It took her a second—desire had fogged up her mind. Her face flamed. “Raphael, that"s—” She shook her head, unable to find the words. “Fighting is not sexual.”
“Oh?” Eyes full of sea storms, violent and wild and exhilarating.
The heat turned to smoldering embers inside her, lush with the knowledge that his dangerous, beautiful man belonged to her. “Possession goes both ways, Archangel.”
“Acknowledged, hunter.” Stepping back, he opened his hand.
Her eye was dazzled, her mind entranced. “Are those stones real?” She was already taking it from him, already pulling the sweet, sweet blade out of the sheath that had been designed specifically for it. It gleamed razor-sharp in the light, warring with the brilliance of the jewels in the hilt, in the sheath, for dominance.
212
REB
“Of course.”
Of course. She played the knife in and over her hand, testing its heft, the balance. It was perfection in her grasp. “God, it"s gorgeous.” The jewels were breathtaking, but it was the blade that held her interest, the delicacy and strength of it. “Throw me that scarf.”
Picking up the piece of gauzy, airy fabric, Raphael flicked it up. It came down in a mist . . .
parting on either side of the blade as if it had broken flawlessly in half. “Oh, man.” So sharp, so sweetly sharp. “You had this made for me?” Crossing the distance between them, she kissed him without waiting for an answer.
Raphael"s eyes were glittering brightly enough to outshine the diamonds and blue sapphires on the hilt and sheath when she drew back. “You sound like you"re having sex.”
“A blade this sweet is as good as sex.” She turned the sheath around, looking . . . admiring. She wasn"t acquisitive by nature. Only with her apartment—a stabbing hurt—had she been different.
But this blade, it spoke to that same part of her.Mine , she thought. “I need a—”
Raphael was already lifting a holster out of the box. Made of a soft, sleek black leather, it had a belt that slid into the slits on either side of the sheath, before fitting snugly over her upper arm.
“Perfect.” She slid the weapon into place. “The knife and sheath are light enough that it won"t slip. And so pretty that they"ll come across as decorative.”
Raphael watched his hunter play with her gift, astounded by the pleasure he received from her joy. This gift meant something to her. He"d gotten it right.
He"d also almost killed Illium for daring to try to impinge on something that was his.
“Do you think I don"t already have such a gift for my mate?”
“Sire, I meant no disrespect.”
“Go, Illium. Before I forget she loves you.”
It had been an irrational reaction, focused on an angel who"d long ago proven his loyalty, who"d bled for Elena. Raphael wasn"t used to feeling so out of control, not for anyone.
“Then she will kill you. She will make you mortal.”
He"d taken that to mean a physical weakening, but what if Lijuan had been warning against this—the slow warming of his heart, until it clouded the cold reason that had colored his rule for so long? “Reason or emotion,” he said to Elena as she slid the knife back into its sheath after a complicated set of moves. “Which would you choose?”
213
REB
She gave him a funny half smile over her shoulder. “It"s not that simple. Reason without emotion is often a mask for cruelty; emotion without reason can allow people to excuse all sorts of excesses.”
“Yes,” he said, remembering the pitiless monster he"d become in the Quiet.
Turning, Elena walked over to him, her hips swaying in a way that was pure provocation, the spike heels of her boots bringing her height to just above his jaw. “Remember what I said about possession going both ways?”
“I will not betray you Elena.” That she"d think to question that caused a ripple of anger in him.
“Don"t get snarly on me, Archangel.” Slipping past him, she opened one of the side zippers of the bag that had held her weapons and retrieved a small box. “I have a gift for you, too.”
Surprised pleasure spread its wings inside him. He"d been given many, many things over the centuries. But most had meant nothing, mortals and immortals alike courting him for power, for prestige, for gain large and small. “Did you purchase it in the Refuge?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“I have my ways.” Coming to stand before him, she opened the small box to retrieve a ring.
A ring set with amber.
“You,” she said, sliding the ring onto the appropriate finger of his left hand, “are well and truly entangled.”
His heart tight in a way that he had no experience with, he brought the ring up to his eyes. The band was platinum, thick and solid, the amber a square polished chunk. But it was dark, the darkest amber he"d ever seen . . . with a heart of pure white fire. Intrigued, he slid off the ring to bring it up to the light. The colors changed constantly, now dark, now light.