Archangel's Kiss (Guild Hunter #2)(71)

“As long as Lijuan lives, Xi will continue to gain power. Without her, his body wouldn’t be able to hold what it does.”

“Can all archangels do that?” she asked, feeling her skin creep when Xi’s eyes shifted to stroke over the exposed portion of her wings. “Share power?”

“Only Lijuan.”

Galen appeared to be arguing with Xi and finally, several minutes later, the Chinese angel snapped his feet together in an almost military salute and passed over a gleaming wooden box. But his eyes, they lingered on Elena for a long, chilling second.

She began to walk toward Galen the instant Xi left. The red-haired angel remained standing with his back to her, his eyes on the entrance. “It would be better,” he said in a very precise voice, “if you wait for Raphael to return before opening this.”

“Raphael’s gone to meet with Michaela and Elijah. It could be hours.”

“I’ll inform the sire—”

“No.” She put her hand on the box, almost flinched at the inhuman coldness of it. “The meeting’s important—it has something to do with Titus and Charisemnon.”

Illium touched her shoulder, his expression grim. “Lijuan is playing games, Elena. Don’t open the box without Raphael.”

She’d accepted that she was physically weaker though it galled, but there was only so much a hunter could take. “Give me a reason.”

“I don’t know what’s in there,” Illium said, his eyes shadowed in a way that turned the gold to something razor-sharp, a reminder that for all his playfulness, Illium hid a core as ruthless as the man he called sire, “but I know it’s meant to weaken Raphael.”

“You think she’d hurt me?” Elena stared at the carvings on the box, stared until the complicated patterns shaped themselves into the horror they truly were. “Corpses. They’re all corpses.”

“I think,” Illium said, placing both hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gentle against her nape, “there are many ways to hurt. Not all of them are physical.”

Elena played with the latch, her lungs expanding as she took a deep breath. “I can smell them. Fresh grass crushed with ice, a warm woolen blanket sprinkled with rose petals, blood strained through silk.” Her heart pounded in her chest, ready to hunt, to give chase. Under her fingertips, the box grew warm, as if sucking in her very life force.

Shoving away the unsettling thought, she swallowed. “There are pieces of vampire in here. Organs. They always smell the strongest.”

“It’s time for us to make our own move.”

She took her hand off the latch. “I don’t need to open it. I know what’s inside.” Lijuan had simply returned what Raphael had sent her. And if part of Elena was horrified by the form of his warning, another part—a raw, primal part born in a blood-soaked room almost twenty years ago—was viciously glad. “Do whatever you want with it.” Shifting on her heel, she broke Illium’s hold and walked out into the biting cold of a mountain afternoon.

Venom was waiting for her by a stony crag that had been left untouched by angelic hands, an incongruously untamed background for a vampire who looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of some high-class men’s magazine. Her sweaty, tense face reflected off the black lenses of his sunglasses, his own as untouched as always. “How much wax does it take to keep your hair that perfect?” she muttered as she tried to walk past.

He blocked her with a single smooth move. “It’s a natural gift.”

“Today is not the time to mess with me.” She wasn’t going to fall into the trap Lijuan had designed, wasn’t going to see Raphael as a monster, but . . . each time he did something that pushed the boundaries, it slapped her in the face with her new reality. A reality in which archangels played with immortal and mortal lives as if they were nothing but the most disposable of chess pieces.

Venom smiled, and it was a sight that would’ve sent many women to their knees, full of an erotic promise that said he’d make even death feel good. “I’ve been trying to figure out what he sees in you.”

Elena swiped out with a knife in her right hand, missing his arm by the barest fraction of a hair. His dodge was impossibly fast. When Venom moved, it reminded her only of the creature Neha had chosen as her avatar—as if he’d never been human. But today, even that wasn’t enough to compel her curiosity. She kept on walking.

The vampire appeared beside her again a moment later. “Dmitri now,” he murmured, “I can see why he’d want to play with you. He’s into knives and pain.”

“And you’re not?” She remembered all too clearly that scene in the garage—Venom prowling with silky grace toward a woman stunned to silence by his dangerous brand of sex. There’d been male appreciation in his expression . . . but there’d also been the primordial hunger of the much colder creature that marked his eyes. “You’re the one who secretes poison.”

“So do you.”

She halted, blinked, braced herself with her hands on her knees. “Shit.” How could she have let that go? Not asked Raphael about the consequences of becoming an angel?

A coolly honest part of her answered with a single word.

Fear.

She was scared. Scared to accept the irreversible truth of her new life. Scared to know that she might one day look into eyes as worshipful as Geraldine’s, and understand too late that she was creating a victim. Prey for the immortals circling like sharks.