Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

still somehow harsh.
    Elena looked up to find Michaela on her feet.
    “I can’t sit here and listen to you speak of Uram this way. You have no comprehension of what it is to lose someone you’ve known half a millennium.” Her eyes met Elena’s and at that second, Elena believed her.
    “No,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
    Michaela flicked off the sympathy. “I don’t need a mortal’s pity. Raphael, I would speak with you.”
    “I’ll escort you out.”
    As they left the room, their wings occasionally brushing, Elena felt a surge of jealousy so strong her hand was on her gun before she realized it. The touch of cold metal against warm skin was what brought her back. Gritting her teeth, she turned and attacked the sandwiches with relish.
    By the time Raphael returned, she was no longer starving, which was probably why she didn’t stab a fork through his eye when she saw the brush of bronze angel dust on his wing. “Is that like a cat marking its territory?”
    Raphael followed her gaze, flaring out the affected wing. “Michaela isn’t used to being denied.” Picking up a fancy cloth serviette, he came to her. “Wipe it off.”
    The urge to rebel against the command smashed up against her need to rub that bitch’s mark off his wing. Stupid possessiveness won. “Turn around.”
    He did so in graceful silence. Standing, she dampened the cloth with water before touching it to his wing. She was very careful not to get any of the sticky stuff on herself, but her caution appeared to have been unnecessary. “It’s coming off easy. Not like the one you dusted me with.” Even now, the light caught on stray flecks embedded in her skin, flecks she was sure Michaela had seen.
    “I told you—yours was a special blend.”
    Something warm and melty spread through her body. “Marking me, angel boy?”
    “I prefer to do that with my cock.”
    Shocked by the rush of wet heat between her thighs, she put the napkin on the table. “All gone.”
    He flexed his wings, then turned. “You truly are an enigma. So fearless in hunting vampires, so prudish in your sexual tastes.”
    “I’m not fearless. I’m scared shitless,” she said. “And as for the rest—being an enigma is good, right? After all, you only play with your toys as long as they amuse you.” She didn’t know how it had happened, but she found herself backed up against the table, with Raphael blocking her in.
    When he lifted her to the table itself, she didn’t protest. She even spread her thighs to accommodate him. Part of her was still cold. What she’d seen in that warehouse had brought too much to the surface. That sound, that dripping, it was a never-ending drumbeat in her head. She wanted to forget. And Raphael—dangerous, seductive, lethal Raphael—was far better than any drug. “No dust,” she murmured as he slid his hands up her thighs to grab her hips. “I don’t have time to wash it off.”
    But he didn’t kiss her. “Tell me about your nightmares, Elena.”
    She froze. “Spying again?” She was human—she kept forgetting he had no respect for the boundaries of her mind.
    His eyes turned chrome blue. “I have no need to. You don’t have sex in your eyes. You have death.”
    She wanted to shove him away, but part of her—the cold part—liked the heat of his touch, was excited by that veiled hint of menace. No other man had ever come close to handling everything she was.
    So she satisfied her urge to kick at him by leaning back, palms down on the table. It was a good thing they weren’t near the food, otherwise, her hair would’ve been in the coffee. “So,” she said, “you’re an expert in reading women?”
    “I’ve been alive a long time.”
    She felt her eyes narrow. “Have you and Her Royal Bitchiness ever fucked?”
    He squeezed her hips. “Be careful, Elena. I can’t always be around to protect you.”
    “Is that a yes?” She could imagine them mating in flight, a blinding—a goddamn beautiful—image of white gold and bronze.
    “No. I’ve never taken Michaela up on her offer.”
    “Why not? She’s hot—tits and ass are all men ever see.”
    “I prefer lips.” He bent and bit down a fraction too hard on her lower lip before raising his head. “And yours are quite succulent.”
    Michaela’s, she thought on a crashing wave of pleasure, were nicely shaped but thin. But—“I’m not buying.” She didn’t change her position. “Who the hell cares about lips?”
    “If you were on your knees