached white.

She’s no longer wholly of this world.

All at once, Raphael’s words took on an entirely new meaning.

Shuddering, she lifted the flap and removed the card inside. It was heavy cream-colored stuff, reminding her of the expensive note cards her father used in his personal correspondence. The writing scrolled across in antique gold. She rubbed her finger over it—why, she didn’t know—it wasn’t as if she could sense whether it was real gold or not. “Wouldn’t surprise me though.” Lijuan was old, so old. And an ancient being of power could amass a great deal of wealth over a lifetime.

Funny, but though she thought of Raphael as powerful, she’d never thought of him as ancient. There was a sense of life about Raphael that denied that. A sense of . . . humanity? No. Raphael wasn’t human, wasn’t anything close to human.

But he wasn’t like Lijuan.

Her eyes went to the card again.

I invite you to the Forbidden City, Raphael. Come, let us welcome this human you have embraced. Let us see the beauty of this connection between immortal and what was once mortal. I find myself fascinated for the first time in millennia.

~ Zhou Lijuan

Elena didn’t want to fascinate Lijuan. In fact, she wanted nowhere near the rest of the Cadre of Ten. She was pretty sure most of the time that Raphael wouldn’t kill her. But as for the others . . . “Oh, hell.”

My little pet.

My weakness.

She might despise the words, but that made them no less accurate. If the Archangel of New York really did love her, then she might as well be wearing a target on her back.

Again she saw him, face bloodied and torn, wings shredded, an archangel choosing death over eternal life. It was a truth she’d never forget, a truth that anchored her even as everything else in her world shifted and changed.

“Not everything,” she murmured, reaching for the phone. Because while this place might look as if it existed in some long-ago age of chivalry and grace, the amenities were cutting-edge. Unsurprising when you thought about it—angels didn’t survive eons by clinging to the past. New York’s Archangel Tower, with its cloud-piercing form, was the perfect example.

As the phone rang on the other end, she found herself staring out through the balcony doors, searching for the magnificent being who ruled that Tower, the one she dared call her lover.

The ringing stopped. “Hello, Ellie.” A raspy voice, followed by an audible yawn.

“Crap, I woke you.” She’d forgotten the time difference between wherever the hell she was and New York.

“It’s okay—we crashed early. Hold on.” Rustling sounds, a click, and then Sara was back on the line. “I’ve never seen Deacon go back to sleep that fast—though he did mutter something that sounded vaguely like ‘Hi, Ellie.’ I think our baby girl wore him out today.”

Elena smiled at the thought of Sara’s “scary son-of-a-bitch” of a husband being run ragged by little Zoe. “Did I wake her?”

“Nah, she’s wiped out, too.” A whisper. “I just peeked. Going into the living room.”

Elena could easily visualize Sara’s surroundings, from the elegant sofas in a caramel shade that brought warmth inside, to the large black-and-white portrait of Zoe on the wall, her giggling face covered with bath foam. The gorgeous brown-stone was more home to Elena than any other place except her own apartment. “Sara, my apartment?” She hadn’t thought to ask during Sara’s visit to the Refuge two days ago, her mind too full of the chaos of dying . . . and waking up with wings of midnight and dawn.

“Sorry, babe.” Sara’s voice held the painful echoes of memory. “After . . . everything, Dmitri blocked off access. I was more interested in finding out where they’d put you, so I didn’t push too hard.”

The last time Elena had seen her apartment, it had had a huge hole torn out of one wall, blood and water everywhere. “I don’t blame you,” she said, burying the hurt that stabbed into her at the thought of her haven being shut up, her treasures broken and lost. “Hell, you probably had more than enough on your plate.” New York had gone pitch-dark during the archangel-to-archangel battle, power lines destroyed and pylons overloading as Uram and Raphael both pulled power from the city below.

It hadn’t only been the electrical grid that had become collateral damage in the cataclysmic battle between two immortals. Her mind showed her a snapshot of crumbled buildings, crushed cars, and the twisted blades that meant at least one heliport had suffered severe damage.

