Blood of Angels (Book 2 of the Blood Hunters Series)

by Marie Treanor

  She opened the door without a key or any other obvious unlocking action. It was a trick Saloman used. And vampires didn’t need physical alarm systems. They had their own.

  His fellow hunters might tell him that he was lucky to get out of there with his life. István knew he was luckier to get out without falling over. As he brushed past the vampiress, he glanced at her face, which was closed and expressionless. She seemed unaccountably stiff, as if he’d done something wrong. Apparently it was as easy to offend a vampiress as any other woman.

  “Good night,” he said gently.

  “Good night, hunter,” she murmured.

  He stepped over the threshold, and almost immediately, the door closed behind him. He heard the locks click into place, and a moment later, the lights went out. It was a relief, and yet as he sank down on the stone windowsill and reached for his phone, he realized he was piqued by the speed with which she obviously wanted rid of him.

  He’d read too much into a dance and a bit of banter. And a kiss. She’d been playing him for her own ends. Again. Or…

  István had always regarded himself as pretty self-sufficient. Before his injury, he had been. With revulsion, he wondered if he was somehow leaking neediness now. The very idea appalled him far more than it could ever repel Angyalka.

  At the corner of his eye, something moved in the shadows. István released the phone in his pocket and instead flipped the switch on the vampire detector. But there was no time to prepare. By the time he’d hauled himself to his feet, there were four shadows converging on him.

  Not vampires, but humans. The one in the lead was the man he’d caught at the club entrance, more by luck than design. Payback time.

  Resigned, István blocked the first wild swing and lashed out with his elbow to fell the man closing in behind him. He was used to fighting beings with much faster reactions than semi-drunken humans, but there were four of them, and his legs refused to function.

  He was, as Elizabeth would say, mince.

  Still, he got in a couple of good punches, infuriating his attackers by the strength behind them, before they kicked his legs from under him. He head-butted the first to fall on him, lashed out with his fists at another, before a boot crashed into his side, and he knew it wouldn’t be long.

  ****

  Angyalka closed the door with relief and slid the locks home manually. It should have made her feel better, and yet something uneasy remained. Something to do with the hunter.

  Disappointment at the speed of his departure. He’d been fun to tease and flirt with. And he could certainly kiss better than most vampires with centuries of practice behind them. She smiled a little at the memory, touching her lips with her fingertips. It didn’t feel like revenge anymore.

  She wondered if it would take him another eighteen months to come back this time. With the lights out, she turned to watch him.

  His outline pushed against the windowpane, as if he’d sat almost immediately on the sill. He was a hunter. He’d never admit weakness before a vampire, even when she’d already guessed. It would be suicide in many cases. His kisses, extracting her response, had been his fight back. She didn’t mind that, since he was so good at it. And since she had the suspicion they’d gone well beyond his original intention.

  He was bound to be freaked.

  Smiling faintly, she began to turn away and return to the club, when his silhouette heaved itself to its feet and lurched out of her line of vision. It could have been his taxi arriving, but alarm bells went off in her head. There were other humans out there. Running at him.

  Instinct propelled her to the glass door, and she pushed the blind aside. Four men, the same men who’d been ejected from the club when he’d first arrived. And they were about to take out their anger on the man who’d helped do it.

  “Damnation.” Angyalka frowned. István could barely stand. They’d kill him in this state unless she intervened. Fear clawed at her stomach. This wasn’t the revenge she’d planned for him, and it certainly wouldn’t bring her any personal satisfaction.

  Bastard human thugs.

  Am I really going to have to go out there?

  “Oh Jesus,” she whispered. “Oh fuck…”

  She’d unlocked the door again without conscious thought. Now she opened it with trembling hands. The men had jumped István. He was down, and they were on top of him.

  He was strong. Whatever the injury to his spine and his legs, his arms were like iron. He could hold them off until she got Béla and György down from the club to help… Couldn’t he?

  She peered out into the darkness, hearing her own heart beat like thunder in her ears. It shouldn’t do that. She was a vampire.

  A bloody terrified vampire watching a bunch of human thugs beat the crap out of a man who was her prey. A man who’d danced with her and kissed her…and barely had the strength to stand upright. The whole thing was downright rude, and she couldn’t allow it.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered, forcing her feet over the doorstep. With a wild yell to encourage herself rather than intimidate the thugs in the street, she flew at them.

  Through her red mist of sickness and fear, she saw the man who’d bitten her leave off kicking István to turn and face her. Even in her condition, the vicious, murderous glare of his eyes shocked her. It was pure, inhuman hatred.

  Angyalka buffeted him with her elbow on the way past—enough to send him sprawling. István, from the ground had just floored another of his attackers. He grabbed the ankle of a third and yanked, but Angyalka caught the bastard and threw him down the street. She plucked the rising one from the roadside and kneed him in the groin before shoving him into his friend.

  Still screaming, she saw that she couldn’t fight them all without killing. In their drink-fueled bloodlust, they didn’t feel their injuries as they should and kept coming back for more. And as for the ringleader, the biter, no way was he giving up.

  And so when he flew at her with flailing feet, she jumped above his head, grabbed him, and bit into his throat. It only took her a few moments to drain him.

