by Nalini Singh
Snick.
The sound of the lock clicking into place as Gwendolyn closed the door was loud in the silence. Needing space, Elena walked to the French doors and swung them open, shifting to lean against the doorjamb, one of her wings exposed to the crisp spring air, the other to the emotional chill inside the library.
Jeffrey stood on the other side of the room, against a bookshelf, his arms folded. “So, you’re an angel.”
“I’m afraid asking me to whore myself for you isn’t going to work any better this time than it did the last,” Elena snapped out, her calm disappearing in the face of that judgmental gaze.
White lines bracketed Jeffrey’s mouth. “You’re my daughter. I shouldn’t have had to go through your Guild to find out if you were alive.”
“Please.” Elena gave a bitter laugh. “When have you cared whether I lived or died?” Not once in the ten years of their estrangement had he bothered to check up on her, even when she’d been badly injured in a hunt, hospitalized for weeks. “Just tell me why I’m here so I can get back to my life.”
It was Gwendolyn who spoke from her position by the door, her body held in a way Elena would’ve never expected from Jeffrey’s perfect society wife. “It’s Evelyn,” she said in a quiet, determined tone. “She’s like you.”
“No.” The single word was gritted out by Jeffrey.
“Stop it.” Gwendolyn turned on her husband. “Denying it won’t make it any less true!”
Jeffrey’s response was lost in the buzz of noise inside Elena’s head as she tried to make sense of the curveball Gwendolyn had just thrown her. “Like me? How?” She wasn’t going to make any assumptions, not here.
Gwendolyn’s lips pursed tight, her hands fisted at her sides as she stared at her husband. When Jeffrey didn’t speak, the black-haired woman turned to Elena. “Hunter-born,” she said. “My baby is hunter-born.”
If Elena hadn’t been braced against the doorjamb, she’d have collapsed—her body felt as if it had taken a tremendous blow. Disbelief had her saying, “That’s not possible.” Hunter-born were rare, very rare, being birthed with the ability to scent-track vampires. However, it did run in families—Elena had always believed her ability came from her mother’s unknown bloodline.
“We’ve run tests,” Jeffrey snapped out. “Using Harrison and some of his friends. She can track them.”
Harrison was a vampire, and Elena’s brother-in-law, married to Marguerite’s only other surviving daughter—Beth. The fact that Evelyn could track him ... “You,” Elena whispered, staring at Jeffrey. “It comes from you.” He’d known, she thought, glimpsing the flash of some unnamable emotion in his eyes. All this time, when he’d been rejecting her for her “base, inhuman” occupation, he’d known it was his blood that had given it to her.
A muscle pulsed along Jeffrey’s temple, his skin pulled taut over that aristocratic bone structure. “That has no place in this conversation.”
Elena laughed. Harsh, jagged. She couldn’t help it. “You hypocrite.”
His head snapped toward her. “Be quiet, Elieanora. I’m still your father.”
The hell of it was that part of her was still the little girl who’d once adored him, and that part wanted to obey. Fighting the urge, she was about to retort when she glimpsed Gwendolyn’s face. The other woman looked shattered, and all at once, Elena’s anger with her father, his fury at her, wasn’t the most important thing. It would keep. It had kept for over a decade.
“She’ll need training,” she said, speaking to Gwendolyn. “Without it, she’ll find it difficult to focus and concentrate.” The cacophony of scents in the air, especially in a city as full of vampires as New York, could severely impact one of the hunter-born. Elena had taught herself to filter out the endless “noise” in the years before she grew old enough to join the Guild without parental permission, but it had been a painful, lonely road. One Evelyn didn’t have to take. “You need to register her at Guild Academ—”
“No!” Jeffrey’s voice was rigid with withheld rage. “I will not have another daughter of mine tainted by that place.”
“It’s a school,” Elena said, keeping a white-knuckled grip on a temper that pulled aggressively at the reins. “It has specialized teachers.”
“She will not be a hunter.”
“She already is, you bastard!” Elena yelled, the reasoned adult falling apart under the echoes of childhood. “If you’re not careful, you’ll lose her the same way you lost me!”
