Archangel's Kiss (19 page)

Quite an army, she thought. But archangels didn’t rule because they were benevolent beings. They ruled because they had power and weren’t afraid of using it to enforce their decrees. At that very instant, an example of that power landed in the garden—a full wing of angels led by Galen.

The red-haired angel walked directly to the fountain, and it was the first time she’d really had a chance to examine him. He looked, she was surprised to note, like a bruiser. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders were wide, his thighs thick with muscle, his biceps—one ringed by a thin metal band—that of a man who’d earned his body, and not through a workout in any gym. And his face—square jaw, sensual lips, the kind of mouth that made women think hot, sweaty, distinctly unangelic thoughts.

His eyes cut to the body. “You believe this is the vampire who took Sam?”

Shaking off her startlement at this angel who looked so very earthy, so very human, she nodded. “He has the right scent and as far as I know, no one’s ever been able to mimic that well enough to fool a hunter-born.”

A curt nod, red hair aflame in the sunlight. “Give us room to dig him out.”

Shifting back, she watched as they uncovered then removed the body, taking care to ensure they overlooked nothing. As she’d expected, the head was missing—beheading was the most efficient way of killing a vampire, followed closely by burning. Leaving Galen and his troops to check the fountain and the surrounding area for the head, she began to crisscross the garden. “No trail,” she finally muttered, staring at the now empty fountain. “Vamp was dropped from above.”

“Either the leader or one of his angelic followers.” Illium’s familiar voice, his wings the most vivid point of color in all the white as the angels who’d come with Galen left, taking the body with them.

Galen’s own wings reminded her of a northern harrier’s—a dark gray with white striations that only became visible when he spread them in preparation for flight. “The head isn’t here,” the red-haired angel began when there was a gust of wind, the powerful backlash of wings raking up the snow.

Elena felt her heart catch all over again as Raphael landed. “We found the head,” he said, his tone freezing the air around them. “It was left on Anoushka’s pillow, the
sekhem
branded on its forehead.”

Elena was quite certain the vampire must have been alive for that humiliation. His fear when he realized the jackal he worshipped had turned on him would have been agonizing—because he knew exactly what was coming.

“A jeer,” Galen said. “Aimed at Neha through her daughter.”

“Or a very clever double play,” Elena murmured, recalling the notes she’d read on Anoushka. Intelligent, ambitious, and with several powerful vampires and angels in her court, she could have pulled it all off. But then, so could Nazarach and Dahariel.

“If she is a true victim,” Illium said, “how did anyone get that close? Anoushka’s guards are deadly.”

“No security is absolute. And it’s beginning to appear as if this angel laid his plans months in advance.”

“Jason?” Elena guessed.

A hard nod, Raphael’s hair blue black under the winter sun. “One of his men managed to get out a message from Charisemnon’s court—there’s no evidence of the girl-child ever crossing the border. Yet Titus is adamant he has proof in the form of a recording that was sent to him.”

It was Galen who spoke next. “Are we certain the one behind this is still in the Refuge?”

“The political games may well have been run from a distance, but these are too personal. He’s close, eager to see the results of his acts.” Raphael’s voice held a remoteness that scared her. The last time he’d sounded that distant, he’d ended up holding her above a spiraling fall, a being who might have dropped her just so he could listen to her scream.

Her blood a rush of thunder in her ears, she had to focus to hear his next words.

“Ignore the distractions. He may have begun this with the intent of proving his power, his entitlement to become Cadre, may have convinced himself these acts will lead to that goal—”

“—but really, the bastard just enjoys his sick little games,” Elena completed, her gut churning. Because that kind of a sociopath? He wouldn’t stop until he was forced to stop. And he’d already shown he had a taste for children.

Chrome blue eyes met her own. “Our aim hasn’t changed. We hunt for the blood insult to Noel, to Sam. And for the renewed threat on Elena’s life.”

She blinked, feeling the sun’s increasing heat against her skin. “What?”

“A Guild dagger was jammed into the mouth of the head left in Anoushka’s bed.”

