Archangel's Consort (Guild Hunter #3)(52)

Her body jerked above him, her beautiful eyes turning a pleasure-washed silver as she cried out and came in a clenching burst of damp heat. That was all it took. He fel , throwing up his shields only because the impact of that much sensation could hurt her—and even in this extremity of passion, he would not hurt her, this hunter with a mortal heart who held his own in her hands.




Elena didn’t say a word when Raphael scooped her up in those powerful arms—after she’d kicked off her boots and socks, the remainder of her jeans—and took her through to the bath, the water set at a bone-melting temperature. Sinking into it with a sigh, she felt her butt connect with one of the small ledges and figuring that was enough, let her head fall back, reasonably certain her eyes were still rolled up inside her head.

A wash of water against her skin, her archangel getting in with her.

Temptation rose, and she opened her eyes, ran her gaze over the muscular strength of his legs, the ridged plane of his abdomen. It was a very private pleasure, and one she intended to indulge in as often as possible. “How’s your back?”

“Healed.” He sank down into the water, bracing his arms on the rim of the bath. “A miscalculation on my part—I flew too close to the steel girders of a construction project in progress.”

Forcing her body to move, she floated over to sit next to him, placing her head on one of his shoulders, her palm over his heart. It was a position she’d never have taken with another man—but Raphael, in spite of the frustration he was causing her with the constant bodyguards, understood who she was, understood that a small surrender didn’t equal a larger one. “You don’t make miscalculations like that.”

He curled his arm around her, fingers painting lazy patterns on her skin. “We had a windstorm hit perhaps an hour after the earthquake shook part of Boston. I was able to compensate for the shove of wind, but not fast enough.”

That made more sense. “That quake was real y weird, Raphael. It was so localized.” Reaching up, she ran her fingers along the arch of his wing with delicate precision.

Elena.

Smiling at the warning, she tilted up her head and brushed her lips over his jaw. “The earthquake?”

The endless blue of the deepest part of the ocean held her gaze before she dipped her head to kiss the line of his throat. His fingers clenched in her hair, but that big, powerful body remained relaxed, an archangel at rest in his consort’s arms.

“You say the vampires appeared to be drawn to that same general area?” His chest rose and fel in an easy rhythm underneath her touch, his heartbeat strong and certain.

“Yeah,” she said, using her teeth on the tendons she’d just kissed. “Even the one we found later seemed to have been heading in that direction.” Only to be overcome by a lust for blood that would allow no other thought. “But the thing is, the focus of the quake seemed to be the chopper.”

Not the chopper, you.

She made a face. “I was trying to avoid that conclusion.”

A tug from the hand fisted in her hair, her head being tipped back—but this time, there was no kiss. “Your face is severely bruised.” Raising his free hand, he gripped her chin and tilted her face to the side so he could assess the damage. “You’ve lost more than the upper layer of skin alone.”

Elena didn’t protest. After all , she’d ordered him to strip so she could examine his injuries. “It doesn’t feel that bad.” In fact, she had the sense the skin was already beginning to regenerate—way faster than it would’ve on a human.

A kick to the heart, that reminder, that knowledge that she was no longer mortal.

“It’l take at least two days to heal on its own,” he said, releasing her chin. “There are bruises on your ribs and hips, too.”

“When did you have time to notice?” Rising to straddle him, she put her arms around his neck and nuzzled a kiss to his pulse, feeling affectionate in a way she’d never been comfortable enough to express with anyone else. “Seemed to me like you were far more interested in other parts of my anatomy.”

Strong, wet hands on her waist. “How much does it hurt?” Sensual lips, eyes ful of a dark male promise, but his expression made it clear they’d be doing nothing interesting until she came clean.

Blowing out a breath, she pointed to a rib. “That one hurts but not so much that it bothered me while we were engaging in gymnastics in the bedroom.”

The near-painful hunger to touch, to take and be taken had wiped out every other sensation, every other need. “My left wing is tender—I might’ve strained something.” She held up her palms. “The cuts seem to be healing.”

Raphael raised his hand, blue fire licking over his palm. Her stomach went taut at the reminder of the sheer power he carried within. But this flame, it was nothing that would harm. When he placed his hand against her ribs, all she felt was a warmth so deep it infiltrated her very bones.

“Oh!” The soft cry escaped her lips as the sensation spread in a burst of electric heat, arrowing to the places where she hurt the most—but a hint of it pulsed in every vein and artery ... and there was a whisper of sex to it that had nothing to do with healing. “Archangel, if you make everyone feel like this when you heal,” she said in a husky tone, “I’m going to have a problem with it.”