Archangel's Consort

25

The knife sliced through the air to dig home in the opposite wall, the hilt quivering at the impact. The mirage, though it didn’t disappear . . . sort of fractured. That was when she caught the whisper of a scent that shouldn’t have been there.

Lush, sensual, exotic.

Black orchids, but it was somehow different from what she’d sensed on the murdered girl’s body, on the men hanging from the bridge.

But there was no time for her to process the notes, because a split second after the fracture, a wing was rising under her touch. Moving so fast she couldn’t track him with her eyes, Raphael was up and standing beside the bed, the white-hot glow of him so vivid as to erase the lines of his form, to turn him into a blazing torch. Stunned, Elena threw a hand over her eyes and ducked her head in preparation for crawling out of bed so she could retrieve the weapons she’d hidden underneath, do what she could to assist.

But one blink and the blinding heat of his power was gone.

Looking up, hand itching for a weapon, she saw that the thing in the center of the room had disappeared, no hint of black orchids in the air. But she didn’t drop her guard until Raphael said, “My mother is no longer here, Elena.” There was a remoteness to his voice she didn’t like.

Pushing off the blankets, she began to slide out.

Raphael was already pulling on a pair of pants over that magnificent body. “I’ll be back before dawn. She will not return tonight.”

“Wait!”

He didn’t even pause at the balcony doors, pushing them wide open. She managed to cover the distance just in time to see him disappear into the starry night sky, flying so far and fast that she lost track of him in the space of a few piercing seconds. Anger stabbed through her, hot and determined. Damn if he was going to do this—especially after the intimacy of the moments they’d shared not only tonight, but since she’d woken from the coma, after the bonds they’d forged.

Stalking back into the bedroom, she pulled on her own pants, slapped on one of the supportive tank tops that had been designed to fit around her wings using straps, then slid on the warm, lined sleeves that fit snugly over her upper arms and left her hands free. She was back on the balcony bare minutes after he’d taken off, very conscious of the tendrils of dark chocolate and fur curling beneath the bedroom door as the male behind the scents got ever closer—Dmitri had come over for a late meeting with Raphael, opted to stay the night in one of the rooms reserved for the Seven.

Now, it was clear Raphael had told him to watch over Elena.

That, too, she thought with teeth-gritting focus, was going to stop.

Looking down, she realized she had no hope of making a flight from her current position, not with her concentration shot to smithereens. So instead, she jumped over the balcony, using her wings to slow her descent. Then she ran through the trees at the edge of the cliff to dive out over the Hudson, beating her wings—stronger, more resilient—hard and fast to sweep herself up off the choppy water and into the clear beauty of the night sky, the stars sparkling ice on black velvet.

The wind was cool against her skin, liquid soft over her wings. Below her, Manhattan was a midnight sea scattered with glittering jewels. New York. It could be a hard place, a hard city. Just like the archangel who ruled it.

But it was home.

As the archangel was hers.

Raphael.

She made the effort to arrow the thought only to him, having worked with him over the past few days to fine-tune what mental abilities she already seemed to have. According to Raphael, she’d gain other abilities with time, and she was happy with that—she had more than enough on her plate right now without having to deal with some unexpected superpower.

No response, but some tug in her soul made her turn, head roughly in the direction of Camden, New Jersey. Raphael had bonded to her on some level deeper than the heart. The hunter she’d once been would’ve scoffed at such thoughts, but that was before she’d tasted the golden pleasure of ambrosia as Raphael fed it into her mouth, as he kissed immortal life into her dying body.

Who was to say that such an act wouldn’t have even deeper consequences?

Go home, Elena.

Startled, she dipped and glanced over her shoulder to see Raphael in the sky high above her. We’ll be going home together.

You can’t hope to keep up with me. Such arrogance in those words, but that made them no less true.

Instead of answering, she continued to fly, riding the night winds to give herself a break when she could. Some time later, they left the last edges of the cityscape behind, the streetlights below them speaking of quiet neighborhoods locked up in the arms of sleep.

