Nalini Singh - Angels' Blood

And she remembered that this was no human male she was parrying with. This was Raphael, the archangel who’d broken every single bone in a vampire’s body to prove a point. “I won’t let you into my home, Raphael.” Into her haven.

A silence weighted with the crushing pressure of a hidden threat. She remained still, sensing she’d pushed him far enough tonight. And while she knew her worth, she also knew that to an archangel, she was, in the end, expendable.

His blue eyes filled with flames as power crackled through the air. She was an inch away from taking her chances and trying to outrun him in the narrow confines of the stairwell, when he spoke. “Then we’ll go to your Guild.”

She blinked in wary disbelief. “I’ll follow you by car.” Her ride was a Guild vehicle—like most hunters, she was out of the country so much that keeping her own wasn’t worth the hassle.

“No.” His hand closed over her wrist. “I don’t wish to wait. We’ll fly.”

Her heart stopped. Literally. When it kicked back to life, she could barely speak. “What?” It was an undignified squeak.

But he was already opening the door, tugging her along.

She dragged her heels. “Wait!”

“We fly or we go to your home. Choose.”

The arrogance of the command was breathtaking. As was the fury. The Archangel of New York did not like being told no . “I choose neither.”

“Unacceptable.” He pulled.

She resisted. She wanted to fly more than anything, but not in the arms of an archangel who might drop her in his current mood. “What’s so urgent?”

“I won’t drop you . . . not tonight.” His face was so perfect it could’ve belonged to some ancient god, but there was no compassion in it. Then again, the gods had hardly been merciful. “Enough.”

And suddenly she was on the roof, with no knowledge of having taken the steps from the landing. Rage flowed through her in a jagged wave of white lightning, but he wrapped his arms around her and rose before she could do much more than part her lips. Survival instincts kicked in. Hard. Locking her arms around his neck, she held on for dear life as his wings gained momentum and the roof fell away at dizzying speed.

Her hair whipped off her face, the wind bringing tears to her eyes. Then, as if he’d gained enough altitude, Raphael altered the angle of his flight, sheltering her against the wind. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose, then realized she was falling into the trap of trying to humanize him. He wasn’t human. Not even close.

His wings filled her vision until she dared turn her head and look at the view. There wasn’t much to see—he’d taken them above the cloud layer. Goose bumps broke out on every inch of her skin as the cold seeped into her bones. Her teeth threatened to chatter, but she had to speak, had to let the anger out before it carved a hole in her soul. “I told you,” she gritted out, “not to mess with my mind.”

He glanced down. “You’re cold?”

“Give the man an award,” she said, breath misting the air. “I’m not built for flight.”

He dived without warning. Her stomach went into free fall even as wild exhilaration raced through her bloodstream. She was flying! It might not have been by choice, but she wasn’t going to cut off her nose to spite her face. Holding on tightly, she absorbed every second of the experience, tucking away the sensory memories to savor later. It was then that she realized she had no reason to fear an accidental fall—Raphael’s arms were like rock around her, unbreakable, immovable. She wondered if he even felt her weight. Angels were supposed to be far stronger than either humans or vampires.

“Is that better?” he asked, lips against her ear.

Startled at the warm timbre of his voice, she blinked and realized they were now skimming just above the high-rises. “Yes.” She wouldn’t thank him, she thought mutinously. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her permission before launching them heavenward. “You didn’t answer me.”

“In my defense”—an amused comment—“it wasn’t so much a question as a statement.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you continue to push into my mind?”

“It’s more convenient than wasting time waiting while you talk yourself into something.”

“It’s a kind of rape.”

Chill silence, so cold the goose bumps returned. “Be careful with your accusations.”

“It’s the truth,” she persisted, though her stomach was shriveling into a terrified little ball. “I said no! And you went in anyway. What the hell else do you call it?”

“Humanity is nothing to us,” he said. “Ants, easily crushed, easily replaced.”

She shivered, and this time it was out of pure fear. “Then why allow us to live?”

“You amuse us occasionally. You have your uses.”

“Food for your vampires,” she said, disgusted at herself for having seen anything human in him. “What—you keep a prison full of ‘snacks’ for your pets?”

His arms squeezed, cutting off her breath. “There’s no need. The snacks offer themselves up on silver platters. But you’d know that—your sister is married to a vampire, after all.”

The implication couldn’t have been clearer. He’d as much as called her sister, Beth, a vamp-whore. The derogatory term was used to describe those men and women who followed groups of vampires from place to place, offering their bodies as food in return for whatever fleeting pleasure the vampire deigned to give. Every vamp fed differently, hurt or pleasured differently. Some vamp-whores seemed determined to taste, and be tasted by, each and every one of them.

“Leave my sister out of this.”

“Why?”

“She was with Harrison before he became a vampire. She’s no whore.”

He chuckled, but it was the coldest, most dangerous sound she’d ever heard. “I expected better from you, Elena. Doesn’t your family call you an abomination? I thought you’d have sympathy for those who love vampires.”

If she’d dared let go of his neck, she might just have clawed her nails down his face. “I won’t discuss my family with you.” Not with him, not with anyone.

You disgust me. Almost the last words her father had said to her.

Jeffrey Deveraux had never been able to understand how he could’ve birthed a “creature” like her, an “abomination” who refused to follow the dictates of her blue-blooded family and sell herself in marriage in order to expand the sprawling Deveraux empire. He’d told her to give up the vampire hunting, never listening, never understanding that to ask her to stifle her abilities was to ask her to kill something inside of her.

Go, then, go and roll around in the muck. Don’t bother coming back.

“It must’ve been . . . interesting when your brother-in-law chose vampirism,” Raphael said, ignoring her words. “Your father didn’t disown either Beth or Harrison.”

She swallowed, refusing to remember the pitiful hope she’d felt when Harrison was accepted back into the family fold. She’d wanted so desperately to believe that her father had changed, that he’d finally look at her with the same love he lavished on Beth and the two younger children he had with his second wife, Gwendolyn. His first wife, Marguerite, Beth and Elena’s mother, was never spoken of. It was as if she hadn’t existed.

“My father is none of your business,” she said, voice harsh with withheld emotion. Jeffrey Deveraux hadn’t changed. He hadn’t even bothered to return her call—and she’d understood that Harrison had been allowed back because he was the scion of a major corporation that had deep ties with Deveraux Enterprises. Jeffrey had no use for a daughter who chose to indulge in her “disgraceful, inhuman” ability to scent vampires.