Angel's Blood

He was going to kill her.



Elena sat bolt upright in her beautiful artwork of a bed. The headboard was a one-of-a-kind design of the most delicately formed metal, while the white-on-white sheets and puffy comforters were embroidered with tiny, tiny flowers. To the right of her bed were sliding French doors that led out onto a small private balcony she'd turned into a miniature garden. And beyond that lay the view of Archangel Tower.



Inside, the walls were papered in a heavy cream design with accents of blue and silver that echoed the deep blue carpet. The curtains on the French doors were gauzy and white, though there was a heavier set of brocade curtains she usually kept tied back. Huge sunflowers bloomed against the white porcelain of the large Chinese vase in the opposite corner of the room, bringing the sunshine inside.



She'd been given that vase by a grateful Chinese angel after she tracked down one of his wayward charges. The young vampire-having barely completed her Contract-had decided she didn't need angelic protection anymore. Elena had found her huddling terrified in a sex shop that catered to a very weird set of clientele. The job had taken her into the bowels of the Shanghai underworld, but the vase was a piece of light, unblemished by time. The whole room was a haven, one she'd spent months getting just right.



But right then, she could've been sitting on a dirt floor in a hovel somewhere south of Beijing. Her eyes were open but all she saw was a frozen image of that vampire in Times Square, the one not a single fucking person had dared help. She knew she wouldn't end up that way, not if Raphael wanted the whole thing swept under the rug, but she was most certainly dead.



He'd told her about glamour.



As far as she was aware, no hunter, no human, knew about that particular little piece of archangelic power. It was akin to seeing the face of your kidnapper-no matter what he says after that point, you know you're done for.



"No. Fucking. Way." Clenching her hands on her beautiful Egyptian cotton comforter, she narrowed her eyes and considered her options.



Option 1: Attempt to back out.



Probable result: Death after painful torture.



Option 2: Do the job and hope.



Probable result: Death but probably no torture (good).



Option 3: Get Raphael to give her an oath not to kill her.



Probable result: Oaths were serious business so she'd live. But he'd still be able to torture her until she went insane.



"So think of a better oath," she muttered to herself. "No death, no torture, definitely no turning me into a vampire." She bit her lower lip and wondered if the oath could be extended to her friends and family. Family. Yeah, right. They hated her guts. But she didn't want them ripped open while she was forced to watch.



Blood hitting tile.



Drip.



Drip.



Drip.



A whistling, gurgling plea.



Looking up to find Mirabelle still alive.



The monster smiled. "Come here, little hunter. Taste."



Drip.



Drip.



A wet, tearing sound, thick, obscene, out of a nightmare.



Elena shoved off the comforter and swung her legs over the side of the bed, face ice-cold. That particular memory had the ability to destroy any and all warmth in her soul. Sitting there with her head in her hands, she stared down at the deep blue of carpet and tried to zone out. It was the only way to escape when the memories found a hole in her defenses and snuck inside, their talons as grasping and as venomous as that of-



Something smacked to ground on the balcony.



The gun she kept under her pillow was in her hand and pointed toward the French doors before she even realized she'd moved. Her hand was steady, her body flushed with adrenaline. Scanning the balcony through the gauzy curtains, she saw no one, but only a very stupid hunter would lower her guard that easily. Elena wasn't stupid. She got up, unmindful of the fact that all she wore was a white tank top and mint green panties cut to mimic tiny shorts, the sides slit halfway up and decorated with pretty pink ribbon.



Gaze focused outside, she used her free hand to push the gauzy curtains aside, one at a time. The balcony came into full view. No pissed-off vampire stood there. The fuckers couldn't fly but she'd once seen three of them scale a high-rise building like a pack of four-legged spiders. That bunch had done it as a joke, but if they could do it, so could others.



She double-checked.



No vampire. No angel, either.



Her arm was starting to ache a little from holding the gun in position but she didn't breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, she started scanning the edges of the balcony-she had a lot of plants out there, including creepers that hung down from the curved "roof" she'd had added-but she made damn sure nothing ever blocked her view of the balcony rim. If someone was clinging out there, she'd be able to see their fingertips.



