Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

stared sightlessly out of empty eye sockets. “I’ll cooperate.”
    “Come.” He held out an arm.
    She went closer. “Sorry if I stink.” Her cheeks heated.
    His arms closed around her. “You smell of angel dust.” With that, he lifted off—and turned them invisible.
    She closed her eyes. “I’m never going to get used to that.”
    “I thought you liked flying.”
    “Not that.” She held on harder, hoping she’d laced her boots up tight. She wouldn’t want to accidentally brain someone. “The being-invisible thing.”
    “The glamour does take some getting used to.”
    “You aren’t born with it?” She fought a shiver as they rose higher.
    “No. It’s a gift that comes with age.”
    She bit her tongue at the question that wanted out.
    “Learning discretion, Elena?” A tinge of amusement dulled the fury she could sense just beneath his skin.
    “I—I—” When her teeth began to chatter, she decided to hell with discretion, and pretty much crawled onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. He was so deliciously warm. “I’m trying to limit the reasons for which you might have to kill me.”
    He changed his hold to accommodate her. “Why should I kill you when I can wipe your mind?”
    “I don’t want to lose my memories.” Even the bad ones, they were what made her who she was. Now, today, she was a different Elena to the one who’d never known what it was to kiss an archangel. “Don’t make me forget.”
    “Will you trade your life to keep your memories?” A soft question.
    She thought that over. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I would rather die as Elena, than live as a shadow.”
    “We’re almost to your apartment.”
    Forcing open her eyes, she turned to look at her home. The blown-out window had been covered by some sort of clear plastic, but whoever had done it hadn’t bothered to anchor it in anything but a cursory fashion. One side was down, flapping in the wind. Her eyes watered. She told herself it was caused by the rush of air cutting over her face.
    Raphael flew to that corner and had her tug at the plastic until enough of it was free that she could squeeze inside. Once she was in, she made a wider hole and he walked in, snapping his wings closed behind him. The wind whistled into the apartment as she stood there taking in the mess and feeling her heart break.
    The glass was still where it had been when Raphael had shattered the window. So was the blood. Raphael’s blood. Her own where she’d cut herself. But a massive wind had come through the living room at some stage, throwing her bookshelf to the floor and breaking the twin to the vase in her bedroom. Papers littered the carpet and the walls were streaked in a way that said there’d been a small squall, a flash of rain that had destroyed what wasn’t already broken. The carpet felt damp, the air musty.
    At least the door had been fixed enough that it shut. She wondered if it had been boarded over from the outside, nails pounded into the beautiful wood.
    “Wait,” she said, scooping up her—thankfully—still functional cell phone. “I’ll get an overnight bag.” With that, she walked over the glass and carpet toward her bedroom, back ramrod straight. “Do I have time to shower here?”
    “Yes.”
    She didn’t give him time to change his mind, heading into the bedroom to grab a towel and some underwear.
    “I don’t like the color scheme.”
    She paused with her hand on a pair of plain cotton panties. “I told you to wait.”
    He strolled in, went to her French doors, and pushed them open. “You like flowers.”
    “Raphael, leave.” Her hand trembled she was clenching it so hard.
    He looked over his shoulder, a lethal chill in his eyes. “You’d cause a fight over my curiosity?”
    “This is my home. I didn’t invite you in, not when you blew out the window and destroyed my living room, and not today.” She stood her ground, seconds from a breakdown. “You will respect that, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you again.”
    He stepped out onto the balcony. “I’ll wait here. Is that acceptable?”
    Surprised he’d bothered to ask, she considered it. “Fine. But I’m closing the doors.”
    He didn’t say anything as she closed the French doors and then, for good measure, pulled the heavy brocade curtains. The last thing she saw was the back of a pair of wings shot through with gold. The beauty of him hit her afresh each time, but today, she was too splintered inside to appreciate it.