Angels' Blood (10 page)

Her thighs clenched as need spasmed through her. The image of those long powerful fingers thrusting in and out of her as she lay helpless was suddenly the only thing she could see. Closing her eyes just made it worse so she flicked them open to stare fixedly at the black shimmer of the opposite wall. “I don’t know what kind of kinky shit goes on in this building, but I don’t want any part of it.”

He laughed, the sound full of dark, male knowledge. “Perhaps you’ve led a more sheltered life than I’d believed if you think of that as kinky.”

It was a taunt that dared her to respond. She fought the urge. So what if she wasn’t as openly sexual as some of the other hunters? So what if the testosterone gang had named her the Vestal Virgin after she turned them down one after the other. She wasn’t, in fact, a virgin, but if it would keep her safe from Raphael’s erotic games, she’d play along. “I’d like to stay sheltered, thank you very much. Can we please have this meeting before I fall asleep?”

“My bed is very comfortable.”

She could’ve slapped herself for giving him that opening, especially when her brain began to supply her with visions of him in bed, wings stretched out, thighs bare, co—She gritted her teeth. “What did you want to tell me?”

His eyes gleamed, but all he said was, “Come.” He began to stride back to the elevator.

Running, she caught up, irritated at the way he expected her to obey. Like she was a puppy. However, for once, she kept her mouth shut. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the vampire floor with its reek of sex, pleasure, and addiction.

The elevator ride was short, and this time when she exited, it was into a classy setup. Cool white was the overriding theme, with elegant accents of white gold. But when Raphael ushered her into his office, she found that his desk was a huge black chunk of polished volcanic stone.

She cut off the thought before it could crawl into her mind again, remaining on the far side of the desk as Raphael circled it to stand by the glass, his gaze on the city lights and, beyond them, the dark spill of the Hudson.

“Uram is in the state of New York.”

“What?” Startled but pleased by the abrupt shift into work mode, she raised her hands to fix the mess the wind had made of her hair, pulling it back into a tight ponytail. “That makes our job stupid-easy. All I have to do is alert the hunter network to be on the lookout for an angel with dark gray wings.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“His pattern is as distinctive as yours,” she said. “Almost like a gypsy moth’s.”

“You will not alert anyone.”

She set her jaw, any lingering hint of desire dying a quick death. “How am I supposed to do my job if you cut me off from the very things I need to do it effectively?”

“Those things will be useless to you in this hunt.”

“Oh, come on!” she yelled at his back. “He’s a big fricking angel with one-of-a-kind wings. People will notice him. And could you face me when we’re talking?”

He turned, his eyes blue flame. Power licked off him in waves she could almost feel. “Uram won’t stand out. Just like I don’t.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about—Oh, fuck.” He wasn’t there anymore. She knew he had to be there but he was no longer visible to her sight. Swallowing, she walked to his last known position, and reached out.

To touch warm, male skin.

A ghostly hand closed over her wrist when she would’ve pulled back. Then one of her fingers was sucked into the mouth she’d stared at earlier, the hot-wet heat a violent provocation to the renewed pulse between her thighs. That was when she realized she couldn’t see that part of her finger. “Stop it!” Wrenching away, she stumbled back against the desk.

Raphael appeared as a mirage, then solidified. “I was proving a point.” He shifted to stand in front of her, blocking her in.

“You usually suck on people to prove a point?” Her fingers curled. “What the hell was that?”

“Glamour,” he answered, tracing the shape of her mouth with his eyes. “It allows us to move hidden among the masses. It’s part of what makes an archangel out of an angel.”

“How long can you hold it?” She tried not to wonder what he was thinking when he looked at her that way, tried to remember that he’d threatened Sara’s baby and her own life. But it was hard with him so close, so touchable. He looked almost human. Darkly, sexually human.

“I can hold it as long as it takes,” he whispered and she had no doubt it was a double entendre. “Uram is older than I am. His power is greater. All he’d need to do is—” He cut himself off so abruptly, she knew he’d almost revealed too much. “At full power, he can hold the glamour close to indefinitely. Even weakened, he can still maintain it for most of the day, going to ground during the night hours.”

“We’re hunting the Invisible Man?” She leaned farther back, until she was almost sitting on the desk.

His hands were on the gleaming surface on either side of her hips without her knowing how he’d gotten so close. “That’s why we need your sense of smell.”

“I scent vampires,” she said, frustrated, “not angels. I can’t scent you.”

He brushed off the detail as if it meant nothing. “We must wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For the right time.” His wings rose, blocking out the view, draping them in night. “And while we wait, I’ll indulge my need to see if you taste as tart as you sound.”

The sensual web snapped. Not giving him warning, she used her agility to slide backward and off the other side of the desk, scattering paper as she went. “I told you,” she gasped, heart thudding at the narrow escape, “I don’t want to be your snack, your chew-toy, your fuck-buddy. Find a vampire to sink your fang into.” She strode out of the room and down the hall without waiting for an answer.

Somewhat to her amazement, no one stopped her. When she reached the ground floor, she found a taxi waiting—for her. She was about to tell the driver to get lost when she realized she had no money. Since she had no desire to walk home in the creeping chill of midnight, she got into the backseat. “Get me the hell out of here.”

“Of course.” The driver’s voice was smooth. Too smooth.

She glanced up to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Vamps drive taxis now?”

He smiled but couldn’t pull off Dmitri’s effortless charm . . . and he definitely couldn’t pull off the dangerous sensuality of the archangel who seemed determined to turn their “relationship”—hah!—sexual.

It’d be a cold day in Lucifer’s personal kingdom before that happened. Sex was not on the menu. And neither was Elena.

