Angel's Blood (Guild Hunter 1)

Raphael the Archangel was now the most hated person in her universe.

He held the door open for her. She walked through without saying a word. And when he came to stand beside her, his wings brushing her back, she stiffened and kept her eyes locked on the elevator doors. The car arrived a second later and she walked in. So did Raphael, his scent like sandpaper against her hunter-born senses.

Her knife hand was itching for a blade, almost painfully needy. She knew the feel of cold steel would center her but that sense of safety would be an illusion, one that might put her in even more danger.

I could make you crawl, Elena.

She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw protested. And when the elevator doors opened, she strode out without waiting for Raphael-only to come to an abrupt halt. Corporate decor sure had changed if this was considered business-appropriate. The carpet was a lush black, as were the gleaming walls. The sole pieces of furniture in her line of sight-a couple of small decorative tables-were also in the same exotically rich shade.

It shimmered with hidden color, with possibility.

Bloodred roses-arranged in crystal vases perched atop the small tables-provided a lush contrast. So did the long rectangular painting along one wall. She walked to it, mesmerized. A thousand shades of red in a fury that was somehow coolly logical, sensual in a way that spoke of blood and death.

Raphael's fingers on her shoulder. "Dmitri is talented."

"Don't touch me." The words dripped off her tongue like blades of ice. "Where are we?" She swiveled to face him, making a concerted effort not to go for a weapon.

Blue flames in his eyes but no violence. "On the vampire floor-they use this for . . . well, you'll see."

"Why do I need to? I know all there is to know about vampires."

A faint smile on his lips. "Then you won't be surprised." He offered her his arm. She refused to take it. His smile didn't falter. "Such rebelliousness. Where did you inherit it? Certainly not from your parents."

"One more word about my parents and I don't care if you break me into a million f**king pieces." Said through gritted teeth. "I'll cut out your heart and serve it to the street dogs for dinner."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure I have a heart?" With that, he began to move down the corridor.

Not wanting to follow a step behind, she caught up so they walked side by side. "A physical one, probably," she said. "An emotional one? Not a chance."

"What does it take for you to truly fear?" He seemed genuinely curious.

Once again, it appeared she'd skated the thin edge of danger and come out alive. But it had been a close call-she wondered how forgiving Raphael would be after she completed the job and was no longer of use. She wasn't going to stick around to find out.

"I was born a hunter," she said, making a mental note to organize an escape hatch. Siberia sounded good. "Not many people know what that means, the inevitable consequences."

"Tell me." He pushed through a glass door and waited until she'd passed before closing it. "When did you realize you had the ability to scent vampires?"

"There was no realization." She shrugged. "I could always do it. It took me until I was about five to understand it was something different, abnormal." The word slipped out, her father's word. She felt her mouth thin. "I thought everyone could do it."

"As a young angel might think everyone can fly."

Curiosity spiked out of the anger. "Yes." So there were child angels. But where? "I knew our neighbor was a vampire before anyone else did. I accidentally ratted him out one day." She still felt bad about that, though she'd only been a child at the time. "He was trying to pass as human."

Raphael's face settled into lines of displeasure. "It would've been better had he given the chance to someone else. Why accept the gift of immortality if you wish to be human?"

"I gotta agree with that one." She shrugged. "Mr. Benson was forced to move out after a neighborhood uproar."

"Not a tolerant place, your childhood home."

"No." And her father had been at the head of that intolerance. How it had humiliated him that his daughter was one of the monsters. "A few years later, I felt Slater Patalis brush by as he murdered his way across the country." Her heart froze in her chest, chilled by the secret horror connected to that name.

"One of our few mistakes."

Not really a mistake, she thought, not if he'd been normal going in. But she couldn't say that without betraying Sara. "So you see, I'm used to fear. I grew up knowing the bogey-man lurked outside."

"You lie to me, Elena." He stopped in front of a solid black door. "But I will let it pass. You'll soon tell me the truth of why you dance with death so eagerly."

She wondered if he had Ariel and Mirabelle's names in his files, if he knew the truth of the tragedy that had destroyed her mother and turned her father into a stranger. "You know what they say about being overconfident."

"Exactly." A small nod. "So tonight, I'll show you why those you call whores seek their vampire lovers."

"Nothing you do or say will convince me to change my mind." She scowled. "They're little more than drug addicts."

"Such obstinance," he murmured, and pushed open the door.

Whispered sounds, laughter, the tinkle of glass. It flowed out like an invitation. Raphael's eyes dared her to step inside. Fool that she was, she accepted the challenge and-slipping a knife from an arm sheath into her palm-walked in, piercingly aware of the archangel at her back, the na**d vulnerability of her spine . . . until her mouth dropped open in shock.

The vampires were having a cocktail party.

She blinked, taking in the muted, romantic lighting, the plush couches, the hors d'oeuvres accompanied by slender flutes of champagne. The food was clearly for the human guests, male and female, who stood talking, laughing, and flirting with their vampire hosts. Dinner suits lay snugly over lithely muscled shoulders, while cocktail dresses ran the gamut from long and slinky to short and sexy, the overriding themes black and red, with the occasional daring splash of white.

Conversation stopped the second they saw her. Then their eyes flicked behind her and she almost heard the collective sigh of relief-the hunter was on the archangel's leash. Stifling the childish urge to show them different, she slid the knife discreetly back up into the sheath.

None too soon, too, because a vampire was walking toward her, glass of wine in hand. At least she hoped it was wine-the dark red liquid could as easily have been blood. "Hello, Elena." The words were said in a beautiful, deep voice but it was his scent that was truly intoxicating-rich and dark and luscious.