More importantly, any intruder would've left streaks on the gel she sprayed out there every week. The stuff was made specially for hunters and cost an arm, a leg, and a kidney, but it was a highly effective way to detect intrusion. When inactive, it blended into any surface, but once touched by either vampire, human, or angel, it turned a vivid, unmissable red.



The gel was undisturbed and her senses didn't detect vampire.



Relaxing only slightly, she shot a quick look downward. Her eyebrows rose. A plastic message tube lay next to her lush red begonias. She scowled. The begonia stalks were easily breakable. If whoever had dropped this had so much as bruised the plants she'd babied to blooming health despite the cool kiss of summer's end, there'd be hell to pay. Finally convinced the area was secure, she lowered the gun and clicked open the door.



The breeze brought her the vibrant living pulse of the city but nothing else.



Even then, she was very, very careful as she edged out her body and rolled the tube toward her using her foot. She'd almost gotten it inside when she saw the feather drifting down to land gently on a curling fern. Kicking the tube inside, she lifted her gun and pointed it to the balcony roof-the guy who'd built it for her had told her she was crazy to block even part of the view, but he'd obviously never thought of danger coming from above.



Sure, she'd lost some visibility, but no one could ambush her from above without warning-though obviously she was getting too reliant on that shield if she'd missed her uninvited guest. That wouldn't happen again.



"This ammo goes through stone, much less the fake stuff you're sitting on," she called out. "Get the hell off there before you break it!"



The flap of wings sounded immediately. A second later, a flushed angelic face peered at her upside down. Her eyes rounded. She hadn't known angels could do that. "You the delivery boy? Straighten up-you're giving me vertigo."



The angel nodded then righted himself. He looked like one of those mythical cherubs the Renaissance artists had liked to paint, his face round and sweet, his hair all golden curls. "Sorry! I never saw a hunter before. I was curious." His eyes went huge as his gaze drifted south. His wings had already been beating fast as he tried to keep position, but now they went hyper.



"Eyes up or I'll shoot a hole in your wing."



His head snapped up, cheeks red. He dipped slightly to the left before righting himself. "Sorry! Sorry! I just got out of the Refuge. I-" He gulped. "I wasn't supposed to tell you that! Please don't tell Raphael."



Since the angel looked like he was about to cry, Elena nodded. "Relax, kid. And next time you have a delivery, come to the front door."



He winced. "Raphael said I had to do it this way."



Elena sighed and waved at him. "Shoo. I'll take care of Raphael."



The young angel looked terrified. "No, it's okay. Please don't. He might . . . hurt you." The last two words were less than whispers.



"No, he won't." Elena was going to make the archangel swear an oath. Though she had no idea how. "Now go-Dmitri gets jealous."



The boy paled and took off so fast she barely saw him. Well now, that was interesting. As far as anyone knew, angels controlled vampires. But what if power was much more fluid? It was something she'd have to consider.



Later.



After she'd made Raphael promise not to kill, maim, or torture her.



Locking the doors after checking on and watering her precious begonias-the yellow one was blooming like full summer wasn't a month past, which put a smile on her face-she pulled the curtains shut and slid the gun back under the pillow. Only then did she pick up the message tube and unscrew it.



The phone rang.



She considered ignoring it. Her curiosity was killing her. But a quick glance at the caller ID showed it was Sara. "Hey. What's up, Ms. Director?"



"I was going to ask you the same question. I had a really weird report last night."



Elena bit her lip. "From who?"



"Ransom."



"Figures," she muttered. The other hunter had the strangest hobby, considering his fascination with guns and weaponry. The fact that they lived in a major metropolitan city full of light pollution didn't seem to faze him. "He was stargazing, wasn't he?"



Sara blew out a breath. "With his super-duper high-powered gee-whiz telescope. And he told me you were, um, flying?" The last word was an incredulous question.



"I'll have to thank Ransom for calling me a star."



"I don't believe this," Sara whispered. "Oh, my-You were up there? Flying?"



