[ Truyện Tiếng Anh] Angel's Blood

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 21



Dmitri's expression held pure relief. "Sire?"

"What time is it?" he asked, his voice strong. Anshara had done its work. But he'd have to pay the price it demanded soon.

"Dawn," Dmitri answered in the old way. "Light is just touching the horizon."

Raphael got out of bed and flexed his wing. "The hunter?"

"Bound in another room."

The wing was back to normal except for one thing. He looked down at the inner pattern. The smooth brushstrokes of gold had been interrupted at the point where Elena's bullet had torn through. Now the bottom half of that wing bore a unique pattern in gold on white-an explosion from a central point. He smiled. So, he would carry the mark of Elena's burst of violence.

"Sire?" Dmitri's voice was questioning as he noted the smile.

Raphael continued to look down at the wing, at the mark caused by the Quiet. It would serve as a useful reminder. "Did you hurt her, Dmitri?" He glanced at his second, noting the disheveled hair, the wrinkled clothing.

"No." The vampire's lips curved upward in a feral smile. "I thought you'd enjoy that pleasure."

Raphael touched Elena's mind. She was asleep, exhausted from a night spent attempting to break her bonds. "This is a battle between me and the hunter. No one else will interfere. Take care the others know that."

Dmitri couldn't hide his surprise. "You won't punish her? Why?"

Raphael answered to no one, but Dmitri had been with him longer than any other. "Because I took the first shot. And she is mortal."

The vampire's expression remained unconvinced. "I like Elena, but if she escapes punishment, others might question your power."

"Make sure they understand that Elena occupies a very special place in the scheme of things. Anyone else who dares challenge me will soon wish I'd shown them the same mercy I showed Germaine."

Dmitri's face paled. "May I ask one question?"

He waited in silent permission.

"Why were you so badly injured?" Dmitri pulled out a gun he'd had tucked into the small of his back. "I checked the bullet she used-it should've only caused minor damage, given her a head start of ten minutes at most."

Then she will kill you. She will make you mortal.

"I needed to be injured," he responded obliquely. "It was the answer to a question."

Dmitri looked frustrated. "Can it happen again?"

"I'll make sure it doesn't." He took pity on the leader of his Seven. "Do not worry, Dmitri-you won't have to watch the city shudder under the rule of another archangel. Not for another eternity."

"I've seen what they can do." The vampire's eyes swirled with the rivers of memory. "I was under Neha's tender mercies for a hundred years. Why didn't you stop me when I rebelled against your authority?"

"You were two hundred years old," Raphael pointed out, heading toward the bathroom. "Old enough to choose."

Dmitri snorted. "Old enough to be ****y with no real knowledge to back it up. A damn pup with delusions of grandeur." A pause. "Have you never wondered-if I'm a spy?"

"If I had, you'd be dead."

Dmitri smiled and there was a loyalty in his eyes that surprised Raphael each time he saw it. The vampire was incredibly powerful, could've set up a stronghold of his own, but he chose to give his life over to an archangel. "Now I will ask you a question, Dmitri."

"Sire."

"Why do you think I intend to spare Elena's life?"

"You need her to track Uram," Dmitri responded. "And . . . there is something about her that fascinates you. Not much fascinates an immortal."

"Feeling the stirrings of ennui?"

"I see its edge on the horizon-how do you fight it?"

Raphael wasn't sure he had been fighting it. "As you say, very little fascinates an immortal."

"Ah." Dmitri's smile turned ***ual in the way of vampires. "So you must savor that which fascinates."

Elena woke when her bladder protested. It was a good thing hunters were trained to restrain their natural urges in such circumstances-some hunts involved hours upon hours of immobile watchfulness. Still, it wasn't comfortable.

I will send Dmitri.

Her face went so hot, it felt like she had third-degree burns. "Do you always spy on people?" It was tempting, but she didn't try to use that headache-inducing shield thing she seemed to have developed. Better to save that for when he was really messing with her.

No. Most people aren't very interesting.

The arrogance of the answer was stunning . . . and welcome. This was the archangel she knew. "I'm not letting that vampire escort me to the bathroom. He'll probably try to bite me."

Wait for me, then.

That just made her want to scream. "Get him to untie me. I can hardly make a daring escape with you up and around."

I don't think Dmitri trusts you with your hands and feet unbound.

She was about to tell him exactly what she thought of that when the door opened to admit the vampire in question. He looked like he'd been up all night, his shirt rumpled, his previously neat hair messy. It only made him look lusciously ***y. "Do vampires sleep?"

He gave her a startled look. "You're a vampire hunter. Don't you know?"

"I mean I know you sleep, but do you really need it?" She stayed very still as he went behind her. "Dmitri?"

Cool fingers brushing her hair out of the way to bare her nape. Knuckles running along skin. "We can go without sleep for longer than humans, but yes, we need it."

"Stop that," she muttered when he continued to stroke her with his knuckles. "I'm not in the mood."

"That sounds promising." His breath whispered against her nape, a dangerous place for a vampire with cool hands. It meant he hadn't fed. "What can I do to get you in the mood?"

"Untie me and let me use the bathroom."

He chuckled and then she felt a tug on her wrists. The bonds fell magically away. "How the hell?"

"I learned rope bondage from a true adept," he murmured, playing with strands of her hair as she released herself from the ropes.

She would've snapped at him to stop it but he wasn't hurting her and now that Raphael was awake, she had a feeling it wasn't Dmitri who posed the real danger. "Bathroom?" She jumped to her feet as soon as the ropes were undone, then moaned. "My muscles. Why the hell did you have to tie me up so hard?" She threw him an evil look.

"Maybe I was getting my own back." He rubbed a hand across his throat.

"I thought you liked pain."

A dark smile, filled with whispers of badness that would hurt oh so good. "But you didn't stay to play."

She sniffed the air suspiciously. No scent. He was just being his usual self. And gorgeous as he was, he didn't make her stupid with lust. Maybe a touch affected, but what woman wouldn't be? "For the last time, where's the-" She followed the direction of his raised hand toward a small door. "Thanks."

Once inside, she frowned and tried to use that "shield" that might turn out to be nothing but her imagination running wild. There was no way she wanted Raphael in her head at that moment. Ten minutes later, she'd used the facilities, washed her face, brushed her teeth using one of the disposable toothbrushes under the sink, and combed her hair using the dinky disposable brush. There was even a small white hair-tie included in the pack, which she used to pull her hair up into a ponytail, her own hair-tie having being lost God only knew when.

Looking in the mirror, she decided she'd do. The thin cuts on her face were barely noticeable and though her palms were a little tender, they wouldn't limit her range of movement. As for clothes-her fatigue-green T-shirt looked okay and her black cargo pants weren't too badly wrinkled. It was as good an outfit to die in as any. Not that she was going to make it easy for the archangel. That thought in mind, she quickly disassembled one of the disposable razors, intending to get to the blade.

"****!"

"Did you find the razors, Elena?" came Dmitri's voice from the other side. "You wound me with your estimation of my IQ."

She threw the plastic in the trash. That vampire had somehow managed to remove the blade without destroying the razor as a whole. "Very funny." Opening the door, she walked out.

Dmitri stood on the opposite side of the room, his hand on the doorknob. "Raphael wants to see you." Gone was any hint of friendliness.

"I'm ready."

That seemed to amuse him. "Are you?"

"How about a knife at least?" she bargained. "Make it a fair fight?"

He opened the door. "If it comes down to it, there will be no fight. But for some reason, I don't think Raphael plans to kill you."

That's what Elena was afraid of. "Where are we going?"

"To the roof."

Elena tried to remain calm as...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 22



No woman on the planet could've resisted the ***ual heat of Raphael at that moment. "Is this your idea of refueling?" she murmured, biting down softly on his lower lip.

His arms slid around her. "*** and power have always been connected." And then he kissed her.

Her feet lifted up on tiptoe as she tried to get closer. His arms crushed her to his chest, his wings blocking out the world as she gripped his shirt and tried not to drown under the overload of pleasure. That erotic, aphrodisiac angel dust seemed to be sinking into her pores through every inch of exposed skin, snaking through her body to collect in the hot, aching place between her thighs, the excess flowing through her body in a rush of liquid heat. Her breasts ached, her lips craved him.

"How's the power generation going?" she gasped when he let her up for air.

His eyes were still as dark but sparks of electric blue glittered in the depths. "Exquisitely."

Her reply was lost in the fury of his next kiss. Under her hands, his chest was hard, sculptured, hot. She wanted to shape, to taste, to pet. Stroking up, she found the collar of his shirt, and slid one hand inside to lie against his shoulder. His reaction was to grip her bottom with one hand and raise her so the hard ridge of his erection pressed against the vee of her thighs.

There was nothing removed or angelic about him at that moment. He was pure ***y, gorgeous male. And strong, so beautifully strong it made her feel feminine to the core. For the first time in her life, she didn't have to hold back her hunter strength. That was a little-known fact about hunters who were born, not trained. They were stronger than an ordinary human, more likely *****rvive an encounter with a pissed-off vamp.

"Good," was Raphael's only reaction when she wrapped both legs around his waist. He continued to hold her as if she weighed nothing and it was almost as erotic as the way his hand shaped her, strong and confident.