The blow hit. She saw it.
For herself, she wouldn’t have fought. But for Evelyn, she pushed forward, using the advantage. “Being hunter-born isn’t a choice. It’s part of our very makeup. If you ask her to make a choice, she’ll probably choose you.” Before Jeffrey could pounce on that, she added, “And she’ll go mad if not in the next few years, then in the next decade.” The urge to hunt was a pulse in the blood, a hunger that could consume if caged.
Gwendolyn gave a short, choked cry. “Jeffrey, I won’t lose my daughter. You might be able to walk away from your child, but I won’t.” Turning to Elena, she said, “Can you send me the information about the Academy? Perhaps ... would you speak to Eve?”
Shaken by the maternal love that had turned cool, composed Gwendolyn into a lioness, Elena nodded. “I’ll be out in the garden if you want to bring her down.” Suiting action to words, she stepped out into the small backyard and breathed in deep lungfuls of the open air. This close to Central Park, it held hints of fir and water and horses, but below that was the constant hum of the city, a touch of smoke and metal, the active press of humanity.
Rubbing at her eyes with one of her hands, she froze when she felt Jeffrey in the doorway at her back. “Is it possible the vampire who murdered the girls at the school was drawn to Evelyn?”
The question threw ice water across her senses. Because it meant he knew. Jeffrey knew Slater Patalis had been drawn to their small family home because of Elena. Part of her, the part that held the lost, hurt girl she’d once been, had hoped he didn’t, that there might yet be hope for a relationship between them, but if he knew ... “No,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “We caught the vampire who murdered Celia and Betsy. He wasn’t like Slater.”
“We don’t mention that name, Elieanora.” Words so steady, they were steel. “Do you understand?”
Elena turned this time. “Yes.” If he wanted to forget the monster, she couldn’t blame him. What she could blame him for was that he’d forgotten his daughters, his wife, as well. “Evelyn needs to be trained as fast as possible. Her skills will provide a defense against attack.” Pausing, she went to thrust a hand through her hair before remembering she’d braided it. “Amy should also be tutored in basic self-defense.”
“Because you’ve made them targets.”
She flinched, but didn’t back down. “They’re your daughters, Jeffrey,” she whispered, hitting back because that was what she did with Jeffrey. That was their endless cycle of pain and recrimination. “Unless you’ve turned over a new leaf, there’s more than one competitor out there who’d love to get his hands on your child.”
Jeffrey opened his mouth, closed it without speaking. A moment later, Evelyn squeezed past her father. She didn’t get far before Jeffrey’s hand came down on her shoulder. “Evelyn.”
The ten-year-old, her eyes an echo of the man who towered above her, lifted up her face. “Yes, Father?”
“Remember who you are. A Deveraux.” A stern reminder.
Elena wanted to say that there was no question about the fact that Eve damn well was a true Deveraux—since hunting seemed to run in the blood—but restrained herself in the face of the anxiety the girl was trying so hard to mask. “Come on, Eve,” she said instead. “Let’s talk.”
Raphael met Jason in the skies above Staten Island, the cloud layer a thick white foam below them. “I thought you’d left the country.” His spymaster was meant to be on the way to Europe.
“I had an unexpected meeting come up.” Jason d
idn’t explain further, and Raphael didn’t ask. Jason would have been no good to him as a spymaster if he didn’t think for himself—like the others in the Seven, the male served Raphael not out of obligation, but out of choice.
“I returned to the Tower before dawn this morning to pick up something,” Jason continued. “It is as well—I can confirm the name of the one who murdered your man last night. She calls herself Belladonna, though she has also used the name Oleander Graves.”
That name was no surprise. Neither was the gender of the killer—female vampires bore the same bloodlust as males—but the speed with which Jason had tracked her down was. “How did you find her?”
Jason braced his wings against the push of the wind. “Elena will be able to verify from the scent, but Neha’s assassin is not as clever as she believes. She said some indiscreet things to the dancers at Erotique that made it child’s play to tie the murder to her.”
