“Why?” she asked, even as delight bubbled through her bloodstream.

Prussian blue froze into black ice. “Lijuan is giving a ball in your honor.”

“We’re talking about Zhou Lijuan, the oldest of the archangels?” The bubbles went flat, lifeless. “She’s . . . different.”

“Yes. She has evolved.” A hint of midnight whispered through his tone; shadows so thick they were almost corporeal. “She’s no longer wholly of this world.”

Her skin prickled, because for an immortal to say that . . . “Why would she hold a ball for me? She doesn’t know me from Adam.”

“On the contrary, Elena. The entire Cadre of Ten knows who you are—we hired you after all.”

The idea of the most powerful body in the world being interested in her made her break out in a cold sweat. It didn’t help that Raphael was one of them. She knew what he was capable of, the power he wielded, how easy it would be for him to cross the line into true evil. “Only nine now,” she said.

“Uram’s dead. Unless you found a replacement while I was in a coma?”

“No. Human time means little to us.” The casual indifference of an immortal. “As for Lijuan, it’s about power—she wants to see my little pet, see my weakness.”

2

His pet. His weakness.

“Her words or yours?”

“Does it matter?” A negligent shrug. “It’s true.”

She threw the knife with deadly accuracy. Raphael caught it in midair—by the blade. His blood flowed scarlet against the gold of his skin. “Was it not you who bled the last time?” he asked conversationally as he dropped the knife to the formerly pristine white carpet and tightened his hand into a fist. The blood flow halted within a single second.

“You made me close my hand over a blade.” Her heart was still racing from witnessing the sheer speed of him. Dear God. And she’d taken this man to her bed. Craved him even now.