Raphael watched the taxi pull away, surprised she’d taken
it. Elena was proving the most unpredictable of all those under his command. Of course, she’d argue with that description, he thought, amused in the way only a lethally powerful immortal could be.

The door opened behind him. “Sire?”

“Dmitri, you are to stay away from the hunter.”

“If the sire so wishes.” A pause. “I could reduce her to begging. She would no longer disobey your orders.”

“I don’t want her to beg.” Raphael was surprised to find that to be true. “She’ll be more effective with her spirit intact.”

“And after?” Dmitri’s voice was full of sensual anticipation. “May I have her after the hunt? She . . . draws me.”

“No. After the hunt, she’s mine.” Any begging Elena would be doing would fall on his ears alone.

Elena sat bolt upright in her beautiful artwork of a bed. The headboard was a one-of-a-kind design of the most delicately formed metal, while the white-on-white sheets and puffy comforters were embroidered with tiny, tiny flowers. To the right of her bed were sliding French doors that led out onto a small private balcony she’d turned into a miniature garden. And beyond that lay the view of Archangel Tower.

Inside, the walls were papered in a heavy cream design with accents of blue and silver that echoed the deep blue carpet. The curtains on the French doors were gauzy and white, though there was a heavier set of brocade curtains she usually kept tied back. Huge sunflowers bloomed against the white porcelain of the large Chinese vase in the opposite corner of the room, bringing the sunshine inside.

She’d been given that vase by a grateful Chinese angel after she tracked down one of his wayward charges. The young vampire—having barely completed her Contract—had decided she didn’t need angelic protection anymore. Elena had found her huddling terrified in a sex shop that catered to a very weird set of clientele. The job had taken her into the bowels of the Shanghai underworld, but the vase was a piece of light, unblemished by time. The whole room was a haven, one she’d spent months getting just right.

But right then, she could’ve been sitting on a dirt floor in a hovel somewhere south of Beijing. Her eyes were open but all she saw was a frozen image of that vampire in Times Square, the one not a single fucking person had dared help. She knew she wouldn’t end up that way, not if Raphael wanted the whole thing swept under the rug, but she was most certainly dead.

He’d told her about glamour.

As far as she was aware, no hunter, no
human
, knew about that particular little piece of archangelic power. It was akin to seeing the face of your kidnapper—no matter what he says after that point, you know you’re done for.

“No. Fucking. Way.” Clenching her hands on her beautiful Egyptian cotton comforter, she narrowed her eyes and considered her options.

Option 1:
Attempt to back out.

Probable result: Death after painful torture.

Option 2:
Do the job and hope.

Probable result: Death but probably no torture (good).

Option 3:
Get Raphael to give her an oath not to kill her.

Probable result: Oaths were serious business so she’d live. But he’d still be able to torture her until she went insane.

“So think of a better oath,” she muttered to herself. “No death, no torture, definitely no turning me into a vampire.” She bit her lower lip and wondered if the oath could be extended to her friends and family. Family. Yeah, right. They hated her guts. But she didn’t want them ripped open while she was forced to watch.

Elena shoved off the comforter and swung her legs over the side of the bed, face ice-cold. That particular memory had the ability to destroy any and all warmth in her soul. Sitting there with her head in her hands, she stared down at the deep blue of carpet and tried to zone out. It was the only way to escape when the memories found a hole in her defenses and snuck inside, their talons as grasping and as venomous as that of—

Something smacked to ground on the balcony.

The gun she kept under her pillow was in her hand and pointed toward the French doors before she even realized she’d moved. Her hand was steady, her body flushed with adrenaline. Scanning the balcony through the gauzy curtains, she saw no one, but only a very stupid hunter would lower her guard that easily. Elena wasn’t stupid. She got up, unmindful of the fact that all she wore was a white tank top and mint green panties cut to mimic tiny shorts, the sides slit halfway up and decorated with pretty pink ribbon.

Gaze focused outside, she used her free hand to push the gauzy curtains aside, one at a time. The balcony came into full view. No pissed-off vampire stood there. The fuckers couldn’t fly but she’d once seen three of them scale a high-rise building like a pack of four-legged spiders. That bunch had done it as a joke, but if they could do it, so could others.

She double-checked.

No vampire. No angel, either.

Her arm was starting to ache a little from holding the gun in position but she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, she started scanning the edges of the balcony—she had a lot of plants out there, including creepers that hung down from the curved “roof” she’d had added—but she made damn sure nothing ever blocked her view of the balcony rim. If someone was clinging out there, she’d be able to see their fingertips.

More importantly, any intruder would’ve left streaks on the gel she sprayed out there every week. The stuff was made specially for hunters and cost an arm, a leg,
and
a kidney, but it was a highly effective way to detect intrusion. When inactive, it blended into any surface, but once touched by either vampire, human, or angel, it turned a vivid, unmissable red.

The gel was undisturbed and her senses didn’t detect vampire.

Relaxing only slightly, she shot a quick look downward. Her eyebrows rose. A plastic message tube lay next to her lush red begonias. She scowled. The begonia stalks were easily breakable. If whoever had dropped this had so much as bruised the plants she’d babied to blooming health despite the cool kiss of summer’s end, there’d be hell to pay. Finally convinced the area was secure, she lowered the gun and clicked open the door.

The breeze brought her the vibrant living pulse of the city but nothing else.

Even then, she was very, very careful as she edged out her body and rolled the tube toward her using her foot. She’d almost gotten it inside when she saw the feather drifting down to land gently on a curling fern. Kicking the tube inside, she lifted her gun and pointed it to the balcony roof—the guy who’d built it for her had told her she was crazy to block even part of the view, but he’d obviously never thought of danger coming from above.