Guild Hunter 02 - Angels' Flight

dark, only a luxuriant pleasure that muted the jagged edge of loss.
     
    Before she could form words from the fierce cascade of emotion in her heart, she heard a distinct and inquisitive “meow.” Heart tumbling, she tried to see around those big shoulders once more, but he turned to block her view as he crouched down. “You were supposed to stay quiet,” he murmured as he rose back up and turned to face her.
     
    The two tiny balls of fur in his arms— comically colored in a patchwork of black and white— butted their heads against his chest, obviously aware this wolf was all bark when it came to the innocent.
     
    “Oh!” She reached out to scratch one tiny head and found the kittens being poured into her arms. Squirming and twisting, they made themselves comfortable against her. “Noel, they’re gorgeous.”
     
    He snorted. “They’re mutts from the local shelter.” But his voice held tender amusement. “I figured you wouldn’t mind two more strays.”
     
    She rubbed her cheek against one kitten, laughed at the jealous grizzling of the second. Such tiny, fragile lives that could give so much joy. “Are they mine?”
     
    “Do I look like a cat man?” Pure masculine affront, arms folded across his chest. “I’m getting a dog— a really big dog. With sharp teeth.”
     
    Laughing, she blew him a kiss, feeling younger than she had in centuries. “Thank you.”
     
    His scowl faded. “Even Mr. Popinjay cracked a grin when one of them tried to claw off his shoe.”
     
    “Oh, they didn’t.” Christian was so vain about those gleaming boots. “Terrible creatures.” They butted up against her chin, wanting to play. “It’ll be good to have pets around again,” she said, thinking of Mimosa when she’d been young, of Queen. The memories were bittersweet, but they were precious.
     
    Noel walked closer, reaching out to rub the back of the kittenwith one black ear and one white. The other, she saw, had two white ones tipped with black. “I’m afraid there’s a condition attached to this gift.”
     
    Hearing the somber note in his voice, she put the kittens on the ground, knowing they wouldn’t wander too far from the cardboard box where they’d evidently been napping. “Tell me,” she whispered, looking into that harsh masculine face.
     
    “I’m afraid,” he said, opening his fist to reveal a sun- gold ring with a heart of amber, “the archaic human part of me requires this one bond after all.”
     
    Amber was often worn by those mortals and vampires who were entangled in a relationshiNimra had never worn amber for any man. But now she raised her hand, let him slide the ring onto her finger. It was a slight weight, and it was everything. “I do hope you bought a matching set,” she murmured, for it seemed she, too, was not quite civilized enough to require no bonds at all.
     
    Not when it came to Noel.
     
    His smile was a little crooked as he reached into his pocket to pull out a thicker, more masculine ring set with a rough chunk of amber where hers was a delicate filigree with a polished stone. “Perfect.”
     
    “We won’t be able to have children.” He spoke the solemn words as she slid the ring onto his finger with a happiness that went soul deep. “I’m sorry.”
     
    A poignant emotion touched her senses, but there was no sorrow. Not with an eternity colored by wild translucent blue. “There will always be those like Violet who need a home,” she said, rubbing her thumb over his ring. “Blood of my blood they might not be, but heart of my heart they will be.”
     
    Eliminating the small distance between their bodies, Noel stroked his fingers down her left wing, a slow glide that whispered of possession. As did the arms she slid up his chest to curve over his shoulders. There were no words, but none were needed, the metal of his ring warm against her cheek when he cupped her face.
     
    Her wolf. Her Noel.
     

Angels’
Dance

1
     
    FOUR HUNDRED YEARS AGO
     
    S he had seen empires rise and kingdoms fall, queens come and go, archangels clash in battle and drown the world in rivers of blood. She had recorded the archangel Raphael’s birth; recorded, too, the disappearance of his mother, Caliane; the execution of his father, Nadiel.
    She had watched her students take flight century after century, heading out into the world with dreams in their hearts and tentative smiles on their faces. She had read the letters they sent back from far-off lands of primeval