Her body arched at the near-violent shock of pleasure. He took advantage of her position to play with her breasts, to bite and lick and suck until she rol ed her hips in urgent movements, nails biting into his shoulders. “Stop teasing, Archangel.”
Another pause, and suddenly he was pure male demand, his body slick and hard and very, very physical under her hands. Opening her eyes, she looked into his ... and saw endless, relentless blue right before he ground against her with the sexual experience of a being who had lived centuries upon centuries, and he sent her hurtling to the stars.
Crying out, she gripped him with her body, claiming him, taking him with her.
She came to lying on the bed on her front, with Raphael leaning on his side beside her, his gaze focused inward. “Hey.” She reached over to touch his thigh. “Don’t go away again.” It came out huskier than she’d intended, tangled with the fears of the child who’d been abandoned long before she’d been thrown out of the hol ow elegance of the Big House.
His thigh flexed under her touch. “Did I cause you any bodily injury?”
She remembered what he’d said once. About breaking her. Knew that she had the power to savage him—but that wasn’t who she was. Who they were.
“No. You just scared me a little.”
Apologies, Elena. He ran his hand over the arch of her wing. I was not . . . myself.
It was an admission she’d never expected, because though they’d been together this long, they were stil learning each other. And the Archangel of New York had long ago learned to keep secrets—his own, his race’s, his Seven’s.
And now, his consort’s.
“I know.” Shifting up onto her elbow, she closed her hand over the muscle of his shoulder, needing the raw physicality of the connection. “Something is wrong, Raphael. That vampire might’ve appeared sane, but he didn’t act in any way rational when he attacked the school, and you should’ve seen that.
But you didn’t.”
“I remember little of my actions during that time.” A question without being a question as he nudged her down onto her back, one big hand warm on her abdomen.
Knowing the loss of control had to be a vicious beast tearing him apart, she recapped the events. “Do you remember executing Ignatius?”
“Yes.” He dipped his head a fraction, and she took the invitation to stroke her fingers through his hair. “When you speak of the events, I do recal them—
but there is a red haze over it al .”
Thick and silky, the vivid black strands of his hair kissed a cool caress over her skin. “If I had to put a name to what I saw in your expression, I’d cal it rage.”
“Yes.” Moving his hand over her stomach, he settled it low on her hip. “But I have lived long enough that I can handle rage. This was ... other.”
She went motionless, worried by his choice of words. “Outside of yourself?”
His eyes gleamed adamantine blue beneath lowered lashes. “Impossible to confirm.”
Elena wasn’t about to let it go at that. “Talk to me.” She knew what he was, understood that he held more power in his body than she would probably ever know, even if she lived ten thousand years. Equals, they weren’t. Not on that playing field—but when it came to the emotions that could tear a heart apart... “Raphael.”
Nadiel, he said into her mind, exhibited such extreme rage.
His father had also gone inexorably insane.
“No,” she said, not even needing an instant to evaluate the thought. “You’re not going insane.”
“So certain, Guild Hunter.” Formal words, a tone that told her he considered her statement nothing but a platitude.
Lifting up her head, she nipped at his lower lip. “The taste of you is ingrained into my very cel s. You’re the rain and the wind and at times the clean, wild bite of the sea. I’d know the instant something changed.”
He rose off her, al owing her to sit up as he shifted to sit with his legs over the side of the bed, his back to her, his magnificent wings spread out. Each filament of each feather was tipped in gold, glittering even in the dul light whispering through the windows. A lethal temptation to mortals—and former mortals.
Elena was reaching out to indulge her desire to touch when he said, “You lie to both of us.”
Frowning, she wrapped the sheet around herself—letting it gape low at the back to accommodate her wings—and scrambled off the bed to stand in front of him. “What are you talking about?”
He raised his head, his face so very clear of emotion that the pristine beauty of it felt as if it should draw blood, it was so sharp, so pure. “Did Uram’s scent change?”
Acid and blood and . . . sunlight.