Raphael raised an eyebrow. “I did not know you patronized Erotique, Jason.” The club of choice for the more high-ranked vampires, its dancers and hostesses were considered to be both accomplished and sophisticated.
“Illium,” Jason said in short explanation. “He spent some time there after helping Venom take care of the scene. When he saw me come in this morning, he asked if I could corroborate his suspicions using my contacts—I was also able to pinpoint her current residence.” He named the apartment building and number.
Making a mental note of it, Raphael put aside the matter of Neha’s pet vampire for the present. The assassin would be uncomplicated enough to dispatch now that she’d been located. “Tell me about Illium.” The visit to Erotique could’ve been nothing, a diversion to take his mind off the upcoming visit by the Hummingbird, but given the blue-winged angel’s fascination with mortals, it could augur something far more dangerous.
“There is no need for concern,” Jason said at once. “Galen would’ve warned us if there was.”
Raphael agreed on that point. The two angels were fast friends and had been for centuries. “And you, Jason? Who will warn me about you?”
14
His spymaster turned so that his tattoo fell in direct sunlight, striking and speaking of a dedication beyond pain. “I will, Sire. Then you will execute me as you promised when I became one of your Seven.”
Raphael met Jason’s eyes. “The promise was made and will be kept if necessary, but I prefer you alive. You’re the best spymaster in the Cadre.”
Jason’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles, a rare sight. “They’ve all tried to recruit me—Charisemnon and Favashi in particular.”
“I would expect nothing else.” But he knew Jason would not betray him. The black-winged angel had sworn allegiance to Raphael on a field carpeted with a wash of blood. None of it had been Jason’s. But his blade had run slick with it. The next target would’ve been his own body if Raphael hadn’t stepped in.
Bonds forged in such black fire didn’t easily break.
Turning back to the matter at hand, he said, “I’ll speak to Elena about the scent.” His instinct was to protect her from the harsher aspects of his world, but she was hunter-born.
Don’t you dare stop me from being what I am. Don’t you dare.
She’d been weak, unable to fly when she’d said that, but he’d never forget the look in her eyes. If he crossed that line, if he denied that part of her, he would shatter her. He knew he was capable of such cruelty, but he also knew he’d break if Elena broke.
“Sire,” Jason said, cutting into his thoughts, “there is another reason why I returned to the city. You asked me to keep my ears open for any reports of disquieting behavior by the other archangels.”
Raphael flashed back to the red haze that had clouded his vision, the rage that had all but stolen his will. “Who?
“Astaad.” Jason named the Archangel of the Pacific Isles as a gust shoved at them from the left. “It’s difficult to get spies into his inner circle. In their own way, his people are as loyal to him as the Seven are to you.”
Raphael adjusted his wings without thought, holding his position above the clouds. “He rules with an alternately beneficent and bloody hand.”
“He also treats his women as precious.”
Astaad’s harem was composed of the most exquisitely beautiful vampires in the world, women he cosseted and protected. It was a well-known aspect of his character, but for Jason to remark on it ... “He has done something to his women.”
A nod that made Jason’s hair gleam blue black in the light. “The operative I managed to get into his court is a low-class servant, but she’s been listening to the women who tend to the harem and word is that Astaad beat one of his favorite concubines almost to a pulp.”
“Astaad would consider such an act a stain on his honor.” Raphael thought again of the way he’d executed Ignatius, knew that if Astaad had been in the grip of the same fury, then the concubine was lucky to be alive. “Continue to keep an eye on the situation. Send word as soon as you have any further information.”
Leaving Jason, Raphael made his way back toward Manhattan, flying low enough to see other angels going about their tasks above the gleaming steel and glass of the high-rises. The sun was bright today, and his city glittered like a faceted gem beneath the dazzling light—it was no wonder others in the Cadre watched it with covetous eyes. What they did not understand was that to hold this city, you could not hold humanity in contempt.
Archangel.
