Archangel's Consort (Guild Hunter #3)(74)

At the last minute, right when she knew she was assuredly going to break some bones, Raphael slipped into her mind and corrected her angle of descent so that she was able to grab the branch and pull herself up to straddle it without damage. She glared in his direction. Stop taking over whenever you feel like it.

A dangerous pause. Would you have preferred to spend the next few weeks in a cast?

I’d prefer to learn to do this myself.

Yet you attempt to pierce the clouds when you can barely fly in a straight line.

Anger bubbled through her bloodstream. Come down here and say that to my face.

Her hair whipped back in a gust of wind an instant later, and then Raphael was hovering next to her branch, the angles of his face starkly masculine, his eyes blazing that metal ic chrome that never augured anything good. “You shouldn’t be flying such long distances, much less hunting,” he said with the arrogance of an immortal who had lived well over a thousand years. “You need to spend another few years at the Refuge at the very least.”

She snorted. “Angels spend that time at the Refuge because they’re literal y babies. I’m very much an adult.”

“Are you certain?” A cold question. “Attempting to break bones making a landing you couldn’t hope to realize sounds like something a five-year-old would do.”

Changing position so that she sat with both legs hanging over the branch, her wings spread out behind her for balance, she curled her fingers around the living wood in an effort to calm herself. “You know something, Raphael?” she said, fingernails digging into the bark, “I think you’re spoiling for a fight.”

No words from the immortal in front of her, his face so austere she could almost believe they’d never loved, never laughed together.



“So,” she said, leaning forward, “am I.”

A glow around his wings, something she’d learned to expect when he was pissed. She held her ground. Because this was who he was, and she either took all of him or she walked away. The latter was not an option.

“You’re going home. I’ll cal Illium to guide you there.”

“No more babysitters,” she said, her anger a honed blade. “I won’t allow it. Neither am I about to toddle off home like a good little girl.”

You will do as I say.

“Yeah, how’s that working for you so far?”

Shifting forward, he braced his hands on the branch on either side of her, his big body pushing between her thighs. You obey very sweetly.

Oooh, she thought, he didn’t only want a fight, he wanted a fight. “I am,” she said, trying to remain rational, “one of the strongest hunters in the Guild. Not only that, I survived an archangel and a psycho-would-be-archangel. I’ve earned my stripes.”

Anoushka almost killed you.

She thought of the poison Neha’s daughter had pumped into her body, of the panic that had made her heart stutter, her blood run cold. “Do you know how many people have ‘almost’ killed me over the years?” When his eyes iced over with a blue so pure it was unlike any color seen on this earth, she realized that might not have been the best thing to bring up. Then again ... “I take you as you are,” she said, unwill ing—unable—to back down. “I do that.”




The fierce intensity of that statement cut through the storm of fury riding Raphael, and he heard her, heard, too, the words she didn’t say.

I take you as you are. Take me as I am.

“I’ve never seen you as anything but a warrior.” Even when she came into his arms, he never forgot that it was a very conscious surrender on her part, a choice she made to let herself be vulnerable.

Her lips tightened, and she shook her head, the fine strands of her hair sliding wild over her shoulders. “It’s not enough, Raphael. Just the words aren’t enough.”

In the Refuge, she’d asked him to stop shadowing her mind. That had been a difficult choice for an archangel to make when keeping a mental watch on her was the best way he had to ensure her safety. “I have given you unparal eled freedom.”

“Who are you comparing us with, Archangel?” she asked, watching him with those pale eyes that glimmered witch-bright in the darkness.

A sign of her growing immortality, he realized, wondering if she’d noticed an improvement in her night-vision yet. That would be a trait a hunter would value—for the kiss of immortality could only build on the bones of what was already present.

“We’re making our own rules,” she continued. “There is no template for us to follow.”

His mind flashed to her broken in his arms, her life bleeding out of her a drop at a time. Then had come the silence. Endless, merciless silence as she slept. “Elijah and Hannah have been together hundreds of years,” he said. “She follows his lead.”

A shaky smile from his hunter with her mortal heart. “Is that what you truly want?” It was a husky whisper.

He knew then that he could hurt her terribly at this moment. Like her father, he could tell her that she wasn’t what she should be, that who and what she was, was a cause for shame. In doing so, he’d hit at her biggest vulnerability and win this war between them.

He was an archangel. He’d made ruthless decision after ruthless decision.

“No,” he said, for she was exactly who she should be. His mate, his consort. “But it would be easier if you were like Hannah.”