For any time of year in San Francisco, freezing weather was rare. In mid-May, it was practically unheard-of. Sophie Bryce had come into her powers, all right, and they were stronger than anything Azrael had encountered with an archess.
Az had a feeling that the extra help was coming from the man who had left the mark on the palm of her right hand.
Azrael slipped his own hand into the pocket of his trench coat and fingered the gold bracelet waiting there. Once more, the vampire archangel was faced with a choice. He could do this the easy way, the way he wanted to do it, and use everything in his power to overwhelm Sophie until she submitted to him. Or he could rein himself in . . . and do things the hard way. He’d tried so hard to play nice; he’d come so far. It meant everything to him that Sophie trust him—that she grow to love him on her own terms. He wasn’t ready to lose what he’d gained now.
But archesses were a difficult and dangerous breed to scuffle with. On the battlefield, they were every bit as powerful as their archangel counterparts, if not more so. Sophie was not to be taken lightly now—especially not while she was under whatever influence Gregori had over her.
Azrael considered the stranger Juliette referred to as the man in white. He thought of the dead Adarians and wondered where Abraxos and his three Chosen, the Adarian-made vampires, were at that moment. He couldn’t feel them; wherever they were, it wasn’t here, in the midst of Sophie’s tempest.
Not yet.
“You already know Abraxos can move through the shadows,” Az said. “If he comes tonight, he will bring the others through with him again.”
“Do you think if I killed him and took his blood, I could do the same?” Rurik asked, his voice deep and his tone laced with acid. Az glanced back at him. The Viking’s eyes glowed a hellish blue, like the center flames in a bonfire. His fangs were fully extended, and at the moment the scar above his left eye seemed redder than usual.
The four band members together reminded Azrael of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Rancor was moving through the vampires of the world that night. They were angry that someone had attacked their queen—and marked her. They were also angry that the Adarian general and his three Chosen had joined them in the night uninvited. The fact that Abraxos and his turned vampires could move through the shadows sat particularly unwell with them.
And they wanted vengeance for what had been done to Uro.
Max, who was now dressed in fatigues, as he always was for a battle, turned to look at Rurik as well. “Just try not to get yourself killed,” he said. “You have a concert on Saturday.” He looked back at Azrael and his brown eyes softened with genuine concern. “The same goes for you.”
Az shifted his attention from Max to Michael, who was standing at the edge of the roof and surveying the alleyway beneath them. Az brushed his mind. Ever the cop, Michael was thinking about power outages and the problems they would cause for mortals throughout the city. But he was also thinking of how the four brothers had been forced to fight for every one of their archesses so far. He was wondering what would happen when, and if, he ever found his.
Looking at his brother now, Az couldn’t help but remember Samael’s contract and the promise he’d made. His heart turned to lead as he listened for and caught the sound of the powerful archangel’s blood running through his veins. It was blood Sam wanted him to take—along with the power inside of it.
But now was not the time.
With a hardened resolve, Azrael faced his band mates. They met his gaze resolutely. “Keep your heads,” he told them, trying his best to keep his own. And then he turned and leapt off the building. His trench coat billowed as he descended. Lightning crisscrossed behind him; he could feel the heat of it sizzling through the air. He landed with a cat’s quiet, easy grace, as if the world moved for him to make it easier. And then he straightened and looked up at Sophie’s second-story window.
It struck him as odd that there was no rain—or sleet, rather—accompanying Sophie’s storm. It was dry . . . like a tearless rage.
Azrael strode to the front door of the building, passing Randall and the others on the way. He moved through the front gate into the enclosed courtyard beyond. Quickly he found the stairs that led to Sophie’s floor, and within seconds he was standing before her door. He didn’t bother knocking. It opened for him with no more than a thought, and the cold entered Sophie’s world on mist and wind and lightning-streaked darkness.
Sophie looked up from where she sat on the couch. Her beautiful golden eyes were unnaturally bright, her teeth were clenched, and her gaze was narrowed.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve come to collect your little archess.”
Something hard and mean ramrodded through Azrael, an animal reaction to the defiance he saw in his mate’s eyes. He watched as she slowly stood, her hands curled into fists at her sides, her glorious golden hair whipping about in the wind he’d let in along with him. She glared at him—and the vampire inside of him raised its head and recognized the challenge. He wanted to take her then, to slam her up against the wall and sink his fangs into her neck and drink her in until she surrendered.
But part of him recognized the emotion in her gorgeous eyes for what it was. It was enough to hold him in check.
Barely.
“You got it in one,” he said calmly, turning to glance at the door so that it slammed shut behind him. “Now it’s my turn,” he said as he moved farther into the room.
A flash of uncertainty skated over her perfect features. She took a step back beside the couch, her gaze wary.
“You met a man on a rock and he reminded you of how you’ve had a hard life filled with pain and loss, and how you’ve been helpless to stop it until now. And you hate that.” He stopped and cocked his head to one side. “Am I right?”
Sophie’s gaze hardened. “What I hate,” she said, again speaking through clenched teeth, “is you.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in.
Azrael’s chest tightened and his eyes flashed, but he took her attack in stride. He knew this wasn’t Sophie—not completely, anyway.
