Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7)

“Most vampires your age aren’t as strong as you.” Or as smart, as tough. Having long ago fulfilled the terms of his Contract, Janvier didn’t have to serve anyone. He chose to do so. “You’re an asset.”


“And the sire”—Janvier cupped her cheek—“treats his assets well.”

Not wanting to understand the implicit message, she broke the contact to focus on a car in the distance, its brake lights glowing rubies in the gray light of dusk. “I’ll do some research in the Guild Archives, see if I can find any similar cases.”

Janvier began to walk toward the town house that was his objective, his expression telling her he saw too much. “I’ll let you know if Dmitri has any insights.” Metal creaked as he pushed open the decorative wrought-iron gate that fronted the short pathway to the town house. “Let us see to the health of these cattle first.”

Ashwini took in the town house as they walked, grasping at the distraction from the need that was a wrenching tug low in her belly. The building appeared new; the walls gleamed a stylish black, but the door was painted the same glossy orange-red as the gate, as was the trim. “Nice place.” If you had a million or ten lying around.

“Want one?” said the vampire by her side. “I can buy it, allow you to live rent free on the premises.”

“Yeah?” she said, playing along because she only had so much self-control when it came to Janvier, and she wasn’t about to use it to handle his flirting . . . didn’t want to shut that down. “On what condition?”

“I would have a key, of course. To make sure you are keeping my property in good repair.” His innocent look had probably spelled the downfall of at least a hundred virgins in his lifetime.

“Such a conscientious landlord. Would you fix the plumbing, too?”

“If you let me put my pipe in your sprocket.” Pure wickedness in his smile at her groan, he ignored the door knocker shaped like a snarling lion to rap his knuckles directly against the gleaming paint.

She wanted so badly to kiss him that the craving was a ferocious beast inside her. Smile fading as his pupils dilated, Janvier went to angle his body toward her when the door opened to bring her face-to-face with the last person she’d expected to see here. “Arvi?” She stared incredulously at the tall man with aquiline features, silver-dusted black hair, and skin the exact shade as her own.

Her brother stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“She’s with me.” No charm in Janvier’s expression now, only a cool, deadly intensity that had never been directed at Ashwini. “You aren’t one of the cattle.”

Arvi flinched. “Certainly not. I was called here to provide medical assistance.”

“I wasn’t aware you did house calls,” Ashwini said, her brain running on automatic.

“It was a favor for a friend.” He pinned her with the near black of his eyes. “I’ll expect you for dinner in the next week.”

Ashwini stared after him as he strode past her and down the pathway on that command. She hadn’t seen him for two months, but though the silver in his hair might be a touch more apparent, his face remained unlined. Arvan Taj was a man who’d age into handsome elegance. And his smile? It could devastate; she knew that despite having seen it only once since she was nine.

“He’s the one, isn’t he?” Janvier asked, voice rough and expression dark. “The boy whose photo you carry in your phone, the one who hurt you.”

She realized he’d gotten the wrong idea, but the door filled with another body before she could correct him. The blonde’s stunning blue-green eyes were round with worry until they alighted on Janvier. “Janni!” She leaped into his arms.

Catching her, he chuckled, the grating emotion Ashwini had just heard in his tone no longer in evidence when he said, “Petite Marie May.”

Folding her arms, Ashwini leaned against the wall as the giggling girl tried to kiss Janvier on the mouth. He deflected it as smoothly as he did everything else, taking the kiss on his cheek before setting her down. “What are you doing here, Marie?” he asked with what Ashwini recognized as genuine concern. “Last I saw you, you were set on becoming a star of the silver screen, non?”

Marie beamed, her expression so earnest, it was scary. “I live with Giorgio.” She stroked her hands down her ankle-length gown of cream lace, the bodice modest and the sleeves long. “I serve him.”

“When did this happen?” A soft question. “You are barely out of pigtails.”

Marie’s curls bounced as she slapped Janvier playfully on the chest, clearly not realizing how angry he’d become. “Janni! I’m nineteen next month.” An antique amethyst ring sparkled on her index finger. “Giorgio and I met at the studios—he’s a producer, you know.”

“I see. He plans to share your talent with the world?”