by Nalini Singh
Her only response was a smile. “We are talking about you, Raphael. Are you not afraid I’ll use your problem to destroy you?”
“I think you have little interest in New York.”
She laughed, a cool sound that whispered of the grave and sunshine in one. “You are a clever one. Far cleverer than the others. Here’s what you need to know—you did not lose control.”
“I forced a woman to want me.” His tone was vicious. “It may be nothing to Charisemnon, but it is to me.” The other archangel held power over most of North Africa. If he saw a woman he wanted, he simply took her. “What is that if not a total loss of control?”
“There were two people in that room.”
For an instant, he didn’t understand. Then he did and it made his blood turn to ice. “She has the ability to influence me?” He hadn’t been under any creature’s control since escaping Isis’s tender mercies ten centuries ago.
“Would you kill her if she does?”
He’d killed Isis—it had been the only way to break free of the powerful angel bent on keeping him prisoner. He’d killed others, too. “Yes,” he answered, but part of him was no longer so sure.
Is rape what turns you on?
The impact of those words still reverberated in the endless night he called a soul. His eyes flicked over Lijuan’s face. “If she was controlling me, it wasn’t conscious.” Otherwise, she wouldn’t have accused him of rape.
“Are you sure?”
He stared at her, in no mood to play games.
It made her smile widen. “Yes, you are a smart one. No, your little hunter does not have the power to bend an archangel to her whims. Are you surprised I know who it was?”
“You have spies in my Tower, like you have spies everywhere.”
“And do you have spies in my home?” she asked, her tone a razor.
He threw up a shield, reflecting back her cutting power. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re far stronger than the others realize.” Calculation filled her gaze, even as she dropped into less formal speech.
Raphael would’ve cursed himself for having made a mistake except that he knew this was part of Lijuan’s modus operandi. To speak with her, you had to be, if not an equal, at least strong enough to make things interesting. “If you weren’t a woman, I’d say you have a need to prove whose cock is bigger.”
She actually giggled but the sound was somehow . . . off. “Oh, that I’d found you when I was still interested in such things.” She waved a hand. “You would’ve made a fine lover.” Her lips turned sensuous, some faded remembrance lighting sparks in the winter chill of her eyes. “Have you ever danced with an angel in flight?”
Memory hit Raphael like a body blow. Yes, he had danced. But it had not been in pleasure. However, he said nothing, simply watched, listened, knowing he was her audience.
“I had a lover once who actually made me feel human.” She blinked. “Extraordinary, isn’t it?”
He considered what kind of a young angel Zhou Lijuan might’ve been and found he didn’t like the answer. “Is he with you still?” he asked for form’s sake.
“I had him killed—an archangel can never be human.” Her face shifted, becoming less and less of this world, a caricature of angelic features, paper-thin skin over bone glowing from within. “There are some humans—one among half a billion perhaps—who make us something other than what we are. The barriers fall, the fires ignite, and the minds merge.”
He stayed absolutely silent.
“You must kill her.” Her pupils had expanded to devour the irises, her eyes black flame, her face a burning skeletal mask. “Unless and until you do, you can never be certain when the barriers will fall again.”
“What happens if I don’t kill her?”
“Then she will kill you. She will make you mortal.”
13
Ransom stopped the motorcycle in the bowels of Guild HQ. Pulling off his helmet, he hung it on the right handlebar. “My, but you lead an interesting life, Elieanora.”
She rubbed her cheek against the braid hanging down his back, too happy with him to tell him to stop using that stupid name. Not only was it not her name—okay, maybe on her birth certificate—it made her sound about a hundred years old. According to Ransom, she’d been drunk the night she confessed her secret shame. She thought it was more likely he’d hacked into some database and stolen the intel.
Reaching back, he patted her thigh. “Am I going to get lucky tonight?”
“You wish.” Grinning, she slapped away his hand and got off the bike.
