It wasn't in her head, she realized at almost the same instant. It was in the air.

Adrenaline spiking, she dropped the book and rose to her feet as Michaela landed in front of her. The visual impact was stunning. Much as Elena disliked her, there was no escaping the truth. Michaela's wings were a gorgeous bronze, her body a landscape of curves and hollows balanced to perfection. And her face . . . there wasn't another as striking in the world.

"So" - lush lips shaping into a smile that made Elena very happy she had her gun with her - "I've unearthed the little mouse Raphael has been hiding." The archangel stepped into the pavilion, her wings caressed to amber by the rays of a sun just beginning to set.

She was dressed in sleek camel-colored pants today, her "top" consisting of a single strip of soft white fabric that had been wound around her neck to create a halter before being crisscrossed over her breasts to tie in a knot below her wings. Clean, sexy, inviting.

Elena knew exactly who the invitation was aimed at. Her fingers curled into her palms, common sense crashing and burning in the face of the possessive anger that gripped her by the throat. "I didn't know you found me that fascinating."

Michaela's eyes narrowed. "You're an angel now, hunter. And I'm your superior."

"I don't think so."

The archangel glanced at the book. "That's the company you should be keeping. The half-angel is more your status."

To hear Jessamy - wise, kind, intelligent - described in such a denigrating way made Elena see red. "She's ten times the woman you'll ever be."

Michaela flicked a hand, as if the idea was so ridiculous, it didn't even bear consideration. "She's three thousand years old, and she spends her days shut up with dusty tomes no one but a cripple would consider enticing."

"Galen apparently finds her far more than enticing." It was a shot in the dark.

But it hit home. "Galen's a pup who hasn't yet learned to choose his enemies."

"He didn't want you, either?" Elena said, and even she knew it was a provocation. "But of course, he must've taken his cue from his sire." The breath slammed out of her as she flew through the air to smash up against the marble column on the other side of the pavilion. It hurt like hell, but nothing seemed broken.

That was when it hit her. The cold fist of fear. "Where's Illium?"

"Otherwise engaged." A mocking smile as the archangel walked closer, her every move inherently sensual. "You're bleeding, hunter. How very clumsy of me."

Elena tasted iron from the cut on her lip, but her eyes stayed locked on Michaela. She was well aware the bitch was playing with her, that she'd come here for that specific reason. "If you've harmed him, Raphael will hunt you down."

"And if I harm you?"

"I'llhunt you down." Kicking out, she slammed her right foot against Michaela's knee.

To her shock, the archangel went down. But it was, Elena thought, more surprise than anything else, because she was up again a second later, her eyes glowing from within. "I think," the archangel said in a tone that reminded Elena eerily of Uram's sadistic brand of evil, "I'm willing to find out what Raphael will do to someone who dares hurt his little pet."

Elena pressed the trigger on the gun she'd managed to draw the instant after Michaela fell. Nothing happened. Then her fingers unclasped, digit by stiff digit, to drop the weapon to the marble. She felt something hit her chest at the same instant, but when she looked down, there was nothing there. Her heart began to thump in panic. An instant later, it felt as if bone-thin fingers - hard, tipped with nails filed to malicious points -

were closing around that panicked organ, squeezing until blood filled her mouth, dripped down her chin.

Michaela looked almost amused. "Good-bye, hunter."

Elena saw a flash of blue to her right, glimpsed Illium surrounded by wings, covered in blood. Feeling returned to her fingers at the same instant. "Bitch." It was a soundless whisper meant to distract as her hand closed on the knife hidden in the side pocket of her pants. Gripping it with all the stubborn determination she had in her, she ignored the pain, ignored the blood welling up in her mouth, and threw.

Michaela shrieked, her hand dropping to the side as the blade embedded itself in her eye.

A white-hot fire scorched the pavilion in the next breath, but it was Michaela who ended up smashed unconscious against the back column, not Elena. Trying to see through eyes that watered against the haze of power, Elena glimpsed Raphael, his hands ringed with the deadly glow of angelfire.

She spit out the blood. "No." A croak no one would be able to hear.Raphael, no, she's not worth it. He'd killed Uram because it had had to be done, but it had taken something from him to end the life of another archangel. She'd felt the scar, though how, she couldn't say.I provoked her.

It doesn't matter. She came here to kill you.He raised his hand, the blue flames licking up his arms, and she knew Michaela was going to die. Sliding to the ground as her legs went out from beneath her, she said something she'd never said to any other man.I need you.

Raphael's head snapped to her, his eyes alien in their luminescence. Time froze. And then he was kneeling by her side, the blue fire sucked back inside his body in a violent backdraft. "Elena." He touched her cheek, and she felt an odd warmth invade her body, touch her bruised heart. An instant later, the beat smoothed out.

Raising arms that trembled in reaction, she drew him to her, holding his head as she whispered in his ear. "Don't let her turn you into what she is. Don't let her win."