A sweep of air against her face as her archangel shot down in front of her before rising with heart-stopping speed. He’d shown off for her before. But this wasn’t play. This was an archangel pointing out how very puny she was in the scheme of things. Newsflash, Archangel. I already know I’m as weak as a baby compared to you. Hasn’t stopped me from dancing with you anytime yet.

As the words left her mouth, she remembered something else, a sensual promise he’d made to her at the Refuge. You said you would show me how angels dance.

I am in no mood to be gentle, Guild Hunter.

She raised an eyebrow. Consort.

You’re tiring. I can see your wings beginning to falter.

Cursing under her breath because he was right, she looked for a place to land. When her eyes lit on a thick branch high above the ground, the tree situated in what looked like a deserted local park, she dropped without hesitation. Maybe she’d break some bones, but hell, she was training so freaking hard for a reason—playing it safe wasn’t it.

At the last minute, right when she knew she was assuredly going to break some bones, Raphael slipped into her mind and corrected her angle of descent so that she was able to grab the branch and pull herself up to straddle it without damage. She glared in his direction. Stop taking over whenever you feel like it.

A dangerous pause. Would you have preferred to spend the next few weeks in a cast?

I’d prefer to learn to do this myself.

Yet you attempt to pierce the clouds when you can barely fly in a straight line.

Anger bubbled through her bloodstream. Come down here and say that to my face.

Her hair whipped back in a gust of wind an instant later, and then Raphael was hovering next to her branch, the angles of his face starkly masculine, his eyes blazing that metallic chrome that never augured anything good. “You shouldn’t be flying such long distances, much less hunting,” he said with the arrogance of an immortal who had lived well over a thousand years. “You need to spend another few years at the Refuge at the very least.”

She snorted. “Angels spend that time at the Refuge because they’re literally babies. I’m very much an adult.”

“Are you certain?” A cold question. “Attempting to break bones making a landing you couldn’t hope to realize sounds like something a five-year-old would do.”

Changing position so that she sat with both legs hanging over the branch, her wings spread out behind her for balance, she curled her fingers around the living wood in an effort to calm herself. “You know something, Raphael?” she said, fingernails digging into the bark, “I think you’re spoiling for a fight.”

No words from the immortal in front of her, his face so austere she could almost believe they’d never loved, never laughed together.

“So,” she said, leaning forward, “am I.”

A glow around his wings, something she’d learned to expect when he was pissed. She held her ground. Because this was who he was, and she either took all of him or she walked away. The latter was not an option.

“You’re going home. I’ll call Illium to guide you there.”

“No more babysitters,” she said, her anger a honed blade. “I won’t allow it. Neither am I about to toddle off home like a good little girl.”

You will do as I say.

“Yeah, how’s that working for you so far?”

Shifting forward, he braced his hands on the branch on either side of her, his big body pushing between her thighs. You obey very sweetly.

Oooh, she thought, he didn’t only want a fight, he wanted a fight. “I am,” she said, trying to remain rational, “one of the strongest hunters in the Guild. Not only that, I survived an archangel and a psycho-would-be-archangel. I’ve earned my stripes.”

Anoushka almost killed you.

She thought of the poison Neha’s daughter had pumped into her body, of the panic that had made her heart stutter, her blood run cold. “Do you know how many people have ‘almost’ killed me over the years?” When his eyes iced over with a blue so pure it was unlike any color seen on this earth, she realized that might not have been the best thing to bring up. Then again ... “I take you as you are,” she said, unwilling—unable—to back down. “I do that.”

The fierce intensity of that statement cut through the storm of fury riding Raphael, and he heard her, heard, too, the words she didn’t say.

I take you as you are. Take me as I am.

“I’ve never seen you as anything but a warrior.” Even when she came into his arms, he never forgot that it was a very conscious surrender on her part, a choice she made to let herself be vulnerable.

Her lips tightened, and she shook her head, the fine strands of her hair sliding wild over her shoulders. “It’s not enough, Raphael. Just the words aren’t enough.”

