“Consort.” Caliane’s eyes were intense, her expression unreadable.
Elena’s hand tightened on the doorknob, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. Her primal hindbrain recognized Caliane as a threat, screamed at her to run, but of course that wasn’t an option. “Lady?”
“This house . . . it has a heart. I am glad my son lives in a house with a heart.”
Unsure whether that was a compliment or a simple statement, Elena inclined her head and left Caliane when the Ancient made to walk to the bath. She didn’t blow out a relieved breath until she was in the master bedroom. Walking straight into Raphael’s arms, she let him wrap his wings around her and the two of them stood there, ready to face this extraordinary visit as they’d faced everything else: together.
• • •
Ashwini dreamed of Felicity, woke with the young woman’s face at the forefront of her mind. It frustrated her beyond bearing to know that Giorgio and Cornelius remained free to exercise their perversions. Leaving the bed to find Janvier on the balcony on his phone, she put on a large T-shirt, stuffed her feet into thick socks, then went out to hug him from the back.
He was wearing just his jeans, his body warm against her in spite of the cold. Turning, he held her close with one arm around her shoulders as he spoke to Dmitri. “Giorgio has been connected to Lijuan,” he told her before returning to his conversation.
She could see from the lack of a smile in his eyes that there’d been no further breakthroughs. Stifling the urge to scream at the sky, she pressed a kiss to his chest, then ducked inside to shower and dress. She was putting her hair in a ponytail when she heard the sound of angelic wings nearby. Glancing out the balcony doors, she was just in time to catch the heartbreaking light of Aodhan’s wings sweeping back up.
Janvier walked in with a duffel the next instant. “Fresh clothes.”
“What exactly do you have on him that he’ll play courier for you?” she asked, bemused at the idea of being with a man who could call in angelic help like she could a ride from a fellow hunter.
Walking backward into the bathroom, he winked. “That is between me and Sparkle, my khoobsurat and gorgeously dangerous Ashblade.”
Happy despite her raw emotions at the sense that Felicity remained lost, unable to move on, she left him to his shower and walked into the kitchen to make coffee. “I’m not giving up,” she said to the ghost of the woman who’d been punished for wanting only to believe in hope, in a future where she was cherished. “The evil pieces of shit will go down. I promise you that.”
A wintry sigh across her skin that made it pebble, her breath suddenly frosting the air as her lungs fought to deal with the sudden, excruciating cold . . . then warmth rushing back into her, and she knew that for the moment, Felicity was gone.
The kiss on the back of her neck ten minutes later was accompanied by the fresh, clean scent of soap and man. Facing him, she held up her coffee, having already eaten a couple of pieces of toast. “Sip?”
He nodded and took a drink, absorbing the pleasure of the taste with a sensuality that made her lower body clench. The chemistry between them was impossibly more powerful this morning, their bodies having learned exactly what they could do to one another.
Indulging herself by caressing him with her gaze, she caught the fine edge of tension in the line of his jaw. “When did you last feed?” She put aside her coffee.
“I’m not about to keel over, cher.” A slow smile. “I can pick up a bottle from the Tower.”
She tugged up the cuff of her black V-necked sweater to bare her wrist and raised it to brush his lips. His eyes went heavy lidded, his chest expanding on a deep inhale. “There is no obligation.”
“I know.” Stroking her fingers down his neck, she leaned in even closer, the side of her body aligned to his.
He shuddered, cupped the other side of her wrist, and pressed a kiss to her rapidly beating pulse. Then he licked out, drew in another long breath. Her blood seemed to rush to that one tiny point. Nipples rubbing against her bra and skin tight, she waited. When his fangs scraped over her skin, she bit back a moan.
His eyes flicked up. In them was pure sex and the lazy, possessive affection that had tied her up in knots long before she’d admitted he was far more than just a job to her. “Now,” she said, tone husky.
A sinful smile before his fangs pierced her flesh.
His lashes came down, his throat moving as he fed . . . and her blood, it turned to honey. Legs trembling, she shifted to lean against the counter. He followed, one hand going to her lower back to caress her lightly as he continued to feed.
He wasn’t drawing much blood, she realized with the part of her mind that wasn’t dazed. He’d taken most of what he needed in the first two pulls, was now sipping . . . enjoying. She was enjoying it, too. The arousal kept building and building, a fist low in her belly. It was different from sex, not as intimate . . . except this was Janvier. Slipping his fingers under her top to caress her skin, he lifted his lashes again, their eyes connected, and the fist exploded outward.
Shivering through the ripples, she opened eyes she didn’t remember closing to see him licking the wound closed. He did it several times, until she couldn’t see anything but tiny pinpricks that would fade in a day. Satisfied, he slid a hand around her nape and jaw, running the thumb of his other hand over her lower lip. “I could become used to this breakfast.”
She nipped at his thumb. “Gotta say, it’s not a bad morning wake-up.” Yeah, he’d turned her inside out, but he wasn’t exactly in control, either, his erection aggressive against the zipper of his jeans. “Maybe next time we should do it before we get out of bed.”
“I vote yes.” Rubbing up against her, he groaned. “We have—”
Both their phones beeped at once. The message was identical: One victim awake. Wishes to talk.
Arousal doused, they headed out and to the hospital without further conversation. It was Brooke who was awake and stable enough to talk. Fear was a metallic taste in the air around the brutalized woman, but when she grabbed for Ashwini’s hand, Ashwini didn’t protest.
Stomach muscles clenched against the barrage of pain and panic that made nausea shove at her throat, she met Brooke’s bruised brown eyes. “You’re tough,” she said. “Good. The bastards wouldn’t have expected that.”
Brooke’s smile turned into a grimace as her abused facial muscles attempted to stretch. “You haven’t found—” She coughed, but waved off the chips of ice Ashwini offered from the cup on the bedside table.