Elena woke choking.
Black spots hazed her vision, threatening to tip her into unconsciousness until the scent of the rain, of the sea, infiltrated her mind. Fresh and wild and far from the horror she could feel in her mouth, it wrenched her out of the loop of nightmare and had her sucking in air as she turned desperately into Raphael"s arms.
They locked around her, an absolute, unbreakable haven. “Shh, I have you.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Raphael held Elena tight, so tight he had to be putting bruises on her. But still she trembled, her words garbled, her fear so thick he could taste it. “Elena.” He kept saying her name, kept brushing his mind across hers until she seemed to see him, to know him. Continuing to hold her, 226
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he swept his hand down her wings over and over, soothing her, reminding her that she was here, with him, not locked in a past she couldn"t escape.
He kept his own anger, his rage, contained behind iron shields. Archangels could do many things, but not even he could turn back the clock and erase the evil that had ravaged Elena before she"d had a chance to grow.
“He fed me Belle"s blood.” It was a husky whisper, as if her throat was torn from screaming.
“Tell me.”
“My sister"s blood. He kissed me, feeding me Belle"s blood.” Rage and horror and a bewildered kind of pain. “I tried to spit it out but he covered my mouth, my nose, and I drank it. Oh God, I drank it.”
Sensing the hysteria beginning to retake hold of her, he tugged her head from his chest, taking her mouth in a kiss that was pure, untrammeled demand. She froze for a fractured instant before her hands thrust into his hair, before her body twisted until she slid beneath him, her legs wrapping around his waist.
There was a wild kind of desperation in her kiss, a kiss flavored with the salt of her tears. She wanted to forget. He"d do anything in his power to help her find what peace she could. He took her as hard as she wanted, pinning her wrists to the sheets with one hand, shoving her thigh aside with the other, and sliding into her welcoming sheath in a single thrust.
Her scream echoed into his mouth. He kissed her through the taking, through the raw, almost painful emotion of their joining. He kissed her until she gasped for breath, until her eyes went blank with pleasure, with passion, with ecstasy. And then he kissed her as she came down from the peak.
“Again,” he whispered into her mouth.
She met him stroke for stroke, her hips rising in welcome, in demand. Tugging her hands free, she held him to her, trailing her mouth over his cheek, his jaw, his neck. At the end, she buried her head in his neck and simply held on . . . let him hold her, let him protect her.
It was her trust that brought him to his knees, that shoved him over the edge and into her arms.
“Thank you.” Elena refused to let Raphael move off her body, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke, the dark silk of his hair cool against her flesh. “Thank you.”
“I would take your nightmares, Elena.”
“I know.” And that he hadn"t forced them from her when she could feel the savage need he had to wipe away her pain, it made her heart expand impossibly more. “But they"re a part of the 227
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package.”
She hadn"t voiced the question, but he knew.
“It"s a package that belongs to me.” No hesitation, no sense of him pulling away.
“I"m so messed up. Doesn"t that bother you?”
“You have lived.” Untangling his arms, he used them to brace himself above her, his forearms forming a bracket around her head. “As have I. Would you throw me back?”
The idea of losing him was a violent pain in her heart. “I told you—you"re mine. No getting away now.”
Lips on her own, a slow, so slow, kiss that curled her toes, made the nightmare seem a lifetime away. Her breasts rubbed against his chest as she drew in deep, trembling breaths. “Something in this place . . .” Shaking her head, she pushed damp strands of hair off her face. “The death, all this death. It"s fertile ground for my imagination.”
“You don"t believe it was a true memory?”
“I don"t want it to be.” A whisper, because deep inside she knew it wasn"t just a figment of her mind. “If it"s true . . .” Her eyes burned. “He came for me and he left a piece of himself inside me.”
“No.” Raphael forced her to meet his gaze, the cobalt having overtaken his irises until it was all that remained. “If he made you drink your sister"s blood”—he spoke through the cry she couldn"t hold back—“then you carry a piece of her.”
“How is that any better? I can taste her.” Her hand went to her own throat. “It was thick, rich, full of life .” The horror of it was a noose around her neck.