He curled his arm around her, fingers painting lazy patterns on her skin. “We had a windstorm hit perhaps an hour after the earthquake shook part of Boston. I was able to compensate for the shove of wind, but not fast enough.”
That made more sense. “That quake was really weird, Raphael. It was so localized.” Reaching up, she ran her fingers along the arch of his wing with delicate precision.
Elena.
Smiling at the warning, she tilted up her head and brushed her lips over his jaw. “The earthquake?”
The endless blue of the deepest part of the ocean held her gaze before she dipped her head to kiss the line of his throat. His fingers clenched in her hair, but that big, powerful body remained relaxed, an archangel at rest in his consort’s arms.
“You say the vampires appeared to be drawn to that same general area?” His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm underneath her touch, his heartbeat strong and certain.
“Yeah,” she said, using her teeth on the tendons she’d just kissed. “Even the one we found later seemed to have been heading in that direction.” Only to be overcome by a lust for blood that would allow no other thought. “But the thing is, the focus of the quake seemed to be the chopper.”
Not the chopper, you.
She made a face. “I was trying to avoid that conclusion.”
A tug from the hand fisted in her hair, her head being tipped back—but this time, there was no kiss. “Your face is severely bruised.” Raising his free hand, he gripped her chin and tilted her face to the side so he could assess the damage. “You’ve lost more than the upper layer of skin alone.”
Elena didn’t protest. After all, she’d ordered him to strip so she could examine his injuries. “It doesn’t feel that bad.” In fact, she had the sense the skin was already beginning to regenerate—way faster than it would’ve on a human.
A kick to the heart, that reminder, that knowledge that she was no longer mortal.
“It’ll take at least two days to heal on its own,” he said, releasing her chin. “There are bruises on your ribs and hips, too.”
“When did you have time to notice?” Rising to straddle him, she put her arms around his neck and nuzzled a kiss to his pulse, feeling affectionate in a way she’d never been comfortable enough to express with anyone else. “Seemed to me like you were far more interested in other parts of my anatomy.”
Strong, wet hands on her waist. “How much does it hurt?” Sensual lips, eyes full of a dark male promise, but his expression made it clear they’d be doing nothing interesting until she came clean.
Blowing out a breath, she pointed to a rib. “That one hurts but not so much that it bothered me while we were engaging in gymnastics in the bedroom.” The near-painful hunger to touch, to take and be taken had wiped out every other sensation, every other need. “My left wing is tender—I might’ve strained something.” She held up her palms. “The cuts seem to be healing.”
Raphael raised his hand, blue fire licking over his palm. Her stomach went taut at the reminder of the sheer power he carried within. But this flame, it was nothing that would harm. When he placed his hand against her ribs, all she felt was a warmth so deep it infiltrated her very bones.
“Oh!” The soft cry escaped her lips as the sensation spread in a burst of electric heat, arrowing to the places where she hurt the most—but a hint of it pulsed in every vein and artery ... and there was a whisper of sex to it that had nothing to do with healing. “Archangel, if you make everyone feel like this when you heal,” she said in a husky tone, “I’m going to have a problem with it.”
His lips didn’t curve, and yet there was a sinful amusement in the voice that came into her mind. It is a special blend, Elena. For you.
The last time he’d said that to her, he’d covered her in angel-dust. Erotic, exotic, and designed to kiss every inch of her skin with shimmering arousal. “Good,” she replied, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. “Then you may heal others.”
I appreciate the permission.
Her lips kicked up at the solemn statement paired with the wicked sensuality she glimpsed in his gaze. That look ... it was still new. Raphael didn’t often allow the young angel he’d once been—reckless and wild and cocky—to rise to the surface. But when he did . . . “Are you done?” she murmured against his mouth.
His answer was to slide his hands to her h*ps and tug her forward, over the steely hunger of his body. “Come, hunter,” he said, using his teeth on the sensitive curve where her neck flowed into her shoulder, “take me.”
And she did.
Elena wandered into the dining room the next morning to find it set with a delicious array from which to choose. Grabbing two croissants and a large cup of black coffee, she walked out into the crisp air, following her instincts until she found Raphael standing on the very edge of the cliff that plunged down into the Hudson. “Here,” she said, passing over a croissant. “Eat or Montgomery’s feelings will be hurt.”
He took the offering but didn’t put it to his lips. “Look at the water, Elena. What do you see?”
Glancing down at the river that had been, in one way or another, a part of her life since she was born, she saw churned up silt, sullen waves. “It’s in a bad mood today.”
“Yes.” He stole her coffee, took a sip. “It appears water is in a bad mood across the world. A massive tsunami just hit the east coast of Africa, with no apparent link to an earthquake.”