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Guild Hunter #2 Read Kindle PreviewNew York Times bestselling author of Angels'
Blood Excerpt Elena gripped the balcony railing and stared down at the gorge that fell away with jagged promise beneath. From here, the rocks looked like sharp teeth, ready to bite and tear and rip. She tightened her hold as the icy wind threatened to tumble her into their unforgiving jaws. βA year ago,β she murmured, βI didnβt know the Refuge existed, and today, here I stand.β A sprawling city of marble and glass spread out in every direction, its elegant lines exquisite under the razor-sharp burn of the sun. Dark-leafed trees provided soothing patches of green on both sides of the gorge that cut a massive divide through the city, while snow-capped mountains ruled the skyΒline. There were no roads, no high-rises, nothing to disturb the otherworldly grace of it. Yet, for all its beauty, there was something alien about this place, a vague sense that darkness lurked beneath the gilded surface. Drawing in a breath laced with the biting freshness of the mountain winds, she looked upΒ .Β .Β . at the angels. So many angels. Their wings filled the skies above this city that seemed to have grown out of the rock itself. The angelstruck, those mortals who were literally enΒthralled by the sight of angelic wings, would weep to be in this place filled with the beings they worshipped. But Elena had seen an archangel laugh as he plucked the eyes out of a vampireβs skull, as he pretended to eat, then crush the pulpy mass. This, she thought with a shiver, was not her idea of heaven. A rustle of wings from behind her, a squeeze from the powΒerful hands on her hips. βYouβre tiring, Elena. Come inside.β She held her position, though the feel of himβstrong, danΒgerous, uncompromisingly masculineβagainst the sensitive surface of her wings made her want to shudder in ecstasy. βDo you think you have the right to give me orders now?β The Archangel of New York, a creature so lethal that part of her feared him even now, lifted the hair off her nape, brushed his lips across her skin. βOf course. You are mine.β No hint of humor, nothing but stark possession. βI donβt think youβve quite got the hang of this true love thing.β Heβd fed ambrosia into her mouth, changed her from mortal to immortal, given her wingsβwings!βall because of love. For her, a hunter, a mortalΒ .Β .Β . no longer mortal. βBe that as it may, itβs time you return to bed.β And then she was in his arms, though she had no memΒory of having released the railingβbut she must have, because her hands were filling with blood again, her skin tight. It hurt. Even as she tried to ride out the slow, hot burn, Raphael carried her through the sliding doors and into the magnificent glass room that sat atop a fortress of marble and quartz, as solid and immoveable as the mountains around them. Fury arced through her bloodstream. βOut of my mind, Raphael!β Why? βBecause, as Iβve told you more than once, Iβm not your puppet.β She grit her teeth as he laid her on the cloud-soft bedding, the pillows lush. But the mattress held firm under her palms when she pulled herself up into a sitting position. βA loverββGod, she could still barely believe sheβd gone and fallen for an archangelββshould be a partner, not a toy to manipulate.β Cobalt eyes in a face that turned humans into slaves, that sweep of night dark hair framing a face of perfect graceΒ .Β .Β . and more than a little cruelty. βYouβve been awake exactly three days after spending a year in a coma,β he told her. βIβve lived for more than a thousand years. Youβre no more my equal now than you were before I Made you immortal.β Anger was a wall of white noise in her ears. She wanted to shoot him as sheβd done once before. Her mind cascaded with a waterfall of images on the heels of that thoughtβthe wetly crimson spray of blood, a torn wing, Raphaelβs eyes glazed with shock. NoΒ .Β .Β . she wouldnβt shoot him again, but he drove her to violence. βThen what am I?β βMine.β Was it wrong that sparks sizzled along her spine at hearΒing that, at seeing the utter possession in his voice, the dark passion on his face? Probably. But she didnβt care. The only thing she cared about was the fact that she was now tied to an archangel who thought the ground rules had changed. βYes,β she agreed. βMy heart is yours.β A flash of satisfaction in his eyes. βBut nothing else.β She locked gazes with him, refusing to back down. βSo, Iβm a baby immortal. Fineβbut Iβm also still a hunter. One good enough that you hired me.β Annoyance replaced the passion. βYouβre an angel.β βWith magic angel money?β βMoney is no object.β βOf course notβyouβre richer than Midas himself,β she muttered. βBut Iβm not going to be your little chew-toyββ βChew-toy?