A flash of satisfaction in his eyes.

“But nothing else.” She locked gazes with him, refusing to back down. “So, I’m a baby immortal. Fine—but I’m also still a hunter. One good enough that you hired me.”

Annoyance replaced the passion. “You’re an angel.”

“With magic angel money?”

“Money is no object.”

“Of course not—you’re richer than Midas himself,” she muttered. “But I’m not going to be your little chew-toy—”

“Chew-toy?” A gleam of amusement.

She ignored him. “Sara says I can walk back into the job anytime I want.”

“Your loyalty to the angels now overwhelms your loyalty to the Hunters Guild.”

“Michaela, Sara, Michaela, Sara,” she murmured in a mock-thoughtful voice. “Bitch Goddess angel versus my best friend, gee, which side do you think I’ll choose?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” He raised an eyebrow.

She had the feeling he knew something she didn’t. “Why not?”

“You can’t put any of your plans in action until you can fly.”

That shut her up. Glaring at him, she slumped back against the pillows, her wings spread out on the sheets in a slow sweep of midnight shading to indigo and darkest blue before falling into dawn and finally, a brilliant white-gold. Her attempt at a sulk lasted approximately two seconds. Elena and sulking had never gone well together. Even Jeffrey Deveraux, who despised everything about his “abomination” of a daughter, had been unable to lay that sin at her feet.

“Then teach me,” she said, straightening. “I’m ready.” The ache to fly was a fist in her throat, a ravaging need in her soul.