The erotic scent of him made the image even more barbaric. "Didn't Raphael tell you to stop the scent games?" She dropped a knife down from her arm sheath and into the palm of her weaker hand. Weaker, not weak. All hunters could fight with both hands.
"That was last night." He bent closer, the planes of his face exquisitely drawn, the curve of his lips touched with a hint of cruelty. "Today, he's probably extremely pissed with you. He won't mind if I take a discreet bite." A hint of fang as he flashed her on purpose.
"Right here on the street?" she asked, looking up at the line of his throat, vividly conscious of the push of his erection.
He didn't bother to glance around. "We're near Archangel Tower. The streets belong to us."
"But"-she smiled-"I. Fucking. Don't!" Slashing out with her knife, she carved a line across his throat.
Blood sprayed in an arterial rush but she'd already dodged out of the way. Dmitri grabbed at his neck and fell to his knees, his shades falling away to display eyes blazing fire. She read her death in those eyes.
"Don't be a baby," she murmured, wiping the knife on the grass and sliding it back into the sheath. "We both know a vamp your age will recover within the next ten minutes." A violent wave of vampire scent crashed into her senses. "And here come your flunkies to help you out. Nice talking to you, Dmitri darling."
"Bitch." It was a wet gurgle.
"Thanks."
He actually smiled, hard, lethal, scary as hell. "I like bitches." The words were already clearer, his healing progressing at a faster pace than she would've believed.
But it was the dark hunger in his tone that got to her. Damn kinky vampire had actually liked the knife. Shit. Turning her back to him, she ran. The second he healed, he'd come after her. And right now, she was worried less about being killed than about being seduced out of her f**king mind.
Dmitri might make her ache with need, but she didn't want him when he wasn't around to dose her with that scent of his. It was a compulsion, that scent, far stronger than any other she'd ever heard of. But that was hardly surprising given who he called sire.
Raphael had taken her between one breath and the next. She'd thought she'd learned to detect him, to pick up the odd sense of disconnection between mind and self that had accompanied his earlier attempts. But this time, there had been nothing. One second she was worrying about vampire serial killers, the next she was crawling all over him, trying to suck his tongue down her throat. If she hadn't snapped out of it, she was pretty sure she'd have been sucking other things, too.
Her face flushed.
Not in anger, though that was there. In desire. In heat. She might not want Dmitri when he was out of range, but she wanted the archangel. That made her a candidate for the asylum, but under no circumstances did it excuse what he'd done.
An instant later, she passed out of the restricted Tower zone to hit busy city streets, but instead of slowing down, she pushed herself even harder. Reaching into her pocket as she ran, she pulled out a cell phone and pressed in an emergency code. "I need a retrieval," she gasped as soon as someone answered. "Sending location." She pressed a button, activating the special GPS widget-it would transmit her location to the Guild computers until she switched it off. Because she couldn't stay in one place. The second she did, the game was over.
She kept an eye out for a taxi, but, of course, there were none in sight.
Two minutes later, tendrils of hunger snaked around her, searching, caressing. A sumptuous warmth bloomed in the pit of her stomach. Shoving a fist against that body part, she took in another gasp of air and made a hard left. High-class department stores zipped by, followed by the Zombie Den-the hangout of choice for the vamps and their whores.
Images of the erotic scenes she'd witnessed last night filled her head.
Opulent.
Sensual.
Seductive.
Not whores, addicts. And the worst thing was, she couldn't blame them. If Raphael ever got her in bed-not a chance since she was going to cut off his balls the first opportunity she got-she'd probably crave him to the end of her days. Infuriated, she pumped up her arms and swerved around a kid on a skateboard.
"Where's the vamp?" the kid called out, jumping off his board in excitement. "Dude . . ."
Oh, f**k! She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dmitri gaining on her. The blood on his shirt was a scarlet flower but his neck was fine, his pretty face wiped clean. Snapping back her head, she darted into traffic, crossing the road to the blaring of horns, curses, and several excited screams. A tourist started snapping photos. Great. He'd probably get a shot of her being vampire-bit right before Dmitri turned her into a begging, crawling thing concerned with sex alone.
Her gun was suddenly in her hand. Knives were her weapon of choice, but if she was going to stop the son of a bitch before he got to her, she'd have to shoot him in the heart. There was a very slight chance she might actually kill him that way, and if she did, she'd be brought up on charges. Unless, of course, she could prove harmful intent. She could see it now.
"See, Your Honor, he was going to f**k me silly, make me like it."
Yeah, that would fly. With her luck, she'd end up with some old fogey of a judge who thought like her father-that women were pawns, spreading their legs their only talent. Fury boiled through her in a second violent wave. She was about to turn, her finger already on the trigger, when a motorcycle screeched to a stop in front of her. It was pure black, as were the rider's clothes and helmet. But there was a discreet gold G on the gas tank.
Switching direction, she jumped onto the back and held on for dear life.
Dmitri's hand brushed her shoulder as the motorcycle peeled away. She turned to find him standing at the curb, watching her go. He blew her a kiss.
Raphael closed the door to the black-on-black room. For a second, he stood in the utter lack of light and considered what he was about to do.
Lijuan was totally removed from humanity.
What had happened between him and Elena had been very human, very real.
He set his jaw, knowing he had no other choice. Not with Caliane for a mother. If this was the beginning of some kind of a degeneration . . .
Walking instinctively to the center of the room, he focused his angelic abilities to a shining beam deep within. Like the glamour, this was something only an archangel could do. But unlike the glamour, it demanded a far heavier price. For the twelve hours after he did this, he would be Quiet, ruled by a part of his brain that had never known mercy and never would.
It was why he rarely used this form of communication. In the aftermath, he became something far closer to the monster that lurked in his heart, in the hearts of all archangels. Power was a drug and it didn't only corrupt, it destroyed. It was during one of these Quiet periods that he'd punished the vampire who had ended up in Times Square.