β A gleam of amusement. She ignored him. βSara says I can walk back into the job anytime I want.β βYour loyalty to the angels now overwhelms your loyalty to the Hunters Guild.β βMichaela, Sara, Michaela, Sara,β she murmured in a mock-thoughtful voice. βBitch Goddess angel versus my best friend, gee, which side do you think Iβll choose?β βIt doesnβt matter, does it?β He raised an eyebrow. She had the feeling he knew something she didnβt. βWhy not?β βYou canβt put any of your plans in action until you can fly.β That shut her up. Glaring at him, she slumped back against the pillows, her wings spread out on the sheets in a slow sweep of midnight shading to indigo and darkest blue before falling into dawn and finally, a brilliant white-gold. Her attempt at a sulk lasted approximately two seconds. Elena and sulking had never gone well together. Even Jeffrey Deveraux, who despised everything about his βabominationβ of a daughter, had been unable to lay that sin at her feet. βThen teach me,β she said, straightening. βIβm ready.β The ache to fly was a fist in her throat, a ravaging need in her soul. Raphaelβs expression didnβt change. βYou canβt even walk to the balcony without help. Youβre weaker than the fledglings.β Sheβd seen the smaller wings, smaller bodies, watched over by bigger ones. Not many, but enough. βThe Refuge,β she asked, βis it a place of safety for your young?β βItβs everything we need it to be.β Those eyes of purest sin shifted toward the door. βDmitri comes.β She sucked in a breath as she felt the temptation of DmiΒtriβs scent wrap around her in a glide of fur and sex and wanΒton indulgence. Unfortunately, she hadnβt gained immunity to that particular vampiric trick with her transformation. The flip side was also true. βOne thing you canβt argue withβI can still track vampires by scent.β And that made her hunter-born. βYou have the potential to be of real use to us, Elena.β She wondered if Raphael even knew how arrogant he sounded. She didnβt think so. Being invincible for more years than she could imagine had made that arrogance part of his natureΒ .Β .Β . But no, she thought. He could be hurt. When hell broke and an Angel of Blood tried to destroy New York, RaΒphael had chosen to die with Elena rather than abandon her broken body on that ledge high above Manhattan. Her memories were cloudy, but she remembered shredded wings, a bleeding face, hands that had held her protectively tight as they descended to the adamantine hardness of the city streets below. Her heart clenched. βTell me something, Raphael?β He was already turning, heading to the door. βWhat is it youβd like to know, Guild Hunter?β She hid her smile at his slip. βWhat do I call you? HusΒband? Mate? Boyfriend?β Stopping with his hand on the doorknob, he shot her an inscrutable look. βYou can call me βMaster.β β Elena stared at the closed door,
wondering if heβd been playing with her. She couldnβt tell,
didnβt know him well enough to read his moods, his truths
and lies. Theyβd come together in an agony of pain and fear,
pushed by the specter of death into a union that might have
been years in the making had Uram not decided to turn
bloodborn and tear a murderous path through the world. βDamn it.β She rubbed the heel of one hand over her heart, trying to wipe away the sudden twist of pain. βYou intrigue me.β Heβd said that at the start. So perhaps, there was a compoΒnent of fascination. βBe honest, Elena,β she whispered, runΒning her fingers over the magnificent wings that were his gift to her, βyouβre the one who fell into fascination.β But she would not fall into slavery. βMaster, my ass.β She stared at the foreign sky outside the balcony doors and felt her resolve turn iron-hardβno more waiting. Unlike if sheβd still been human, the coma hadnβt wasted away her muscles. But those muscles had gone through a transformation she couldnβt imagineβeverything felt weak, new. So while she didnβt need rehab, she did need exercise. Especially when it came to her wings. βNo time like the presΒent.β Lifting herself up into a proper sitting position, she took a deep, calming breathΒ .Β .Β . and spread out her wings. βChrist, that hurts!β Teeth gritted, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, she kept stretching the unused, unfamilΒiar muscles, folding her new-formed wings in slowly before expanding them outward. Three repetitions later and the tears had soaked into her lips until the salt of them was all she could taste, her skin covered by a layer of perspiration that shimmered in the sunlight streaming in through the glass. That was when Raphael walked back in. She expected an explosion but he just took a seat in a chair opposite the bed, his eyes never leaving her. As she watched, wary, he hooked one ankle over a knee, and began to tap a heavy white enveΒlope bordered with gilt against the top of his boot. She held his gaze, did another two stretches. Her back felt like jelly, her stomach muscles so tight they hurt. βWhatβsββa pause to draw breathββin the envelope?