Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(3)

"Is there a problem?"

Her head snapped up at the guard's quiet comment. "No, of course not." She made a show of checking her watch. "I better be going. Please give my regards to Mr. Ebose." With that, she exited the lush confines of the private jet and the pungent fear-stink of the cargo.

She'd never been able to figure out why so many morons got Made. Perhaps, she thought, they went in okay but turned into pricks after a few years of drinking blood. Who knew what the hell that stuff did to your brain. But that theory didn't explain her latest catch-he was two years old max.

Shrugging, she got into the car. And because she wanted to tear open the sealed envelope with her teeth, she waited until she was home in her beautiful nest of an apartment in lower Manhattan. Given how much time they spent chasing shit, most hunters tended to make their homes into havens. Elena was no exception.

Entering, she kicked off her boots and headed toward the luxurious bath and shower unit. Usually, she made a ritual out of washing off the grime and slathering on the creams and perfumes she collected. Ransom thought her girly tendencies the funniest thing ever, constantly teased her over them, but the last time he'd opened his big mouth, she'd got her own back by pointing out that his long black hair sure did look well conditioned.

However, tonight she had neither the patience nor the inclination to pamper herself. Stripping, she made quick work of scrubbing away the reek of shit-scared vampire before slipping into a pair of cotton pajamas and running a brush through her hair as she put on some coffee. Soon as it was done, she took a full mug to the coffee table, set it down carefully on a coaster . . . then gave in to the demands of her rabid curiosity and tore open the envelope in one second flat.

The paper was thick, the watermark elegant . . . and the name at the bottom of the page terrifying enough to make her want to pack her bags and run. To the farthest, tiniest hole she could find.

Disbelieving, she ran her eyes over the page a second time. The words hadn't changed.

I would be pleased if you would join me for breakfast. 8 a.m.

Raphael

There was no address but she had no need of it. She looked up, able to see the light-filled column of the city's Archangel Tower from the huge plate-glass window that had made this apartment so ridiculously expensive . . . and attractive. Being able to sit and watch the angels take wing from the high balconies of the Tower was her guiltiest pleasure.

At night, they appeared as soft, dark shadows. But in the daytime, their wings shimmered bright in the sun, their movements incredibly graceful. They came and went throughout the day, but sometimes she saw them simply sitting, high up on those balconies, their legs hanging over the sides. The younger angels, she'd guessed, though youth was a relative term.

Even knowing that most of them were decades older than she was, the sight always made her smile. It was the one and only time she'd ever glimpsed them acting in a way that could be described as normal. Usually, they were coolly remote, so far from the common humdrum of humanity as to be beyond their understanding.

Tomorrow she, too, was going to be up there in that tower of light and glass. But it wasn't one of those younger maybe-approachable angels that she had to meet. No, tomorrow she was going to be sitting across from the archangel himself.

Raphael.

Elena bent over, sick to her stomach.

The first thing she did after recovering from the compulsion to throw up was call the Guild. "I need to speak to Sara," she told the receptionist.

"I'm sorry. The director has left the office."

Hanging up, Elena punched in the number to Sara's home line.

The other woman picked up after barely half a ring. "Now, how did I know I was going to hear from you today?"

Elena's hand clenched on the phone. "Sara, please tell me I'm having a delusion and you did not sign me up to work for an archangel."

"Er . . . um . . ." Sara Haziz, Guild Director for the entire U.S. of A., and all-around tough-ass, suddenly sounded more like a nervous teenage girl. "Hell, Ellie, it's not like I could say no."

"What would he have done-killed you?"

"Probably," Sara muttered. "His vampire lackey made it very clear that he wanted you. And that he is not used to being denied."

"You tried to say no?"

"I am your best friend. Gimme a little credit, here."

Slumping into the sofa cushions, Elena stared out at the Tower. "What's the job?

"I don't know." Sara began to make soft cooing sounds. "Don't worry-I'm not wasting my breath in a futile attempt to calm you down. The baby's awake. Aren't you, sweetie pie?" Kissing noises filled the air.

Elena still couldn't believe Sara had gone and tied the knot. And had a baby to boot. "How's Mini Me?" Sara had named her daughter Zoe Elena. Damn if Elena hadn't sniffled like a baby herself when she found out. "Hope she's giving you hell."

"She loves her mommy." More kissing noises. "And she said to tell you she's gonna Mini Me you after she grows a few more feet. She and Slayer are a crack team."

Elena laughed at the mention of the monster dog that lived to slobber on unsuspecting people. "Where's your beloved? I thought Deacon liked doing the baby stuff."

"He does." Sara's smile was apparent even through the telephone line and it made something inside Elena clench in the most vicious of ways. It wasn't that she begrudged Sara her happiness, or that she wanted Deacon. No, it was something far deeper, a sense of time slipping through her fingers.