She watched, transfixed, as he walked to the edge of the roof. He was a being of such incredible splendor that simply seeing him move made her heart squeeze. It didn't matter that she knew it was a mirage, that he was as deadly as the filleting knife she carried strapped to her thigh. No one, not even she, could deny that Raphael the Archangel was a man made to be admired. To be worshipped.
That utterly wrong thought snapped her out of her dazed state. Pushing back her chair, she stared hard at his back. Had he been messing with her head? Right then, he turned and she met the agonizing blue of his eyes. For a second, she thought he was answering her question. Then he looked away . . . and walked off the roof.
She jumped up. Only to sit back down, blush reddening her cheeks, when he winged upward to meet an angel she hadn't seen until that moment. Michaela. The female equivalent of Raphael, her beauty so intense that Elena could feel the force of it even from this distance. She had the startling realization that she was looking on at a midair meeting between two archangels.
"Sara's never going to believe this." She forgot the stench of young vampire for the moment, her attention hijacked. She'd seen photos of Michaela, but they came nowhere close to the reality of her.
The other archangel had skin the color of the most exquisite, fine milk chocolate and a shining fall of hair that cascaded to her waist in a wild mass. Her body was quintessentially female, slender and curvy at the same time, her wings a delicate bronze that shimmered against the richness of her skin. Her face . . . "Wow." Even from this distance, Michaela's face was perfection given form. Elena fancied she could see her eyes-a bright, impossible green-but knew she had to be imagining it. They were too far away.
It made little difference. The female archangel had a face that would not only stop traffic, it would cause a few pileups in the process.
Elena frowned. Despite her appreciation for Michaela's looks, she was having no trouble thinking straight. Which meant the damn arrogant blue-eyed bastard had been fucking with her mind. He wanted her to worship him? They'd see about that.
No one, not even an archangel, was going to turn her into a puppet.
As if he'd heard her, Raphael said something to his fellow archangel and winged back down to the roof. His landing was a lot more showy this time. She was sure he paused to display the pattern on the inside surface of his wings. It was as if a brush dipped in gold had started at the top edge of each wing and then stroked downward, fading to white as it neared the bottom. In spite of her fury, she had to face the truth: If the devil-or an archangel-came to her and offered her wings, she might just sell him her soul.
But the angels didn't Make other angels. They only made blood-drinking vampires. Where angels came from, no one knew. Elena guessed they were born to angelic parents, though, come to think of it, she'd never actually seen a baby angel.
Her thoughts derailed again as she watched the fluid grace of Raphael's walk, so seductive, so-
Rising to her feet, she sent her chair crashing to the tiles. "Get. Out. Of. My. Head!"
Raphael came to a standstill. "Do you intend to use that knife?" His words were ice. Blood scented the air, and she realized it was her own.
Looking down, she found her hand clenching on the blade of the knife she'd drawn instinctively from the sheath at her ankle. She'd never have made such a mistake. He was forcing her to hurt herself, showing her she was nothing but a toy for him to play with. Instead of fighting, she squeezed harder. "If you want me to do a job for you, fine. But I won't be manipulated."
His eyes flicked over the blood seeping from her fist. He didn't have to say anything.
"You might be able to control me," she said in response to the silent mockery on his face, "but if that would've gotten the job done, you'd have never gone through the farce of hiring me. You need me, Elena Deveraux, not one of your little vampire flunkies."
Her hand unclenched in a violent spasm as he made her release the blade. It fell to the ground with a thud cushioned to softness by the blood that had pooled below. She didn't move, didn't attempt to stem the flow.
And when Raphael walked to stand less than a foot from her, she stood her ground.
"So, you think you have me over a barrel?" The sky was a seamless blue but Elena felt storm winds whip her hair completely out of its coil.
"No." She let his scent-clean, bright, of the sea-settle over the lingering coat of vampire on her tongue. "I'm ready to walk away without a backward look, return the deposit you paid the Guild."
"That," he said, picking up a napkin and wrapping it around her hand, "is not an option."
Startled by the unexpected act, she closed her hand to help slow the bleeding. "Why not?"
"I want you to do this," he responded, as if that was reason enough. And for an archangel, it was.
"What's the job? Retrieval?"
"Yes."
Relief began to wash through her like the rain she could feel so close. But no, it was his scent, that fresh bite of water. "All I need to start with is something the vampire wore recently. If you have a general location, even better. If not, I'll get the Guild's computer geniuses on tracking public transport and bank records, et cetera, while I hunt on the ground." Her mind was already at work, considering and discarding options.
"You mistake me, Elena. It's not a vampire I want you to find."
That halted her in her tracks. "You're looking for a human? Well, I can do it but I really don't have any advantage over a good private investigator."
"Try again."
Not vampire. Not human. That left . . . "An angel?" she whispered. "No."