His too-handsome-to-live face bore a wide grin. “It was worth a try.” With high cheekbones and rich copper-gold skin inherited from his Cherokee ancestors, not to mention green eyes from Ireland—via a short sojourn in an Australian penal colony—he was pretty enough to lick up like ice cream.
It was almost a pity they were just friends. Almost. “The night I sleep with you, you’ll cry like a baby.”
His eyes widened as he unzipped his leather jacket. “I know you’re into knives, but in bed? Isn’t that taking it a little far?”
Leaning in, she put her hands on his shoulders. “The instant we have sex, we stop being friends. Tear-time, honey pie.” It was a relief to be doing something as normal as bantering with Ransom.
He wrapped an arm around her waist. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’ll survive.” She knew full well he didn’t really want to mess up their friendship. And the second sex intruded, that’s exactly what would happen—Ransom didn’t deal well with intimacy. He might not be sleeping with Elena, but she bet she knew him a hell of a lot better than his girlfriend did. “And I won’t even tell Nyree you were hitting on me.”
Shadows moved across his face. “She left me.”
“Well, that’s a new one. It’s usually you doing the cutting and running.”
“She said I had commitment issues.” He squeezed her waist in emphasis. “Where the hell does she get that from?”
“Er, Ransom”—she patted his cheek—“your longest relationship, not counting me or Sara, was with Nyree and that was what, eight weeks?”
He scowled. “Who the fuck needs commitment? We had good times. I can find another piece of ass the second I walk into a bar.”
Despite all the problems in her own life—certain-death job, kinky vampire, superpowerful archangel—she felt her attention switch completely. “Wow, hell froze over while I wasn’t looking. You care about her.”
He dropped his arm. “I let her leave stuff at my place. Girly shit.”
Which, she assumed, was as good as a marriage certificate to him. “And?”
“And what?”
Sensing that line of questioning would get her nowhere, she changed gears. “That’s your plan—to go out and find an easy lay?”
“You’re the morality police now?”
The shrug made her muscles protest, threatening to remind her of how she’d overstretched them in the first place. “Hey, none of my business if you and Nyree decide to find new bed partners.”
His skin turned white over bone. “She lets any other fucker lay a hand on her, he’ll be singing soprano the rest of his miserable life.”
“Maybe you should let Nyree know.” Elena decided that was about the limit of the advice she was capable of right then. It was time to return to the nightmare of her life. “Now get your cute butt up off there. We need to powwow with Sara.”
“She’s on her way,” he told her, sprawling back on the bike with an easy grace that made most women drool. “When you called for a retrieval, she told me to haul ass and to make sure you stayed hidden until she knew what was going on.”
Elena remembered what Sara had implied about spies in the Guild. Raphael’s spies. Her hands fisted. “I hate men.”
Ransom sat back up, face absolutely expressionless. “What happened?”
And she knew that if she told him, he’d be ready to go archangel hunti
ng with her. She called him her sometimes-friend because they tended to fight half the time, but when push came to shove, Ransom would stand at her back. But this was a private war. “Personal stuff,” she answered, just as the elevator doors opened to reveal Sara.
She strode out, a petite woman with skin the rich, melting color of cinnamon coffee and huge brown eyes set off by dark hair cut in thick, straight bangs and twisted up off her neck. Her tailored burgundy suit and white lace camisole screamed executive, but she had her feet perched on what looked like five-inch high heels. “You smell like you’ve been running a marathon,” was her greeting to Elena. “And you”—a glance at Ransom—“look like a reject from a biker show.”
“Hey!” Ransom took offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a certified biker dude.”
Sara ignored him to fix Elena with a gimlet eye. “Ellie, my darling, please explain to me why the office has been flooded with calls about, and I quote”—she crooked her fingers in the air—“a vicious vampire on the loose, a crazy knife-wielding maniac, and oh, this one’s my favorite—an assassin carrying a gun!”
“I can explain.”
