Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(48)

That's what Elena was afraid of. "Where are we going?"

"To the roof."

Elena tried to remain calm as they made their way to the elevators and shot up. But there was no way she could forget the last time she'd gone up to the roof. Her hand clenched, remembering the ruthless ease with which Raphael had illustrated his control over her. Why the hell did she keep forgetting the reality of his nature?

Even as she thought that, she kept her mind tightly focused, thinking "closed" thoughts.

The doors opened to reveal the glass cage atop the roof . . . and deja vu smashed into her full force. A table set with a white tablecloth, croissants, grapefruit, juice, and coffee sat in solitary splendor on that beautiful roof. The only difference was, this time, Raphael stood with his back to her on the farthest edge.

Forgetting all about Dmitri, she stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the exit. The elevator doors closed behind her, but she was barely aware of its-and Dmitri's-departure, her focus on the wings of an archangel she'd last seen bleeding out on her apartment floor. "Raphael," she said as soon as she exited the glass cage.

He turned slightly and she took it as an invitation to go to him-she had to see for herself that the damage had been healed. His wings appeared perfect from a distance and it was only as she got closer that she saw the startling change. "It's as if you grew the pattern of the gunshot."

He raised the wing so she could see the full scope of it. "I thought it was isolated to the underside, but it's both."

She stood, stunned. It was a scar but it was the most amazing scar she'd ever seen. "You do realize this makes your wings even more unique." Even more inhuman in their beauty.

The wing lowered. "Are you saying you shot me as a cosmetic procedure?"

She could gauge nothing from the tone of his voice. Wary, she walked to stand beside him-but with several feet of distance between them.

He spoke again before she could, his eyes on her face. "You're hurt."

"Just surface cuts." She showed him her palms. "They hardly even sting."

"You were lucky."

"Yeah." The glass had been thick, less sharp than if she'd broken a dish. "So?"

His eyes shaded in that incredible way, until they were close to black. "Things have changed. There's no more time for play."

"You call threatening to throw me to my death, play?"

"I didn't threaten you, Elena."

She narrowed her eyes. "You were holding me over a very dark, very open space."

His hair lifted off his face as the wind pushed inward. "But you survived. And I just spent a considerable amount of energy patching myself up."

"Sorry." She folded her arms, scowling, defensive. "What's the punishment?"

"Will you take it meekly?" His wings stretched out behind him, spreading to cover the space behind her as well.

"Not a chance," she muttered. "I haven't forgotten what triggered this whole incident."

"It doesn't excite me to take an unwilling woman."

Caught by surprise, she dropped her arms. "Are you saying you didn't do it on purpose?"

"It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you did enough damage that I need to . . . refuel."

A hint of unease crawled up her spine. "What's that supposed to mean? Do you need rest?"

"No. I need an infusion of energy."

"Like a vampire needs blood?"

"If you like."

She frowned. "I didn't know angels needed that sort of thing."

"It happens rarely." Folding back his wings, he came closer. "It takes a lot for the well to run this close to dry."

He was right next to her now and she didn't know how that had happened. No, that was lying to herself. He was close because she'd let him get close. "You scared me last night."

Those dark, dark blue eyes reflected open surprise. "Do I not scare you usually?"

"Not like that." She couldn't help it, she reached out a hand to touch his wing before her neurons shrieked a warning and she wrenched it back. No one touched an angel's wings without permission. "Sorry."

He spread out the "scarred" wing. "Do you need to convince yourself that it's real, not an illusion?"

Not caring that it amused him, she ran her fingers over the part of the wing she'd destroyed. The sensation was . . . "So soft," she murmured, and yet she could feel considerable muscle and strength behind it. The warm vitality of it was a living pulse that beckoned her to continue stroking. When she lifted away her hands, reluctant to stop but knowing she had to, the tips of her fingers glittered. "Angel dust."

"Taste it."

She looked up, vividly conscious of the wings closing around her. "Taste?"

"Why do you think humans pay a fortune for it?"

"I thought it was a status thing-you know, look at my vial of angel dust, it's bigger than yours." She stared at the brilliant sparkles coating the tips of her fingers. "It tastes good?"

"Some call it a drug."

She froze with her index finger close to her lips. "As in befuddle my mind?"

"No, it has no narcotic or other effect on the brain. It's simply the taste."