She licked her lips, tried to breathe—and heard the rapid tattoo of her heart against her ribs. Yeah, the archangel knew how to kiss. “Why?” she finally managed to say, falling into step beside him as he walked to the door.

“You’re likely to get dirty and destroy your clothes on a regular basis.” Raphael’s humor was dry, his voice an exquisite caress in the night. “It is the same reason he likes it when Illium occasionally stays here. You both give him plenty to do.”

She made a face at him, but her lips kicked up at the corners. “Is Illium coming to join us?” The blue-winged angel was part of Raphael’s Seven, the vampires and angels who had given their loyalty to the Archangel of New York—even to the extent of placing his life before their own. Illium was the only one of the Seven who saw her human heart not as a weakness, but as a gift. And in him, she saw a kind of innocence that had been lost in the other immortals.

The door opened at that moment to expose the beaming face of Raphael’s butler. “Sire,” he said in a plummy English accent she was certain could turn cold and intimidating on command. “It is good to have you home.”

“Montgomery.” Raphael placed a hand on the vampire’s shoulder as he passed.

Elena smiled at the butler, delighted by him all over again. “Hello.”

“Mistress.”

She blinked. “Elena,” she said firmly. “I’m no one’s mistress but my own.” Then there was the fact that though he chose to work in the service of an archangel, Montgomery was a strong vampire, hundreds of years old.

The butler’s spine went stiff as a board, his eyes shooting to Raphael—who gave a languid smile. “You must not shock Montgomery so, Elena.” Reaching out to take her hand, he tugged her to his side. “Perhaps you will allow him to call you Guild Hunter?”