Relentlessly, she went on. “I hate you and your brothers and your stupid Old Man and the way he thinks he can create people and toss them away and then play games with them like fucking chess pieces on a board.”
Azrael raised his head and took a slow, deep breath through his nose. He felt his eyes burning in his skull and knew they were glowing like suns. His gums throbbed, his fangs begging to be released. Somehow he kept them in.
“So what will you do, Sunshine?” he asked as he took a step toward her. The darkness followed him as he moved, wrapping around him, swathing him in its power as if dressing him for war. “Will you run?” he asked. “Hide?”
“If I could, I would,” she hissed.
“But you know you can’t, don’t you?” he continued, taking another step. “You know that it’s pointless to run from me. No one escapes me, Sophie. Many have tried.” He shook his head. “All of them have failed.”
She watched him take another step toward her, so close now, and her gold eyes flashed. “Only a cruel and heartless bastard would consider that something to brag about,” she told him fiercely, shaking her head. “You think it’s funny that everyone dies eventually? You think it’s something to shrug off and laugh at?”
Azrael stilled. He stopped two feet away from her. “No one is laughing, Sophie.”
Sophie’s gaze flicked past his eyes to his lips. He watched as she couldn’t help but take in the curve of his neck, his shoulder, the broad expanse of his chest. He wanted to absorb that attention and crow, but Sophie shut her eyes tight and turned away from him, showing him her back.
“Get out,” she demanded, her voice shaking with pent-up emotion. “Go away.”
Azrael closed the distance between them and gazed down at her. Despite her long, lean body, he towered over her. His darkness shadowed her and he saw her shiver beneath the weight of his nearness.
“That’s not going to
happen,” he told her.
She had known he was there, but the sound of his voice so close had an effect upon her. He could hear her heart rate speed up, her breathing change. He knew she could feel him behind her. He watched her fingertips press into the sleeves of her sweater.
“Sophie, turn around and look at me.”
“No.”
If it had been a stubborn refusal and nothing more, it might have made him smile. But her anger was still there, lacing the edge of her tone like poison.
The heat of her ire warmed her veins and Az caught the sweet scent of promising magic that coursed through them. His gums throbbed and his fangs slid partway to freedom. He closed his eyes against their invasion, trying desperately to find the strength he needed to hold back a little longer.
“Please leave me alone, Azrael,” Sophie told him. “Despite what you and your brothers and your guardian think, I have a choice now. And I’ve made it.”
“Oh, Sunshine,” Azrael said, his tone hardening, “you have never been more wrong.”
She stilled before him and straightened. She could hear the change in his voice and recognized it for the resolve that it was. He noted the thump of her heart and the catch of her breath as instinct shoved her into defensive mode.
But she wasn’t fast enough to avoid him. It took only a fraction of a second for Azrael to wrap his arm around her neck and shoulders and pull her back hard against his chest. When she raised her hands instinctively to grab his arm, Az slammed the binding bracelet onto her right wrist. It flashed brightly as it separated and then remolded around her.
Sophie struggled in his grasp, but he tightened his hold and, as he’d known she would, she calmed down for fear that he would choke her. He held her there for a moment. He couldn’t help it. She felt good pressed against him and he wanted to be closer.
As her fingernails curled ineffectually into his arm, he lowered his lips to her ear. “We need some alone time, Sophie,” he told her. He was about to go on when he noticed the chipped, crooked coffee table rattling where it rested beside them. He glanced at it in surprise as it suddenly shot up from the ground and then sailed straight toward them.
He could have used his own powers to stop it, but his first instinct was much faster, and he was ducking with Sophie, taking her down with him. The coffee table soared over them to slam into the opposite wall. Az rolled with Sophie and pulled her back up to a standing position with him just as the card table she’d been using for a dining table picked itself up and flew across the room toward them.
Az narrowed his gaze at it and it warped, turning to a mass of black feathers that floated slowly to the ground.
In his grasp, Sophie screamed in frustration. Thunder rocked the apartment complex. Azrael ignored it. His mind was spinning. How could she control these things while wearing the bracelet?
Suddenly, the couch behind him slammed hard into his back, surprising him enough that he loosened his grip on his archess. She took the opportunity to break free and then spun to face him. Azrael lowered his arms and watched with wide eyes as Sophie glared at him, gave him a wicked smile that both terrified him and turned him on, and then yanked the bracelet off her wrist in one bright flash.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Kevin knew something was wrong before he opened his eyes. There was a heaviness on his chest, as if an anvil had been left there during the course of the day. But he sat up free of physical weights and frowned into the darkness.
With a wave of his hand, he brought the overhead lights on, adjusting them to a dim setting. Ely, Mitchell, and Luke were belowground with him, each in his own wing of the man-made tunnels far beneath the surface along the West Coast that spanned what he’d jokingly begun to call their lair. He sent out a mental call to them now.
Within seconds, Mitchell’s dress shoes could be heard on the cold stone floor. He stepped into the light of the main room and Kevin caught a whiff of lighter fluid and smoke as Mitchell lit the end of the cigarette he had between his teeth.
