“Uram’s dead. Unless you found a replacement while I was in a coma?”
“No. Human time means little to us.” The casual indifference of an immortal. “As for Lijuan, it’s about power—she wants to see my little pet, see my weakness.”
2
His pet. His weakness.
“Her words or yours?”
“Does it matter?” A negligent shrug. “It’s true.”
She threw the knife with deadly accuracy. Raphael caught it in midair—by the blade. His blood flowed scarlet against the gold of his skin. “Was it not you who bled the last time?” he asked conversationally as he dropped the knife to the formerly pristine white carpet and tightened his hand into a fist. The blood flow halted within a single second.
“You made me close my hand over a blade.” Her heart was still racing from witnessing the sheer speed of him. Dear God. And she’d taken this man to her bed. Craved him even now.
“Hmm.” He rose to his feet, walked to her.
At that moment, though he’d said he’d never hurt her, she wasn’t so sure. Her fingers clenched on the sheets as he came to sit in front of her, one of his wings lying over her legs. It was a warm, surprisingly heavy weight. Angel wings weren’t for show—as she was beginning to learn, they were pure muscle and tendon over bone, and like any other muscle, they had to be strengthened prior to use. Before, she’d only had to worry about tripping if she overtired herself. Now, she had to worry about falling out of the sky.
But that wasn’t the danger that danced in front of her eyes right then.
No, all she saw was blue.
Never before Raphael had blue meant the color of sin, of seduction. Of pain.
He leaned in, brushed her hair from her neck with fingers that could bring pleasure so excruciating it hurt . . . and pressed a kiss to the ragged beat of her pulse. It made her shiver, and she found she’d tangled her hands in his hair. He kissed her again, causing the warmth in her stomach to uncoil with lazy grace through her body, demand in every slow pulse.
When something glittered at the edge of her vision, she realized he was covering her in angel dust, a decadent, delicious substance that mortals paid enormous amounts to possess. But Raphael had a special blend just for her. As she breathed in the motes, the seduction intensified, until all she could think of was sex, the ache in her wings, even her anger, forgotten.
“Yes,” he whispered against her mouth. “I think you’ll intrigue me through eternity.”
It should’ve shattered the moment, but it didn’t. Not when there was such erotic promise in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. She found herself trying to draw him closer, but his jaw tightened. “No, Elena. I’ll break you.” A blunt statement. A truth. “Read this.” Dropping the envelope onto the sheet, he rose, those magnificent wings of white—every filament tipped with luminous gold—flaring out to dust her in ecstasy.
“Stop that.” Her voice was breathy, her mouth filled with the hotly masculine taste of him. “When will I be able to do that?”
“It’s an ability that develops over time, and not every angel gains it.” He folded back his wings. “Perhaps in four hundred years’ time, you’ll know.”
She stared. “Four hundred? Years?”
“You’re immortal now.”
“How immortal?” It wasn’t a stupid question. As she’d learned too well, even archangels could die.
“Immortality takes time to grow—to set—and you’re barely formed. Even a strong vampire could kill you right now.” Tilting his head slightly to the side, he turned his attention to the sky beyond the glass he’d told her was reflective, affording her privacy to study the Refuge without worrying about being watched in turn.
“It seems the Refuge is a popular place today.” With that, he strode to the balcony doors. “We must go to this ball, Elena. To do any less would be a sign of fatal weakness.” Closing the doors behind himself, he spread his wings and took off in a straight vertical flight.
Elena gasped at the unintentional show of strength. Now that she’d felt the weight of the wings at her back, she’d realized the extraordinary nature of Raphael’s vertical takeoffs. As she watched, he swept in front of the balcony and away. Her heart was still pounding from the combination of his kiss and the display of aerial brilliance when she finally glanced down at the envelope.
The fine hairs on her arms stood up the instant she grazed the thick white paper with her fingertips. The sensation was eerie—as if the envelope had been somewhere so cold, it wouldn’t warm up, no matter what. Some would call it the chill of the grave.
Goose bumps broke out over her skin.
Shaking them off, she turned the envelope over. The seal had been broken, but she could see the image once she lined up the edges. An angel. Of course, she thought, unable to stop staring at it. It was inked in black but why that should disturb her, she didn’t know. Frowning, she brought it closer to her face.
“Oh Jesus.” The whisper rippled out of her as she glimpsed the secret hidden within the image. It was an illusion, a trick. Looked at one way, the seal was a kneeling angel, his head bowed. But change your focus and that angel stared directly at you, his eye sockets empty, his bones bleached white.
She’s no longer wholly of this world.
All at once, Raphael’s words took on an entirely new meaning.
Shuddering, she lifted the flap and removed the card inside. It was heavy cream-colored stuff, reminding her of the expensive note cards her father used in his personal correspondence. The writing scrolled across in antique gold. She rubbed her finger over it—why, she didn’t know—it wasn’t as if she could sense whether it was real gold or not. “Wouldn’t surprise me though.” Lijuan was old, so old. And an ancient being of power could amass a great deal of wealth over a lifetime.
Funny, but though she thought of Raphael as powerful, she’d never thought of him as ancient. There was a sense of life about Raphael that denied that. A sense of . . . humanity? No. Raphael wasn’t human, wasn’t anything close to human.
But he wasn’t like Lijuan.
Her eyes went to the card again.
I invite you to the Forbidden City, Raphael. Come, let us welcome this human you have embraced. Let us see the beauty of this connection between immortal and what was once mortal. I find myself fascinated for the first time in millennia.
~ Zhou Lijuan
Elena didn’t want to fascinate Lijuan. In fact, she wanted nowhere near the rest of the Cadre of Ten. She was pretty sure most of the time that Raphael wouldn’t kill her. But as for the others . . . “Oh, hell.”
My little pet.
My weakness.
She might despise the words, but that made them no less accurate. If the Archangel of New York really did love her, then she might as well be wearing a target on her back.
Again she saw him, face bloodied and torn, wings shredded, an archangel choosing death over eternal life. It was a truth she’d never forget, a truth that anchored her even as everything else in her world shifted and changed.
“Not everything,” she murmured, reaching for the phone. Because while this place might look as if it existed in some long-ago age of chivalry and grace, the amenities were cutting-edge. Unsurprising when you thought about it—angels didn’t survive eons by clinging to the past. New York’s Archangel Tower, with its cloud-piercing form, was the perfect example.