Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7)

And her mind . . .

Sliding one arm under her head and refusing point-blank to go into a future that wasn’t yet written in stone, he undid her braid with his other to make her more comfortable, murmuring to her in the language he’d spoken as a boy, skinny and wild and often hungry. “The first time I saw you, you had a crossbow pointed at me and a seriously pissed-off look on your face.”

The memory was one of his favorites: she’d had a streak of oil on her cheek, her olive green tank top smudged with dirt, and her combat boots planted a foot apart, black cargo pants hiding her long, long legs. He’d wanted to wrap his hand around her ponytail and pull back her head to arch her throat for a blood kiss that would ram erotic pleasure through both their bodies.

“Never had I felt such lust,” he said, stroking his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with her own. “I could’ve devoured you, even had I to pay for it in crossbow wounds.” He chuckled. “Imagine if you’d permitted me to seduce you then, cher.”

No movement, her skin temperature clammy enough to make a ball of fear lodge in his gut. “Don’t go.” It was a harsh plea, his heart and soul laid at her feet. “Please don’t go. It’s not our time. Not yet. Not so soon.”





34


Dmitri was briefing Raphael about the second victim when Elena appeared in the doorway to Raphael’s Tower office.

Hello, hbeebti.

Hello, Archangel.

She leaned against the doorjamb and he watched as she and his second acknowledged each other with a glance. The two had come to an understanding that they both had the best interests of the city—and its archangel—at heart. Not that it stopped either one from sharpening their knives on each other.

Today, however, Dmitri had more critical matters on his plate. “A distraction won’t work this time,” the vampire said. “Too many people saw the victim, even with how quickly Illium picked her up, and while the media knows not to push the Tower, the talking heads are speculating on every channel.”

“Shut it down.” Raphael would permit no one to seed fear in his city. Not the enemy and not its own citizens.

“It won’t cure the problem,” Dmitri responded, proving why he was Raphael’s second. Where many would’ve snapped to his command, Dmitri had the confidence and the intelligence to dispute Raphael’s decisions when necessary. “The rumors will continue to circulate beneath the surface, doing worse damage.”

“Suggestions?”

“Ahem.”

“You have an idea, Consort?” Raphael asked the hunter who stood with her arms crossed and her wings held off the floor as per Galen’s training—of course, Elena would say his weapons-master had beaten the habit into her, but the end result was that she had the posture of a warrior.

Her lips twitched at his formal address. “I was about to suggest we tell the truth.”

Dmitri’s expression was distinctly sardonic. “The Tower does not share its concerns.”

Rolling her eyes, Elena sauntered into the room to stand with her hands on her hips at Raphael’s side. “I wasn’t suggesting we start doing a daily Tower broadcast. But what’s the harm in pointing out that our enemies are attempting to use underhanded techniques to disrupt the city?”

Raphael had changed with the times. Unlike many of the older angels, he didn’t look down his nose at the modern world, believing the old to be better. His Tower was fully integrated with current technology, with Illium in charge of ensuring that continued uninterrupted. The blue-winged angel was fascinated with both mortal and immortal ingenuity and had the kind of agile mind that could quickly process new concepts.

So Raphael wasn’t stuck in the “stone age,” as Illium had been heard to mutter about certain other vampires and angels. He had, however, long believed that mortals were safer in their ignorance of the bloody details of the immortal world. The irony of the fact that he was standing in the same room as two former mortals, one his heart, the other his closest friend, wasn’t lost on him.

Neither was the cold truth that mortals could not play in their world.

Dmitri’s friendship with Raphael had cost him his cherished family, the vampire spending a thousand years in purgatory. Elena had broken her back when Raphael had hauled her into an immortal problem, her body a bleeding, shattered doll in his arms. Without the kiss of immortality, his hunter’s light would’ve been extinguished that violent day above Manhattan when he fought Uram. “Humans,” he said, “cannot become used to demanding an answer from the Tower and getting it.”