  “No!” István gasped, trying desperately to rise. “Angyalka, stop!”

  Too late. She hurled the dead man contemptuously into his advancing, suddenly unsure friends, who yelled with horror. Screaming again, she grabbed István’s arm, hauling him to his feet, and staggering backward into the gallery doorway. By the time they arrived there, he was all but carrying her. It was he who shut and locked the door while she collapsed on the floor and curled up like a fetus.

  “They’re running off,” he said coldly, through her pounding heart, her terror, and her shame. She was vaguely aware of him sliding down the door to the floor. “Except the one you bit. Did you kill him, Angyalka?”

  Somewhere, beneath the inner shock, she wanted to laugh, because although she’d just killed for him, saving his self-righteous neck, he was far from grateful. Bloody hunters.

  From his voice, she knew he’d turned toward her, could see her curled and trembling on the floor. Fuck, this wasn’t exactly the revenge she’d planned either. It just gave her another reason to kill him.

  She closed her eyes in shame, tried to pull herself together, to come up with a reason, an excuse. But her mind wouldn’t work. It was still far too terrified.

  “Angyalka?” His voice had changed from angry to concerned. Damn him. He dragged himself across the floor to her, until he touched her shoulder.

  I’m back. I’m inside. Everything is all right.

  But it wasn’t. Her whole body shook.

  Very gently, the hunter turned her face toward him. “Angyalka, what’s wrong? Did you get hurt?” He sounded urgent, anxious.

  She managed to shake her head. He hauled himself into a sitting position beside her, leaning his back against the wall. To her amazement, his hand stroked her hair.

  “Then what’s wrong?” he asked again.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled, forcing herself to sit. If he could do it, so could she. She just n
eeded to stop shaking, to think before she blundered into speech. “I’m just—not used to—to going out.”

  “Oh,” he said blankly.

  She tried again. “It’s become a big thing for me. I—I haven’t been outside in a while. Outside the club, this building, I mean.” Oh Jesus Christ, did I just say that? To him? The hunter?

  She squeezed her eyes tight shut. This was worse than being outside.

  Almost.

  The silence went on a long time. Then the hand on her head slid down around her shoulders, and weirdly, it felt good there, as strong and secure as the door and the walls that surrounded her domain.

  “How long,” he asked at last, “has it been since you’ve been out?”

  “A hundred and two years.” Her voice sounded hollow, like her heart. But there was no point in keeping it back. She’d already given away all the rest. She couldn’t take that back. “Apart from the half minute I stood on the doorstep to watch Saloman destroy a couple of Luk’s followers. I got away with that.”

  She opened her eyes and stared defiantly into his. “I believe nowadays they call it agoraphobia.” She smiled, knew it was twisted, and didn’t care. “My name’s Angyalka, and I’m an agoraphobic vampire.”

  His eyes, such enticing dark eyes, widened. Then he blinked. His breath hitched, and then he did something totally unexpected.

  He laughed.

  If he hadn’t tightened his arm around her, drawing her close against his side—and if she’d had the energy—she might have been offended.

  As it was, she said coldly, “I don’t see that it’s all that funny.”

  “Oh, it isn’t,” he agreed, sobering, then grinning again. “But you must admit, considering I can’t walk and you can’t go out, we certainly kicked their butts.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her—probably hysteria, but there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. “We must have been pretty funny to watch.” She gasped. “Me yelling like a banshee and both of us staggering about like drunks in a beer cellar.”

  He laughed again—he had a good laugh, low and musical and oddly infectious—and hugged her. She amused herself, since it was such a good distraction, by watching his face slowly right itself and return to seriousness.

  He said, “I should get the body removed.”

  “No need. Béla will do it.” Béla, she called telepathically to her henchman upstairs. There’s a dead troublemaker outside.

  On it, Béla answered laconically. Hopefully, the body would be gone before the human staff went home.

  “Not that I’m ungrateful,” István said carefully, “He came at me like a madman. But I can’t condone what you did. And for you, there may well be repercussions from a human murder. There were witnesses.”

  “I’ll worry about it if it happens.” Which it wouldn’t, unless István spoke against her. The other witnesses would have to admit their own crime against István, and since they were drunk, even then their word would be regarded as less reliable than his. She frowned. “Interesting thought, though. In the past, the hunters have covered up murders committed by vampires—much more mindless and unnecessary murders than mine tonight—just to keep our existence secret. Will you still do that?”

  “You mean will you have to deal with police hassle rather than hunter hassle? I don’t really know. These things are still being hashed out between Saloman and the big cheeses in the network. They’re trying to form some kind of council to make judgments.”

  She glared at him. “And that’s supposed to be better? Sometimes I think Saloman’s insane.”

  István wiped a trickle of blood dripping down his chin. His lip and cheek were cut. “Well, it’s better for humans. It’ll be one of the many things that don’t happen immediately, but on the other hand, it probably needs to be in place before too many humans catch on to vampire existence.”

  She rested her head back against the wall as she continued to gaze at him. As her world and her stupid, terrified being began to right themselves, a bruise was coming up over his eye.