"You kiss pretty well for a guy with wings," she murmured into the intimacy of his mouth. The truth was, he was threatening to blow off the top of her head.

"And your mouth is going to get you into trouble yet again." He shoved a hand up under her T-shirt, spreading those strong fingers against her spine, igniting a shock of pleasure. "Feeling coerced?"

"Extremely." But he'd been telling the truth about the angel dust-it tasted like pure *** but didn't seem to be affecting her mind . . . at least no more than could be accounted for by the lust racing through her system.

He shifted his hold at that moment, continuing *****pport her with one hand under her butt, while the other snaked around her body to cup her breast. Electricity arced through her. "You don't waste time," she said, breaking the kiss *****ck in a breath.

"Mortals don't live long." He pinched her nipple through her bra. "I have to take advantage of you while I can."

"Not funny. Oh-" She pushed into his hands, wondering at herself. She'd never, not once, fallen for the vampires she so often came in contact with. More than one hunter had-hell, the old ones were not only pretty, they were smart and knew exactly how to please a lover. Dmitri was the perfect example.

Yet Elena had resisted, knowing that, for all their appeal, they were, in the end, almost-immortals who saw her as nothing more than a fleeting diversion. And she'd fought too hard for her right to live to value it so cheaply. But here she was, wrapped around an archangel. "How long do you play with your toys?"

He cupped her breast. "As long as they amuse me."

The answer should have dampened the heat between them but those eyes of his, they were furious with ***, with hunger, with passion such as she'd never before known. "I have no intention of amusing you."

He molded her sensitive flesh. "Then this will blow over very fast." His tone said otherwise. "Now open your mouth."

She did just that-to tell him not to give her orders. But he took advantage, sweeping in to entangle her senses in a wash of male hunger and the exotic, erotic taste of angel dust. She dug her fingers into his back, glorying in the heavy muscle under her touch. His lips left hers to trail down her neck-he grazed her with his teeth, leaving marks. "I would like very much to **** you, Elena."

She sucked in a cool breath of air, then buried her face against his neck, vividly conscious of his hand on her breast. "Such a romantic proposal."

His wings brushed her back as he closed them even tighter around her. "Would you prefer flowery words, paeans to your beauty?"

She laughed, licked at his skin, taking the savage, quintessentially masculine scent of him deep inside. The idea of Raphael serenading her was preposterous. "No, honesty works for me." Especially when that honesty was coated in pure ***ual fire, a dark heat focused solely on her.

"Good." He began to move.

"Stop." She wiggled, surprising him into letting her go. The second her feet touched the ground, she pushed off his chest . . . then had to use him to balance herself when her legs wobbled.

He put one hand on her waist to steady her. "I never took you for a tease."

"I'm also not a pushover." She wiped the back of her hand across her lips. It came away sparkling with fine glitter, making her wonder about the rest of her face. "I just spent the night tied up in a chair, buddy."

"You're saying we're even?" He folded back his wings.

The sudden space made her realize how close she was to the edge of the roof. Taking a few wary steps forward, she nodded. "You disagree?"

Eyes the color of the deepest oceans gleamed. "Whether I do or not, it's good you stopped us. We have something to discuss."

"What?"

"It'll soon be time to earn your paycheck."

Fear and exhilaration burst through her veins. "You have a bead on Uram?"

"In a sense." His face was suddenly very ascetic, all traces of sensuality smoothing away to reveal the bone structure no mortal man would ever possess. "We'll eat first. Then we will speak of blood."

"I don't want to eat."

"You will." His tone was absolute. "I won't be accused of mistreating my hunter."

"Change that pronoun," she said. "I'm not yours."

"Really?" His lips curved slightly and it wasn't amusement. "Yet you have my mark driven into your skin."

She brushed at the backs of her hands. The damn glittery stuff stuck. "It'll wash off."

"Perhaps."

"You better hope it does-a glow-in-the-dark hunter won't exactly blend in."

A very male appraisal gleamed in those eyes. "I could lick it off you."

The embers low in her body flamed up, melting her from the inside out. "No, thanks." Yes, please, her body murmured. "I need to shower anyway."

The austere expression on his face shifted to pure sensuality between one heartbeat and the next. "I'll wash your back."

"An archangel deigning to wash a hunter's back?" She raised an eyebrow.

"There would be a price, of course."

"Of course."

His head tilted up without warning. "It seems we'll have to postpone that discussion."

She turned her head in the same direction, but could see nothing except a painfully bright sky. "Who's up there this time?"

"No one you need to concern yourself about." The arrogance was back full force. Then he snapped out his wings and the air rushed out of her.

Someone so beautiful shouldn't exist, she thought. It was impossible.

I'm only beautiful to you, Elena.

She didn't tell him to get out of her head this time. She kicked him out.

He blinked, his face otherwise expressionless. "I thought I'd imagined that little trick of yours."

"Guess not." Her elation had her grinning so hard her face felt like it might crack. Damn, if she could really do this . . . But then logic reasserted itself. Doing this gave her one hell of a headache, so she had to stop being stupid and keep it in reserve for when she really, desperately needed it. "Logic sucks."

Raphael's lips curved but this time, the smile held an edge of cruelty, a reminder that the man she'd kissed was also the Archangel of New York, also the man who'd held her over a mortal fall and whispered of death in her ear. "Eat," he said now. "I'll return to join you."

Again, that sense of deja vu hit her as he simply stepped back off the roof. She stood in place this time, though her stomach went into free fall. But then there he was, winging his way upward, the wind of his flight whipping air across her face. It was tempting to keep watching after him, but she turned away, well aware she was walking a very thin line.

Raphael wanted her, but that was something separate from his duties as the Archangel of New York, a fact she'd do well to remember-even if she survived Uram, she'd still likely be marked for death. The simple fact was that she knew too much. And she wasn't even close to getting Raphael to swear an oath. Damn. Striding over to the breakfast table, she hesitated....

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 23



"Uram?" Elena asked, trying not to think about the stomach-churning "delivery" Raphael had just described. "Is he-"

"Later." Raphael cut her off with a slice of his hand. "First we'll go to the site and see if you can track him."

"He's an archangel. I scent vampires," she pointed out for what felt like the millionth time, but neither archangel nor vampire was listening.

"I've organized transport," Dmitri said and she had the sense that more information was being communicated than the words she could hear.

Raphael shook his head. "I'll take her. The longer we wait, the more the scent will dissipate." He held out his hand. "Come, Elena."

She didn't argue, her curiosity rabid. "Let's go."

And that was how she found herself tucked against Raphael's chest as he flew her to an abandoned warehouse in an unfamiliar part of Brooklyn. She ended up squeezing her eyes shut for most of the journey because Raphael was doing that invisible thing again, and this time he'd extended it to cover her. It made her nauseated to not be able to see herself.

"Do you sense him?" he asked moments after he landed on a patch of dirt with a few struggling clumps of grass and helped her get to her feet.

She took a deep breath and was hit with an influx of smell. "Too many vamps. It'll make it harder to separate out the scents." She couldn't see a single vampire, couldn't see any living creature at all, but she knew they were there-though this wasn't a place anyone would want to end up.

The chain-link fence on either side was ragged with holes, the buildings scrawled over with graffiti, the grass scraggly underfoot. There was a pervading sense of disuse, but overlaying that was the odor of rotting garbage . . . and something even more foul. She swallowed bile. "Alright. Show me."

He nodded at the warehouse in front of her. "Inside."

The large warehouse door slid up, though he'd spoken in a low tone. She wondered if he could speak to all his vampires mind-to-mind. But she didn't ask that, couldn't. Because the scent of garbage, of disuse, was suddenly wiped out by stomach-churning foulness.

Blood.

Death.

The sickening miasma of bodily fluids left to stew in an airless space.

The urge to gag tore at her throat. "Never thought I'd say this, but I wish Dmitri was here." She'd welcome his seductive scent at this point. A wash of clean, fresh, rain scent hit her on the heels of that thought. She drew it in, then shook her head. "No. I can't afford to miss the cues. But thank you." Then she stopped hesitating and walked into the horror.

The warehouse was huge, the only light coming in through narrow windows high up on the walls. Her brain couldn't understand the piercing clarity of that light until she felt the crunch of glass underfoot. "The windows are all broken."

Raphael didn't reply, moving behind her like a midnight shadow.

She crunched her way through the glass and onto a patch of clear concrete. Deciding to focus, she stood in place, widened her senses, searched.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

No, she thought, teeth gritted, this was no time to lose it.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She shook her head but that sound-the soft, wet splash of blood hitting a hard surface-didn't disappear. "The dripping," she said, realizing the sound wasn't in her head. Horror choked off her breath but she made herself move forward, through the gloom and toward the very end of the ****rnous space.

The nightmare came into sight slowly.

At first, Elena couldn't make sense of it, couldn't figure out what it was that she was seeing. Everything was in the wrong place. It was as if some sculptor had gotten his pieces mixed up, stuck them into place while blindfolded. That leg, the bone, it had been driven through a woman's sternum, her torso ending in a bloody stump. And that one, she had beautiful blue eyes but they were in the wrong place, staring out at Elena from the gaping maw of her neck.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The blood, it was everywhere. She glanced down in fresh horror, terrified she was standing in it. Her relief was crushing when she saw the rivulets were sluggish, easy to avoid. But the bodies continued to drip, hanging from a tangle of rope like the most macabre of puzzles. Now that she'd looked down, she didn't want to look back up.

