It was one hell of a mess.
And yet . . . “Architects, builders, growers,” she whispered against Raphael’s lips. “We can snatch life out of the horror.”
His mouth curved into a sinful, youthful smile he gave no one else. “Careful, Elena-mine. You do not wish to tempt the super-parasite.”
Slapping her hands on his chest, she glared. “I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap.”
He laughed, her archangel strong and beautiful and deadly . . . and a little bit mortal, the laughter yet in his taste when he kissed her again. The last thing she saw before she fell into him, into love, were petals the color of fresh blood lying on his wing . . . and the glitter of life in the Legion mark on his temple.
Aeclari.