Angels' Blood (20 page)

“I learned rope bondage from a true adept,” he murmured, playing with strands of her hair as she released herself from the ropes.

She would’ve snapped at him to stop it but he wasn’t hurting her and now that Raphael was awake, she had a feeling it wasn’t Dmitri who posed the real danger. “Bathroom?” She jumped to her feet as soon as the ropes were undone, then moaned. “My muscles. Why the hell did you have to tie me up so hard?” She threw him an evil look.

“Maybe I was getting my own back.” He rubbed a hand across his throat.

“I thought you liked pain.”

A dark smile, filled with whispers of badness that would hurt oh so good. “But you didn’t stay to play.”

She sniffed the air suspiciously. No scent. He was just being his usual self. And gorgeous as he was, he didn’t make her stupid with lust. Maybe a touch affected, but what woman wouldn’t be? “For the last time, where’s the—” She followed the direction of his raised hand toward a small door. “Thanks.”

Once inside, she frowned and tried to use that “shield” that might turn out to be nothing but her imagination running wild. There was no way she wanted Raphael in her head at that moment. Ten minutes later, she’d used the facilities, washed her face, brushed her teeth using one of the disposable toothbrushes under the sink, and combed her hair using the dinky disposable brush. There was even a small white hair-tie included in the pack, which she used to pull her hair up into a ponytail, her own hair-tie having being lost God only knew when.

Looking in the mirror, she decided she’d do. The thin cuts on her face were barely noticeable and though her palms were a little tender, they wouldn’t limit her range of movement. As for clothes—her fatigue-green T-shirt looked okay and her black cargo pants weren’t too badly wrinkled. It was as good an outfit to die in as any. Not that she was going to make it easy for the archangel. That thought in mind, she quickly disassembled one of the disposable razors, intending to get to the blade.

“Fuck!”

“Did you find the razors, Elena?” came Dmitri’s voice from the other side. “You wound me with your estimation of my IQ.”

She threw the plastic in the trash. That vampire had somehow managed to remove the blade without destroying the razor as a whole. “Very funny.” Opening the door, she walked out.

Dmitri stood on the opposite side of the room, his hand on the doorknob. “Raphael wants to see you.” Gone was any hint of friendliness.

“I’m ready.”

That seemed to amuse him. “Are you?”

“How about a knife at least?” she bargained. “Make it a fair fight?”

He opened the door. “If it comes down to it, there will be no fight. But for some reason, I don’t think Raphael plans to kill you.”

That’s what Elena was afraid of. “Where are we going?”

“To the roof.”

Elena tried to remain calm as they made their way to the elevators and shot up. But there was no way she could forget the last time she’d gone up to the roof. Her hand clenched, remembering the ruthless ease with which Raphael had illustrated his control over her. Why the hell did she keep forgetting the reality of his nature?

Even as she thought that, she kept her mind tightly focused, thinking “closed” thoughts.

The doors opened to reveal the glass cage atop the roof . . . and déjà vu smashed into her full force. A table set with a white tablecloth, croissants, grapefruit, juice, and coffee sat in solitary splendor on that beautiful roof. The only difference was, this time, Raphael stood with his back to her on the farthest edge.

Forgetting all about Dmitri, she stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the exit. The elevator doors closed behind her, but she was barely aware of its—and Dmitri’s—departure, her focus on the wings of an archangel she’d last seen bleeding out on her apartment floor. “Raphael,” she said as soon as she exited the glass cage.

He turned slightly and she took it as an invitation to go to him—she had to see for herself that the damage had been healed. His wings appeared perfect from a distance and it was only as she got closer that she saw the startling change. “It’s as if you grew the pattern of the gunshot.”

He raised the wing so she could see the full scope of it. “I thought it was isolated to the underside, but it’s both.”

She stood, stunned. It was a scar but it was the most amazing scar she’d ever seen. “You do realize this makes your wings even more unique.” Even more inhuman in their beauty.

The wing lowered. “Are you saying you shot me as a cosmetic procedure?”

