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slacks. Apart from his silver wings, there wasn’t anything angelic about his looks. Danger and sexual prowess were stamped all over him, especially in the intensity of his blue eyes and the daring mischief that tugged at the corners of his mouth. A damn full mouth. Any woman would desire him. All the young female healers of the New York Society of Angels did. She often suffered shameless fantasies about him while lying in bed at night. Stupid punishment, of course. Julien was out of her league. He’d want a suitable bed partner, like the statuesque blonde angel he’d been chatting with earlier.
    Occasionally, he paused to exchange a brief word and a handshake before moving closer to her. Lana didn’t like this sudden feeling of vulnerability. She glanced around in the hope of locating Miranda, but her friend had disappeared. For goodness’ sake...I’m just in the same room as him. She smoothed her dress over her hips unconsciously. There was no need. The long charcoal lace dress hugged her body as if it were tailored. It was one of the few high-end designer garments she owned. Julien was about ten feet from her when she noticed the purposeful expression on his handsome face, directed at her.
    “Shit,” she muttered, and tipped the champagne glass against her mouth for a generous sip. He isn’t coming to talk to me, is he?
    The answer to that question came five seconds later when he stopped in front of her. She had no choice but to tilt her chin to meet his gaze, a flutter going off from her stomach to her heart.
    “I’ve wanted to meet the healer who treated Arianna’s bullet wound with notable skill. Good evening, Lana.” His mouth curved into a sensual smile as he held out a muscled hand. He didn’t bother introducing himself. Everyone knew the chief of New York City’s angel law enforcement division.
    That he knew her name didn’t surprise her. She hesitated for a moment to brace herself for the contact, and slid her hand into his. His warmth shot up her arm like an electric frisson, a wonderful shock to her system. She watched a roguish smile tug at a corner of his mouth as she drew in a calming breath. He was aware of his effect on women.
    “Good evening, Julien,” she replied with a smile and a nod.
    “Are you enjoying yourself?”
    “Yes...it’s a lovely venue.” He released her hand after her response.
    “No escort tonight?” he inquired with a lift of a dark brow.
    “No. I came with a friend, who’s presently mingling.”
    His gaze swept over her face and her bare shoulders with unguarded manly appraisal. “Let’s walk.”
    An angel used to giving orders, of course. Not that she could bring herself to refuse anyway. She walked by his side, unnervingly aware of his commanding presence. They wove around the clusters of elegant people until he paused several feet from an attractive young man with no wings. When Julien and the man made eye contact, the latter raised his glass with a warm smile that soon encompassed her too, while his gaze glided over her with polite appreciation.
    “Is he a healer?” she asked.
    “No. He’s an Ahkran.”
    She gave the man a curious glance this time. “What’s he doing here?”
    Ahkran were a human-like supernatural race that dated back to the sixteenth century. Scientists had determined that Ahkran evolved from the human species with a genetic abnormality involving physiological energy. Their production of energy was at least fifteen times greater than that of a human. For reasons unknown, they either liked angels or hated them. The latter, known as rogues, were not the majority, but nonetheless quite problematic. They merged in underground clans with the main purpose of planning fatal attacks on angels. Armed with the power to generate electric bolts with their hands, they were a dangerous lot.
    Angels were exceptionally powerful and their bodies could sustain many injuries, but an Ahkran bolt could permanently damage a wing or kill. Ahkran had little