"Elena." The rustle of Raphael's wings.

"A minute," she whispered, her voice raw.

"You don't need to look," he told her. "Just follow the scent."

"I need an example of his scent before I can go anywhere," she reminded him. "What he gave Michaela-"

"Michaela destroyed the package. She was in hysterics. Do what you can here. We'll visit her afterward."

Nodding, she swallowed. "Tell your vampires to vacate the area around the warehouse-at least a hundred yards in every direction." There was too much sensory input, as if the sheer amount of blood was amplifying everything, even her own hunter abilities.

"It's being done."

"If any of them are like Dmitri, they need to get out completely."

"There are none. Do you wish to scent those who came inside, for elimination purposes?"

It was a good idea but she knew that if she turned her back on this madness, she'd never return. "Did any of them spend a lot of time near the bodies?"

A pause. "Illium took on the task of determining if any had survived."

"It's obvious they're dead."

"The ones on the floor-their fate wasn't immediately clear."

She'd been so horrified by the hanging bodies that she hadn't paid attention to the pile below. Or perhaps she hadn't wanted to see, to know. Now she did and wished she hadn't. Unlike the nightmare above, these bodies looked as if they were sleeping, one on top of another. "Were they arranged like that?"

"Yes." A new voice.

She didn't turn, guessing it to be Illium. "Are your wings blue?" she asked, coating her pity and sorrow in a casing of dark humor. These three girls below, they were so young, their bodies smooth, uncharted by age.

"Yes," Illium said. "But my **** isn't, in case you were wondering."

She almost laughed. "Thank you." That comment had snapped through the nightmare, allowing her to think. "Your scent won't interfere with my senses." Her nose was ten times better than that of most humans, but when it came to tracking, she was a bloodhound attuned only to vampire. Or that was her normality. This . . .

The sound of footsteps retreating. She waited until she heard the door close. "You took his feathers and he remains with you?" Her eyes traced the bodies. A symphony of unbroken, tangled limbs and curved spines, unmarked but for the gray chill of death.

"Others would have taken his wings."

An angel without wings. It made her remember how she'd shot Raphael. "Why are they so washed out?" Their race was immaterial. Chalk white, dull mahogany, it mattered little. All three girls in the pile were pale in a way that screamed-"Vampire. A vampire fed from them. Drained them." She went to step forward, halted. "The M.E. hasn't been here. I can't touch them."

"Do what you must. Ours are the only eyes that'll see this."

She swallowed. "And their families?"

"Would you leave them with this image of suffering?" A cold blade of anger in every word. "Or a story of a sudden plane crash or car accident in which the body was destroyed beyond recognition?"

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Deluged with blood and death on every side, her brain struggled to fight the memories of old horrors, things no amount of time would wipe away. "He didn't drain the others. Just these three."

"The others were for play."

And somehow, she knew the evil that had butchered the ones above had done so in front of the living girls, shoving terror through them, feeding on their fear. She stepped nearer the drained girls, having skirted the dripping nightmare above. Going down on her haunches, she moved long black hair away from a slender neck. "In cases where a human dies, I usually get the strongest scent impression at the point where blood was taken," she said, talking to drown out the pervading, endless sound of blood hitting concrete. "Oh, Jesus."

Raphael was suddenly on the other side of the bodies, his wings flared out in a way that struck her as odd . . . until she realized he was attempting to keep them out of the blood. He hadn't been wholly successful. A bright red splash marked the tip of one wing. She looked away, forcing her gaze back down to the shredded neck of the girl who'd looked so peaceful from a distance. "This wasn't a feed," she said. "It's like he tore out her neck." Remembering Michaela's "delivery," her eyes dipped. The girl's heart, too, was gone, ripped out of her chest.

"A feed would've been too slow," Raphael said, continuing to keep his wings off the floor. "He must've been starving by this point. He needed a bigger...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 24



"My name is Elena," she said softly, wondering if the woman even knew she was there. "You're safe now."

No response.

Backing out, she looked to Raphael. "She needs medical attention."

"Illium will take her to our healer." He came closer but the woman started whimpering at the first glimpse of his wings, her muscles locking so tight Elena knew they'd have to break her bones to release them.

"No." She stood to block the view. "It needs to be one of the vampires. No wings."

His mouth was a flat line, whether in anger or impatience, she couldn't tell. But he didn't seize control of the woman's mind. "I've asked Dmitri to come. He'll take care of her."

Her heart froze. "As in kill her?"

"Perhaps she would welcome mercy."

"You're not God, to make that decision."

Raphael's face was a study in silence. "No harm will come to her while you are gone."

She read between the lines. "And when I return?"

"Then I will decide if she dies or lives." Eyes of blue fire. "She might be infected, Elena. We must test her. If she is, she has to die."

"Infected?" She frowned, then shook her head. "I know-later."

"Yes. Time is passing." His head angled slightly to the left. "Dmitri comes, but he can't approach until he poses no danger to the scent trail. Leave the woman-the leader of my Seven has a weakness for innocents caught in violence."

Elena nodded at the oblique reassurance, and bent down. "Dmitri is going to help you. Please go with him."

The woman didn't stop rocking but she was no longer making that keening sound and her body wasn't so tense. Praying that Dmitri would be able to get her out without harming her, she made her way back under the chain link and to the other side.

"Can you check the roof-see if there's any sign he took off from there?" As Raphael nodded and flew up, she circled her way around the building. She finally found Uram's exit point on the right side of the warehouse, a few feet from a gaping hole in the chain link.

Aware of Raphael following overhead, she made her way through the hole to the grassy wilderness of the neighboring lot. Blood coated the tips of the grass, as if Uram had run his hand along the top. She found a feather-a brilliant, silvery gray that shimmered with flecks of amber. Its delicate beauty was an insult, a mockery of the blood and suffering she'd seen inside the warehouse. Fighting the urge to crush it, she held it to her nose, drawing in the richness of Uram's true scent. That bite of acid but other things, too. An edge of metal, a dark blade. Blood refined, she thought. Acid and blood and something else, something that spoke of . . . sunlight. She shivered, shoved the feather into her pocket, then carried on.

The scent simply ended in the middle of the lot. "****." She put her hands on her hips and blew out a breath, waving Raphael down. He landed in a feat of pure grace.

"Uram took flight."

"Yes," she said. "I never had that problem with vampires-that's how I can track them. I can't track a being who can fly!" It made her blood boil. She wanted to make the monster pay for the bright young lives he'd stolen. "Dmitri?"

"I've told him to approach. And angels don't always fly," Raphael said. "You're the only one who has any chance of finding his scent on the streets." He paused. "We'll return, so you can bathe and gather your things." He glanced at his wing, distaste open on his face. "I must also clean off the blood."

She blushed at the reminder of how ripe she had to be by now. "Why do I need to gather my things?"

"This hunt won't be long, but it will be intense."

"He'll keep killing," she guessed, fists tight. "Leaving a trail."

"Yes." Raphael's anger was tightly controlled, but the sheer force of it almost cut her skin. "You need to stay close to me or one of my angels so that you can be flown out immediately after we discover a fresh kill."

She realized he wasn't giving her a choice. "I suppose if I say no you'll just make me?"

A moment where the only sounds were those of the grass rustling and the whispers of wings at her back as other angels landed-to begin cleanup, she guessed.

"Uram must be stopped." Raphael's face was quiet, expressionless . . . and all the more dangerous for it. "Would you not say that goal excuses any and all means used?"

"No." But her mind filled with an endless slideshow of images-of a woman with her mouth full of organs that should've remained inside her body, another whose head had been impaled on her arm, a third who stared sightlessly out of empty eye sockets. "I'll cooperate."

"Come." He held out an arm.

She went closer. "Sorry if I stink." Her cheeks heated.

His arms closed around her. "You smell of angel dust." With that, he lifted off-and turned them invisible.

She closed her eyes. "I'm never going to get used to that."

"I thought you liked flying."

"Not that." She held on harder, hoping she'd laced her boots up tight. She wouldn't want to accidentally brain someone. "The being-invisible thing."

"The glamour does take some getting used to."

"You aren't born with it?" She fought a shiver as they rose higher.

"No. It's a gift that comes with age."

She bit her tongue at the question that wanted out.

"Learning discretion, Elena?" A tinge of amusement dulled the fury she could sense just beneath his skin.

"I-I-" When her teeth began to chatter, she decided to hell with discretion, and pretty much crawled onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. He was so deliciously warm. "I'm trying to limit the reasons for which you might have to kill me."

He changed his hold to accommodate her. "Why should I kill you when I can wipe your mind?"

"I don't want to lose my memories." Even the bad ones, they were what made her who she was. Now, today, she was a different Elena to the one who'd never known what it was to kiss an archangel. "Don't make me forget."

"Will you trade your life to keep your memories?" A soft question.

She thought that over. "Yes," she said quietly. "I would rather die as Elena, than live as a shadow."

"We're almost to your apartment."

Forcing open her eyes, she turned to look at her home. The blown-out window had been covered by some sort of clear plastic, but whoever had done it hadn't bothered to anchor it in anything but a cursory fashion. One side was down, flapping in the wind. Her eyes watered. She told herself it was caused by the rush of air cutting over her face.

