Nalini Singh - Archangel's Kiss

“Apparently, this aspirant,” Illium said over his shoulder, “plans to make his mark by stabbing a Guild dagger through your heart. Or maybe by using it to hack off your head one piece at a time.”

The echo of her own thoughts startled her—but it shouldn’t have. Because like it or not, she was hot news in the angelic world, the first angel Made in living memory. “I think I need some food before I start thinking about all the horribly painful ways I could conceivably die.”

“There’s some in the living area.”

“Where’s Raphael?”

“At a meeting.”

Elena had been saved by her instincts more than once. Now, her hand clenched on the carved wooden handle of the brush. “With who?”

“It’ll only make you mad.”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“Who’s currently trying to save you from unnecessary fretting.”

Fretting? “Stop stalling and tell me.”

Turning with a huge sigh, Illium said, “Michaela.”

A flash of memory, bronze angel dust on Raphael’s wings. Elena ground her teeth together. “I’d think the Refuge would be too quiet for Her Royal Bitchiness.” New York, Milan, Paris, that was more Michaela’s milieu.

“You’d be right.” His eyes gleamed. “But seems she’s developed a sudden interest in the place.”

Yanking the brush through her hair, she found the hair-tie she’d left on the bedside table and put the unmanageable mass up in a high ponytail. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Illium gave a pointed cough. “I wouldn’t suggest going to them in your present condition.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Elena muttered. “I want to do some exercise.”

“You’re supposed to rest ’til morning.”

“Trust me, I know my body.” She stood with a groan. “If I don’t loosen these muscles now, it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

Illium didn’t say anything, simply watched as she walked to the bathroom. Closing the door, she splashed water over her face and willed herself to stop thinking about what might be happening between Raphael and Michaela. She wasn’t worried that Raphael would sleep with Michaela—quite bluntly, Raphael wasn’t the cheating kind. If he tired of her—and yeah, it hurt to even consider that—he’d tell her to her face. More, she had a feeling he saw through Michaela’s beauty to the venom inside.

But it was impossible to forget the female archangel’s stunning face, that body that had seduced kings and destroyed empires. By contrast, Elena’s own face—reflected in the mirror—was too thin, her skin carrying the pallor of a year spent in sleep. Confidence wasn’t exactly easy. “Enough.” Putting down the face-towel, she walked back out.

The bedroom proved empty, but she was in no doubt that Illium was nearby. Heading out onto the wide space of the balcony, she began to go through a stretching routine she’d been taught at Guild Academy. Most of the moves still worked, though she had to get creative with a few, given that she now had wings to consider. She tripped a couple of times—until she forced herself to remember to keep the trailing edges raised. It had the same effect as if she’d been trying to keep her arms straight while typing—the ache was a slow burn that got progressively more painful.

Stubborn determination made her want to push through it, but remembering the state she’d been in this afternoon, she took a break. Dragging herself back into the bedroom and out to the large living area, she found some juice and threw it back. The taste was fresh and tart on her tongue, an indication that this medieval-looking city of mountain and rock had an orange grove hidden somewhere deep within.

“You have a phone call.”

Turning on her heel, she found Illium holding up a sleek silver portable handset. So much for the medieval imagery. “I didn’t hear it ring.”

“I turned off the ringer while you were napping.” Passing it over, he took an apple from the fruit bowl. “It’s Ransom.”

Surprised at Illium’s familiar tone, she lifted the receiver to her ear. “Hey, handsome.”

She could hear the smile in the other hunter’s voice when he replied. “You flying yet?”

“Soon.”

“You sure are keeping some interesting company lately.”

Glancing at Illium as the blue-winged angel walked out onto the separate balcony that flowed off this room, she said, “Where did you meet Illium?”

“Erotique.”

“You know some of the dancers?” Ransom had grown up on the streets, retained most of his contacts even now.

“A couple. I get a lot of good intel there—even the most powerful of vamps gets talky when a woman’s got her mouth near his cock.”

Elena wasn’t surprised—vampires had once been human after all. It took a long time for the echoes to fade completely. “So what did they blab?”

A crackle through the lines. “. . . want to know.”

“What?” She pressed the receiver closer.

“Word’s out that you’re alive. Everyone thinks you’re a bloodsucker—far as I can tell, none of the ones in the know have let the truth slip.”

“Good.” She needed time to get her own head around her new reality before explaining it to anyone else. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”

“No. One of the dancers heard the vamps are placing bets on you surviving a year.”

“What’re the odds?”

“Ninety-nine to one.”

Elena didn’t have to ask which was the winning side. “What do they know that I don’t?”

“Rumor is, Lijuan has a habit of feeding her guests to her pets.”

Raphael watched Michaela lift the crystal wineglass to her lips with the effortless grace of a woman who’d had centuries to perfect her elegant facade. Impartially speaking, she was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world, her skin a flawless shade akin to the most exotic coffee swirled with cream, her eyes a green that put gemstones to shame, her hair a tumble of black threaded with bronze, brown, a hundred shades in between.

Stunning—and she used her looks as effectively and as unemotionally as others might a gun. If men, mortal and immortal, had died because they’d fallen prey to that beauty, that was their mistake.

“So,” she now purred, venom coated in honey, “your hunter survived.” When he didn’t say anything, she made a moue of disappointment. “Why keep it a secret?”

“I didn’t think you were that interested in Elena’s survival.” Only her death.

To her credit, Michaela didn’t pretend not to understand. “Touché.” Raising her wineglass in a toast, she took a small sip of the golden liquid. “Will you be very angry if I kill her?”

Raphael met those poisonous eyes of vibrant green, wondering if Uram had ever seen through to the vicious heart of the woman he’d called his consort. “You seem to have a fascination with my hunter.” It was a deliberate statement. Elena was his , and he would protect her.

Michaela waved off the words. “She made interesting prey, but now that she’s lost her abilities, the sport will be far too easy. I suppose I should just let her be.”

It was a very smooth, very calculated offer. “I think,” he said, not correcting her erroneous assumption, “Elena is more than capable of looking after herself.”

Michaela’s cheekbones cut sharply against skin men had died to touch. “Surely you don’t think her my equal?”

“No.” He waited, watched her face suffuse with pleasure, with satisfaction. “She’s something utterly unique.”

For a single icy instant the mask slipped. “Be careful, Raphael.” A predator looked back at him, one who’d clean blood off her fingers with chilly fastidiousness, even as she watched her victim writhe in agony at her feet. “I won’t sheathe my claws because she’s your pet.”