Archangel's Consort (Guild Hunter #3)(82)

Sara was chatting with another hunter when Elena, the box containing the essence held to her side, poked her head around the open door of the Guild Director’s office. “Ash!”

The dark-eyed hunter looked up, a smile lighting up that face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the silver screen. “Hey, Ellie.”

“So, it’s safe for you to venture out of the Cel ars?”

Long jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of her, Ashwini buffed her nails on her white T-shirt. “No comment.”

Across the desk, Sara made an inelegant sound. “They’re flirting.”

Elena’s mouth fel open. “No.” She turned to Ashwini. “You and Janvier? I don’t believe it.”

“Janvier, who?” An angelic look that was so fake Elena burst out laughing.

“Did you real y do what I think you did to him?” she asked, any remaining shreds of her earlier frustrated distress drifting away. Because this place, these people, they were hers, too.

Ashwini’s lips curved into a feral grin. “All I’ll say is that damn vamp will think twice about messing with me now.”

Sara’s phone rang at that moment. As she took the cal , Ashwini lowered her voice and said, “Those wings are wicked awesome.” She wiggled her fingers. “Can I touch, or is that too weird?”

Elena knew Ashwini wouldn’t be offended if she said no—the other hunter had her own gifts, carried her own nightmares. “Quick touch of the primaries is okay.”

Ashwini ran a gentle finger over the large feathers of white-gold at the edges of her wings. “Wow. They’re alive—warm. I guess I never real y thought about that.”

“You wouldn’t believe how much I have to learn,” Elena said as Sara hung up.

“Ash,” Sara said. “I have a job for you.” A slow smile.

Ashwini’s eyes narrowed. “No effing way.”

“Language.” Sara’s eyes were dancing. “Seems like Janvier’s got himself in trouble again. Florida—somewhere in the Everglades.”

“There are swamps there.” Ashwini gritted her teeth. “I hate swamps. He knows I hate swamps. That’s it—I’m going to kil him this time. I don’t care if I lose my bonus.” Snatching the piece of paper Sara was holding out, she stalked out of the room.

Elena grinned. “You know that’s just what I needed after the morning I’ve had.” She told Sara what had happened in the Bronx.

Her best friend flapped a hand. “The fascination won’t last, Ellie. You’re not pretty enough.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, not my fault you hang around with gorgeous man-flesh.” A more solemn expression. “No matter what, you’ve got every hunter in the Guild behind you. Never forget that.”

“I won’t.” Raphael was her rock, but Sara and the Guild, Elena thought, were the foundation on which she’d built her adult life, found her footing. “How did you get to be so wise and all -knowing?”

“I hope Zoe thinks the same when she’s fifteen and wants to date some moronic senior.” Sara raised an eyebrow. “You want to talk about something else, I can tell .”

“Do you have Vivek’s blood stored?” The Guild did that for its hunters, for use in a medical emergency—however, Vivek wasn’t an active hunter.

Sara gave her a penetrating look. “No, but he’s up for his yearly physical next month.” A pause. “How much do you need?”

“A vial.”

“I’ll make sure you get it.”




Ten minutes later, having successfully navigated the obstacle course of the subterranean Cel ars below the Guild—and Vivek’s snippiness that she hadn’t visited earlier—Elena walked into the scent chamber.

Empty of furniture, the room was painted a stark white. It was also about the size of a shoebox. Gritting her teeth against the edge of claustrophobia, she drew in a breath to establish that the room was free of outside scents—other than those on Elena herself—before unstopping the bottle of liquid night that had cost her a considerable chunk of change.

Lush, sensual, rich . . . addictive.

She blinked, took a mental step back, tried again.

Dark, hidden notes of sunlight . . . of a very feminine compulsion. Not dangerous to a woman.

An intricate scent, Elena thought, fitting for an archangel.

But, while she was now certain she’d detected this exact combination of notes on the swinging bodies on the bridge and on the girl with the forget-me-not dress, it wasn’t quite what had hit her above the Hudson, or what she’d sensed in the bedroom when Caliane had whispered her son’s name.

Her brow furrowed.

It was highly possible, she admitted, that her memory was at fault, given that her adrenaline had been through the roof on both of those latter occasions.

The other fact was that both the girl’s mutilated form and the vampires on the bridge had been exposed to the elements—a more subtle note could’ve been lost long before Elena arrived on the scene.

Still ...




Elijah was standing by the river that ran behind the plantation house from where Nazarach control ed Atlanta when Raphael arrived. Landing a short distance away, he moved through the shade of the leafy trees that lined the bank, and to the edge of the quiet current. The fingers of a weeping will ow touched the clarity of it on the other side, and he could hear the calls of the birds hidden in the foliage.