“It was bad,” Sara admitted, “but the majority of the damage has been repaired. Raphael’s people organized it all. We even had angels doing construction work—that’s not a sight you see every day.”

“Guess they didn’t need the cranes.”

“Nope. I never knew how strong angels were until I saw them lift up some of those blocks.” A pause filled with an unspoken depth of emotion that gripped Elena by the throat. “I’ll go by your apartment tomorrow morning,” Sara finally said, her voice rigidly controlled, “let you know what’s what.”

Elena swallowed, wishing Sara was here again so she could reach out and hug her best friend. “Thanks, I’ll tell Dmitri to make sure his hench-people know you’re coming.” In spite of her attempt to not let it matter, she couldn’t help but wonder if any of her keepsakes, the little things she’d collected on her trips as a hunter, had survived.

“Hah! I can take on hench-people with one hand tied behind my back.” A thready laugh. “God, Ellie, I get this wave of relief every time I hear your voice.”

“You’ll be hearing it for a lot longer now—I’m immortal,” she joked, not yet able to truly comprehend the enormity of the change in her life. Hunters in the field died young. They didn’t live forever.

“Yeah. You’ll be around to watch over my baby and her babies long after I’m gone.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” It made her heart ache to imagine a future without Sara, without Ransom, without Deacon.

“Silly girl. I think it’s wonderful—a gift.”

“I’m not so sure.” She told Sara what she’d been thinking in regard to her value as a hostage. “Am I being paranoid?”

“No.” Now, the other woman sounded like the hard-assed Guild Director she was. “That’s why I packed Vivek’s special gun in the bag of weapons on its way to you.”

Elena’s fingers curled into her palm.

The last time she’d used that weapon, Raphael had bled endless red on her carpet, and Dmitri had almost slit her throat. But none of that, she thought, uncurling her fingers one by one, diminished the value of a weapon meant to disable wings, not when—her gaze went to the skies beyond the window—she was surrounded by immortals in a place that whispered of things no human was supposed to know. “Thanks. Even if you did get me into this in the first place.”

“Hey, I made you filthy rich, too.”

Elena blinked, tried to find her voice.

“You forgot didn’t you?” Sara laughed.

“I was too busy being in a coma,” Elena managed to choke out. “Raphael paid me?”

“Every last penny.”

It took her a second to realize what that meant. “Wow.” The deposit had been more money than she could’ve hoped to make in a lifetime. And it had been a mere twenty-five percent of the total. “I think ‘filthy rich’ might be an understatement.”

“Yeah. But you did complete the job he hired you to do, which I’m guessing had something to do with that fight with Uram?”

Elena bit her lip. Raphael had been explicit in his warning about all information connected to the sadistic monster who’d killed and tortured so many—any mortal she told would die. No exceptions. Perhaps that had changed now, but she wasn’t going to chance her best friend’s life on the faith of a relationship she barely understood. “I can’t tell you, Sara.”

“You’ll tell me all these other secrets but not this one?” Sara didn’t sound pissed, she sounded intrigued. “Interesting.”

“Don’t go digging that way.” Elena’s stomach pitched as her mind put on a nausea-inducing slideshow of the horror that had been Uram. That last room . . . the stench of rotting flesh, the gleam of blood-soaked bone, the slimy pulp of the eyes he’d dug out of a dying vampire’s skull.

Steeling her spine against the bile burning the back of her throat, she tried to imbue her voice with the depth of her worry. “It’s bad news.”

“I don’t have a death wis—ah, Zoe’s awake.” Maternal love filled every syllable. “And look at that, so is Deacon. Zoe’s daddy wakes to her slightest cry, doesn’t he, sweetie pie?”

Elena drew in a cleansing breath, the loving images created by Sara’s words banishing those of Uram’s depravity. “I think you guys are getting more sickening with each day.”

“My baby’s almost one and a half now, Ellie,” Sara whispered. “I want you to see her.”

“I will.” It was a promise. “I’m going to learn to use these wings if it kills me.” Her eye fell on Lijuan’s invitation as the words left her mouth, death closing a skeletal hand around her throat.