Angling his head at the brush of that voice kissed by spring and steel, he saw the distinctive shine of Elena’s hair sweeping around the side of the Tower. He watched his consort fly to him with slow, deep sweeps of her wings—she had been awake only months, and already, she flew with such grace and strength. Come, Guild Hunter.
She changed direction to follow the path he took over the high-rises and the rush of the East River to the roof of a small apartment building. Landing beside the translucent blue waters of the pool in the center, he turned to watch her as she backwinged to a smooth landing not far from where he stood, the tips of her wings a shimmering dawn-edged gold. “You have been practicing your landings.”
“Illium wouldn’t let me break yesterday afternoon until I got it right nine attempts out of ten. And Montgomery had brought out fresh peach pie.” The attempt at humor couldn’t quite hide the hurt in her eyes.
Anger twisted through his veins, a cold, remorseless thing that saw nothing wrong with pain, with death. “What did your father say to you?”
Pushing a hand through her hair, she strode past the large planters and to the edge of the pool, hunkering down to dip her fingers desultorily in the water. “Nothing. Just . . . the usual crap.” Then she told him about her youngest half sister, her voice hot with naked anger. “It fucking destroys his moral high ground, doesn’t it?”
“Your father doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would ever admit to being at fault.” No, Jeffrey Deveraux was far too determined to win at any cost.
Rising, she flicked off the water. “Yeah.” Then she did something he would’ve never expected. Stepping forward, she buried her face in his chest.
Trust, he thought, as he enclosed her within the protection of his arms, his wings; there was such trust in what she had done. “I have a task for you, Guild Hunter,” he said, weaving the fingers of one hand through the pale silk of her hair, unraveling her braid.
“Good.” A rough statement.
“The vampire who spilled blood last night may be in this building. You must hunt.”
A hum of energy in the body under his hands and then she was pulling away to head for the rooftop entrance to the building. “The scent was rich, distinctive, the notes unusual. I should be able to narrow it down very fast if he is—or was—anywhere in the vicinity.”
She, Elena, he corrected, remembering the way he’d once tested her with two barely-Made vampires. She’d been shocked by their skittering, animalistic appearance but had not faltered in her task. Neha’s as
sassin is a woman.
“Figures.” Opening the door, she hesitated. “This place is too narrow for wings. Not a good tactical move to be trapped in there—and not necessary. The scent of oleanders in bloom ... I can almost touch it. Too strong for her not to be inside.”
“It won’t be difficult to draw her out,” he said once she returned to his side. However, when he flew down to the window that looked into the vampire’s room, what he saw had him calling off the hunt. She’s dead. There is a noose wrapped around her throat—I’m fairly certain it will turn out to be a snake.
Elena dropped down beside him. Neha decided to clean up her mess.
So it would seem. Dmitri will organize the body retrieval.
Once it’s out of there, I want a chance to double-check the scent. Just in case. Flying down below him and then back up with an awkward grace that did nothing to hide the potential of what she would one day become, Elena brushed silky strands of hair out of her eyes. Do you have time to come spar with me?
Missing Galen?
A dark word. Bastard was good. But you’re meaner when you’re in the mood.
Raphael wasn’t sure he liked that. I would never hurt you, Elena.
Of course not. She waved at a young blond angel sitting with his legs hanging off one of the high balconies of the Tower as they passed. The male beamed, waved back. But you also don’t have to worry about an archangel zapping you if you put a bruise on me. We can go at it full tilt, and I really need some no-holds-barred sessions.
Only she could speak to him thus. Only she could make him feel young in a way he had not felt for over a thousand years. We’ll train at the house. Bypassing a group of angels coming in to land on the Tower roof, he took them toward the Hudson. Afterward, he said as they hit the airspace above the water, you may thank your trainer in the most age-old of ways.
Warmth uncurling in her abdomen at the sensual order, Elena went to tease Raphael when a roaring wind came out of nowhere, crumpling her wings and threatening to send her slamming into the suddenly raging waters below. Raphael! The mental cry was instinctive, tearing out of her even as a strange, exotic scent wrapped a suffocating blanket around her senses.