Sara folded her arms and tapped one fashionably clad foot. “Explain why you flashed not only a knife but a gun? I hope to God you didn’t actually use either of them without authorization because if the VPA gets ahold of it, we’re screwed.”
Elena rubbed the back of her neck. “Exigent circumstances. He was trying to make me his bed buddy. I declined. He gave chase.”
Ransom choked back what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Why did you say no? It’s been a dry spell of what, forever?”
She threw him a dirty look before returning her gaze to Sara. “You know I’d never have considered using the gun otherwise.”
Sara held up a hand. “How, exactly, did you ‘decline’ his offer?”
“By slitting his throat.”
The silence in the garage was broken only by the sound of water drip-dripping somewhere in the distance. Sara just stared. So did Ransom. Then the idiot male started laughing hysterically. He laughed so hard he fell off the bike and onto the scarred concrete of the garage floor. Even that didn’t stop him.
Elena would’ve kicked him, except he’d probably use the chance to pull her down with him. “Shut up before I do the same to you.”
He tried to stop laughing. Failed. “Jesus, Ellie. You are awesome!”
“What you are,” Sara muttered, “is a magnet for trouble.”
“I—” Elena started to defend herself.
Sara held up her hand again and started counting off on her fingers. “Because of you, I have messages on my phone from the governor and the freaking President of the United States of America.” Down went one finger. “Because of you, half of New York now thinks there’s a wild vampire on the loose.” Another finger. “Because of you, I got three more gray hairs!”
Elena grinned at the last. “I love you, too.”
Shaking her head, Sara finally bridged the distance between them and hugged her with ferocious strength. After this many years of friendship, they had the height thing figured out. Elena bent, Sara tiptoed, and they met in the middle. Breaking apart, they looked at each other. “Are you in trouble, Ellie?”
Elena bit her lower lip and glanced from Ransom’s suddenly sober face to Sara’s. “Sort of. Raphael and I had a slight . . . disagreement.” She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t serving him up on a platter. Maybe it was because she was terrified of what he’d do to her friends—hunters or not, they were no match for an archangel. Or maybe it was something far more dangerous. “And Dmitri apparently thinks that makes me fair game.”
“The vampire?” Sara clarified. “Raphael’s security chief?”
“Yep.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “You guys are not going to believe this—when I cut his throat, he got off on it. He thinks I’m the hottest thing since blood on a stick.”
“There’s no such thing as blood on a stick.” Of course, that was Ransom.
“Exactly!” She threw up her hands. “I’m not into weird vampire shit either!”
“Okay, this isn’t as bad as I thought,” Sara muttered. “Do you think he’ll lay a complaint with the VPA?”
Elena thought back to the air kiss. “No. He’s having too much fun.”
“Good for the Guild, not so good for you.” Sara tapped her foot again. “Right, you’ll go to ground in the Cellars until you can contact Raphael and get him to rein in Dmitri. In the meantime, Ransom will deal with lover boy—”
“No,” Elena interrupted.
Ransom stood, brushing off the seat of his pants. “You don’t think I can handle him?” There was an edge to his tone.
“Don’t be so male,” she snapped. “He has the scent thing happening.” And Ransom was hunter-born. Not as strong as Elena, but strong enough to be vulnerable.
Another silence. Sara glanced from Elena to Ransom. “Okay, new plan, I’ll get Hilda to deal with Mr. Vamp if he turns up.”
Hilda was human. She could also bench-press a car and was one of the few individuals immune to any and all vampiric powers.
“Fuck.” Ransom turned and gave them his back as he spit out a string of curses that would’ve stripped the paint off the walls had they actually been painted to begin with. “Since I’m useless here, I’m going to get drunk.”
Elena put a hand on the stiff muscle of his shoulder. “You’re not useless. You’re a hunky bite of sex and I’m not sure if Dmitri swings both ways. Cut me some slack for wanting to protect my friend. You’d do the same if the tables were turned.”
“You’re not the one who got scent-ambushed and woke up naked with bites all over his fucking body.”
