Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter #7)(45)

The white-haired male had read the interim autopsy report, then stared at the attached photos for considerable time, before saying conclusively, “Not natural. Not only is the severe cell-level damage incompatible with that, and with the ordinary process of mummification, the appearance of the corpse is all wrong in the context of its probable age, the fragile bones and teeth even more so.”

Janvier had been busy, too. He’d spent his time touching base with the “day” vampire community, and while he’d picked up a jumpy vibe, he thought that had more to do with the aftermath of the battle than their victim. “Let’s enjoy this dinner,” he’d said after the two of them swapped information. “The clubs won’t hit their stride till around eleven, and I can’t think of any other way to move forward at this point.”

Neither could Ashwini.

Now, she stroked her hand down the paintwork of his car, the black holding a faint shimmer that made the car appear a living shadow. “I can’t believe you had this all the time.”

He’d told her it had been garaged in Louisiana, that he’d hired a special truck to drop it off in New York. “Nobody,” he’d said, “drives her but me.”

Ashwini could understand his covetous air. This was one sexy machine. “How much did it cost?” She’d never thought of Janvier as rich, but he had to be—he was very, very smart, and the smart vamps always ended up wealthy.

“Don’t worry, cher.” A lazy drawl that licked over her like a full-body kiss. “I can keep you in the style to which I intend you’ll become accustomed.”

“Such dreams you have, sugar.” She patted his cheek, to his grin, before reaching inside the car and to the footwell where she’d stored the gift Naasir had bought Elena. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her fellow hunter’s face. “Here,” she said, careful to keep her body in the way of the windows as she passed it over to the vampire.

His hands touched hers as he took the present, but her ability only reacted with a bemused shrug. It didn’t know what to make of Naasir, which was fine with her. The lack permitted her to be friends with him without worry.

Looking at him, she shook her head.

Even though he’d been riding on top of the car—the maniac—the heavy silver silk of his hair had fallen back around his face in straight strands cut with a choppiness that suited him, and he looked far more civilized than she’d expected. He’d dressed in black pants and a black shirt, with an ankle-length black coat, the stark shade throwing his hair and eyes into sharp focus.

Janvier, by contrast, was in jeans and a thin, oat-colored sweater below his battered leather jacket. She could see the edge of a white T-shirt beneath the sweater. Around his neck was a burgundy scarf knit with a wool-angora blend. She’d sent it to him after the Atlanta operation, and this wasn’t the first time she’d seen it around his neck—if he wore a scarf, it was this one.

As she wore the sapphire pendant he’d given her. Right against her skin.

“You better go first,” Janvier said to Naasir. “Montgomery’s opening the door.”

Cradling his gift protectively in his arms, Naasir walked up to the door. “Hello, Montgomery.”

“It is a pleasure to have you here, sir.” The butler’s plummy accent held real affection.

“I promise not to claw up the furniture.”

“That would be most welcome,” Montgomery responded, without a hitch in his butlerish tone. “Sir, Guild Hunter.”

Nodding a greeting, Ashwini stepped inside to find Elena and Raphael heading toward them. She continued to have trouble comprehending how Elena could trust herself to someone that deadly and ruthless. Eyes of an excruciatingly pure blue and hair of a black darker than midnight, the Archangel of New York was in no way human, the power that pulsed off him a violent storm.

A touch on her lower back, Janvier’s hand anchoring her in the present when she would’ve been sucked into the vortex that was Raphael’s more than thousand years of life, her ability stretching out toward him like a child afraid of fire but wanting to touch it all the same. Drawing in a breath that was jagged inside her, she didn’t tell Janvier to break contact, the heat of his body a talisman against her own out-of-control mind.

In front of them, Naasir bowed his head. “Sire, Consort.”

? ? ?

Elena sighed in silent relief when she realized Naasir was holding nothing more dangerous than a potted plant, the pot wrapped in pretty foil paper. “It’s nice to see you, Naasir,” she said, touching Raphael’s mind with her own at the same time. The others will be disappointed. I think they were expecting something outrageous.

“This is for you.” Naasir handed her the plant. “I thank you for the gracious invitation to your home.”

The hairs rose on the back of her neck at the pristine civility of the words, the tiger-on-the-hunt scent of him at odds with the sophisticated vampire who stood in front of her. “Thank you,” she managed to say, wondering if she’d offended him somehow. Instinct told her Naasir was this polite only to people he didn’t like.

“If Jessamy asks, tell her I followed the rules.” A feral grin.

Oh. “I will.” Glancing down, she focused on the plant in her arms. It was unusual, the red heart of the open pods lined with what appeared to be tiny barbs. Intrigued, she touched a careful finger to the red . . . and it tried to eat her.