  “So what will you do about this?” she asked. “Tell your people what really happened? Or keep it quiet?”

  “Why would I keep it quiet?”

  “You’re a proud man, hunter. You won’t like to admit you were so easily ambushed and overcome.”

  His gaze remained steady. After a moment, his lips tugged into a rueful smile. “I’ve already lost that battle, and it was never with my colleagues. In the absence of aspirin—or even morphine—would you mind giving me a very large whisky? My ribs and my head are killing me.”

  “I can’t help with the morphine,” she said. “But I can manage the rest. If you can stand, let’s do the beer cellar stagger back upstairs.”

  Chapter Four

  His breath of laughter warmed her as she rose to a crouch. He changed position, trying to get up without leaning on her shoulder.

  “István,” she said quietly. “I’m a vampire. Use it.”

  It went against the grain with him. He was a good human and naturally chivalrous. But he’d been around vampires for long enough to know their strength, and so he leaned on her and let her draw him to his feet. He was lean and hard. The powerful muscles in his arm flexed as he rose.

  For Angyalka, the feel of the body that should have been so strong and fit underlined the tragedy of what had happened to him, the frustration caused by his physical weaknesses, and the fear he wouldn’t acknowledge that he’d never fully recover. The fear she suspected that had brought him here in the first place, propelling him into dangerous situations he’d have dealt with so easily before. She didn’t want to understand that. She didn’t want to feel for him. He was just a hunter who’d finally walked into her net.

  She said calmly, “Can you walk?”

  He nodded but kept his arm around her as they moved slowly to the elevator. Angyalka didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all.

  The staff room was empty, although various “good nights” were being called in the bar. István’s arm fell away. Angyalka hesitated. She could still take him into the bar. It was a line she hadn’t yet crossed.

  The novel intimacy of shared weakness had thrown her. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t deny it either. Outside, they’d saved each other. Neither of them had had to do that.

  She pressed the code that caused the elevator doors to shut once more. István glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

  “Bar’s closed,” she said.

  She could hear his heartbeats. They’d calmed down after the street fight, but now they grew faster again. His blood smelled fantastic. Rich, strong, hunter blood…

  The elevator halted, and the doors opened. She stepped out, and István followed her. So fast that he’d never see, she pressed the code that sent the lift back to the club floor.

  “Maximilian taught me long ago always to have more than one exit.” She crossed the narrow hall into the living room without looking to see if he followed her. Weirdly, she could no longer hear his heart for her own. She didn’t need more than her fingers to count the number of beings who’d ever been in this space. Bringing István here was a big step, one she had a terrible feeling she’d regret.

  The trouble was, killing him would piss Saloman off, which had never been part of her plan.

  She paused by the seventeenth-century dresser she used as a drinks cabinet. “Go through and make yourself comfortable,” she said. “Undress so that I can see your injuries.”

  She poured two large malt whiskies and picked them up along with the aspirin she’d removed from the bar by mistake one day.

  István was still standing in the middle of the living room, despite the fact that he was about to fall over, without the aid of a thuggish boot this time. He gazed around the room, at her television, her laptop on the big knee-hole desk, her bookcases and DVD shelves, as though surprised she could have interests other than blood and her own bar. The case for the documentary about India she’d been watching this afternoon lay on the floor in
front of the television. Most of her DVDs were about the places she’d never seen and never would.

  He said, “I just need the drink and the aspirin.”

  She walked past him into the bedroom and set the drinks down on the bedside table. Then she went back for him and took his hand, leading him into the bedroom.

  “Angyalka, don’t do this to me.” His voice was light, and yet he wasn’t quite amused.

  She pushed him onto the bed. “Do what?”

  “Force me to see you and a bed in the same place. It isn’t kind. Not in my condition.”

  “I’m a vampire. I’m not known for kindness.” His words didn’t displease her, though. She wouldn’t think about that. She pushed the glass into his hand and held out the aspirin.

  After the faintest pause, he put the tablets in his mouth and knocked them back with the whisky. Angyalka knelt and lifted his legs, placing them on the bed. When he resisted, she placed her palm against his chest so that he fell back against the pillows.

  “Be still. If your ribs are cracked, you’ll need a doctor. Or at least Elizabeth.”

  “And how will you tell?” he asked politely.

  “Magic,” she said and eased his jacket off his shoulders. He helped her with that, wincing almost imperceptibly, but when she reached for the buttons of his shirt, his hands lifted as if he’d stop her. Then he dropped them into his lap and just watched her face.

  She smiled. “Good boy.”

  There was a bruise, from a fist or a boot, on his left side. But she’d been right about his arms and chest. His upper body was thick and hard with muscle. His heart hammered under her palm. She inhaled the powerful scent of his blood as she closed her eyes and ran both hands slowly over his chest. His skin was hot and had its own distinctive smell—spicy soap and human male. Hunter. This hunter.

  She could do it now. Chain his hands to her bedposts and have her way with his splendid male body. She smiled, counting his ribs, listening to his rushing blood, his very nerves. She opened her eyes and let her gaze drift downward over his abdomen and the line of tempting brown hair pointing down into his trousers. Oh yes.