Angel's Blood (Guild Hunter 1)

"Doorvamp," she whispered, throat husky. It was only when she found herself pressed against the living heat of Raphael that she realized she'd backed away from the clawing beauty of the invisible caress.

"My name is Dmitri." He smiled, displaying a row of sparkling white teeth, not a fang in sight. An old vamp, an experienced vamp. "Come, dance with me."

Heat uncurled between her legs, an involuntary reaction to Dmitri's scent, a scent that held a very special-and highly erotic-allure for the hunter-born. "Stop it or I swear I'll make you a eunuch."

He looked down at the blade now pressing against his zipper. When he raised his head, his expression was more than a fraction annoyed. "If you're not here to play, why come at all?" The scent dissipated, as if he'd drawn it into himself. "This is a place of safety and enjoyment. Take your weapons elsewhere."

Flushing, she got rid of the knife. It was obvious she'd just committed a major faux pas. "Raphael."

The archangel curled his hand around her upper arm. "Elena is here to learn. She doesn't understand the fascination you hold for humans."

Dmitri raised an eyebrow. "I'd be happy to show you."

"Not tonight, Dmitri."

"As you wish, sire." Giving a small nod, Dmitri walked away . . . but only after wrapping a tendril of scent around her as a parting shot.

His slow smile said he could scent her response, knew she was weak-kneed with it. But the effect faded with every step he took, until she no longer craved the sensual pain of his touch-Dmitri's scent was as much a tool of mind control as Raphael's abilities. But for the first time, she began to understand why some hunters became sexually-even romantically-intertwined with the very creatures they hunted.

Of course, they didn't hunt the ones like Dmitri. "He's old enough to have repaid the hundred-year debt several times over." Not to mention his considerable personal power-she'd never met any vampire with that much sheer magnetism. "Why does he stay with you?"

Raphael's hand was a brand on her upper arm, burning through the material of her shirt to stain her skin. "He requires constant challenge. Working for me gives him the opportunity to fulfill his needs."

"In more ways than one," she murmured, watching as Dmitri went to a small, curvy blonde and put his hand on her waist. She looked up, enraptured. Not surprising, given that Dmitri was wet-dream beautiful-silky black hair, dark, dark eyes, skin that spoke of the Mediterranean rather than cold Slavic climes.

"I'm no procurer." Raphael was openly amused. "The vampires in this room have no need of such services. Look around, who do you see?"

She frowned, about to snap back a sharp rejoinder, when her eyes widened. There, in that corner, that leggy brunette . . . "No way." She squinted. "That's Sarita Monaghan, the super-model."

"Keep going."

Her eyes drifted back to Dmitri's curvy blonde. "I've seen her somewhere, too. A TV show?"

"Yes."

Thrown off balance, she continued to scan the room. There was a famous rugged-jawed news anchor, happily ensconced on a couch with a striking flame-haired vampire. A little to their left sat a powerhouse New York couple, majority share-holders in a Fortune 500 company. Beautiful people. Smart people.

"They're here by choice?" But she knew the answer. There was no hint of desperation in any of the eyes that met hers, none of the glassiness of will stolen. Instead, it was flirtation, enjoyment, and sex that filled the air. Definitely sex. The languid heat of it dripped off the walls.

"Do you feel it, Elena?" Closing his free hand over her other arm, he held her to his chest, his lips brushing her ear as he bent down to speak. "This is the drug they crave; this is their addiction. Pleasure."

"Not the same," she said, standing her ground. "The vamp-whores are nothing more than camp followers."

"The only thing that separates them from this crowd is wealth and beauty."

It stung her to realize he was right. "Fine, I take it back. Vampires and their groupies are all nice, healthy folks." She couldn't believe what she was seeing-the TV anchor was sliding his hand up the split in his date's skirt, oblivious to anyone else.

He chuckled. "No, they aren't nice. But they aren't evil, either."

"I never said that," she retorted, eyes fixated on the excruciating pleasure on the anchor's face as he stroked the redhead's pale, pale skin. "I know they're just people. My point was that-" She swallowed as another woman moaned, her vampire lover's mouth hovering a teasing inch above the pulse in her neck, a hot whisper that promised ecstasy.

"Your point?" He grazed his mouth over her own pulse.

She jerked, wondering how the hell she'd ended up in an archangel's arms-a man she'd been planning to knife in the heart. "I don't like how the vampires use their abilities to enslave humans."

"But what if the humans want to be enslaved? Do you see anyone complaining?"

No. All she could see were the lush brushstrokes of sensual play, an erotic mix of male and female, vampire and human. "Did you bring me to a damn orgy?"

He chuckled again, and this time, the sound was warm, liquid, like melted caramel over her skin. "Sometimes they cross a few lines but this is what it seems. A party where partners may be found."

His hands slid up and down her arms, his breath ruffling the curling hairs at her temple. For a fleeting second, she wavered. What would it feel like to lean back, to let Rapha-Oh, Jesus. What was happening to her? "I've seen enough. Let's go." She struggled in his hold.

He tightened it, his wings coming around to cut off her view of the room, his chest hot and hard at her back. "Are you sure?" His lips whispered over skin so sensitized, she had to fight the urge to shiver. "I have not taken a human lover for eons. But you taste . . . intriguing."

Chapter 8

Human lover.

The words unlocked her from the prison of sensory delight the Archangel of New York had spun with cool control. She was a toy to him, nothing more. After he was done, she'd be discarded like all unwanted toys. Used up. Forgotten. "Find someone else to amuse yourself with. I'm not in the market." She pulled away, and this time, he let her go.

Wary, she spun around to face him. She expected anger, perhaps fury, at being denied, but Raphael's face was a mask, watchful, unbreakable. She wondered if he'd been playing with her all along. Why the hell would an archangel take a human lover when he had a harem of stunning vampire beauties to pick from?