A gift. A curse.
Bruisingly aware that memories could make you bleed as effectively as any razor, she took a step back from the past. It would return to haunt them both soon enough. "Are your eyelashes like your hair?"
He followed her lead without skipping a beat. "Yes. They're very beautiful - want to see?"
Her lips twitched. "Vanity is a sin, Bluebell."
"When you have it, flaunt it, I say." Grinning, he wandered over to perch on the side of the bed. "Look."
Curious, she did. He'd told the absolute truth - his eyelashes were inky and black tipped with the same bright blue as his hair, a startling contrast against the gold of his eyes.
"They're okay," she said offhandedly.
He scowled. "And here I was about to offer to brush your hair."
"I'll brush my own hair, thank you." Pushing at his shoulder, she nudged him off the bed. "Grab me the brush."
He threw it to her before returning to the balcony. "Why haven't you asked why I'm here?"
"I'm not at full strength, Raphael is overprotective, it's not difficult to do the math." Her frustration at her current physical state did nothing to negate the cold, hard truth - her headwould make a mighty fine trophy for more than one immortal. Especially the most beautiful and most vicious one of them all.
"Apparently, this aspirant," Illium said over his shoulder, "plans to make his mark by stabbing a Guild dagger through your heart. Or maybe by using it to hack off your head one piece at a time."
The echo of her own thoughts startled her - but it shouldn't have. Because like it or not, she was hot news in the angelic world, the first angel Made in living memory. "I think I need some food before I start thinking about all the horribly painful ways I could conceivably die."
"There's some in the living area."
"Where's Raphael?"
"At a meeting."
Elena had been saved by her instincts more than once. Now, her hand clenched on the carved wooden handle of the brush. "With who?"
"It'll only make you mad."
"I thought you were my friend."
"Who's currently trying to save you from unnecessary fretting."
Fretting?"Stop stalling and tell me."
Turning with a huge sigh, Illium said, "Michaela."
A flash of memory, bronze angel dust on Raphael's wings. Elena ground her teeth together. "I'd think the Refuge would be too quiet for Her Royal Bitchiness." New York, Milan, Paris, that was more Michaela's milieu.
"You'd be right." His eyes gleamed. "But seems she's developed a sudden interest in the place."
Yanking the brush through her hair, she found the hair-tie she'd left on the bedside table and put the unmanageable mass up in a high ponytail. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Illium gave a pointed cough. "I wouldn't suggest going to them in your present condition."
"I'm not an idiot," Elena muttered. "I want to do some exercise."
"You're supposed to rest 'til morning."
"Trust me, I know my body." She stood with a groan. "If I don't loosen these muscles now, it'll be worse tomorrow."
Illium didn't say anything, simply watched as she walked to the bathroom. Closing the door, she splashed water over her face and willed herself to stop thinking about what might be happening between Raphael and Michaela. She wasn't worried that Raphael would sleep with Michaela - quite bluntly, Raphael wasn't the cheating kind. If he tired of her - and yeah, it hurt to even consider that - he'd tell her to her face. More, she had a feeling he saw through Michaela's beauty to the venom inside.
But it was impossible to forget the female archangel's stunning face, that body that had seduced kings and destroyed empires. By contrast, Elena's own face - reflected in the mirror - was too thin, her skin carrying the pallor of a year spent in sleep. Confidence wasn't exactly easy. "Enough." Putting down the face-towel, she walked back out.