Raphael flew to that corner and had her tug at the plastic until enough of it was free that she could squeeze inside. Once she was in, she made a wider hole and he walked in, snapping his wings closed behind him. The wind whistled into the apartment as she stood there taking in the mess and feeling her heart break.

The glass was still where it had been when Raphael had shattered the window. So was the blood. Raphael's blood. Her own where she'd cut herself. But a massive wind had come through the living room at some stage, throwing her bookshelf to the floor and breaking the twin to the vase in her bedroom. Papers littered the carpet and the walls were streaked in a way that said there'd been a small squall, a flash of rain that had destroyed what wasn't already broken. The carpet felt damp, the air musty.

At least the door had been fixed enough that it shut. She wondered if it had been boarded over from the outside, nails pounded into the beautiful wood.

"Wait," she said, scooping up her-thankfully-still functional cell phone. "I'll get an overnight bag." With that, she walked over the glass and carpet toward her bedroom, back ramrod straight. "Do I have time to shower here?"

"Yes."

She didn't give him time to change his mind, heading into the bedroom to grab a towel and some underwear.

"I don't like the color scheme."

She paused with her hand on a pair of plain cotton panties. "I told you to wait."

He strolled in, went to her French doors, and pushed them open. "You like flowers."

"Raphael, leave." Her hand trembled she was clenching it so hard.

He looked over his shoulder, a lethal chill in his eyes. "You'd cause a fight over my curiosity?"

"This is my home. I didn't invite you in, not when you blew out the window and destroyed my living room, and not today." She stood her ground, seconds from a breakdown. "You will respect that, or I swear to God, I'll shoot you again."

He stepped out onto the balcony. "I'll wait here. Is that acceptable?"

Surprised he'd bothered to ask, she considered it. "Fine. But I'm closing the doors."

He didn't say anything as she closed the French doors and then, for good measure, pulled the heavy brocade curtains. The...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 25



The car was idling at the curb, a sleek black panther with a vampire leaning against its gleaming paint. Another old one, she realized at once. He was wearing sunglasses with a black-on-black suit, his chocolate-dark hair cut like some GQ model's, but his lips . . . they were dangerous. Bitable. Sensual. "I've been told not to hurt you." He opened the back door.

She dumped her bag inside, frowning inwardly at the odd familiarity of his scent. "Promising start."

He took off the sunglasses and she got the full impact of his eyes. Bright green and slitted like a snake's. "Boo."

She didn't jump-because she was too stupefied by what she was seeing. "Fancy contact lenses don't scare me."

His pupils contracted. Oh. Wow. "I was Made by Neha."

"The Queen of Poisons?"

"The Queen of Snakes." Smile slow and definitely unfriendly, he put the sunglasses back on and stood aside to let her enter the car.

She did so only because of his first words to her. So long as Raphael had this one on a leash, they'd get along fine. The second that leash slipped, she had a feeling she'd need every one of the weapons strapped to her body. "What's your name?" she asked as her "driver" got in.

"To you-Death."

"Very funny." She stared at the back of his neck. "Why do you want to kill me?"

"I'm a member of the Seven."

She suddenly realized why she recognized his scent-he'd been in her apartment the night she shot Raphael. He was the one who'd held her with her arms pinned behind her back. No wonder he wanted to gut her. "Look, Raphael and I have sorted things out. Not your problem."

"We protect Raphael from threats even he might not yet see."

"Great." She blew out a breath. "But . . . did you go inside the warehouse?"

The temperature dropped. "Yes."

"Killing me is not the priority," she said softly, but she was no longer speaking to him. "Where are you taking me?"

"To Raphael."

She watched the streets pass by and realized they were heading out of Manhattan and toward the George Washington Bridge. "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."

A short distance over the bridge and she might as well have been in Vermont. Trees dominated the skyline, veiling the expensive homes that lined this particular stretch, most of them with clifftop outlooks and ridiculous buffers of land. She'd heard rumors the driveways were longer than some roads, and the fact that she couldn't glimpse a single house from the car tended *****pport that theory.

The driver turned in front of a pair of ornate metal gates and pressed something on the dash. The gates opened soundlessly, belying their apparent age. Elena sucked in a breath as they headed into the corridor of trees. This area was marked on maps as the Fort Lee / Palisades region, but even non-New Yorkers called it the Angel Enclave. Elena didn't know anyone who'd ever been beyond the gates that guarded each magnificent property. Angels were very private when it came to their homes.

The driveway was long. It was only as they turned that she caught sight of the large house at the end. Painted an elegant white, it had obviously been built for a being with wings-open balconies ringed the second and third floors. The roof was sloped, but not so much that an angel couldn't land.

Huge windows took up most of the wall space, and though she couldn't fully see it, it appeared as if the left-hand side might feature a stunning creation of stained glass. But even that wasn't the true glory-crawling up along the sides of the house were what looked like a hundred rosebushes, all amazingly still in full bloom. "It looks like something out of a fairy tale." The dark and dangerous kind.

The driver almost choked on his laughter. "Do you expect fairies inside?" He brought the car to a halt.

"I'm hunter-born, vampire. I never believed in fairies." Stepping out, she closed the door. "You coming in?"

"No." He leaned back against the hood, arms folded, mirrored sunglasses reflecting back her own image. "I'll wait here-unless you plan to start screaming. Then I want a ring-side seat."

"First Dmitri and now you." She shook her head. "Is pain really what floats the boat of all the old vamps?"

Another smile, this one with a deliberate hint of fang. "Come into my parlor, little hunter, and I'll show you."

Come here, little hunter. Taste.

Cold slivered through her, chasing away the sun's warmth. Not responding to the vampire's provocation, she grabbed her bag and strode to the front door, able to hear the murmur of the Hudson in the background. She wondered if the house had a water view, or if the trees blocked it. Probably didn't matter to a being who could fly up for a good vantage point.

The door opened before she got there. This time, the vamp was of the ordinary variety. Experienced but not old, not like the driver and Dmitri. "If you'd please follow me," he said.

She blinked at the plummy British tone. "You sound like a butler."

"I am a butler, madam."

Elena didn't know what she'd been expecting, but a butler was not it. She followed in silence as he led her through a wash of brilliant colors-sunshine coming in through the stained glass she'd guessed at-to a pair of carved wooden doors. "The sire awaits you in the library. Would you care for a cup of coffee or tea?"

"Wow, I want a butler, too." She bit her lower lip. "Would it be too much trouble to ask for a snack? I'm starving." Throwing up was hell on a girl's appetite.

The butler's expression didn't change, but she could've sworn he was amused. "Preparations have been made for a cold lunch. It'll be served in the library."

"Then some coffee would be great. Thanks."

"Of course, madam." He went to open the library doors. "I can take your bag to your room if you wish."

"Then I wish." Still musing over the idea of having met a real live butler, she handed the bag to him and walked inside. Raphael was standing by the huge windows on the right-hand side, backlit by sunshine. His wings glittered gold and white and it was such an arresting sight that she almost missed the second person in the room.

The woman stood by the mantel, wings of bronze, eyes too green to be mortal, and skin of such a beautiful dusky shade it was as if gold had been pounded into bronze and then mixed with cream. Her hair was a curly mass of brown and gold that reached the curve of her butt. A butt displayed very nicely in the catsuit currently painted over her body. A shimmery bronze, the garment zipped up the front and left her arms bare. Right now, it was unzipped just enough to hint at the perfect globes of her breasts.

"So, this is the hunter you find so fascinating." The voice was smooth whiskey, honey and cream, sensual and full of venom.

Elena shrugged. "I'd say it's more a case of finding me useful."

The female archangel raised an eyebrow. "Didn't anybody ever teach you not to interrupt your betters?" Astonishment in every word.

"Why, yes, they did." She let her tone say the rest.

The archangel flicked out a hand and that was when Raphael spoke. "Michaela."

Michaela dropped her hand. "You allow the human too much freedom."

"Be that as it may, the Guild Hunter is under my protection for the duration of the hunt."

Michaela's smile was sweet poison. "Pity Uram is so creative, otherwise I would've enjoyed teaching you your place."

"I'm not the one he's courting with gifts of human hearts."

That wiped the smile off Michaela's face. She straightened, her skin beginning to glow. "I look forward to eating your heart when it's delivered."

"Enough." Raphael was suddenly in front of Elena, blocking her from Michaela's rage.

She wasn't stupid enough to repudiate the gesture. She stayed behind him quite happily, using the time to rearrange her weapons to maximum advantage. Including the small gun she'd found hidden under her pillow. It was identical to the one Vivek had given her. Sara was the real angel, she thought as she moved that gun from an ankle holster to one of the side pockets of her cargos, from where she could fire without having to take it out.

That done, she focused on Raphael's wings. Up close, they were impossibly perfect, impossibly brilliant. She couldn't help but stroke her finger down the part closest to her. Some things were worth the dance with danger.

"We don't need her." Michaela's voice dripped power.

"Yes, we do." Raphael's tone shifted, became an icy flame. "Calm down before you overstep the rules of Guesthood."

