by Nalini Singh
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 last thing she saw was the back of a pair of wings shot through with gold. The beauty of him hit her afresh each time, but today, she was too splintered inside to appreciate it. God, it hurt. Rubbing a fist over her heart, she walked into the bathroom and turned the shower to scalding.
It was tempting to take her time, to pamper herself, but those girls deserved better. So she made quick work of it, washing her hair with her favorite shampoo and using an antibacterial soap on her body. The angel dust did wash off . . . mostly. Odd glints kept hitting her as she got out of the shower, towel-dried her hair and body, then stepped into a pair of black cotton panties, a black bra, fresh cargo pants, again in black, and a dark blue T-shirt. It wasn’t yet cold enough for long sleeves during the day, but she made a note to pack a windbreaker.
Socks and boots went on next, before she picked up a hair-brush. Running it quickly through her hair, she tugged the wet mass back into a tight ponytail and spent the next few minutes stocking up on weapons from her secret stash. Feeling clean and well armed at least, even if she couldn’t expunge the sickening images of slaughter from her mind, she threw some things in an overnight bag, then pushed back the curtains. Raphael was nowhere to be seen.
Her hand crept toward her gun and she had it in hand before she opened the door. The message was written boldly on the gel she used to coat the balcony wall. The car is waiting below. Which meant, she realized, that her front door wasn’t boarded up. A small mercy.
Shoving the gun back under her T-shirt, she locked the doors and grabbed the overnight bag. She was about to walk out when she remembered she’d been out of touch since hanging up on Ransom the night before. Picking up the landline, she called Sara. “I’m alive and that’s all I can say.”
“Ellie, what the hell is going on? I’ve got reports of angels flying all over the city, of missing girls but no bodies, and—”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Shit, it’s true. Killer vampire.”
Elena didn’t say anything, figuring it was better to let the rumor circulate. She’d never lied to Sara and she wasn’t about to start now. Even doing it by implication went against the grain.
“Hon, you need a pullout? We have places no angel knows about.”
Elena trusted the Guild but she couldn’t run from this. It was personal now. Those girls . . . “No. I need to finish this.” Uram had to be stopped.
“You know I’m here for you.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “I’ll call you when I can. Tell Ransom for me, and don’t worry.”
“I’m your best friend. It’s my job to worry. Check under your pillow before you leave.”
Ending the call, she took a steadying breath and did as directed. Her lips curved—Sara had left her a present. Fortified, she walked out into the ruin of her living room. Raphael had apparently put the plastic back in place, but she knew it wouldn’t last. It didn’t matter. The room was too damaged for anything less than a major overhaul. But she would put it back the way it had been.
She knew how to rebuild.
I have no desire to house an abomination under my roof.
Her stuff in boxes on the street, thrown out with the garbage in the aftermath of that final, brutal fight with her father. She’d walked out. Jeffrey had punished her for it by erasing her from his life. Amazingly, it had been Beth who’d called her, Beth who’d helped her salvage what the rain and snow hadn’t destroyed. None of the treasures of her childhood had survived—those, Jeffrey had thrown onto a backyard fire and burned beyond recognition.
A single tear escaped her control. She dashed it away before it could touch her cheek. “I’ll fix it.” It was a promise to herself. And she would replace that glass with a solid wall. She didn’t want to see the angels anymore.
Even as she thought that, she knew it for a lie.
Raphael was in her blood, a deadly, addictive drug. But that didn’t mean she’d make it easy for him when the time came to bury the Cadre’s secrets. “First you’ll have to catch me, angel boy.” Adrenaline turned her grim smile into a challenge.
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 to support 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 that kind of a mood.
“You’d make an enemy out of me over a human?” The word “human” might as well have been “rodent.”
“Uram is an archangel in the grip of a killing lust.” Raphael’s tone hadn’t changed—she could almost glimpse the ice particles in the air. “I have no desire to see the world descend into another Dark Age because of your constant need to be the center of attention.”
