Raphael wore a black tuxedo. The light of the early evening played on his face, painting the left side golden, while the right remained in cool shadow. He looked perfectly poised between darkness and light. The elegant jacket mapped the strength of his broad shoulders and the supple resilience of his narrow waist, bringing to the forefront both the natural beauty of his body and its dangerous edge. His blue eyes looked hard and focused, hammering home the point—crossing him would be extremely unwise.

He didn’t wear his tuxedo like a relaxed gentleman would wear a dinner jacket, nor did he wear it the way a knight wore his armor. Raphael wore it the way an assassin wears his leathers and cloak. He was a dagger in a black sheath. I wanted to reach for him, even knowing he would slice my flesh to pieces.

My heart hammered in my chest. This was such a bad idea. But it was my only chance at Anapa and his office, and I owed it to Nick and the families of four dead shapeshifters to take it.

Raphael was looking at me and I just stood there, unable to move. I had to do something. Say something.

Sad, sad Andrea cradling her pitiful broken heart. Pathetic.

The vitriol did its job. The world stopped spinning, my mind snapped into gear, and I finally registered the significance of Raphael’s expression. He looked blank. Completely blank, as if he was gazing at something that had broken his brain.

“Raphael?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“Are you okay?”

Raphael’s lips moved. He swore.

Ha! I got him! Drink it in, darling. Where’s your seven-foot-tall fiancée now?

“Is there something wrong with my dress?” Rub it in, rub it in…

Raphael finally managed to formulate a word. “No. Just wondering where you hid your gun.”

I showed him my giant clutch.

“Ah,” he said. “Didn’t see that.”

Of course he didn’t. He was too busy looking at me. It was a small revenge, but it tasted so sweet.

Raphael led me to his Pack Jeep that spat and roared, belching magic. He opened the door for me. As I got in, his scent slid along my skin, singing to me.

Maaate. Mate-mate-mate.

Damn it.

I sat in my seat. Instead of closing the door, he leaned toward me, a look of intense concentration on his face as if he were about to say or do something rash.

My breath caught in my throat. If he bent down to kiss me, I would punch him right in the face. I wouldn’t be able to help myself.

Raphael pushed himself away from me and closed the door.

Good. It was better this way. Really.

Raphael got into the Jeep, shut the door, muting the roar of the water engine, and we took off.