Elena wondered what those rules were even as she realized that Raphael had never spoken to her in that tone. Oh, he'd used some pretty harsh stuff, but not this one. Maybe it was reserved for other archangels. If so, they were welcome to it. She had no desire to face him down in...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 26



Elena's stomach didn't roil this time. She'd expected as much. "This kind of stuff-taking trophies, taunting people, or in your case, giving gifts-is behavior similar to what you see in vampires after the bloodlust first takes control. At this point, they're more animal than human."

"We knew that, hunter." Michaela made the last word an insult, wiping out any warmth Elena might've felt over the archangel's attitude toward nonhumans.

"Then I can't give you more." She was out of her depth and it was no use pretending otherwise. No hunter in known history had tracked an archangel. "But I will tell you one thing-Uram is far bolder than any vampire. He was there tapping on your window." She saw Michaela shiver, couldn't blame her for being creeped out. "If he carries on at this speed, he'll leave the animal stage behind and start thinking with high-level calculation within the week."

"So soon?" Raphael asked.

She nodded. "Most devolved vamps' first kills are messy, as this was. But it was secret, too. He knew he'd be caught if he didn't hide it."

Raphael nodded. "And vampires in the grip of bloodlust don't think that clearly."

"Over sixty percent are caught locked in bloodthrall at the site of their first kill." A state between lust and stupefaction, it made the vampires insensate to everything around them. Elena had once walked right up to one-he hadn't moved even when she neckleted him, a beatific smile on his face, his hands still buried in his victim's chest. "I have a feeling," she continued, shaking off the memory, "that Uram never went into bloodthrall. If he had, the hearts wouldn't have been warm."

"That is . . . unexpected," Raphael said. "Bloodthrall would have slowed him down."

"But even the worst vampiric killer doesn't slaughter every night," Elena began. "There should be a lull. He's fed the lust-he's bloated with power, with-"

"You forget-he's not a true vampire." Raphael's frame came into view as he shifted slightly. "He won't stop. For now, it seems he hunts at night and during the early morning, so we have the daylight hours to regroup. If he devolves as fast as you predict, then he'll start to hunt in daylight, too."

Elena's eyes widened. "You're saying he's always in bloodlust."

"Yes."

"Dear God." That made Uram a monster beyond comprehension.

The scrape of a chair, the sound muffled by the carpet but still somehow harsh.

Elena looked up to find Michaela on her feet.

"I can't sit here and listen to you speak of Uram this way. You have no comprehension of what it is to lose someone you've known half a millennium." Her eyes met Elena's and at that second, Elena believed her.

"No," she said. "I'm sorry."

Michaela flicked off the sympathy. "I don't need a mortal's pity. Raphael, I would speak with you."

"I'll escort you out."

As they left the room, their wings occasionally brushing, Elena felt a surge of jealousy so strong her hand was on her gun before she realized it. The touch of cold metal against warm skin was what brought her back. Gritting her teeth, she turned and attacked the sandwiches with relish.

By the time Raphael returned, she was no longer starving, which was probably why she didn't stab a fork through his eye when she saw the brush of bronze angel dust on his wing. "Is that like a cat marking its territory?"

Raphael followed her gaze, flaring out the affected wing. "Michaela isn't used to being denied." Picking up a fancy cloth serviette, he came to her. "Wipe it off."

The urge to rebel against the command smashed up against her need to rub that bitch's mark off his wing. Stupid possessiveness won. "Turn around."

He did so in graceful silence. Standing, she dampened the cloth with water before touching it to his wing. She was very careful not to get any of the sticky stuff on herself, but her caution appeared to have been unnecessary. "It's coming off easy. Not like the one you dusted me with." Even now, the light caught on stray flecks embedded in her skin, flecks she was sure Michaela had seen.

"I told you-yours was a special blend."

Something warm and melty spread through her body. "Marking me, angel boy?"

"I prefer to do that with my ****."

Shocked by the rush of wet heat between her thighs, she put the napkin on the table. "All gone."

He flexed his wings, then turned. "You truly are an enigma. So fearless in hunting vampires, so prudish in your ***ual tastes."

"I'm not fearless. I'm scared ****less," she said. "And as for the rest-being an enigma is good, right? After all, you only play with your toys as long as they amuse you." She didn't know how it had happened, but she found herself backed up against the table, with Raphael blocking her in.

When he lifted her to the table itself, she didn't protest. She even spread her thighs to accommodate him. Part of her was still cold. What she'd seen in that warehouse had brought too much to the surface. That sound, that dripping, it was a never-ending drumbeat in her head. She wanted to forget. And Raphael-dangerous, seductive, lethal Raphael-was far better than any drug. "No dust," she murmured as he slid his hands up her thighs to grab her hips. "I don't have time to wash it off."

But he didn't kiss her. "Tell me about your nightmares, Elena."

She froze. "Spying again?" She was human-she kept forgetting he had no respect for the boundaries of her mind.

His eyes turned chrome blue. "I have no need to. You don't have *** in your eyes. You have death."

She wanted to shove him away, but part of her-the cold part-liked the heat of his touch, was excited by that veiled hint of menace. No other man had ever come close to handling everything she was.

So she satisfied her urge to kick at him by leaning back, palms down on the table. It was a good thing they weren't near the food, otherwise, her hair would've been in the coffee. "So," she said, "you're an expert in reading women?"

"I've been alive a long time."

She felt her eyes narrow. "Have you and Her Royal Bitchiness ever ****ed?"

He squeezed her hips. "Be careful, Elena. I can't always be around to protect you."

"Is that a yes?" She could imagine them mating in flight, a blinding-a goddamn beautiful-image of white gold and bronze.

"No. I've never taken Michaela up on her offer."

"Why not? She's hot-tits and ass are all men ever see."

"I prefer lips." He bent and bit down a fraction too hard on her lower lip before raising his head. "And yours are quite succulent."

Michaela's, she thought on a crashing wave of pleasure, were nicely shaped but thin. But-"I'm not buying." She didn't change her position. "Who the hell cares about lips?"

"If you were on your knees with your lips wrapped around my ****, I would care a great deal."

The image made tiny inner muscles tighten in damp readiness. "How come guys always think of women going down on them? How about the other way around?"

Cobalt lightning, hands sliding down, thumbs rubbing along the inner crease of each thigh. "Take off your pants."

Her stomach clenched."We have a killer to discuss."

"But you want to forget."

"You haven't answered my question." Breathless words, her body so hungry.

"I choose not to sleep with Michaela because I have no liking for black widows. Her poisonous whispers probably helped drive Uram to this."

She sat up, gripping his forearms. "This? What is this?"

His thumbs continued to move, touching the very edge of exquisitely sensitive flesh that ached for a harder, deeper caress. "You don't need to know."

A flash of fury overlaid the lust. "I can't work blind."

"Treat him as a vampire, the most dangerous vampire in the known universe." One of his thumbs pressed against her clitoris. "Now, take off your pants."

She fought to draw in air. "Fat chance. Tell me about Uram."

He pushed closer, his wings brushing her knees. Then, to her disappointment, he moved one of his hands . . . only to thrust it up under her T-shirt.

Her heart ricocheted around her chest as he cupped her breast, but she forced out the words. "Why can I scent him now when I couldn't before?"

Raphael slid his hand off her breast, back over her thigh and to her knee. The other hand he slid below her own arm to place palm down behind her, his biceps brushing her breast. "Because"-he lifted her leg, hooking it around his waist as he pulled her forward-"he drew first blood." Their lower bodies came into direct contact and she couldn't help it. She moaned.

"But," she said through the haze, "I wasn't able to scent Erik, the just-Made vamp."

"I misled you at the time, Elena. Both Bernal and Erik were Made around the same time-but...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 27



Elena wasn't the least surprised when Michaela's mansion turned out to be a place of beauty and grace. The archangel might be a two-faced bitch, but she hadn't earned her reputation as the muse of artists across the ages by accident.

"This was where we found the . . . gift," the vampire guard told her, pointing to a patch of bloodstained grass.

The bite of acid was sharp here despite the other vampire's presence. Either Uram had mingled some of his own blood with the hearts, or he'd landed on the lawn itself. Talk about brazen . . . and creepy. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. "Can you move out of the immediate area?"

He gave a short nod but didn't take a step. "I was hunted once."

Elena looked up to where she could see Raphael and Michaela talking on a high balcony overlooking the lawn, and wondered if either angel would mind if she simply cold****ed the idiot at her side-she didn't have time to deal with this kind of ****. "Can't have been too bad if you're still here."

"My mistress flayed the skin off my back and made it into a purse."

She wondered how well that info would go down with the faction who ascribed heavenly origins to the angels. "Yet you serve her even now." It sounded like something the bitch goddess would do.

The vampire smiled, showed teeth. "It was a very nice purse." Then he finally walked away. She'd have to watch her back around that one, she thought. Whatever else Michaela had done to him over the centuries, he was no longer all there.

"Immortality has way too many drawbacks," she muttered, adding the possibility of becoming a purse to her mental list. Her eye fell on the bloody grass again. Kneeling, she confirmed the scent, then began walking out in ever-increasing circles.

Uram's scent blanketed the area. The archangel had most certainly touched down, standing there cloaked in glamour while Michaela's guards remained clueless. Elena would've worried about running into him, but the scent, while pervasive, wasn't as strong as it would've been had he been in the immediate vicinity. That made her wonder-were other archangels able to sense their brethren through the glamour?

