Archangel's Kiss (Guild Hunter #2)(30)

It doesn’t matter. She came here to kill you. He raised his hand, the blue flames licking up his arms, and she knew Michaela was going to die. Sliding to the ground as her legs went out from beneath her, she said something she’d never said to any other man. I need you.

Raphael’s head snapped to her, his eyes alien in their luminescence. Time froze. And then he was kneeling by her side, the blue fire sucked back inside his body in a violent backdraft. “Elena.” He touched her cheek, and she felt an odd warmth invade her body, touch her bruised heart. An instant later, the beat smoothed out.

Raising arms that trembled in reaction, she drew him to her, holding his head as she whispered in his ear. “Don’t let her turn you into what she is. Don’t let her win.”

“She came to harm that which is mine. I can’t let that go unpunished.”

Possession was a wall of black flame in his eyes, but she knew it was about more than that. “It’s about power, right?”

A nod that sent midnight silk sliding over her hands, her archangel willing to listen to reason. For now.

“She’s out, unconscious, with my blade in her eye. Leave her somewhere where everyone can see that.”

“That’s bloodthirsty of you.” Lips against hers, his rage held in check. “The humiliation will be worse than any physical torment.”

“The bitch not only came after me, she hurt Illium. Is he—”

“He’s one of my Seven,” Raphael said. “He’ll live—though I wouldn’t say the same for Michaela’s men.”

“Poor Bluebell,” she said, looking out to see Illium bring down the last angel who’d been fighting with him. “It seems he’s always being wounded for—” Her throat closed up as Illium sliced the wings off the fallen male with a sword he’d pulled out of literally nowhere. “Raphael . . .”

“It’s a fitting punishment.” Rising to his feet, he went to Michaela’s body. The other archangel made a moaning sound as he lifted her, but didn’t regain consciousness. “Stay, Elena. I will return for you.”

She watched him take off, not entirely sure the female archangel would survive the cold rage that had turned Raphael’s expression remote in a way she hadn’t seen since they became lovers. Bracing her hand on the column behind her, she struggled to her feet just as Illium walked into the pavilion. Blood streaked his face, his hair, his sword.

“Where did the sword come from?” she asked as he took up a sentinel position in front of her. His back was bare, his shirt ripped off him. Spreading his wings, he hid her from sight, until her world was a wall of blood-streaked male muscle and feathers of silver blue drenched with fluid turning to rust.

“I failed you again.” It was a tight response.

She took several deep breaths, touched her hand over her heart, still able to feel those phantom fingers clawing at her. “Illium, you took down five other angels. And sliced their wings off.” With cold, calm efficiency.

He turned his head to meet her gaze, the faintest trace of a British accent in his frigid tone as he said, “You feel sorry for them?”

“I just—” Shaking her head, she tried to find the words. “When I sat in my apartment watching the angels land on the Tower roof, I used to envy them their ability to fly. Wings are something special.”

“They’ll grow back,” Illium said. “Eventually.”

The callous coolness of his voice was a shock. It must’ve showed, because he gave her a smile formed of ice. “Your pet has fangs, Elena. It disgusts you.”

It was the slap she needed to clear the remaining mental fog. “I think of you as my friend. And most of my friends can out-tough a prissy angel any day of the week.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. That familiar wicked smile slashed its way across his face. “Ransom has very long, very pretty hair. Maybe I should introduce it to Lightning?”

Of course Illium would name his sword. “Try it and I bet you, you’ll be missing some feathers when you get back.”

The blue-winged angel lifted the long, double-edged blade as if to sheathe it at his back. She was about to warn him that his harness was gone . . . when the sword disappeared. “We all have our talents, Ellie.” A sheepish smile. “Mine is a useful one. I have no personal glamour, but I can make small objects close to my body disappear.”

Elena wondered if that meant he’d one day become an archangel. “Have you been wearing a sword the entire time I’ve known you?”

A shrug. “A sword, a gun, occasionally a scimitar. It’s excellent for beheadings.”

Elena shook her head at the bloodthirsty recital, then froze when that head began to spin. “Go wash off the blood, Bluebell.”

“After Raphael returns.”

Elena took a few steps around the pavilion after pushing at Illium to move. “I can walk home.” She could feel the bruises blooming, but it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been—especially when it came to her heart. She rubbed the heel of her hand over it. A little sore, but otherwise okay. “And since I’m not suicidal, you can escort me there.”

“The sire asked you to stay.”

Actually, Elena thought, it had been more of an order—with no expectation that she’d choose to do anything else. “Illium, you should know something about me if this friendship’s going to have a hope in hell of working. I’m unlikely to obey Raphael’s every order.”