Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“I’ll stab you if you don’t stop that.” She glared. “I have to put on my stupid be-polite-to-the-grand-poobahs face. Stop distracting me with thoughts of nakedness if you’re not going to pay up.”
His grin was wicked and young and one very few people ever saw. “I’ll remind you that I am one of the grand poobahs.”
Shifting her wing out of the way, she elbowed him in that rock-hard stomach, then pressed in with a blade without breaking the skin. “Right now, Mr. Grand Poobah Raphael, you’re barely dressed. We’ll be late if you don’t get a move on—and I will absolutely stab you if we have to stay later to make up the time.”
His grin didn’t alter as he drew back, his mood making her entire body tighten. The urge to jump onto him, lock her legs around that delicious body, and put his hand properly on her breast while she kissed the life out of him made her mouth water and her pulse race.
“So bloodthirsty.” Hot blue, his eyes made her a promise dark and decadent even as he kept his words light. “Truly, a woman I adore.”
She watched him move to the wardrobe where the staff who ran their Refuge stronghold had hung up the formal leathers he planned to wear tonight. He’d already put on the black pants, now pulled on the sleeveless black top that showcased his toned biceps and those forearms that made her want to bite him.
Down, Elena, she told herself. Save that for when you have lots of time.
Collarless, his fitted top sealed to the left side with a black zip.
Clean, powerful, sexy enough to make her swallow her tongue.
Raphael’s boots were the same shade, and, as she watched, he strapped on the pair of bracers she’d given him as a gift. Made of what appeared to be a single piece of black iron each, with intricate detailing carved into the metal, the bracers covered his wrists and forearms and were designed to ward off sword blows in battle.
Turning away before she attacked him in pure lust, she decided to pull her hair back into a high ponytail.
It revealed the handcrafted amber studs in her ears—one a miniature crossbow, the other the bolt. Created for her alone, and a quiet but clear sign that she was very much entangled with the Archangel of New York.
Having already done her makeup, she was ready when Raphael slid a sword into the sheath on his back. With her dress being backless, she hadn’t needed anything to accommodate her wings, but his top had wing slits that he’d sealed using his power. The sheath was built into the top, his sword a ceremonial item given to him by his Seven approximately fifty years earlier for his one thousandth five hundredth birthday.
It bore a carved hilt embedded with seven polished black diamonds set in a vertical row to represent the seven men who called Raphael their liege and who would lay down their lives for him without hesitation.
“Consort.” Hair brushed off his face in crisp lines, and expression set in what she called his “Archangel” look, he held out his hand.
“Consort.” Grinning, she slid her hand into his.
And had to admit she felt beautiful and strong as she strode out of their suite. That their hand-holding would cause certain angels to have the vapors just made it better.
Why are you smiling that way, Elena-mine? His voice was a sword blade slicing through salt-laced water in her mind.
When she told him, he shot her a laughing look. Then lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back. Her heart, it stuttered. Always did. Always would. Because this deadly man she’d once feared and whose violent power had now become a familiar caress was it for her.
However long their eternity lasted, they’d walk through it hand in hand.
The ground rumbled as they continued on down the hallway of the stronghold Raphael kept in the Refuge. Built of dark gray stone, it was too solid to move in a minor tremor, but the vibration was obvious.
His smile faded. “That’s the third one today.”
“How many does that make over the three days since we’ve been here? Ten?”
“Around that.” Raphael’s hair glinted in the light of the old-fashioned gas lamps that bracketed the front door, an echo of a past time left in place for its elaborate metal beauty.
“We’ve always had the odd rumble or earth shake in the Refuge,” he added, “but nothing this sustained as far as I know—but I can’t say for certain. I’m young in comparison to many others. I’m sure we’ll find out tonight.”
Because tonight, they were to mingle with the rest of the Cadre, the first time since the war that all nine archangels were to be present in one place. The reason for the gathering was a meeting of the Cadre, but of course, immortals couldn’t keep it simple.