Psy & Changelings 09 - Play of Passion

angel-Made . . . Even the oldest of vampires and the angels themselves found her a curiosity. She had no doubts about how the human population would react. “Can’t you do your scary thing and make them keep their distance?” However, even as she spoke, she knew it wasn’t the reaction of the general population that worried her.
    Her father . . . No. She wouldn’t think about Jeffrey. Not tonight.
    As she forced away thoughts of the man who had repudiated her when she’d been barely eighteen, Raphael swept out over the Hudson, dropping so hard and fast that she yelped before she could catch herself. The Archangel of New York was one hell of a flier—he skimmed along the water until he could’ve trailed his fingers in its rushing cold, before pulling himself up in a steep ascent. Showing off.
    For her.
    It made her heart lighten, her lips curve.
    Dipping down to join him at a lower altitude, she watched the night winds whip that sleek ebony hair across his face, as if they could not resist touching him.
    It will do no good.
    “What?” Fascinated by the almost cruel beauty of him, this male she dared call her lover, she’d forgotten what she’d asked him.
    For me to scare them away—you are not a woman to stay in seclusion.
    “Damn. You’re right.” Feeling her shoulder muscles begin to pull in ominous warning, she winced. “I think I need to set down soon.” Her body had been damaged in the fight against Lijuan. Not much, and the injuries had healed, but the enforced rest period meant she’d lost some of the muscle she’d built up prior to the fight that had turned Beijing into a crater, its voice the silent cry of the dead.
    We’re almost home.
    Concentrating on keeping herself heading in a straight line, she realized he’d shifted position so she was effectively riding his wake—meaning she no longer had to make as much effort to hold herself aloft. Pride had her scrunching her face into a scowl, but contrasting with that was a deep warmth that came from knowing she was important, more than important, to Raphael.
    And then she saw it, the sprawling mansion that was Raphael’s cliff-top home on the other side of the river. Though the land backed up against the Hudson, the place was hidden from casual view by a thick verge of trees. However, they were coming at it from above, and from there it looked like a jewel set in the velvet darkness, warm golden light in every window—turning into pulses of color where it hit the clean lines of the stained glass on one side of the building. The rose bushes weren’t visible from this angle, but she knew they were there, their leaves lush and glossy against the elegant white of the house, hundreds of buds ready to bloom in a profusion of color as the weather grew warmer.
    She followed Raphael down as he landed in the yard, the light from the stained glass turning his wings into a kaleidoscope of wild blue, crystalline green, and ruby red. You could’ve landed on one of the balconies, she said, too focused on ensuring a good landing to speak the words aloud.
    Raphael didn’t disagree, waiting until she was on the ground beside him to say, “I could have.” Reaching out as she folded away her wings, he gripped her gently at the curve where her neck flowed into her shoulder, his fingers pressing into the sensitive inner seam of her right wing. “But then your lips would not have been so very close to mine.”
    Her toes curled as he tugged her forward, pleasure blooming in her stomach. “Not here,” she murmured, voice husky. “I don’t want to shock Jeeves.”
    Raphael kissed away her words with an unhurried thoroughness that had her forgetting all about his butler, her body warming with a slow, luscious sense of anticipation. Raphael.
    You tremble, Elena. You are tired.
    Never too tired for your touch. It terrified her how addicted she’d become to him. The only thing that made it bearable was that his hunger, too, was a raw, near-violent craving.
    A lick of storm ran up against her senses before he drew back with a hotly sexual promise. Later. A slow, intimate stroke along the upper curve of her wing. I would take my time with you. His lips parted, his spoken words far less incendiary. “Montgomery will like having you for his mistress, Elena.”
    She licked her lips, tried to breathe—and heard the rapid tattoo of her heart against her ribs. Yeah, the archangel knew how to kiss. “Why?” she finally managed to say, falling into step beside