She could gauge nothing from the tone of his voice. Wary, she walked to stand beside him—but with several feet of distance between them.

He spoke again before she could, his eyes on her face. “You’re hurt.”

“Just surface cuts.” She showed him her palms. “They hardly even sting.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yeah.” The glass had been thick, less sharp than if she’d broken a dish. “So?”

His eyes shaded in that incredible way, until they were close to black. “Things have changed. There’s no more time for play.”

“You call threatening to throw me to my death, play?”

“I didn’t threaten you, Elena.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You were holding me over a very dark, very open space.”

His hair lifted off his face as the wind pushed inward. “But you survived. And I just spent a considerable amount of energy patching myself up.”

“Sorry.” She folded her arms, scowling, defensive. “What’s the punishment?”

“Will you take it meekly?” His wings stretched out behind him, spreading to cover the space behind her as well.

“Not a chance,” she muttered. “I haven’t forgotten what triggered this whole incident.”

“It doesn’t excite me to take an unwilling woman.”

Caught by surprise, she dropped her arms. “Are you saying you didn’t do it on purpose?”

“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you did enough damage that I need to . . . refuel.”

A hint of unease crawled up her spine. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you need rest?”

“No. I need an infusion of energy.”

“Like a vampire needs blood?”

“If you like.”

She frowned. “I didn’t know angels needed that sort of thing.”

“It happens rarely.” Folding back his wings, he came closer. “It takes a lot for the well to run this close to dry.”

He was right next to her now and she didn’t know how that had happened. No, that was lying to herself. He was close because she’d let him get close. “You scared me last night.”

Those dark, dark blue eyes reflected open surprise. “Do I not scare you usually?”

“Not like that.” She couldn’t help it, she reached out a hand to touch his wing before her neurons shrieked a warning and she wrenched it back.
No one
touched an angel’s wings without permission. “Sorry.”

He spread out the “scarred” wing. “Do you need to convince yourself that it’s real, not an illusion?”

Not caring that it amused him, she ran her fingers over the part of the wing she’d destroyed. The sensation was . . . “So soft,” she murmured, and yet she could feel considerable muscle and strength behind it. The warm vitality of it was a living pulse that beckoned her to continue stroking. When she lifted away her hands, reluctant to stop but knowing she had to, the tips of her fingers glittered. “Angel dust.”

“Taste it.”

She looked up, vividly conscious of the wings closing around her. “Taste?”

“Why do you think humans pay a fortune for it?”

“I thought it was a status thing—you know, look at my vial of angel dust, it’s bigger than yours.” She stared at the brilliant sparkles coating the tips of her fingers. “It tastes good?”

“Some call it a drug.”

She froze with her index finger close to her lips. “As in befuddle my mind?”

“No, it has no narcotic or other effect on the brain. It’s simply the taste.”

She met those beautiful, dangerous eyes and knew he could tempt her into hell itself. “Maybe this is your revenge?” Flicking out her tongue, she took a careful taste.

A shudder vibrated through her body, her toes curled, and she almost purred. “Wow, orgasm on a stick.” And a good orgasm at that. “You go around shedding this stuff?” A tendril of jealousy snaked its way up her body. She crushed it, telling herself she was going to add
Big
in front of her
Idiot
tattoo. “Guess it’s a power trip to see mortals scrambling for it.”

His lips curved. “Oh, this is a special blend for you.” Taking one of the fingers she hadn’t licked, he rubbed it along her lips. “What we usually shed is apparently comparable to the most delicious of chocolates or the finest of wines. Decadent, rich, and very expensive.”

She told herself she wasn’t going to lick the glitter off her lips. “And this blend?” The taste was inside her mouth without her having any knowledge of taking it in. And Raphael was incredibly close, his wings creating a white gold wall around them, his hands strong and warm on her hips. “What’s so special about it?”

“This blend,” he murmured, bending his head, “is about sex.”

She put her hands on his chest but it wasn’t a protest. After the blood, the fear, she needed to touch him, to know this glorious creature existed. “Another form of mind control?”

