Wave to the nice tourists, Sparkle. I promise it won't cause pestilence and firestorms." Elena bit the inside of her cheek at Aodhan's glare-she'd never seen anyone crack his reserved shell. "Sparkle and Bluebell, nice." "Never," Aodhan said, hands stubbornly on the girder, "ever repeat that. Illium seems to have forgotten I promised to separate his tongue from his mouth should he utter it again in this immortal lifetime.

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.

She was more than willing to let him walk off his temper. And the man had one, even if he wasn't willing to admit it.

He'd kill for her, destroy for her, savage anyone who dared attempt to take her from him. And he would never let her go...even if she begged for her freedom.

Nothing's ever gone. We fool ourselves that things fade, but they never do.

Do you think you have the right to give me orders now?" The Archangel of New York, a creature so lethal that part of her feared him even now, lifted the hair off her nape, brushed his lips across her skin. "Of course. You are mine." No hint of humor, nothing but stark possession. "I don't think you've quite got the hang of this true love thing.

A queen keeps a court that is spoken about. A goddess keeps a court that is never forgotten.