Archangel's Consort (Guild Hunter #3)(58)

“Not when Caliane performed it.”

A chill kiss on the back of her neck, that confirmation. “I can’t be certain about the origin of the scent,” she said, having told him of the presence of black orchids. “I’ve only brushed up against your mother’s scent a couple of times, and never in a situation where I had the opportunity to tease out the notes.”

Raphael’s response wasn’t anything she might have expected. “I was speaking with Michaela when you called me.”

Elena fisted her hand at the mention of the female archangel. Beautiful in the most sensual of ways, Michaela had taken an instant dislike to Elena. The feeling was mutual. Except . . . it was no longer so easy to treat Michaela as the “Bitch Queen” and nothing more, not now that Elena knew the archangel had once lost a child. Elena would never forget the heartbreak she’d witnessed that terrible night at Michaela’s gracious home in the Refuge. “What did she say?”

“I hear compassion in your voice, Elena.” Raphael’s eyes were dark with warning when they met hers. “You must never make the mistake of weakening when it comes to Michaela. She chose the path she walks, and it is a path that may well have led to the death of another archangel.”

He’d said that to her before, and despite the fact that her human heart wanted to see something better in Michaela, she knew he was right. “I won’t ever lower my guard around her, don’t worry.”

Seemingly satisfied with her promise, he returned his attention to the body. “Another kil such as this was found in her territory last night.”

And if there were two . . . “Damn.”

“The kil er was caught in that case, raving with madness.”

“That seems to be the pattern.” She looked up at the sound of the forensic investigators, waved them down. “Body’s all yours.”

As they came nearer, trying not to stare at Raphael while doing exactly that, the Archangel of New York moved a small distance from the body, choosing to stand right on the water’s edge.

“I can’t pinpoint the scent of the kil er here.” Frustration churned through her as she followed him. “The area’s—”

“It may not signify,” Raphael said. “Dmitri spoke to me earlier today of a vampire who, from the evidence, appears to have set himself alight last night then stood in place as he burned. That is not the act of a sane man.”

Elena blew out a breath. “Yeah, good chance it was him. If Dmitri has a name, I can check his apartment, get the scent there, see if he was in this area at least.”

“Identification may take weeks, depending on whether anyone reports him missing—the fire turned the body to ash.” He flared out his wings and beyond them, the cops went motionless.

Elena could well understand their fascination. She’d touched those wings, felt that powerful body hot and demanding above her own, and still her chest went tight.

“I will speak to Jason,” Raphael said, not noticing the reaction of the humans, “have him check with his informants about other murders that may be connected.” Wings spread to their breathtaking widest, he rose into the sky. Contact me the instant you sense any hint of her presence—she would crush you, Elena, and think nothing of it.

I know. With that, she let him go. Some nightmares, she knew all too well , couldn’t be cured in a day or even a year.




Given the viciousness of the girl’s murder, the grisly suicide of her probable kil er, and the other outbreaks of violence that had been her welcome to the city, Elena was almost surprised four days later to discover that they’d passed in peace—though it was a peace strung taut as a bow as everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she’d spent a few hours one day placing several more plants in the solar, along with a selection of her other treasures—the delicately carved mask from Indonesia went on the wall beside the door, the tiny glass candy ornaments from Murano in a crystal bowl atop the small writing desk, and the swathe of hand-embroidered silk from Kashmir she hung up on the other wall like a tapestry. Midnight blue shot with gold, it glowed in the sunlight.

“Setting up a nest, Guild Hunter?” Raphael had asked only last night as he stood leaning against the doorjamb.

She’d looked up from where she was arranging her favorite books in a gorgeous little bookshelf made of reclaimed lumber that Montgomery had found for her, caught by how very male Raphael was—especial y here, in a place she’d turned exquisitely feminine. “It’s what hunters do.” She had a feeling that deep-rooted sense of home would be even more crucial in this new life. “But,” she’d added, “you’ve already created the nest.” This house, for all its size, was nothing like the cold elegance of the Tower. Here was warmth and beauty, a place where she could col apse in bed and snuggle into the blankets.

“Then what is this?”

“I’m marking out a piece of the house as my own territory.”

A cool pause. “I will not allow you to put distance between us, Elena.”

She’d seen that one coming, was more than ready to handle it. “I need a place where I can slam the door in your face when I’m mad. I’m pretty sure both of us would prefer that place be here and not elsewhere.”