Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

minutes. “I saw one guard in the hall, Riker staked by the library. Where are the others?”
    “All dead,” she told him, lifting her left hand. A bloody diamond glittered on her ring finger. “On the roof.”
    “I’ll arrange extra protection.”
    She didn’t argue with him this time. “No invitation to your home?” She was starting to revive, burying her terror as immortals learned to do very early on.
    He met her gaze. “You must remain a tempting target.”
    Fear skittered in the backs of her eyes. “He won’t return tonight.”
    “No—he’s too badly injured. Get the house repaired while he’s down.” He looked up at the huge hole where the wall had been. “At least as much as you can. I’ll send you some of my angelic guards as well.”
    Michaela sat up, not bothering to cover her bare chest. It was a weapon, her body, one she wasn’t hesitant about using. But that wasn’t what she was concerned about right then. “Won’t that lessen my status as a tempting target?” In that moment, she was an archangel, knowing only that Uram had to die.
    “He’s arrogant enough not to worry about even other archangels, you know that better than anyone.”
    She looked up, a spark of true pain in her eyes. “I did love him. As much as an archangel can love.”
    He said nothing, leaving her to consider what immortality had made her as he went to find Elena. She was waiting for him outside, on the edge of the lawn where the woods began. Her eyes immediately shot to his wing. “He damaged you.” Anger whiplashed through the air.
    “I damaged him worse.”
    “Bastard got away.” She kicked at the leaves as they walked. “How’s Her Royal Bitchiness?”
    “Alive.”
    “Pity.” The word was caustic, but he remembered the compassion.
    He gripped her upper arm. “Don’t ever feel sorry for Michaela. She’ll use that vulnerability to destroy you.”
    “Yet you saved her life.”
    He slid his hand down to her elbow, then off. “She’s necessary. Impossible as it may seem, Michaela is more human than Charisemnon and Lijuan.”
    She said nothing as they emerged into his yard and entered the house. Montgomery was waiting. His distress at Raphael’s injuries broke through his usual reserve. “Sire? The healer?”
    “That won’t be necessary.” When the vampire continued to wring his hands, Raphael put a hand on his shoulder. “Be easy. It will heal by nightfall.”
    Montgomery relaxed. “Should I bring up the meal? It’s close to noon.”
    “Yes.” He turned to Elena as the other man moved down the corridor. “It seems we’ll share a second bath.” Geraldine and Michaela had both left their mark on him, not to mention the scarlet stain of his own injuries.
    She winced, touching the cuts on her cheeks—from the flying debris. “Just a quick shower for me. If I soak, my skin might peel off.” A glance at her bloody clothes, a result of being carried by Raphael. “Damn, I don’t think I packed any more spares.”
    About to reply, Raphael heard the sound of approaching wings, a rustle that announced another angel—one who wanted to be heard. When he looked up, it was to find Jason in his sights. The angel bowed his head in respect, his black hair pulled back in a queue. “Sire, we have a problem.”

35
     
    Elena couldn’t help staring at the new angel. His face . . . she’d never seen anything like it. The entire left-hand side was covered in an exotic tattoo composed of fine dots and swirling curves, the ink pure black against his glowing brown skin. There was a hint of Polynesia in that skin, that tattoo, but the sharpness of his facial features hinted at part of her own ancestry. Old Europe mixed with the exotic winds of the Pacific—it was one hell of a sexy combination.
    “Jason,” Raphael said in greeting.
    “You’re injured.” The new angel’s eyes went to Raphael’s wing. “This can wait.” He shifted slightly, the rustle of his wings alerting Elena to the fact that she hadn’t truly seen them. Frowning, she squinted into the dimness of the hall—the stained glass dull without sunlight—but still saw nothing aside from an indistinct shadow.
    She had to ask. “Where are your wings?”
    Jason gave her an inscrutable look, then flared out a wing in silence. It was a deep, sooty black. The wing didn’t reflect light but seemed to absorb it, the edges fading into the spreading gloom. “Wow,” she said. “Guess you make one hell of a night scout.”
    Jason