She hadn’t actually expected him to bring up the incident. He never had before. Maybe this Nyree was even better for him than she’d thought. “True,” she murmured. “Yeah, it’s better you don’t go to Nyree in this mood. You might hurt her. Go get drunk.”
He hissed out a breath.
“She’s probably out anyway.” Elena mouthed “shut up” at Sara when it looked like her best friend was going to intervene. “Since she’s mad at you, she probably took some time off—what did you say she did?”
“Librarian.”
Ransom was dating a librarian? “I bet she took the chance to put on a sexy little—”
Ransom moved so fast she barely managed to jump out of the way as he peeled out of the garage. She dusted off her hands. “My work here is done.” And good thing, too, because she hadn’t been sure where she was going with the sexily dressed librarian.
“He serious about her?” Sara’s tone was astonished. “As in, he wants her for more than boinking?”
“Yep.” She put her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and rocked back. “I don’t like the Cellars.”
“Tough titties.” Sara was pure Guild Director at that moment. “I’m not losing my best hunter—and don’t you dare tell Ransom I said that—to a lust-crazed vampire. Get in the elevator.”
Elena got in with Sara, then pulled off the panel that hid an auxiliary keypad. Inputting the code to the secret hideaway that existed in some form in every Guild building, she replaced the panel. “Is it true that in L.A. they’ve got the hidey-holes in the elevator shaft?”
Sara nodded. “Small cubbies—connected, but way too cramped. Ours is better.”
The doors opened to reveal a subterranean network so old, it dated to the time of the first American Guild—that history was part of the reason why New York functioned as the permanent home of the Guild Director, and consequently, as HQ for the entire United States Guild.
“Ours might be better,” Elena said, stepping out, “but I bet they don’t have to dodge carnivorous bugs with a taste for human flesh.” The building supports in front of her were massive, but only dirt lay beneath as far as the eye could see. Even if someone unauthorized did make it down here, they’d probably give up long before they discovered the truth.
“Badass vam
pire hunters eat bugs for breakfast.” Light words, but Sara’s expression was serious. “You good? I have to get upstairs to initiate damage control.”
Elena nodded, then put out a hand to stop the doors closing. “You said you had a message from the president?” It was an attempt to temper the icy tendril of fear that twisted into her mind without warning as a primal part of her reacted to something she didn’t yet understand.
Sara nodded. “He saw the news footage—wanted to know if he should be worrying about a wave of bloodlust-crazed vampires.”
“Nervous guy.”
Sara responded with a snort. “Do you realize exactly how many vamps were chasing you? Just stay under and make up with Raphael—I can’t believe I’m saying that—as soon as possible.”
As the doors closed, plunging Elena into pitch blackness, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to speak to Raphael again. She’d thought—The truth was, she didn’t know what she’d thought. Her hand flinched involuntarily as her body remembered how Raphael had forced her to hurt herself. From that to lusting after him in less than twenty-four hours. Her mouth tightened. Maybe the bastard had been messing with her mind from the start, letting her believe she was free when all the time, he was making her dance to his tune.
“Which makes him an archangel and me an idiot,” she said, walking ten paces left and feeling her way down to the base of the column there. A few minutes later, she unearthed—literally—the stash of weatherproof torches. After making sure hers worked, she spent several more minutes reburying the hoard for the next hunter, then began to make her way through the concrete, metal, and earth jungle.
It took her ten minutes to reach the doorway to the Cellars. It looked like some junkie’s idea of a door, all twisted up, graffitied, and shot full of holes. But she knew that that door was backed up by eight inches of pure steel. Shining the torch on what appeared to be a long-broken keypad, she coded in.
Welcome, Elena.
The message flashed across the tiny screen a second before a retinal scanner slid out of the slot. She dutifully put her eye to it and two minutes later, she was inside. But that only meant she’d passed the first hurdle. This shelter was designed to hold even if a hunter was forced or coerced into bringing an enemy inside.