Guild Hunter 03 - Archangel's Consort

see something better in Michaela, she knew he was right. “I won’t ever lower my guard around her, don’t worry.”
    Seemingly satisfied with her promise, he returned his attention to the body. “Another kill such as this was found in her territory last night.”
    And if there were two . . . “Damn.”
    “The killer was caught in that case, raving with madness.”
    “That seems to be the pattern.” She looked up at the sound of the forensic investigators, waved them down. “Body’s all yours.”
    As they came nearer, trying not to stare at Raphael while doing exactly that, the Archangel of New York moved a small distance from the body, choosing to stand right on the water’s edge.
    “I can’t pinpoint the scent of the killer here.” Frustration churned through her as she followed him. “The area’s—”
    “It may not signify,” Raphael said. “Dmitri spoke to me earlier today of a vampire who, from the evidence, appears to have set himself alight last night then stood in place as he burned. That is not the act of a sane man.”
    Elena blew out a breath. “Yeah, good chance it was him. If Dmitri has a name, I can check his apartment, get the scent there, see if he was in this area at least.”
    “Identification may take weeks, depending on whether anyone reports him missing—the fire turned the body to ash.” He flared out his wings and beyond them, the cops went motionless.
    Elena could well understand their fascination. She’d touched those wings, felt that powerful body hot and demanding above her own, and still her chest went tight.
    “I will speak to Jason,” Raphael said, not noticing the reaction of the humans, “have him check with his informants about other murders that may be connected.” Wings spread to their breathtaking widest, he rose into the sky. Contact me the instant you sense any hint of her presence—she would crush you, Elena, and think nothing of it.
    I know. With that, she let him go. Some nightmares, she knew all too well, couldn’t be cured in a day or even a year.
     
     
    Given the viciousness of the girl’s murder, the grisly sui cide of her probable killer, and the other outbreaks of violence that had been her welcome to the city, Elena was almost surprised four days later to discover that they’d passed in peace—though it was a peace strung taut as a bow as everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.
    Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she’d spent a few hours one day placing several more plants in the solar, along with a selection of her other treasures—the delicately carved mask from Indonesia went on the wall beside the door, the tiny glass candy ornaments from Murano in a crystal bowl atop the small writing desk, and the swathe of hand-embroidered silk from Kashmir she hung up on the other wall like a tapestry. Midnight blue shot with gold, it glowed in the sunlight.
    “Setting up a nest, Guild Hunter?” Raphael had asked only last night as he stood leaning against the doorjamb.
    She’d looked up from where she was arranging her favorite books in a gorgeous little bookshelf made of reclaimed lumber that Montgomery had found for her, caught by how very male Raphael was—especially here, in a place she’d turned exquisitely feminine. “It’s what hunters do.” She had a feeling that deep-rooted sense of home would be even more crucial in this new life. “But,” she’d added, “you’ve already created the nest.” This house, for all its size, was nothing like the cold elegance of the Tower. Here was warmth and beauty, a place where she could collapse in bed and snuggle into the blankets.
    “Then what is this?”
    “I’m marking out a piece of the house as my own territory.”
    A cool pause. “I will not allow you to put distance between us, Elena.”
    She’d seen that one coming, was more than ready to handle it. “I need a place where I can slam the door in your face when I’m mad. I’m pretty sure both of us would prefer that place be here and not elsewhere.”
    “And will I be invited into this part of the nest?”
    “Perhaps.” The tease had gotten her a less than amused look. Smiling, she’d reached for a small box about the size of a memo cube that she’d kept to the side. “I have something for you.”
    As with the last time she’d given him a present—the ring that burned with amber fire—he’d appeared both surprised and delighted. “What do you give me?”
    “It’s for your suite at the