It didn’t have the scent of her.
At her building, he parked in the same space her doorman had used the previous night. It took him a bare two minutes to carry her to the elevator and get into her apartment after he dug out the key he knew she carried in her left jeans pocket. Placing her on the bed, he tugged off her boots and jacket, removed her weapons. “Not the way I want to undress you,” he said to fill the silence that was vicious metal claws around his heart.
No, he’d never survive her loss.
Her skin was a little hot when he checked, but her breathing was steady.
Janvier wasn’t about to risk anything; he called the Guild and a medic was at the door within seven minutes. Ripping off his motorcycle jacket and dropping his helmet on the carpet, the heavyset male checked her over. “Her vitals are within safe levels.” A piercing look at Janvier after he made that pronouncement. “Sara sent me because I’ve stitched Ash up before. I know what she can do. If that’s what’s caused this, we’ll have to monitor her and see what happens.”
“I’ll do it.”
The medic didn’t argue with Janvier, simply showed him what to do to check her vitals, then said, “I’m not far.” He gave Janvier his direct line. “Call me the instant you think she’s in distress.”
Kicking off his boots after the other man left, Janvier stripped off his jacket and blade holster, as well as his belt to ensure the buckle wouldn’t dig into her. An instant later, he was curled around her. Ashwini was so vivid in life that he forgot how fragile she was as a mortal—today, he couldn’t help but notice that despite the toned muscle that made her so beautiful and dangerous in motion, her limbs were slender, her bones all too breakable under his vampiric strength.
And her mind . . .
Sliding one arm under her head and refusing point-blank to go into a future that wasn’t yet written in stone, he undid her braid with his other to make her more comfortable, murmuring to her in the language he’d spoken as a boy, skinny and wild and often hungry. “The first time I saw you, you had a crossbow pointed at me and a seriously pissed-off look on your face.”
The memory was one of his favorites: she’d had a streak of oil on her cheek, her olive green tank top smudged with dirt, and her combat boots planted a foot apart, black cargo pants hiding her long, long legs. He’d wanted to wrap his hand around her ponytail and pull back her head to arch her throat for a blood kiss that would ram erotic pleasure through both their bodies.
“Never had I felt such lust,” he said, stroking his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with her own. “I could’ve devoured you, even had I to pay for it in crossbow wounds.” He chuckled. “Imagine if you’d permitted me to seduce you then, cher.”
No movement, her skin temperature clammy enough to make a ball of fear lodge in his gut. “Don’t go.” It was a harsh plea, his heart and soul laid at her feet. “Please don’t go. It’s not our time. Not yet. Not so soon.”
34
Dmitri was briefing Raphael about the second victim when Elena appeared in the doorway to Raphael’s Tower office.
Hello, hbeebti.
Hello, Archangel.
She leaned against the doorjamb and he watched as she and his second acknowledged each other with a glance. The two had come to an understanding that they both had the best interests of the city—and its archangel—at heart. Not that it stopped either one from sharpening their knives on each other.
Today, however, Dmitri had more critical matters on his plate. “A distraction won’t work this time,” the vampire said. “Too many people saw the victim, even with how quickly Illium picked her up, and while the media knows not to push the Tower, the talking heads are speculating on every channel.”