“You’re likely to get dirty and destroy your clothes on a regular basis.” Raphael’s humor was dry, his voice an exquisite caress in the night. “It is the same reason he likes it when Il ium occasional y stays here. You both give him plenty to do.”
She made a face at him, but her lips kicked up at the corners. “Is Il ium coming to join us?” The blue-winged angel was part of Raphael’s Seven, the vampires and angels who had given their loyalty to the Archangel of New York—even to the extent of placing his life before their own. Il ium was the only one of the Seven who saw her human heart not as a weakness, but as a gift. And in him, she saw a kind of innocence that had been lost in the other immortals.
The door opened at that moment to expose the beaming face of Raphael’s butler. “Sire,” he said in a plummy English accent she was certain could turn cold and intimidating on command. “It is good to have you home.”
“Montgomery.” Raphael placed a hand on the vampire’s shoulder as he passed.
Elena smiled at the butler, delighted by him al over again. “Hel o.”
“Mistress.”
She blinked. “Elena,” she said firmly. “I’m no one’s mistress but my own.” Then there was the fact that though he chose to work in the service of an archangel, Montgomery was a strong vampire, hundreds of years old.
The butler’s spine went stiff as a board, his eyes shooting to Raphael—who gave a languid smile. “You must not shock Montgomery so, Elena.”
Reaching out to take her hand, he tugged her to his side. “Perhaps you wil al ow him to cal you Guild Hunter?”
Elena looked up, certain the archangel was laughing. But his expression was clear, his lips set with their familiar sensual grace. “Um, yes, okay.” She nodded at Montgomery, then felt compel ed to ask, “Wil that do?”
“Of course, Guild Hunter.” He gave a smal bow. “I was not sure if you would wish a meal, Sire, but I have sent a smal tray up to your rooms.”
“That wil be al for tonight, Montgomery.”
As the butler whispered away, Elena looked with growing suspicion at a large Chinese vase in one corner of the hal , opposite the stained-glass wal beside the door. It was decorated with a pattern of sunflowers that seemed oddly familiar. Letting go of Raphael’s hand, she stepped closer ... closer. Her eyes went wide. “This is mine!” Given as a gift by an angel in China after Elena completed a particularly dangerous hunt, one that had taken her into the bowels of the Shanghai underworld.
Raphael touched his fingers to the smal of her back, a searing brand. “Al of your things are here.” He waited until she looked up before saying, “They were moved to this house for safekeeping until your return.
“However,” he continued when she remained silent, her throat a knot of emotion, “it seems Montgomery could not help himself when it came to this vase. I’m afraid he has a weakness for beautiful things and has been known to relocate an item if he feels it is not being accorded the proper appreciation. Once, he ‘relocated’ an ancient sculpture from the home of another archangel.”
Elena stared down the corridor where the butler had disappeared in refined silence. “I don’t believe you. He’s too prim and proper.” It was easier to say that, to focus on the humor, than to accept the tightness in her chest, the feelings locking up her throat.
“You would be surprised.” Touching her lower back again, he nudged her down the hal and up a flight of stairs. “Come, you can look at your belongings in the morning.”
She dragged her feet at the top of the staircase. “No.”
Raphael measured her expression with those eyes no mortal would ever possess, a silent visual reminder that he had never been human, would never be anything close to mortal. “Such wil .” Leading her to a room that flowed off what she knew to be the master bedroom, he opened the door.
Everything from her apartment lay neatly stacked, slipcovers over the furnishings, her knickknacks in boxes.
She froze on the doorstep, uncertain how she felt—relief and anger and joy al battled for space inside of her. She’d known she could never go back to the apartment that had been her haven and more, a furious rebuttal against her father’s abandonment. The place wasn’t built for a being with wings—but the loss had hurt. So much.
Now ... “Why?”
His hand closed around her nape with no attempt to hide the possession inherent in the act. “You are mine, Elena. If you choose to sleep in another bed, I wil simply pick you up and bring you home.”
Arrogant words. But he was an archangel. And she’d made a claim of her own. “As long as you remember that goes both ways.”
Acknowledged, Guild Hunter. A kiss pressed to the curve of her shoulder, his fingers tightening on her nape just a fraction. Come to bed.