Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(40)

"Oh, no, babe. This was for real." His voice became serious. "The man wants you-but I'm not sure if he wants to f*ck you or kill you."

Rising from her bent-over position, Elena stared out at the window in front of her. Her stomach nose-dived. "Ah, Ransom? I have to go."

Silence. Then: "He found you."

Her eyes on the wide spread of white gold as Raphael hovered effortlessly outside, she closed the phone and put it very carefully on the small table next to the sofa. "I'm not letting you in," she whispered, though there was no way he could hear her.

I can get in anytime I please.

She froze at the crystal clarity of his tone. "I told you-no f*cking with my head!"

Why?

The chill of that single word got through to her as nothing else could have. Sara had been right-there was something different about Raphael tonight. And it was very, very bad for her. "What's wrong with you?"

Nothing. I am Quiet.

"What the hell does that mean?" She inched her hand toward the gun at her back, never moving her eyes off his face as he watched her through the glass. "And why are your eyes so . . . cold?" That word again.

He stretched out his wings even farther, fully displaying the gold and white pattern on the underside. So beautiful it threatened to distract. "Clever," she said, focusing deliberately on his face. "Trying to manipulate me without using your mind."

You were right when you said I need you fully functional. Too much mind control and I could bend your mental pathways permanently.

"Bullshit," she muttered, having almost reached her gun. "You can hold me for a while but the second you stop exercising active control, I'm free."

Are you sure?

Oddly enough, though he was scaring the bejesus out of her right then, she didn't feel as vulnerable to the threat of compulsion as she usually did. When he was being his normal arrogant, lethal-as-hell self, there was a pulse of sexual attraction between them that scrambled her usual defenses.

But this man-this cold, cold man with death in his eyes . . . Her hand closed on the butt of the gun.

"You know what," she said, fighting to keep her expression calm, "the only thing I'm sure about right this second is that you're acting out of it."

Is that why you have a gun?

Her hand froze on the weapon, the beads of sweat on her spine turning to ice. "What gun?"

His hair whipped off his face as if caught in a driving wind, but he kept his position without any apparent effort. His face was so pure in its beauty that her heart kicked a beat. It was as if he'd been carved by the most masterful of artisans, the lines of his face clean and quintessentially male. Without a doubt, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Or perhaps, I am simply that to you.

She flinched, snapping out of the fascination. And this time, she knew he hadn't been messing with her mind-that thought had been her own stupidity at work. "Simply what?" she asked, just to keep him talking.

Beautiful.

She snorted. "Believe me, angel boy, you turn female heads wherever you go."

Most women see cruelty in me, too much for beauty.

Caught short by that apparently honest assessment, she found herself staring at him with new eyes. Yes, there was cruelty in him. He wasn't pretty, wasn't handsome, wasn't anything so tame. He was dangerous and strong, the epitome of what appealed to her hunter senses. All her life, she'd been too strong, too fast, too unfeminine for human men. They liked her, but after a while, most claimed she made them feel emasculated.

She'd never let on how much that hurt, but it did, it hurt a hell of a lot. Maybe she wasn't a tiny doll like Beth, but she was very definitely female. And she appreciated the male of the species, most especially this male. "You're capable of cruelty," she agreed quietly, "perhaps even horror, but you haven't crossed over into evil."

Haven't I?

Her palm lay sweaty on the gun. "No."

You sound very certain. And yet you accused me of rape this morning.

Her temper spiked. Ignoring the warning cry of her own common sense, she pulled out and held the gun openly at her side. "This morning, you tried to take by force something I might've given you freely had you waited."

A long pause filled only with the sound of her adrenaline-spiked breaths. She wondered what he heard out there, in the velvet darkness of the night, with the streets so far below.

Such honesty.

"I said 'might.' And buddy, your chances went down the drain the instant you pulled that stunt. I won't be manipulated into sex." Not even by a sex-god of an archangel.

He seemed to be thinking that over. His eyes met hers through the glass. He shrugged. Sex is fairly pointless anyway.

That made her blink. It didn't fit at all with the darkly sensual man who'd devoured her like his favorite candy that very morning. "Are you alright?" she asked, wondering if he was on some sort of angelic drug.

His response was to blow out the plate-glass window between them. It happened so fast, she barely had time to throw up her arm to shield her eyes. One second the window was there, the next, it was lying in several neat pieces on her carpet. Not a sliver had touched her. When she dropped her arm, she found herself looking out at a huge square of darkness, the wind sliding into her apartment on smooth, silky wings.