"Yep."



"With an angel?"



"Archangel."



Pure silence for several long seconds. Then, "Holy shit."



"Uh-huh." She started unscrewing the lid again.



"What are you doing? I can hear you breathing."



Elena grinned. "You're such a nosy friend."



"It's in the best-friend rule book. Spill while I try to get over my shock."



"I had a delivery by angel a few minutes ago."



"What is it?"



"I'm just trying to . . ." Her voice trailed off as she succeeded in removing the lid. Fingers trembling, she stared at the contents of the tube, a tube that was lined several times over with cushioning material. She had a feeling baby-angel had been meant to make his drop with far more care. "Oh."



"Ellie? You're killing me."



Heart in her throat, she extracted the exquisitely crafted sculpture with careful fingers. "He sent me a rose."



A disappointed snort came through the telephone line. "I know you don't date much, sweet pea, but you can get those for five bucks at the corner store."



"It's made of crystal." Even as she spoke, light reflected off the rose in a distinctive fashion and her mouth fell open. "No way."



"No way, what?"



Disbelieving, she opened a nearby drawer, found a high-tensile cut-through-anything blade she didn't use much because the weighting was slightly off, and tried to gently scratch a tiny part of the stalk. The knife made no impact. But when she tried it in reverse, the rose scratched the blade's "scratch-proof" surface. "Oh, shit."



"Ellie, I swear I'm going to beat you to a pulp if you don't tell me what's going on. What is it? A mutant blood-sucking rose?"



Biting back a laugh, she stared at the indescribably lovely thing in her hand. "It's not crystal."



"Cubic zirconia?" Sara asked dryly. "Oh, wait, plastic."



"Diamond."



Absolute silence.



A cough.



"Could you please repeat that word?"



Elena held up the rose to catch the light. "Diamond. Flawless, one piece."



"That's impossible. Do you know how big it would have to be to carve out a rose? Is it microscopic?"



"Width of my palm."



"Impossible, like I said. Diamonds aren't carved. Really, it's impossible." Except Sara sounded a little breathless. "The man sent you a diamond rose?"



"He's not a man," Elena said, trying to stop the quintessentially female part of her from reacting in sheer delight at the wonder of the gift. "He's an archangel. A very dangerous archangel."



"Who's either besotted with you or tips his employees really well."



Elena laughed again. "Nah, he just wants to get in my pants." She waited until Sara had stopped choking on the other end to continue. "I said no last night. I don't think the archangel likes the word 'no.' "



"Ellie, my darling, please tell me you're messing with me." Sara's tone was a plea. "If the archangel wants you, he will have you. And-" She cut herself off.



"It's okay, Sara," Elena said softly. "If he takes me, he'll break me." Archangels weren't human, weren't close to human. When they were done with their pleasures, they cared nothing for their toys. "Which is why he'll never have me."



"How do you plan to ensure he doesn't come after you later?"



"I'm going to make him swear an oath."



Sara made a hmming sound. "Okay, I have the files up. Angels take oaths seriously. As in dead seriously. But you have to word it exactly right. And it's give-and-take. He'll want his pound of flesh. In your case, probably literally."



Elena shivered, the idea no longer wholly unappealing. And it wasn't the diamond. It was the eroticism of the night before. Dark, stroked with badness, but also the most potent sexual flirtation she'd ever experienced. Her body had sung for him and he'd barely touched her. What would happen if he drove himself inside of her, hot and hard . . . and again?



Her cheeks flushed, her thighs pressed together, and her heart was suddenly a drumbeat in her mouth. "I'll return the rose." It was extraordinary, a remarkable creation, but she couldn't keep it.



Sara misunderstood. "That won't be enough. You have to have something to bargain with."



"Leave that up to me." Elena tried to sound confident when the truth was, she had no idea of how she was going to bargain with an archangel.



He'll want his pound of flesh.



Her mind hiccuped without warning, and Sara's words mixed with the reawakened memory of Mirabelle's violated body. Her soul chilled. What if Raphael's price was something worse than death?