Knives and Sheaths

passion between them a smoldering flame.
    Pulse a drumbeat when they separated, she parted moist lips to say, “You’re lethal.”
    He smiled and knew it held the arrogance of deadly power—it was who he was, what he needed to be to rule. But his consort was not a woman to be scared by such a thing, and she demanded another kiss before stepping back, cheeks flushed and breath shallow. “No melting my bones. I have to go haul three baby vamps off their asses and back to their angel.”
    “I sense a note of disgust.”
    “I’m one of the most experienced hunters in the city, and Sara puts me on babysitting detail—I’d think it was a conspiracy, but turns out a whole group of baby vampires got it into their heads that they need to ‘rebel against the hierarchy’.” A snort. “Ransom’s got two on his list today, and Ashwini’s bringing in three.”
    “It’s astonishing,” Raphael said, moving to the sprawling breadth of his desk, “how people do not find such a cause until after they have been Made.” The lure of almost-immortality was a drug, but the reality was a hundred years of subservience to the angels, and that reality could have a bitter taste.
    “Buyer’s remorse doesn’t negate the Contract.” She rubbed absently at her forearms. “I should be back in three hours tops, since none of my targets appear to be geniuses. Do you have time to spar with me? With Dmitri, Venom, and Jason all gone, I’m losing practice time.”
    “I need to meet with Nazarach,” he said, speaking of one of the powerful angels in his territory, “but Janvier has settled in and should have some time, so speak with him when you return.” According to Dmitri, the younger vampire was the dirtiest street-fighter the leader of Raphael’s Seven had ever met. He’d be able to assist Elena increase her arsenal of tricks, give her further tools to survive the immortal world. Come here, Consort.
    Giving him an arch look, she sauntered over. “You summoned?”
    He opened the small box sitting on his desk and brought out two butter-soft knife sheaths meant for her forearms. "I cannot have you out in the world without your blades."
    “Raphael!” Gathering up the gifts, she made feminine sounds of pleasure he usually only ever heard as she lay sweat-slicked and naked in their bed. “This is Deacon’s work. Oooh, they feel…” Doing up the buckles, she slid in the knives and shivered.
    “Careful, Elena. I may decide you enjoy those sheaths far too much.”
    Grinning, she twisted and pulled out the blades in a quick draw, testing positioning and tightness. “God, Deacon is talented.” She slid the knives back in a second later, and spun into his arms with the lithe grace of a fighter, her smile fading into an intensity of emotion so raw, it was a stormcloud over her irises.
    “You know me.” Her fingers brushing his cheek. “You see me.” Thank you.
    He brought her closer to his body, her weapons hard edges against him. “You are extraordinary.” And you are my consort. Mine to know, mine to see.
    Lips curving, though the intensity didn’t abate, she rose up on tiptoe and whispered, " Knhebek , Archangel," the emotion in her a vivid wildness as she spoke words of love in the language that meant so much to her. Knhebek.