she said under her breath, having never before heard those names.
Reaching up to rub at her throbbing temple, she turned the page. The lovingly detailed image took her breath away. The woman"s face was a study in purity, her eyes an impossible blue Elena had seen on only one other being, her hair dark as the night . . . dark as Raphael"s. “Caliane,” she read. “Archangel of Sumeria.”
A shooting pain down her neck, and she knew it was time to drop the shield. She"d held it far longer than she"d been able to as a mortal, but not long enough—so she"d have to save it for those secrets she couldn"t bear to expose to the world, couldn"t even bear to expose to herself.
The scent of wind, of the rain, didn"t immediately reappear. But another scent did.
A sensual exotic musk layered with the delicate touch of the rarest of orchids.
It wasn"t in her head, she realized at almost the same instant. It was in the air.
Adrenaline spiking, she dropped the book and rose to her feet as Michaela landed in front of her.
The visual impact was stunning. Much as Elena disliked her, there was no escaping the truth.
Michaela"s wings were a gorgeous bronze, her body a landscape of curves and hollows balanced to perfection. And her face . . . there wasn"t another as striking in the world.
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“So”—lush lips shaping into a smile that made Elena very happy she had her gun with her—
“I"ve unearthed the little mouse Raphael has been hiding.” The archangel stepped into the pavilion, her wings caressed to amber by the rays of a sun just beginning to set. She was dressed in sleek camel-colored pants today, her “top” consisting of a single strip of soft white fabric that had been wound around her neck to create a halter before being crisscrossed over her breasts to tie in a knot below her wings. Clean, sexy, inviting.
Elena knew exactly who the invitation was aimed at. Her fingers curled into her palms, common sense crashing and burning in the face of the possessive anger that gripped her by the throat. “I didn"t know you found me that fascinating.”
Michaela"s eyes narrowed. “You"re an angel now, hunter. And I"m your superior.”
“I don"t think so.”
The archangel glanced at the book. “That"s the company you should be keeping. The half-angel is more your status.”
To hear Jessamy—wise, kind, intelligent—described in such a denigrating way made Elena see red. “She"s ten times the woman you"ll ever be.”
Michaela flicked a hand, as if the idea was so ridiculous, it didn"t even bear consideration.
“She"s three thousand years old, and she spends her days shut up with dusty tomes no one but a cripple would consider enticing.”
“Galen apparently finds her far more than enticing.” It was a shot in the dark.
But it hit home. “Galen"s a pup who hasn"t yet learned to choose his enemies.”
“He didn"t want you, either?” Elena said, and even she knew it was a provocation. “But of course, he must"ve taken his cue from his sire.” The breath slammed out of her as she flew through the air to smash up against the marble column on the other side of the pavilion. It hurt like hell, but nothing seemed broken.
That was when it hit her. The cold fist of fear. “Where"s Illium?”
“Otherwise engaged.” A mocking smile as the archangel walked closer, her every move inherently sensual. “You"re bleeding, hunter. How very clumsy of me.”
Elena tasted iron from the cut on her lip, but her eyes stayed locked on Michaela. She was well aware the bitch was playing with her, that she"d come here for that specific reason. “If you"ve harmed him, Raphael will hunt you down.”
“And if I harm you?”
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“I"ll hunt you down.” Kicking out, she slammed her right foot against Michaela"s knee.
To her shock, the archangel went down. But it was, Elena thought, more surprise than anything else, because she was up again a second later, her eyes glowing from within. “I think,” the archangel said in a tone that reminded Elena eerily of Uram"s sadistic brand of evil, “I"m willing to find out what Raphael will do to someone who dares hurt his little pet.”
Elena pressed the trigger on the gun she"d managed to draw the instant after Michaela fell.
Nothing happened. Then her fingers unclasped, digit by stiff digit, to drop the weapon to the marble. She felt something hit her chest at the same instant, but when she looked down, there was nothing there. Her heart began to thump in panic. An instant later, it felt as if bone-thin fingers—hard, tipped with nails filed to malicious points—were closing around that panicked organ, squeezing until blood filled her mouth, dripped down her chin.
Michaela looked almost amused. “Good-bye, hunter.”