If not, no wonder Michaela was spooked.

Unsurprisingly, the scent was particularly intense near the edge of the lawn. Looking up, Elena found herself with a direct line of sight into the bank of windows on the third floor. Michaela's bedroom was smack in the middle.

If this had been an ordinary hunt, Elena would've been grinning ear to ear by now. With this recent a trail, she could've run her prey to ground by sundown. But vampires didn't fly. Still, she thought, eyes narrowed, now she knew Uram's Achilles' heel. His compulsion toward Michaela would constrict the breadth of his hunting grounds. She glanced up again, her mind pure, focused hunter. She needed the map of Michaela's movements that Raphael had promised to get.

Raphael was aware of Elena moving farther and farther away as she performed a methodical search. He kept his eye out for Riker, Michaela's favorite guard. Riker did whatever Michaela told him to-it would make no difference to the vampire that Elena was under Raphael's protection . . . though he probably should've killed her the second he recovered from the shooting. Because if Lijuan was right, then Elena was his fatal weakness.

Death was a concept he hadn't considered in centuries. But Elena had made him a little bit mortal. As she was. She'd die if Riker tore out her throat. And Michaela was capricious enough to have given such an order. She knew Raphael wouldn't start a war over a mortal.

Destiny's Rose.

An image of the ancient treasure danced in his head. In all his centuries of existence, he'd never once considered giving it away. Until Elena. His mortal. Perhaps he'd fight Michaela over her after all. "You have safeguards in place?"

"Of course."

Those safeguards were obviously not enough-the entire Cadre had expected Uram to come for her, and yet she'd been caught unprepared. "Do you need more men? You're far from home."

"No." Pride dripped from the single word as she strode to the edge of the balcony and stared down, following Elena's progress. "If your hunter has the scent, it means he was watching me long enough to have left a discernible imprint."

Raphael could have asked Elena to confirm, but after the incident that had led to the Quiet, he was making an attempt to stay out of her head. A sign of the weakness Lijuan had warned of-an attack of human scruples? Perhaps. But Raphael had never liked what he became in the Quiet. And this time . . . it had been a fraction too close to Caliane's madness. "You're still as you were?" he asked, burying that ancient memory.

Michaela's skin tightened, the sharp lines of her bones almost cutting through her skin. "I'm an archangel without glamour, yes."

"Unfortunate."

She laughed, a low sound designed to make men think of ***. The first time he'd seen Michaela, she'd had her mouth on the **** of the archangel who'd ruled ancient Byzantium. Her eyes had met his as she drove the archangel to his little death and Raphael had known she would one day rule. Two decades later, the Archangel of Byzantium was dead.

His eyes picked out Elena as she entered the wooded area that divided his property from Michaela's. "Have you spoken to Lijuan about it?" he asked, even as he watched Elena purse her lips in concentration. Her mouth was lush, seductive. He was very interested in having it all over his body. But like all warrior women, she'd have to be tamed to his hand.

"She talks in riddles," Michaela spit out, "has no explanation for why the glamour eludes me."

Under normal circumstances, that lack wouldn't be much of a concern-Michaela had other skills, some known, some not, but no one could doubt her status as archangel. However, in this one situation, she was at a lethal disadvantage, because along with glamour came an immunity to it. Raphael couldn't hide from Uram but the Angel of Blood couldn't hide from him either. "Call Riker back."

"Why?"

"You can't see Uram, but Elena can scent him."

Michaela's next words were dismissive. "Riker is watching her, nothing more. And there are other hunters if he loses control." A pause. "She's human, Raphael. She knows nothing of the pleasures I could show you."

Raphael flared out his wings in preparation for flight. "I would have thought Charisemnon would appeal. He was your lover once."

Green eyes met his as he went to the very edge of a balcony made for angels-no railing, nothing to prevent a deadly fall. "But you I've never tasted. I can do things that will make eternity an erotic dream."

"The trouble is, your lovers seem to have very short life spans." He flew down, across the yard, and over the wooded area.

Riker was standing a few feet from Elena, his smile full of menace.

Far from appearing frightened, Elena was flicking a knife through her fingers, her stance that of someone trained in hand-to-hand combat. As she opened her mouth as if to speak, Raphael flew down to land behind Riker, one hand on the vampire's shoulder, the other on his back.

"This is my territory," he said. "Your mistress is a guest." That was all the warning he gave before he thrust his hand through Riker's clothing, flesh, and muscle to grip his panicked heart. A second later, that heart was in Raphael's hand and Riker was twitching facedown on the ground.

"Why?"

He looked up to meet Elena's horrified gaze over the continued pulse of Riker's vampire heart. "There are boundaries. It's better for mortals and immortals alike if those boundaries are not crossed."

Her grip on the knife was white-knuckled. "So you killed him?"

Raphael dropped the heart to the ground and looked at his bloody hand, wondering if Uram had taken his victims' hearts the same way. "He's not dead."

"I-" She swallowed as he approached, took a step back. "I know they can heal a hell of a lot of damage but completely removing the heart?"

"You fear me again." He hadn't seen that look on her face since that first meeting on the roof.

"You just ripped a vampire's heart out with your bare hand." Her voice echoed with shock. "So yes, I fear you."

He looked down at the blood coating his skin. "I wouldn't do this to you, Elena."

"You saying my death will be short and sweet?"

"Perhaps instead of killing you," he said, "I'll make you my slave instead."

"I hope to hell that's your twisted idea of a joke." Biting words, but she put away the knife. "We might as well head back so you can wash off the blood. I've lost the trail anyway."

"He flew?"

"I'm guessing, yes." She folded her arms, nodded toward Michaela's house. "You get the map of her movements?"

"It'll be delivered within the next hour." As they walked, he wondered why a mortal's opinion of him mattered. "Do you plan to walk those streets and see if you can sense him?"

...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 28



Jeffrey Deveraux stood by the fireplace, hands in the pockets of a pin-striped suit she guessed had been tailored to his tall frame. Marguerite had been a bare five feet tall. It was Jeffrey who'd given Elena her height. He was six feet four without shoes-not that her father was ever anything less than perfectly put together.

Pale gray eyes met hers with the cold watchfulness of a hawk or a wolf. His face was all sharp lines and angles, his hair brushed back from a severe widow's peak. Most men would've had gray in their hair by now. Jeffrey had gone straight from aristocratic gold to pure white. It suited him, throwing his features into sharper relief.

"Elieanora." He finished polishing his spectacles and slid them back on, the thin rectangular frames as effective as ten-inch-thick walls.

"Jeffrey."

His mouth tightened. "Don't be childish. I'm your father."

She shrugged, shifting into an unconsciously aggressive posture. "You wanted me. Here I am." The words came out angry. Ten years of independence and the second she entered her father's presence, she reverted to teenager who'd spent a lifetime begging for his love and been kicked in the guts for her efforts.

"I'm disappointed," he said, unmoved. "I'd hoped you'd picked up some social graces from the company you've been keeping."

She frowned. "My company is the same as always. You'll have seen Sara, the Guild Director, at various events, and Ransom-"

"What your hunter"-said with a grimace of distaste-"friends do is of no interest to me."

"I didn't think so." Why the **** had she come to heel at his command? Her only excuse was shock. "So why did you bring them up?"

"I was referring to the angels."

She blinked, then wondered why she was surprised. Jeffrey had a finger in every major pie in the city, not all of them strictly legal. Though of course, he'd flay her alive if she dared imply he was anything other than lily-white. "You'd be surprised at what they consider acceptable." Raphael's pitiless justice, Michaela's hungry ***uality, Uram's butchery, none of it would fit with her father's perception of the angels.

He waved off her words as if they didn't matter. "I need to talk to you about your inheritance."

Elena's fist clenched. "You mean the trust my mother set up for me." She could've starved on the streets and Jeffrey wouldn't have given a damn.

Skin pulled taut over Jeffrey's cheekbones. "I suppose genetics do tell."

She was one step away from calling him a bastard but ironically, it was her mother's voice that held her back. Marguerite had brought her up to respect her father. Elena couldn't do that, but she could respect her mother's memory. "Thank God," she said, letting him take the insult as he would.

Swiveling, Jeffrey walked to the desk set below the windows on the other side of the room, his steps silent on the deep claret of the Persian carpet. "The trust matured on your twenty-fifth birthday."

"A bit late, aren't you?"

He picked up an envelope. "A letter was sent to you by the solicitors."

Elena recalled throwing the unopened piece of mail in the trash. She'd figured it for yet another attempt at coercing her into selling out the shares she'd inherited in the family firm-through her paternal grandfather, a man who'd actually seemed to love her. "They did a real knock-up job of following up."

"Don't try to pass off your own laziness on others." Walking back, he shoved the envelope into her hand. "The money's been deposited in an interest-bearing account under your name. The details are all there."

She didn't look down. "Why the personal touch?"

Pale gray eyes narrowed behind the spectacles. "Distasteful as I find your choice of occupation-"

"It's not a choice," she said coldly. "Remember?"

Silence that warned her to never again bring up that bloody day.

"As I was saying, regretful as your profession is, it does bring you into contact with some powerful people."

Her stomach soured. What the hell had she expected? She knew she meant nothing to her father. Still she'd come. Instead of lashing out as she might've done as a teenager, she kept her mouth shut, wanting to know exactly what it was he expected of her.