β Her wings snapped shut behind her and she found herself leaning against the headboard. It took her several seconds to realize what heβd done. Something cold unfurled within the core of her soul even as he got up and dropped a towel on the bed, then retook his seat. No fucking way was this going to keep happening. However, in spite of the turbulent fury of her anger, she wiped off her face and kept her mouth shut. Because he was rightβshe wasnβt his equal, not by a long shot. And the coma had messed her up some. But as of now, she was going to work on those shields sheβd started to develop back before becomΒing an angel. There was a chance thatβgiven the changes in herβshe could learn to hold them for longer. Forcing her rigid shoulder muscles to loosen, she picked up a knife sheβd left on the bedside table and began to clean the pristine blade with the edge of the towel. βFeeling better?β βNo.β His mouth firmed. βYou need to listen to me, Elena. I wonβt hurt you, but I canβt have you acting in ways that bring my control over you in question.β What? βExactly what kind of
relationships do archangels have?β she asked, genuinely
curious. βAnd the Bitch Goddess is another archangel, so they were equals.β A nod of his head that was more thought than movement. He was so damn beautiful that it made thinking difficult, even when she knew he possessed a vein of ruthlessness that was sewn into the fabric of his very soul. That ruthlessness transΒlated into a furious kind of control in bed, the kind that made a woman scream, her skin too tight across a body that knew only hunger. βWho are the other two?β she asked, swallowing the spike of gut-deep need. Heβd held her since she woke, his embrace strong, powerful, and at times, heartbreakingly tender. But today, her body craved a far darker touch. βElijah and Hannah.β His eyes glittered, turning to a shade sheβd once seen in an artistβs studio. Prussian. Thatβs what it was called, Prussian blue. Rich. Exotic. Earthy in a way sheβd never have believed an angel to be until she found herself taken by the Archangel of New York. βYou will heal, Elena. Then I will teach you how angels dance.β Her mouth dried up at the slumbering heat in that outΒwardly calm statement. βElijah?β she prompted, her voice husky, an invitation. He continued to hold her gaze, his lips at once sensual and without pity. βHe and Hannah have been together centuries. Though sheβs grown in power over time, it is said that sheβs content to be his helpmeet.β She had to think for a while about that old-fashioned exΒpression. βThe wind beneath his wings?β βIf you like.β His face was suddenly all hard lines and anglesβmale beauty in its purest, most merciless form. βYou will not fade.β She didnβt know if that was an accusation or an order. βNo I wonβt.β Even as she spoke, she was vividly conscious that sheβd have to use every ounce of her will to maintain her perΒsonality against the incredible strength of Raphaelβs. He began tapping that envelope again, the action precise, deliberate. βAs of today, youβre on a deadline. You need to be on your feet and in the air in just over two monthsβ time.β βWhy?β she asked, even as delight bubbled through her bloodstream. Prussian blue froze into black ice. βLijuan is giving a ball in your honor.β βWeβre talking about Zhou Lijuan, the oldest of the archΒangels?β The bubbles went flat, lifeless. βSheβsΒ .Β .Β . different.β βYes. She has evolved.β A hint of midnight whispered through his tone, shadows so thick, they were almost corpoΒreal. βSheβs no longer wholly of this world.β Her skin prickled, because for an immortal to say thatΒ .Β .Β . βWhy would she hold a ball for me? She doesnβt know me from Adam.β βOn the contrary, Elena. The entire Cadre of Ten knows who you areβwe hired you after all.β The idea of the most powerful body in the world being interested in her made her break out in a cold sweat. It didnβt help that Raphael was one of them. She knew what he was capable of, the power he wielded, how easy it would be for him to cross the line into true evil. βOnly nine now,β she said. βUramβs dead. Unless you found a replacement while I was in a coma?β βNo. Human time means little to us.β The casual indifference of an immortal. βAs for Lijuan, itβs about powerβshe wants to see my little pet, see my weakness.β Start Reading ARCHANGEL'S KISS Now Guild Hunter ARCHANGEL'S PROPHECY
#11.0
β’ November 2018
 ARCHANGEL'S RESURRECTION
#15.0
β’ November 2022
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