Angry at the vicious acts, at the continued mockery of a Guild that had given her a family when her own had thrown her out like so much trash, she felt her mind calm, her brain chill. “Forensics lab?” Even if she hadn’t had that conversation with Raphael about possible trace evidence on Noel’s battered body, she’d have intuited the Refuge had such a lab. Because while angels might look like beings out of myth and legend, they were, for the most part, ruthlessly practical. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had a central DNA bank.

“The body’s being processed,” Galen said, “and I’ll have people go over the scene one more time, but I predict we’ll find nothing of value, just as with Noel and Sam.”

“The only clue was the dead vamp’s scent,” Elena said, knowing that that was why he’d died. It was disturbing to know her talent had signed his death warrant, but then, hadn’t he done that himself the night he decided to help brutalize a child? Her jaw tightened. “Do we know who he was?”

“He looked to Charisemnon,” Raphael said. “A midlevel vampire seduced by the promise of more.”

It was such a human motive that she knew he was right. Because vampires had once been human after all. “Are there still only three possibles?”

“Nazarach, Dahariel, and the Princess herself,” Illium confirmed.

“Any of the three like to live in the past?”

“No.” Illium again. “Anoushka keeps a court like her mother, but she also owns a chemical plant that manufactures poisons. They’re all aware of modern forensic techniques.”

“Then we go back to basics, watch them until they make a mistake.”

“Nazarach,” Raphael said, “has been under constant surveillance since the attack on Noel, but that doesn’t prove his innocence. Dahariel is Astaad’s, and will require more care.”

“Even with what was done to Sam?”

The answer was that of an archangel. “Dahariel is as integral to the smooth running of Astaad’s territory as Nazarach is to mine.”

And Anoushka was Neha’s daughter. “You can’t go after them without risking war.”

“Dahariel appeared disgusted by the attack on Sam,” Raphael said, his expression impenetrable, “but his home is filled with vampires who all but whimper at the sound of an angel’s wings.”

Elena’s mind shot to the last—and only—time she’d seen Holly Chang. The woman had turned hysterical at the sight of Raphael’s wings after the trauma of having been forced to witness Uram’s atrocities. What was Dahariel doing to elicit the same reaction from almost-immortals who’d lived hundreds of years?

Illium extended his hand as a stiff breeze lifted the snow into the air. But it couldn’t erase the lingering spoor of murderous violence. “The medallion that led us here.”

Taking it, Raphael traced the lines of the metal sphere as if searching for something. She knew he’d found it when his fingers went still. “This could’ve only been acquired through the death of one of Lijuan’s men.”

“Do you think she’s involved?” Elena asked.

“No. She’s too busy playing with her reborn.” He closed his fingers around the medallion even as the hairs on the back of her neck rose at the reminder of Lijuan’s preferred form of amusement. “Elena—the trail?”

“Snow’s melting,” she said, frustrated. “Trail’s history.”

“Patience, hunter,” Raphael said with the confidence of a being who’d seen centuries pass. “He made a mistake in killing one of his own men—fear will loosen tongues.”

“Then I guess we hope that he—or she,” she added, remembering Anoushka, “continues to strike out at his own people.” She stared at the fountain. “At least they’ll die a cleaner death than if we catch them.”

The scent of the wind, clean and harsh.
I’d say you were losing your innocence, but your nightmares tell me you lost that a long time ago.

Yes
, she admitted, giving him a glimpse of the most secret corner of her heart.
There was so much blood that day. I could see it on my skin even at the funeral.

T
he next day brought an unwelcome surprise. With the scent trail having grown cold, and Raphael’s people working the other facets of the hunt, she’d returned to getting her body back in fighting shape—the angel who’d already harmed two of Raphael’s own wouldn’t find her the easy target he seemed to assume she was. She had every intention of thrusting a Guild dagger right between his ribs when he came after her.

Unfortunately, she’d forgotten that Dmitri had returned to the Tower.