"You're in a position to help the family." A steely-eyed gaze. "Something you've never cared to do."

Her hand clenched on the envelope. "I'm only a hunter," she said, turning his words back on him. "What makes you think they treat me any better than you do?"

He didn't flinch. "I've been told you're spending considerable time with Raphael, that he may be open *****ggestions that come from you."

She told herself he wasn't implying what she thought he was implying. Shaking inside, she met his eyes. "You'd whore out your own daughter?"

No change in his expression. "No. But if she's already doing it herself, I see no reason not to take advantage."

She felt herself go sheet white. Without a word, she turned, opened the door, and walked out. It slammed shut behind her. A second later, she heard something smash, the discordant splintering of crystal against brick. She halted, stunned at the thought that she'd evoked any kind of a response from the always controlled Jeffrey Deveraux.

"Ms. Deveraux?" Geraldine came running around the corner. "I heard . . ." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"I'd suggest you make yourself scarce for the next little while," Elena said, snapping out of her frozen state and heading toward the door. Jeffrey had probably lost it because she'd dared defy him, unlike the rest of his band of sycophants. It had had nothing to do with the fact that he'd called his daughter a whore to her face. "And, Gerry"-she turned at the door-"don't ever let him find out."

The assistant gave a jerky nod.

Elena had never been so grateful to be out in the noise of the city as she was that day. Not giving the door a backward look, she walked down the steps and away from the man who'd contributed his sperm to her creation. Her hand clenched again and she remembered the envelope. Forcing herself to calm down enough that she could think, she slit it open and pulled out the letter. This was her mother's legacy to her and she refused to let Jeffrey cheapen it.

The amount of money was small in the scheme of things-Marguerite's estate had been split equally between her two living daughters, and consisted of the money she'd made from the sale of her one-of-a-kind quilts. She'd never needed to use any of it because Jeffrey had insisted on giving her a huge allowance.

Masculine laughter, strong hands throwing her into the air.

Elena staggered under the impact of the memory, then brushed it aside-it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Her father had always been a stern disciplinarian who didn't know how to forgive. But, she was forced to admit, he had felt something for his Parisian wife-there had been that huge allowance, gifts of jewels on every occasion. Where had all those treasures gone? To Beth?

Elena didn't particularly care about their monetary value, but she would've liked to have just one thing that had once belonged to her mother. All she knew was that she'd come home one summer from boarding school and found every trace of Marguerite, Mirabelle, and Ariel gone from the house-including the quilt Elena had treasured since her fifth birthday. It was as if she'd imagined her mother, her older sisters.

Someone smashed into her shoulder. "Hey, lady! Get out of the ****ing way!" The lanky student turned to give her the finger.

She returned the gesture automatically, glad he'd broken her paralysis. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she still had some breathing room. Deciding to take care of things then and there, she made her way to the bank branch specified in the letter. Luckily, it was fairly close. She'd completed the paperwork and was rising to leave when the bank manager said, "Would you like to see the contents of the safe-deposit box, Ms. Deveraux?"

She stared into his puffy face, the probable result of too much good food and not enough exercise. "A safe-deposit box?"

He nodded, straightening his tie. "Yes."

"Don't I need a key and"-she frowned-"my signature on the access card?" She knew that only because she'd had to look it up during a particularly complicated hunt.

"Normally, yes." He straightened his tie for the second time. "Yours is a somewhat unusual situation."

Translation: her father had pulled any number of strings for God alone knew what reasons of his own. "All right."

Five minutes later, she'd had her signature witnessed and was handed a key. "If you'll follow me to the vault-we use a dual-step system here. I have the key to the vault; you have the one to the box itself." The bank manager turned and led her through the hushed confines of the solid old building and through to the back.

The safe-deposit boxes were hidden behind several electronic doors that...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 28



Jeffrey Deveraux stood by the fireplace, hands in the pockets of a pin-striped suit she guessed had been tailored to his tall frame. Marguerite had been a bare five feet tall. It was Jeffrey who'd given Elena her height. He was six feet four without shoes-not that her father was ever anything less than perfectly put together.

Pale gray eyes met hers with the cold watchfulness of a hawk or a wolf. His face was all sharp lines and angles, his hair brushed back from a severe widow's peak. Most men would've had gray in their hair by now. Jeffrey had gone straight from aristocratic gold to pure white. It suited him, throwing his features into sharper relief.

"Elieanora." He finished polishing his spectacles and slid them back on, the thin rectangular frames as effective as ten-inch-thick walls.

"Jeffrey."

His mouth tightened. "Don't be childish. I'm your father."

She shrugged, shifting into an unconsciously aggressive posture. "You wanted me. Here I am." The words came out angry. Ten years of independence and the second she entered her father's presence, she reverted to teenager who'd spent a lifetime begging for his love and been kicked in the guts for her efforts.

"I'm disappointed," he said, unmoved. "I'd hoped you'd picked up some social graces from the company you've been keeping."

She frowned. "My company is the same as always. You'll have seen Sara, the Guild Director, at various events, and Ransom-"

"What your hunter"-said with a grimace of distaste-"friends do is of no interest to me."

"I didn't think so." Why the **** had she come to heel at his command? Her only excuse was shock. "So why did you bring them up?"

"I was referring to the angels."

She blinked, then wondered why she was surprised. Jeffrey had a finger in every major pie in the city, not all of them strictly legal. Though of course, he'd flay her alive if she dared imply he was anything other than lily-white. "You'd be surprised at what they consider acceptable." Raphael's pitiless justice, Michaela's hungry ***uality, Uram's butchery, none of it would fit with her father's perception of the angels.

He waved off her words as if they didn't matter. "I need to talk to you about your inheritance."

Elena's fist clenched. "You mean the trust my mother set up for me." She could've starved on the streets and Jeffrey wouldn't have given a damn.

Skin pulled taut over Jeffrey's cheekbones. "I suppose genetics do tell."

She was one step away from calling him a bastard but ironically, it was her mother's voice that held her back. Marguerite had brought her up to respect her father. Elena couldn't do that, but she could respect her mother's memory. "Thank God," she said, letting him take the insult as he would.

Swiveling, Jeffrey walked to the desk set below the windows on the other side of the room, his steps silent on the deep claret of the Persian carpet. "The trust matured on your twenty-fifth birthday."

"A bit late, aren't you?"

He picked up an envelope. "A letter was sent to you by the solicitors."

Elena recalled throwing the unopened piece of mail in the trash. She'd figured it for yet another attempt at coercing her into selling out the shares she'd inherited in the family firm-through her paternal grandfather, a man who'd actually seemed to love her. "They did a real knock-up job of following up."

"Don't try to pass off your own laziness on others." Walking back, he shoved the envelope into her hand. "The money's been deposited in an interest-bearing account under your name. The details are all there."

She didn't look down. "Why the personal touch?"

Pale gray eyes narrowed behind the spectacles. "Distasteful as I find your choice of occupation-"

"It's not a choice," she said coldly. "Remember?"

Silence that warned her to never again bring up that bloody day.

"As I was saying, regretful as your profession is, it does bring you into contact with some powerful people."

Her stomach soured. What the hell had she expected? She knew she meant nothing to her father. Still she'd come. Instead of lashing out as she might've done as a teenager, she kept her mouth shut, wanting to know exactly what it was he expected of her.

"You're in a position to help the family." A steely-eyed gaze. "Something you've never cared to do."

Her hand clenched on the envelope. "I'm only a hunter," she said, turning his words back on him. "What makes you think they treat me any better than you do?"

He didn't flinch. "I've been told you're spending considerable time with Raphael, that he may be open *****ggestions that come from you."

She told herself he wasn't implying what she thought he was implying. Shaking inside, she met his eyes. "You'd whore out your own daughter?"

No change in his expression. "No. But if she's already doing it herself, I see no reason not to take advantage."

She felt herself go sheet white. Without a word, she turned, opened the door, and walked out. It slammed shut behind her. A second later, she heard something smash, the discordant splintering of crystal against brick. She halted, stunned at the thought that she'd evoked any kind of a response from the always controlled Jeffrey Deveraux.

"Ms. Deveraux?" Geraldine came running around the corner. "I heard . . ." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"I'd suggest you make yourself scarce for the next little while," Elena said, snapping out of her frozen state and heading toward the door. Jeffrey had probably lost it because she'd dared defy him, unlike the rest of his band of sycophants. It had had nothing to do with the fact that he'd called his daughter a whore to her face. "And, Gerry"-she turned at the door-"don't ever let him find out."

The assistant gave a jerky nod.

Elena had never been so grateful to be out in the noise of the city as she was that day. Not giving the door a backward look, she walked down the steps and away from the man who'd contributed his sperm to her creation. Her hand clenched again and she remembered the envelope. Forcing herself to calm down enough that she could think, she slit it open and pulled out the letter. This was her mother's legacy to her and she refused to let Jeffrey cheapen it.

The amount of money was small in the scheme of things-Marguerite's estate had been split equally between her two living daughters, and consisted of the money she'd made from the sale of her one-of-a-kind quilts. She'd never needed to use any of it because Jeffrey had insisted on giving her a huge allowance.

Masculine laughter, strong hands throwing her into the air.

