Elena"s hands, covered by the strength of Raphael"s, clenched on the age-smoothed stone of the railing. “She"d debase them that way? I thought she considered them her creations?”
“Some, it seems, are more favored than others.” He slid his hands up her arms, holding her to him. “Tomorrow morning, I meet with the Cadre. Take care when you walk the grounds—Lijuan may find it a game to pit one of them against you.”
“Who"s my bodyguard?”
“Aodhan.” A pause. “You"re not happy.”
“I don"t like the fact that I still have a babysitter.”
“It"s necessary.”
“For now.”
A dangerous quietness, and she knew this was one battle she"d have to fight again. She could handle that—and so, she thought, could Raphael. “You chose a warrior, remember?”
A kiss on the sensitive skin just below her ear. “As you chose an archangel.”
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She"d always known he"d be no easy lover. But then, neither was she. “I"ve never sparred with you.” A playful invitation. “Do you like knives?”
The barest hint of a smile on the mouth he brushed against the same spot he"d tantalized before.
“We"ll dance with blades after the ball.”
It was difficult to think with him so close, the Forbidden City humming with beauty below.
“You didn"t bring that many men with you.” Jason had flown in with them, and with Aodhan, that made only two of the Seven in attendance.
“If it comes down to a fight, it"ll be too late.”
Elena finished putting her hair into the sleek French twist that Sara had taught her—the slithery strands anchored with what felt like five hundred pins—and examined herself in the mirror. The cap-sleeved ice blue dress was backless, didn"t even come to midthigh—with slits up both sides—and, in spite of the shards of crystal embedded on the surface, slicked over her body like a second skin. She"d stared at the tailor when he"d first presented it to her, but the vamp was no idiot. Paired with thigh-high boots and tights, both in black, it turned her from arm candy to sleek assassin while leaving her plenty of freedom should she need to move.
Warm male hands on her hips. “Perfect.” The raw hunger in that single word silvered over her body like a long, lazy stroke, her nipples beading against the soft fabric.
“Makeup,” she gasped.
He relaxed his hold enough that she could brush some bronzer over her cheekbones, slap some mascara on her eyes. Opening the box included with the clothes, she found a tube of lipstick. It turned out to be an intense scarlet. “This isn"t my style.”
“Think of it as camouflage,” Raphael said, pulling her back against his half-dressed body as she held the lipstick, his cock a brand against her back, her wings burning with the most erotic of sensations. “Allowing you to blend into enemy territory.”
“I don"t look much like the vampires and angels I saw out there.” Her dress/tunic was in no way demure. Then there were the knives. Not to mention the gun. They were all concealed tonight, a courtesy that had gone against the grain after Lijuan"s games. But she was learning to pick her battles. “I wouldn"t know how to flutter a fan if you hit me over the head with one.”
“No, you"re too much the hunter.” A glance so heated, she half expected the mirror to melt. As it was, she had to clench her thighs to fight the urge to take him to the floor, to ride him to screaming ecstasy.
“But she won"t see that,” he murmured. “She"ll see only a young, weak angel—intriguing because of the way she came to be, but otherwise not worthy of notice.”
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“Good.” It"d give her the freedom to watch Lijuan unawares. Elena had no illusions she could physically do anything to stop the oldest of the archangels, but maybe she could get an insight into her psyche, some small thing that might help Raphael.
Releasing her, Raphael walked to the side table. “Illium asked permission to give you a present.”
Curious, she turned . . . to meet chrome blue. “What did he do to jerk your chain this time?”
A slow curve to his mouth, an archangel"s dangerous humor. “Knives and sheaths,” he murmured.
She touched the top of her right boot. “I"ve got mine—”
“Hmm.” Taking something from a smooth wooden box, he moved to her. “But you have not got mine.” His hand at her nape, a kiss so dark and full of possession it made her want to claim him in turn.
“We won"t get to dinner if you keep that up.” She held his gaze, held the beauty and cruelty of it, her palm on his bare chest.
His slid his hand up over the back of her thigh, his fingers brushing the oh-so-sensitive flesh between her legs. She sucked in a breath. “Teasing, Archangel?”
Teeth grazed over her lips. “Know this Elena—you"ll never wear another man"s knife.”
She blinked. “He wanted to give me a blade? What"s wrong with that?”
“Blades,” he whispered, “and sheaths go together. And your sheath will only ever hold my blade.”