The Adarian vampire’s gaze was on the ground as he took a pull off the cigarette and lowered it between two fingers. He blew out a cloud of smoke, then paused—and looked up at Kevin. “Something’s wrong.”
“I feel it too,” said Luke as he emerged from his own wing.
“It’s Adam and the others,” said Ely, who appeared a split second later.
Kevin knew he was right. As Ely said it, Kevin realized he’d known it even upon waking.
Adam and two other Adarians had not yet made the change to vampire. Kevin had his reasons for this. Though being a vampire made an Adarian much more powerful in most respects, it made him weaker in another. Kevin needed someone close to him who could move about during the day, and as a vampire this was impossible.
Once the Adarians had successfully taken Sophie from Azrael’s cave, they had regrouped on Alcatraz Island. Dawn was breaking, so Kevin and his three Chosen had taken off for safe haven underground. In the meantime, Adam and the others promised to take Sophie somewhere safe. Kevin didn’t want the archess resting with him and his Chosen; if Azrael was at all able to stay up during the day—which Kevin was fairly certain he couldn’t do—then the vampire king might use his scrying ability to track his archess down while Kevin and his men were unconscious and helpless. Sophie could inadvertently lead Azrael directly to them, and during the day the Adarians would be sitting ducks.
Instead, Kevin had to rely upon Adam’s inherent Adarian intelligence to get Miss Bryce far enough away from San Francisco to pose a problem to Azrael’s brothers and hope against hope that Az was as helpless during the daylight hours as Kevin was.
But now . . .
With a glance at the others that tied them together in purpose, Kevin turned to the nearest shadow big enough to hold his tall, strong form and stepped through it. A few minutes later, the four of them were exiting the dark realm and leaving behind the shadows to step into the Spanish fort on Alcatraz Island, a much older, more crude part of the establishment that was located beneath the prison.
The cold, hollow air was quiet but for the occasional echoing cry of a seagull and the howling of the wind over the land above. Kevin turned to Ely, gave him a nod, and the four of them made their way up several flights of stairs and into the cold night. The wind whipped through the trees and across the shrub-covered hills of the island, knocking birds askew in their flight and preventing them from finding suitable perches. Kevin glanced up to watch low-lying clouds sink lower, dip, and dive, driven by a nearly unholy wind. A faint dusting of frozen precipitation floated around them, eddying with the backdrafts that brushed Kevin’s black hair across his forehead.
Lightning flashed over the city of San Francisco in the distance. Kevin watched it decorate the night, ominous in its bright white intensity. Thunder rolled across the bay. He narrowed his gaze on the out-of-season storm and closed his eyes.
In the silence of his mind, he called out for Adam and the others. There was no reply. Instead, there was an emptiness where there had been a feeling of brotherhood and stability. Kevin opened his eyes with a sinking, dreadful realization.
His men were dead. After thousands of years, all that remained of the Adarian race were the few men with him now, out here on this rock in the early evening hour, gazing out across a lonely, cold sea.
Kevin turned to speak with Ely, to tell him what he knew in his heart, when he caught the faintest whiff of blood.
In weather like this, in cold this strong and wind this angry, any other kind of blood would have gone unnoticed. However, the blood Kevin scented now was Adarian blood. Strong. Powerful.
Without a word, Kevin blurred into motion, following the scent to its source. Along the way, he encountered two gates. He didn’t slow, simply turning to mist in order to pass them by. And then he was standing in the D Block of Alcatraz and his three Adarian Chosen were solidifying behind him.
Before him stood cell number nine, the first of the isolation chambers used to punish part
icularly nasty criminals. The inside was clean, devoid of object or decoration. However, the scent of disinfectant was stronger here than anywhere else in the penitentiary. And even so, it couldn’t hide what had once been spilled upon its floor.
Adam, Thane, and Raze were indeed dead. He could smell them all, scent the magic in their blood, and feel the remnants of their spirits here, where they had been snuffed out like candle flames in this god-awful tempest.
“The archangels?” Ely asked softly. His voice sounded tight, strained. They’d all lost so much—so many men. Of the twelve original Adarians, only four remained.
Kevin tried hard to consider this logically. He tried to think things through. Something about the scene didn’t look right. Something about the amount of blood he could tell had been spilled just didn’t seem like the archangels. If he’d been able to think past the dawning realization that he, Ely, Luke, and Mitchell were now alone in the world, he might have been able to put the puzzle together.
But his chest felt tight and his gums ached where his fangs had erupted in his mouth. His eyes glowed hotly in his face, sending everything into the sharp contrasts of a predator’s vision. There was so much pain inside him at that moment, he wanted to rip his own body apart to make it stop. He wanted to walk into the sun.
Beyond thought, his rage turned to his age-old enemies. He really, really wanted to kill four particular archangels. They’d taken everything from him.
Kevin wasn’t consciously directing his actions when he spun, dissolved into a blue mist the color of his glowing eyes, and rode the current of his anger through the prison once more. It was by chance and no premeditation that he wound up in the yard where inmates had once played games at all hours and in all weather in order to avoid the chilling loneliness of their cells.
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