Elena staggered under the impact of the memory, then brushed it aside-it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Her father had always been a stern disciplinarian who didn't know how to forgive. But, she was forced to admit, he had felt something for his Parisian wife-there had been that huge allowance, gifts of jewels on every occasion. Where had all those treasures gone? To Beth?

Elena didn't particularly care about their monetary value, but she would've liked to have just one thing that had once belonged to her mother. All she knew was that she'd come home one summer from boarding school and found every trace of Marguerite, Mirabelle, and Ariel gone from the house-including the quilt Elena had treasured since her fifth birthday. It was as if she'd imagined her mother, her older sisters.

Someone smashed into her shoulder. "Hey, lady! Get out of the ****ing way!" The lanky student turned to give her the finger.

She returned the gesture automatically, glad he'd broken her paralysis. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she still had some breathing room. Deciding to take care of things then and there, she made her way to the bank branch specified in the letter. Luckily, it was fairly close. She'd completed the paperwork and was rising to leave when the bank manager said, "Would you like to see the contents of the safe-deposit box, Ms. Deveraux?"

She stared into his puffy face, the probable result of too much good food and not enough exercise. "A safe-deposit box?"

He nodded, straightening his tie. "Yes."

"Don't I need a key and"-she frowned-"my signature on the access card?" She knew that only because she'd had to look it up during a particularly complicated hunt.

"Normally, yes." He straightened his tie for the second time. "Yours is a somewhat unusual situation."

Translation: her father had pulled any number of strings for God alone knew what reasons of his own. "All right."

Five minutes later, she'd had her signature witnessed and was handed a key. "If you'll follow me to the vault-we use a dual-step system here. I have the key to the vault; you have the one to the box itself." The bank manager turned and led her through the hushed confines of the solid old building and through to the back.

The safe-deposit boxes were hidden behind several electronic doors that...

Angel's Blood
Angel's Blood Chapter 29



She'd been driving for ten minutes when she realized she'd forgotten to call Sara back. Spotting an unoccupied loading zone, she pulled off and dialed.

Her friend picked up on the first ring. "Rumor mill's going crazy. They're saying the blue angel flew away with you in his arms."

"Angels don't sully themselves carrying mortals." Except when they wanted said mortal somewhere pronto. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Missing girls-fifteen in the past week." Her voice was pure Guild Director. "Get the bastard, Ellie."

"I will." Fifteen? Where the hell were the other seven bodies? "Any timelines?"

"You don't have this already?"

"No." So either the angels didn't know everything, or they were keeping her in the dark. Her hand tightened on the phone. "Give it to me."

"Not much to give. One bunch disappeared two days ago-looks like the same night. And the second lot was last night, maybe very early morning."

"Thanks, Sara. Kiss Zoe for me."

"You okay?" Concern in every word. "I swear, Ellie. You give the word and we'll find a way to pull you out."

She knew they would. The Guild had survived centuries because it was built on a backbone of absolute loyalty. "I'm fine. I have to get this guy."

"Fine. But if it gets too hairy, remember we've got your back."

"I know." Her throat grew thick. Sara knew. Because her next comment was designed to make Elena grin.

"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 ****?' "

"As usual with Ash," Elena said, laughing.

"But you know," Sara continued, "the damn things would come in handy against you-know-whats. Just one word, Ellie. That's all we need."

"Thanks, Sara." She hung up before she could give in to the urge to say too much. Then, taking a deep breath, she restarted the engine and continued on toward Archangel Tower. Unsurprisingly, Michaela had spent most of her time either at her estate or around the Tower, with the occasional stop at a high-end department store. Elena was waiting to turn off the main avenue, intending to circle around, when it whispered past.

The bite of acid laced with blood.

Screeching to a halt, she got out, ignoring the swearing cabbie behind her, and did a very careful three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. There. Jumping back into the car, she double-parked and stepped out. Now that she had the scent, she'd be far more effective on foot.

Rich, dark, chocolate. Sinful. Seductive.

She halted, sniffed. "Dmitri." The vampire had either passed this way or was in the vicinity. With most vampires, it wouldn't have mattered-she could separate out the scents. But Dmitri's presence was too strong, and when added to the fact that Uram's trail was older . . . "****." Pulling out her phone, she called Raphael.

"Elena."

Her blood fired from the inside out at the sound of that voice-*** and ice, pain and pleasure. "Dmitri's scent is messing up my trace."

"You've found signs of Uram?"

"Yes. Can you get Dmitri out of here?"

A pause. "He's already leaving."

"Thanks." She ended the call. Much longer and that voice of his would creep into her soul and take up residence. Instead, she cleared her head, centered herself, and began scanning again.

Dmitri's scent was fading at a phenomenal rate. Unless he could run very fast, he'd had access to a vehicle. She didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that she'd lost-No, there it was. She turned left, moving at a light jog.

She was five blocks over when something made her glance up. The previously bright sky was turning a dull gray, heavy with clouds. But she caught a flash of blue, one that disappeared in the next instant. Illium. Bodyguard duty? Shrugging it off, she came to a standstill in the midst of an area that seemed mostly residential, though she could see a grocer's tucked discreetly between two apartment buildings.

Foot traffic was lighter than in the crush of shops she'd left behind, but steady. She attracted a few nervous stares and it was then that she realized she had one of her long, thin throwing knives in hand.

"Ma'am." A shaky voice.

She didn't turn. "Officer, I'm on a hunt. My Guild card is in the left back pocket." Hunters had carry permits for all sorts of weapons. And she never went anywhere without them.

"Ah-"

She showed him her empty left hand. "I'm going to reach for it. Okay?" Acid on the wind. Thick, dark blood. Damn, damn! She needed to be chasing that, not pandering to some baby cop who didn't know enough about hunters to be out on the streets. What the hell were they teaching them in the Police Academy these days?

A cry from the woman in front of her and then a flash of blue swept down the street. Elena glanced at the cop, saw him staring up dumbfounded, and ran. She knew he wouldn't come after her. He'd had that look on his face. Angelstruck. Approximately five percent of the population was born susceptible to the phenomenon. She'd heard they'd discovered medication to combat the effect, but that most people didn't want to be "cured."

"When I see an angel, I see perfection," one man had said in a recent documentary. "For the fragment of time I spend caught up in their magic, real life ceases to exist and heaven is in my grasp. Why would I give that up?"

For a small, painful instant, Elena had envied the angelstruck. She'd lost her innocence, her belief in a heavenly caretaker, eighteen long years ago. Then the camera had cut to an image of the speaker as he was angelstruck and she'd come close to throwing up. Pure adoration, worshipful and blind. A devotion that turned angels into gods.

No, thanks.

Ten minutes later, the scent was an ache in her throat, a layer of fur on her tongue. She looked around and found herself in one of the moneyed areas of the city, somewhere east of Central Park. Very, very moneyed, she realized, looking at the elegant size of the buildings. No huge apartment complexes here. A moment's pause and she had it-the locus. Leaving it to Raphael to smooth things over if anyone spotted her, she climbed over the locked wrought-iron gate to land in front of a freestanding town house. Seeing a very narrow pathway to the right-hand side, she walked down and around to the back.

"A private park." Amazing. She hadn't known anything like this existed in Manhattan. The rectangular patch of lush green was bordered on every side by similar town houses, all vaguely European in design. Frowning, she touched the wall nearest her and felt no sense of age or time. Fake, she thought, disappointed. Some developer had bought up an undoubtedly pricey piece of land, created an English-type garden complex, and probably made megabucks.

Angels had money to burn.

And the scent, it was so powerful here . . . but not fresh. "He was here, but he's gone."

"Are you sure?"

She jumped, knife hand raised, and found Raphael standing behind her. "Where the hell-glamour?"

He didn't answer her question. "Where was he?"

"In the house, I think," she answered, trying to quieten her racing heartbeat. Also trying not to stab Raphael through the heart for doing that to her. "I thought you didn't show off in public."

"No one's watching." His eyes went to her hair. "They're too busy admiring Illium's acrobatics."

She ignored the possessive darkness crawling to life in his eyes. "We need to get inside the house." Walking around him, she was about to head up to the back door when his hand clenched on her upper arm.

She stilled, ready to throw him off, when she realized he was only interested in removing the blue feather from her hair. "Oh, for God's sake," she muttered. "Happy now?"

He crushed the feather in his fist. "No, Elena. I'm not." His hand opened and glittering blue dust floated to earth.

She decided not to ask him how he'd done that. "You mind a little breaking and entering?"

"Venom tells me there are no heartbeats inside."

Her stomach curled. "Death? Does he smell death?"

"Yes." Releasing her arm, he took the lead.

Elena looked around the side of the house and to the street, spying Venom standing unmoving on this side of the closed-but likely no longer locked-gate. He looked like a bodyguard-cum-driver. Normal for a ritzy neighborhood like this. Satisfied he'd keep them from being interrupted, she followed Raphael to the door. "Wait," she said when he put a hand on the doorknob. "We might set off an alarm, attract attention."

"It's been taken care of."

She thought of how fast some vampires could move. "Venom?"

A slight nod. "He's adept at such things."

"Why am I not surprised?" she muttered, swallowing her gorge at the scent that whispered out from the house. "Oh, God."

Raphael pushed the door fully...