“He does.” Sara’s smile was apparent even through the telephone line and it made something inside Elena clench in the most vicious of ways. It wasn’t that she begrudged Sara her happiness, or that she wanted Deacon. No, it was something far deeper, a sense of time slipping through her fingers.

Over the past year, it had become increasingly obvious that her friends were moving on to the next stages of their lives, while she remained in limbo, a twenty-eight-year-old vampire hunter with no strings, no attachments. Sara had put down her bow and arrow—except for the odd urgent hunt—and taken on the most critical desk job in the Guild. Her lethally skilled tracker of a husband had gone into the business of manufacturing hunter tools (and changing diapers), with a slow grin that all but shouted contentment. Hell, even Ransom had had the same bed partner for the past two months.

“Hey, Ellie, you gone to sleep?” Sara asked over the baby’s happy squeals. “Having dreams about your archangel?”

“More like nightmares,” she muttered, squinting as she caught sight of an angel coming to land on the Tower roof. Her heart skipped a beat as his wings flared out to slow his descent. “You never finished telling me about Deacon. Why isn’t he on baby duty?”

“He’s gone to the store with Slayer to pick up some double-chocolate very-berry ice cream. I told him the cravings stick around for a while after birth.”

Sara’s delight in fooling her husband should have made Elena laugh, but she was too aware of the fear crawling up her spine. “Sara, did the vampire give you any hint of why he asked for me?”

“Sure. He said Raphael wanted the best.”

“I’m the best,” Elena muttered the next morning as she got out of the taxi in front of the magnificent creation that was Archangel Tower. “I’m the best.”