“I can smell blood, Elena,” Dmitri drawled, walking back into the room. “Are you trying to flirt?”
“You do realize this makes your wings even more unique."
"Are you saying you shot me as a cosmetic procedure?”
“Oh my God! I'm crushing an angel. Let me up!”
“He was trying to make me his bed buddy. I declined. He gave chase."
... "How, exactly, did you 'decline' his offer?"
"By slitting his throat."
The silence in the garage was broken only by the sound of water drip-dripping somewhere in the distance. Sara just stared. So did Ransom. Then the idiot male started laughing hysterically. He laughed so hard he fell off the bike and onto the scarred concrete of the garage floor. Even that didn't stop him.
Elena would've kicked him, except he'd probably use the chance to pull her down with him. "Shut up before I do the same to you."
He tried to stop laughing. Failed. "Jesus, Ellie. You are awesome!”
“Option 1: Attempt to back out.
Probable result: Death after painful torture.
Option 2: Do the job and hope.
Probable result: Death but probably no torture (good)”
“How long have you been with Raphael?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a dead woman.”
“What can I say? I prefer to die well-informed.”
-Venom and Elena”
“You know how spooky Ashwini is. She called an hour ago to tell me she has a secret stash of handheld grenade launchers she thought I might want to know about. My response was, 'What the fuck?”
“The bastard kissed her. She was so mad, she bit him hard enough to draw blood. Raphael pulled back, lip already beginning to swell. “We are no longer even, Elena. You’re now in debt.”
“You can deduct it from my slow and painful death.”
“This was the kind of job that made legends out of hunters. Of course, to be a legend, you generally had to be dead.”
“You don't fear me," he said now.
She wasn't stupid enough to lie. "I'm petrified. But I figure you didn't make me come all this way just so you could push me off the roof.”
“There was a very slight chance she might actually kill him that way, and if she did, she’d be brought up on charges. Unless, of course, she could prove harmful intent. She could see it now.
See, Your Honor, he was going to f*ck me silly, make me like it.”
“No one has ever been able to pinpoint the trigger."
"But?"
"But it is legend that ambrosia only rises when-"
She held her breath.
"- an archangel loves true.”
“Elena: "I guess a dying woman can be stupid if she wants. I'm crazy about you, Archangel. You scare the shit out of me at times, but I want to dance with you anyway.”
“I don’t want to lose my memories. Don’t make me forget. I would rather die as
Elena, than live as a shadow.”
“Some things were worth the dance with danger.”
“He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against hers. “You’ll be the death of me, Elena.” She smiled. “You need a little excitement in that boring old life of yours.”
“Oh, this is a special blend for you." Taking one of the fingers she hadn't licked, he rubbed it along her lips. "What we usually shed is apparently comparable to the most delicious of chocolates or the finest of wines. Decadent, rich, and very expensive."
She told herself she wasn't going to lick the glitter off her lips. "And this blend?" The taste was inside her mouth without her having any knowledge of taking it in. And Raphael was incredibly close, his wings creating a white gold wall all around them his hands strong and warm on her hips. "What's so special about it?"
"This blend," he murmured, bending his head, "is about sex."
She put her hands on his chest but it wasn't a protest. After the blood, the fear, she needed to touch him, to know this glorious creature existed. "Another form of mind control?"
He shook his head, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers. "It's only fair."
"Fair?" She flicked her tongue along his lower lip. It made his hands clench on her hips.
"If I licked you between your thighs, your taste would have the same aphrodisiac effect on me.”
“But it was the dark hunger in his tone that got to her. Damn kinky vampire had actually liked the knife.
Shit.”
“How’s Her Royal Bitchiness?”
“Alive.”
“Pity.”
“I'm crazy about you, Archangel. You scare the shit out of me at times, but I want to dance with you anyway.”
“I've never heard a man's cock described as a fang before...."
"Fang, cock.... It's all sexual to a vampire."
"But not to an angel. My cock serves a highly specific purpose.”
“Thought you were--'
'--Raphael said--'
'I said, no way in hell--'
'Damn straight--'
'--and Ransom was ready to come--'
'--woke up and I had wings!”
“I'm the best," Elena muttered to herself the next morning s she got out of the taxi in front of the magnificient creation that was Archangel Tower.
"Hey, lady, you gonna pay me or just talk to yourself?"
"What? Oh.... Keep the change."
... "...you got a big hunt coming on?"
Elena didn't ask how he'd pegged her for a hunter. "No. But I do have a high chance of meeting a horrible death within the next few hours. Might as well do something good as up my shot at getting into heaven.”
“So the big, bad, and able-to-mind-control angel thinks you’re his. As
in ‘I don’t share my woman.”
“You want to play? Come find me angel boy.”
“llium snorted. “I look like a damned duck.” His words weren’t far off the mark. The feathers that had grown over the injured section were soft, white, and delicately … fluffy. “I hope to hell these baby feathers fall off and get replaced by real ones. They will, won’t they?” He sounded worried.”
“Ransom thought her girly tendencies the funniest thing ever, constantly teased her over them, but the last time he'd opened his big mouth, she'd gotten her own back by pointing out that his long black hair sure did look well conditioned.”
“If this is death, Guild Hunter,he thought to his mortal as angelfire scored through his bones and touched his heart, then I will see you on the other side.”
“A naked blade sheathed in velvet, that was Raphael's voice.”
“I am not made of steel. Rage. I...am made... of RAGE!!!!”
“Equally arresting are British pub names. Other people are content to dub their drinking establishment with pedestrian names like Harry’s Bar and the Greenwood Lounge. But a Briton, when he wants to sup ale, must find his way to the Dog and Duck, the Goose and Firkin, the Flying Spoon, or the Spotted Dog. The names of Britain’s 70,000 or so pubs cover a broad range, running from the inspired to the improbable, from the deft to the daft. Almost any name will do so long as it is at least faintly absurd, unconnected with the name of the owner, and entirely lacking in any suggestion of drinking, conversing, and enjoying oneself. At a minimum the name should puzzle foreigners-this is a basic requirement of most British institutions-and ideally it should excite long and inconclusive debate, defy all logical explanation, and evoke images that border on the surreal.”
“People always make up stories about princesses. It comes to us with the crown. We have to carry it as lightly as we can.”
“It’s all right, Lilenta,” Baird whispered soothingly in her ear. “All right now. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’ve got you.” Liv”
“You never know what will happen when you fall from a great height.”
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