"She came to harm that which is mine. I can't let that go unpunished."

Possession was a wall of black flame in his eyes, but she knew it was about more than that. "It's about power, right?"

A nod that sent midnight silk sliding over her hands, her archangel willing to listen to reason. For now.

"She's out, unconscious, with my blade in her eye. Leave her somewhere where everyone can see that."

"That's bloodthirsty of you." Lips against hers, his rage held in check. "The humiliation will be worse than any physical torment."

"The bitch not only came after me, she hurt Illium. Is he - "

"He's one of my Seven," Raphael said. "He'll live - though I wouldn't say the same for Michaela's men."

"Poor Bluebell," she said, looking out to see Illium bring down the last angel who'd been fighting with him. "It seems he's always being wounded for - " Her throat closed up as Illium sliced the wings off the fallen male with a sword he'd pulled out of literally nowhere. "Raphael . . ."

"It's a fitting punishment." Rising to his feet, he went to Michaela's body. The other archangel made a moaning sound as he lifted her, but didn't regain consciousness. "Stay, Elena. I will return for you."

She watched him take off, not entirely sure the female archangel would survive the cold rage that had turned Raphael's expression remote in a way she hadn't seen since they became lovers. Bracing her hand on the column behind her, she struggled to her feet just as Illium walked into the pavilion. Blood streaked his face, his hair, his sword.

"Where did the sword come from?" she asked as he took up a sentinel position in front of her. His back was bare, his shirt ripped off him. Spreading his wings, he hid her from sight, until her world was a wall of blood-streaked male muscle and feathers of silver blue drenched with fluid turning to rust.

"I failed you again." It was a tight response.

She took several deep breaths, touched her hand over her heart, still able to feel those phantom fingers clawing at her. "Illium, you took down five other angels. And sliced their wings off." With cold, calm efficiency.

He turned his head to meet her gaze, the faintest trace of a British accent in his frigid tone as he said, "You feel sorry for them?"

"I just - " Shaking her head, she tried to find the words. "When I sat in my apartment watching the angels land on the Tower roof, I used to envy them their ability to fly.

Wings are something special."

"They'll grow back," Illium said. "Eventually."

The callous coolness of his voice was a shock. It must've showed, because he gave her a smile formed of ice. "Your pet has fangs, Elena. It disgusts you."

It was the slap she needed to clear the remaining mental fog. "I think of you as my friend. And most of my friends can out-tough a prissy angel any day of the week."

He blinked. Once. Twice. That familiar wicked smile slashed its way across his face.

"Ransom has very long, very pretty hair. Maybe I should introduce it to Lightning?"

Of course Illium would name his sword. "Try it and I bet you, you'll be missing some feathers when you get back."

The blue-winged angel lifted the long, double-edged blade as if to sheathe it at his back.

She was about to warn him that his harness was gone . . . when the sword disappeared.

"We all have our talents, Ellie." A sheepish smile. "Mine is a useful one. I have no personal glamour, but I can make small objects close to my body disappear."

Elena wondered if that meant he'd one day become an archangel. "Have you been wearing a sword the entire time I've known you?"

A shrug. "A sword, a gun, occasionally a scimitar. It's excellent for beheadings."

Elena shook her head at the bloodthirsty recital, then froze when that head began to spin.

"Go wash off the blood, Bluebell."

"After Raphael returns."

Elena took a few steps around the pavilion after pushing at Illium to move. "I can walk home." She could feel the bruises blooming, but it wasn't as bad as it could've been -

especially when it came to her heart. She rubbed the heel of her hand over it. A little sore, but otherwise okay. "And since I'm not suicidal, you can escort me there."

"The sire asked you to stay."

Actually, Elena thought, it had been more of an order - with no expectation that she'd choose to do anything else. "Illium, you should know something about me if this friendship's going to have a hope in hell of working. I'm unlikely to obey Raphael's every order."

Illium's face filled with censure. "He's right, Ellie. You're not safe here."

"I'm hunter-born," she told him, the words husky. "I've never been safe."

"Oh, my little hunter, my sweet, sweet hunter."

Jerking off the memory like an unwanted coat, but knowing it would return to claim her again and again and again, she began to walk. Illium tried to get in her way, but she had the advantage - she knew he wouldn't lay a finger on her.

She'd forgotten about the angels he'd left in the gardens.

They looked like broken birds, their blood staining the ground, turning the field of flowers into an abattoir.

Chapter 12

Blood and pain scented the air in a rich perfume that seeped into her very pores.

Suddenly, she missed her apartment, the bathroom she'd turned into a personal haven, with a strength that made her tremble inside, her stomach tight enough to hurt.

"How long will they lie there?" she forced herself to ask.

"Until they can move themselves," Illium said, each word a razor. "Or until Michaela sends someone to retrieve them."