Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(69)

"I may look pretty, Elena, but I'm rather dangerous." The finest hint of a British accent whispered through.

"That," she said, "I never doubted." Starting the engine, she pulled out and away, aware of him taking off behind her. He might be dangerous but he was no archangel. And what the hell had Raphael been thinking, sending her such a-

He'd known, she realized.

He'd known why Jeffrey had summoned her, why he'd finally deigned to speak to a daughter he considered worse than the lowest street trash.

Not only had he known, he'd accurately predicted her reaction.

And he'd provided her with the most perfect revenge possible. She started to grin. Jeffrey Deveraux's unwanted daughter was considered important enough for an angelic escort so flamboyant, she'd be surprised if there was anyone in the state who hadn't already heard about it.

Her phone rang on cue.

She was at a stoplight, so she answered. "Sara, you have big ears."

"And you're keeping company with what I hear is an angel straight out of wet-dream territory."

"They're all good-looking." But that wasn't enough. Not for her.

"But most don't have wings of blue touched with silver."

"TV?"

"Camera-phone images. Don't usually see angels walking the streets." A whispered sigh. "I've had reports of this one being in the city, but no close-up pictures till now. He's some kind of pretty. I could just take a bite out of that firm-"

Elena started laughing. "Down, girl, you're married, remember?"

"Mmm, talk about taking a bite out of something. Deacon-"

"Too-much-info alert!" The light changed. "I'll call you back in a few minutes."

She was about to turn into the garage when a blue feather fluttered into her lap. Her lips twitched but it was too late to glance up by then. Nosing the car into the darkness of the garage, she brought it to a halt near the still figure of the vampire who'd driven her to Raphael's. He was wearing sunglasses in spite of the underground gloom. She supposed if she had eyes like his, she would, too.

Getting out, she undid her ponytail and quickly braided Illium's feather into her hair just above her ear. "If Bluebell isn't careful," the vamp murmured, "he'll lose his feathers all over again."

Ponytail redone, she retrieved the map and nodded at the old-model sedan behind him. "Keys?" She threw him the ones for the Ferrari.

"In the ignition." Sliding the keys into a pocket, he straightened from his leaning position against the passenger-side door. "Raphael wants you to check in every ten minutes."

"Tell the boss I'll call him when I have something to report, Snakey."

He pushed the sunglasses to the top of his head, giving her the full impact of those eerie eyes. "I prefer Venom."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're not serious."

"It's better than a pansy-assed name like Illium. What the hell does that mean anyway?" A sharp smile that flashed fang.

Deliberate, very deliberate, she thought. Despite his flawlessly modern speech, Venom was far too old to make mistakes. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Venomous?"

Another savage smile. He touched the tip of one fang with his tongue and when he drew it away, she saw a pearl of golden liquid. "Try me and see."

"Maybe later, after I've survived Michaela."

He laughed, a rich masculine sound that caused a woman stepping off the elevator at the other end of the garage to drop her purse and stare openmouthed. Venom didn't seem to notice, his eyes fixed on Elena. Reaching up, he slid the sunglasses back over his eyes. "No one survives the High Priestess of Byzantium."

Goose bumps crawled over her flesh at the ancience implied by that title. Not responding, she opened the door to the sedan and got in-after cranking down all four windows. As she drove away, she saw Venom head for the woman by the elevator.

Jeffrey Deveraux stood by the fireplace, hands in the pockets of a pin-striped suit she guessed had been tailored to his tall frame. Marguerite had been a bare five feet tall. It was Jeffrey who'd given Elena her height. He was six feet four without shoes-not that her father was ever anything less than perfectly put together.

Pale gray eyes met hers with the cold watchfulness of a hawk or a wolf. His face was all sharp lines and angles, his hair brushed back from a severe widow's peak. Most men would've had gray in their hair by now. Jeffrey had gone straight from aristocratic gold to pure white. It suited him, throwing his features into sharper relief.

"Elieanora." He finished polishing his spectacles and slid them back on, the thin rectangular frames as effective as ten-inch-thick walls.

"Jeffrey."

His mouth tightened. "Don't be childish. I'm your father."

She shrugged, shifting into an unconsciously aggressive posture. "You wanted me. Here I am." The words came out angry. Ten years of independence and the second she entered her father's presence, she reverted to teenager who'd spent a lifetime begging for his love and been kicked in the guts for her efforts.

"I'm disappointed," he said, unmoved. "I'd hoped you'd picked up some social graces from the company you've been keeping."