In the Refuge, she’d asked him to stop shadowing her mind. That had been a difficult choice for an archangel to make when keeping a mental watch on her was the best way he had to ensure her safety. “I have given you unparalleled freedom.”

“Who are you comparing us with, Archangel?” she asked, watching him with those pale eyes that glimmered witch-bright in the darkness.

A sign of her growing immortality, he realized, wondering if she’d noticed an improvement in her night-vision yet. That would be a trait a hunter would value—for the kiss of immortality could only build on the bones of what was already present.

“We’re making our own rules,” she continued. “There is no template for us to follow.”

His mind flashed to her broken in his arms, her life bleeding out of her a drop at a time. Then had come the silence. Endless, merciless silence as she slept. “Elijah and Hannah have been together hundreds of years,” he said. “She follows his lead.”

A shaky smile from his hunter with her mortal heart. “Is that what you truly want?” It was a husky whisper.

He knew then that he could hurt her terribly at this moment. Like her father, he could tell her that she wasn’t what she should be, that who and what she was, was a cause for shame. In doing so, he’d hit at her biggest vulnerability and win this war between them.

He was an archangel. He’d made ruthless decision after ruthless decision.

“No,” he said, for she was exactly who she should be. His mate, his consort. “But it would be easier if you were like Hannah.”

A laugh that sounded wet. “And it would be easier if you followed my every command.”

They looked at each other for a long, long moment ... then Raphael reached forward, cupped her cheek. “I will give you your freedom,” he said, fighting every instinct he had, “on one condition.”

Lines formed between her brows. “What condition?”

“Do you not trust me, hunter?”

“Not a bit, not when you’re trying to get your own way.” But she leaned her cheek into his touch, stroking her own fingers through his hair.

He shifted his grip to her jaw, firmed his hold. “You will call me. No hesitations, no thinking, no waiting until the last possible moment. If you’re in danger, you will call me.”

“Within reason,” she bargained. “A vamp hopped up on bloodlust coming after me is a different case from a power-crazed angel.”

“I’m not used to negotiating.” Most people gave him everything he demanded.

A slow, slow smile that melted away the lingering tendrils of the cold rage within him. “I guess the next several hundred years are going to be an education then, huh?”

He could not help it. He kissed her, took that warmth, that laughter inside of him, where it could warm him, too. You tease an archangel at your peril.

Strong arms around his neck, fingers playing over the arches of his wings. I dunno, I kinda like what it gets me.

Her lips parted beneath his, and he surged in, claiming her with a hunger that no longer startled him. It was as if the bond between them grew ever deeper with every hour that passed. You will call me.

Within reason.

He considered it, smiled in satisfaction. Very well. But you will explain each and every injury each time you do not call me.

Breaking the openmouthed intimacy of the kiss, she glared at him. “That is a ridiculous stipulation for a hunter!”

He put his arms around her and pulled her off the branch, using his power and strength to take them high up into the star-studded skies.

“Raphael,” she said when he released her far above the night clouds, “I’m serious. You can’t expect me to, to—”

He shifted direction. “Answer to me?”

“Yes!” she said, changing her angle of flight to follow.

“And am I not answerable to my consort?”

The words Elena had been about to say died in her throat. “Well,” she murmured, letting him catch her around the waist, “if you put it like that, I can’t exactly argue, can I?” It was an unexpected, breath-stealing gift, his open acceptance of her claim.

Blue fire licked in his eyes, his mouth brushing over hers in tiny, teasing bites. Then, will you dance with me, Elena?

She felt her eyes widen, her stomach fill with butterflies. “Now? Here?”

Raphael’s hands played over her ribs, his thumbs brushing the lower curves of her breasts. Now. Here.

“But—” The air left her throat as he bit at her lower lip at the same time that he rolled one of her nipples through the fabric of her tank. Wait. Wait. She had to ask him something before her brain turned to mush.

Rain and wind around her, fresh and wild and open, the archangel’s hand closing with open possession over her breast. I do not wish to wait.