“You think to compare us?” A snide laugh. “Kings have fought and died for me. She is nothing, a man in women’s clothing.”
Elena was really, really starting to hate Michaela.
“Then why are you wasting our time?”
A short silence, then the unmistakable sound of wings settling. “Release your pet hunter. I’ll wait to deal with her after.”
“Great.” Elena walked out from behind Raphael. “Join the queue.”
Michaela folded her arms across her front, plumping up her breasts. “Do tell. It might be entertaining to see who gets to you first.”
“Excuse me if entertaining you isn’t at the top of my agenda.” Oh, she could be brave now, when she knew Raphael needed her. After . . . well, she had so many other problems, it didn’t seem worth the effort to mollify a pissy archangel.
Raphael curved his hand over her hip. Michaela’s eyes zeroed in on the touch, the green heated with a spark of unhidden fury. Well, well, wasn’t Ms. Angel a fast mover? According to several of the articles she’d found that first night, Michaela and Uram had been hot and heavy for years. But here her lover wasn’t yet in his grave and the female archangel had already picked out a replacement.
“Elena,’ ” Raphael said, and she understood it was a command to behave. “We need to discuss certain aspects of the hunt.”
Deciding she was too curious about Uram’s descent into vampirehood to waste time antagonizing Michaela, she zipped her lips and waited.
Someone knocked at that moment and a second later, Jeeves entered with a gleaming silver tea and coffee setup, his minions pushing along a cart filled with food, which they placed on a beautiful wooden table by the windows.
“Will that be all, sire?”
“Yes, Montgomery. Make sure we’re not disturbed unless it’s one of the Seven.”
With a nod, Montgomery left, closing the door behind himself. Elena went to the table and chose the only viable seat—at the head, with a bookshelf at her back. Michaela took the other end while Raphael remained standing. Elena wondered if Michaela was waiting to be served. Snorting inwardly at the ide
a, she poured her own coffee—and, because she was feeling generous, and okay, maybe because she wanted to irritate Michaela—Raphael’s as well. Then she put down the carafe.
“So,” she said, “tell me what I need to know to hunt this son of a bitch.”
Michaela actually hissed. “You’ll speak of him with respect. He is an ancient, so old your puny human mind can’t imagine all that he’s seen and done.”
“Did you see what we found in that warehouse?” She put down the coffee, suddenly sick to her stomach. Those images were burned into her brain. Like the ones of that vampire who’d been tortured by the hate group, they would never leave. “He might be an ancient, but he’s no longer anything close to sane. Seriously fucked up would be a better description.”
Michaela swiped out a hand, sending her table setting crashing to the floor. “I won’t help a human hunt him down like a rabid dog.”
“You agreed.” Raphael’s knife blade of a voice. “Do you recant your vote?”
Tears shimmered in those green eyes. “I loved him.”
Elena might’ve believed the stunning archangel had she not caught that earlier flash of fury. This woman loved nothing and no one but herself.
“Enough to die for him?” Raphael asked with smooth cruelty. “Now he sends you his victims’ hearts. After he sates the first surge of bloodlust, it’ll be your heart he desires.”
Michaela wiped away a tear, making a show of coming to grips with herself. Most men would’ve fallen for her act hook, line, and sinker. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Forgive my emotional nature.” A deep breath that pushed up her breasts to full advantage. “Perhaps I should return to Europe.”
Elena knew from her research that Michaela held power over most of central Europe, though it was unclear where her boundary ended and Uram’s began.
“No.” The single word was resolute. “It’s clear he followed you here—if you move, so will he. We may not be able to catch his trail again until it’s too late.”
“He’s right,” Elena said, wondering why Raphael hadn’t shared Uram’s fixation with Michaela earlier. Her guess was that it had something to do with the murders—perhaps a hunter could only track an archangel after he killed? But archangels killed many people. “We have a scent now and if he’s circling around you, we have a general idea of where to look for him. I need to know the outline of that area—the places where you spend most of your time.”