“You’ll be dead two seconds after you run out of bullets if that’s your sole means of defense.” Galen swallowed up her gun in his hand, his pale green gaze about as friendly as your local grizzly bear’s. “Secondary weapon?”

“Knives.” She’d never admit it in a million years, but she was already starting to miss Dmitri’s wicked brand of humor.

“If you’re going to be using knives,” Galen said as she entered the training ring, a simple circle of beaten earth in front of a large wooden structure without windows, “then you need to learn to draw them without nicking your wings.” He picked up what looked like a rapier from the table, though the guard was far simpler than the intricate ones she’d seen in another hunter’s collection. Handing it to her, he said, “I need to see what you’ve got.”

“I said knives,” she told him, dropping her wrist as she tested the weight of the blade. “This is much longer than anything I’ve used.”

“Knives take you too close to the target.” He was suddenly in her face, a short, lethally sharp blade nicking her throat, her breasts crushed against the male heat of his bare chest. “And you aren’t fast enough to win against another angel.”

She hissed out a breath but didn’t back off. “I could still gut you.”

“Not as fast as I could cut your throat. But that isn’t the point of this exercise.”

Feeling blood begin to trickle down her throat, she shut out the anger and ran through her options with cold-blooded focus. Her sword hand was effectively useless—he was too close. Given the lack of leverage, her other hand wouldn’t do much damage, either.

Grabbing his wing with her free hand, she brought up the sword with the other. Galen danced out of reach, the knife disappearing so fast she barely caught the movement. “Wings,” she said, realizing the bastard had taught her something critically important, “give me an advantage in terms of surprising an opponent, but get too close and they become a weakness.”

“At this stage, yes.” Galen swiveled the rapier he’d picked up. The slender dueling sword looked far too delicate for his big hand. She’d bet her newfound fortune that his personal weapon of choice was something closer to a broadsword. Heavy, solid, effective.

“Guess I’ll be using the crossbow to chip vamps from now on,” she said, thinking wistfully of the necklets that had been her favorite method of immobilizing her targets.

Embedded with a chip that neutralized a vampire by temporarily rewiring the brain, the special weapons were a hunter’s sole advantage against stronger, faster opponents. She’d debated getting some very illegal copies for personal use now that she was surrounded by vamps, but had realized all too quickly that the first time she used one, she’d not only create a shit storm that might bury the Guild, she’d cost Raphael the loyalty of the vampires under his command. The chips were closely regulated for a reason—vampires didn’t want to spend their lives looking over their shoulders.

Elena understood exactly how they felt—it was a bitch to lose control over your body, to become a puppet. And the fact of the matter was that most of the ones around her these days were too strong to be affected by the chips. That was a secret she’d take to her grave. Because sometimes, all a hunter had was the element of surprise, of the vampire’s
belief
that he’d been neutralized.

“You plan to return to your position within the Guild?” Galen’s tone was the embodiment of disapproval.

“What else am I going to do? Sit around looking pretty?”

“You’re a liability.” Cool, hard words. “Out in the field, you’d be a sitting duck for anyone wanting to get to Raphael by taking you hostage.”

“That’s why I’m out here adding to my bruises.” She would not back down. “Raphael doesn’t want a princess. He wants a warrior.”

Her archangel had said that to her. And now that they’d set the boundaries, he was using her skills, her talents. She wasn’t about to let a grim-faced martinet change the very bedrock of their relationship.

“He almost died because of you.” A slash of the blade, so close that she reacted instinctively to block the blow.

Twisting away, she raised her rapier. “He chose to fall with me.”

“Sometimes, even an archangel makes mistakes.” A blur of movement.

But she’d read his feet, was already sliding out of reach. When she turned, it was to see several strands of her hair lying on the beaten earth of the ring, sliced clean through by Galen’s blade. He might have looked like a bruiser, but he could
move
. “I guess the gloves are off.”

“If they were, you’d be dead.” Snapping back to a waiting stance, he glanced critically at her hand. “You need to change your grip. The way you’re holding it now, I could break your wrist with a single hit.”