He shook his head, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers. “It is only fair.”

“Fair?” She flicked her tongue along his lower lip. It made his hands clench on her hips.

“If I licked you between your thighs, your taste would have the same aphrodisiac effect on me.”

No woman on the planet could’ve resisted the sexual heat
of Raphael at that moment. “Is this your idea of refueling?” she murmured, biting down softly on his lower lip.

His arms slid around her. “Sex and power have always been connected.” And then he kissed her.

Her feet lifted up on tiptoe as she tried to get closer. His arms crushed her to his chest, his wings blocking out the world as she gripped his shirt and tried not to drown under the overload of pleasure. That erotic, aphrodisiac angel dust seemed to be sinking into her pores through every inch of exposed skin, snaking through her body to collect in the hot, aching place between her thighs, the excess flowing through her body in a rush of liquid heat. Her breasts ached, her lips craved him.

“How’s the power generation going?” she gasped when he let her up for air.

His eyes were still as dark but sparks of electric blue glittered in the depths. “Exquisitely.”

Her reply was lost in the fury of his next kiss. Under her hands, his chest was hard, sculptured, hot. She wanted to shape, to taste, to pet. Stroking up, she found the collar of his shirt, and slid one hand inside to lie against his shoulder. His reaction was to grip her bottom with one hand and raise her so the hard ridge of his erection pressed against the vee of her thighs.

There was nothing removed or angelic about him at that moment. He was pure sexy, gorgeous male. And strong, so beautifully strong it made her feel feminine to the core. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to hold back her hunter strength. That was a little-known fact about hunters who were born, not trained. They were stronger than an ordinary human, more likely to survive an encounter with a pissed-off vamp.

“Good,” was Raphael’s only reaction when she wrapped both legs around his waist. He continued to hold her as if she weighed nothing and it was almost as erotic as the way his hand shaped her, strong and confident.

“You kiss pretty well for a guy with wings,” she murmured into the intimacy of his mouth. The truth was, he was threatening to blow off the top of her head.

“And your mouth is going to get you into trouble yet again.” He shoved a hand up under her T-shirt, spreading those strong fingers against her spine, igniting a shock of pleasure. “Feeling coerced?”

“Extremely.” But he’d been telling the truth about the angel dust—it tasted like pure sex but didn’t seem to be affecting her mind . . . at least no more than could be accounted for by the lust racing through her system.

He shifted his hold at that moment, continuing to support her with one hand under her butt, while the other snaked around her body to cup her breast. Electricity arced through her. “You don’t waste time,” she said, breaking the kiss to suck in a breath.

“Mortals don’t live long.” He pinched her nipple through her bra. “I have to take advantage of you while I can.”

“Not funny. Oh—” She pushed into his hands, wondering at herself. She’d never, not once, fallen for the vampires she so often came in contact with. More than one hunter had—hell, the old ones were not only pretty, they were smart and knew exactly how to please a lover. Dmitri was the perfect example.

Yet Elena had resisted, knowing that, for all their appeal, they were, in the end, almost-immortals who saw her as nothing more than a fleeting diversion. And she’d fought too hard for her right to live to value it so cheaply. But here she was, wrapped around an archangel. “How long do you play with your toys?”

He cupped her breast. “As long as they amuse me.”

The answer should have dampened the heat between them but those eyes of his, they were furious with sex, with hunger, with passion such as she’d never before known. “I have no intention of amusing you.”

He molded her sensitive flesh. “Then this will blow over very fast.” His tone said otherwise. “Now open your mouth.”

She did just that—to tell him not to give her orders. But he took advantage, sweeping in to entangle her senses in a wash of male hunger and the exotic, erotic taste of angel dust. She dug her fingers into his back, glorying in the heavy muscle under her touch. His lips left hers to trail down her neck—he grazed her with his teeth, leaving marks. “I would like very much to fuck you, Elena.”

She sucked in a cool breath of air, then buried her face against his neck, vividly conscious of his hand on her breast. “Such a romantic proposal.”