No sound, her body losing all tension again. Swinging her up into his arms, he stepped out of the elevator and strode straight to his car.
He’d never seen her like this, and he hated it. She wasn’t meant to be so still, so lifeless. Ash was life and wickedness and wildness. Starting the engine after clipping in her seat belt, he drove not to his spacious Tower apartment but to her home. She’d be more comfortable in her nest, and, truth be told, he liked it, too. The Tower didn’t have the scent of home for him.
It didn’t have the scent of her.
At her building, he parked in the same space her doorman had used the previous night. It took him a bare two minutes to carry her to the elevator and get into her apartment after he dug out the key he knew she carried in her left jeans pocket. Placing her on the bed, he tugged off her boots and jacket, removed her weapons. “Not the way I want to undress you,” he said to fill the silence that was vicious metal claws around his heart.
No, he’d never survive her loss.
Her skin was a little hot when he checked, but her breathing was steady.
Janvier wasn’t about to risk anything; he called the Guild and a medic was at the door within seven minutes. Ripping off his motorcycle jacket and dropping his helmet on the carpet, the heavyset male checked her over. “Her vitals are within safe levels.” A piercing look at Janvier after he made that pronouncement. “Sara sent me because I’ve stitched Ash up before. I know what she can do. If that’s what’s caused this, we’ll have to monitor her and see what happens.”
“I’ll do it.”
The medic didn’t argue with Janvier, simply showed him what to do to check her vitals, then said, “I’m not far.” He gave Janvier his direct line. “Call me the instant you think she’s in distress.”
Kicking off his boots after the other man left, Janvier stripped off his jacket and blade holster, as well as his belt to ensure the buckle wouldn’t dig into her. An instant later, he was curled around her. Ashwini was so vivid in life that he forgot how fragile she was as a mortal—today, he couldn’t help but notice that despite the toned muscle that made her so beautiful and dangerous in motion, her limbs were slender, her bones all too breakable under his vampiric strength.
And her mind . . .
Sliding one arm under her head and refusing point-blank to go into a future that wasn’t yet written in stone, he undid her braid with his other to make her more comfortable, murmuring to her in the language he’d spoken as a boy, skinny and wild and often hungry. “The first time I saw you, you had a crossbow pointed at me and a seriously pissed-off look on your face.”
The memory was one of his favorites: she’d had a streak of oil on her cheek, her olive green tank top smudged with dirt, and her combat boots planted a foot apart, black cargo pants hiding her long, long legs. He’d wanted to wrap his hand around her ponytail and pull back her head to arch her throat for a blood kiss that would ram erotic pleasure through both their bodies.
“Never had I felt such lust,” he said, stroking his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with her own. “I could’ve devoured you, even had I to pay for it in crossbow wounds.” He chuckled. “Imagine if you’d permitted me to seduce you then, cher.”
No movement, her skin temperature clammy enough to make a ball of fear lodge in his gut. “Don’t go.” It was a harsh plea, his heart and soul laid at her feet. “Please don’t go. It’s not our time. Not yet. Not so soon.”
34
Dmitri was briefing Raphael about the second victim when Elena appeared in the doorway to Raphael’s Tower office.
Hello, hbeebti.
Hello, Archangel.
She leaned against the doorjamb and he watched as she and his second acknowledged each other with a glance. The two had come to an understanding that they both had the best interests of the city—and its archangel—at heart. Not that it stopped either one from sharpening their knives on each other.
Today, however, Dmitri had more critical matters on his plate. “A distraction won’t work this time,” the vampire said. “Too many people saw the victim, even with how quickly Illium picked her up, and while the media knows not to push the Tower, the talking heads are speculating on every channel.”
“Shut it down.” Raphael would permit no one to seed fear in his city. Not the enemy and not its own citizens.
“It won’t cure the problem,” Dmitri responded, proving why he was Raphael’s second. Where many would’ve snapped to his command, Dmitri had the confidence and the intelligence to dispute Raphael’s decisions when necessary. “The rumors will continue to circulate beneath the surface, doing worse damage.”
“Suggestions?”
“Ahem.”
“You have an idea, Consort?” Raphael asked the hunter who stood with her arms crossed and her wings held off the floor as per Galen’s training—of course, Elena would say his weapons-master had beaten the habit into her, but the end result was that she had the posture of a warrior.
Her lips twitched at his formal address. “I was about to suggest we tell the truth.”
Dmitri’s expression was distinctly sardonic. “The Tower does not share its concerns.”
Rolling her eyes, Elena sauntered into the room to stand with her hands on her hips at Raphael’s side. “I wasn’t suggesting we start doing a daily Tower broadcast. But what’s the harm in pointing out that our enemies are attempting to use underhanded techniques to disrupt the city?”
Raphael had changed with the times. Unlike many of the older angels, he didn’t look down his nose at the modern world, believing the old to be better. His Tower was fully integrated with current technology, with Illium in charge of ensuring that continued uninterrupted. The blue-winged angel was fascinated with both mortal and immortal ingenuity and had the kind of agile mind that could quickly process new concepts.
So Raphael wasn’t stuck in the “stone age,” as Illium had been heard to mutter about certain other vampires and angels. He had, however, long believed that mortals were safer in their ignorance of the bloody details of the immortal world. The irony of the fact that he was standing in the same room as two former mortals, one his heart, the other his closest friend, wasn’t lost on him.
Neither was the cold truth that mortals could not play in their world.
Dmitri’s friendship with Raphael had cost him his cherished family, the vampire spending a thousand years in purgatory. Elena had broken her back when Raphael had hauled her into an immortal problem, her body a bleeding, shattered doll in his arms. Without the kiss of immortality, his hunter’s light would’ve been extinguished that violent day above Manhattan when he fought Uram. “Humans,” he said, “cannot become used to demanding an answer from the Tower and getting it.”
Elena’s eyes, the gray ringed by a luminous rim of silver that whispered of her growing immortality, were open, without shadows, when they met his. “I know.”
The two of them had been negotiating their viewpoints—her mortal heart against his immortal mind—since the day they met, but it was no longer a pitched battle. “Then why suggest a response?” he asked, conscious his consort’s ability to understand the people of this city was oftentimes better than his own.
“Because it can work if we do it right.” She tapped her foot, her forehead creased in a frown. “I say Dmitri calls a couple of the reporters who stuck around during the battle, the ones who risked their lives to cover it—and who, incidentally, made the Tower look damn good.”
Dmitri nodded slowly. “I’ll have a quiet conversation with them, bring them into the inner circle, shape the story as we wish.”
“I don’t know that manipulation is necessary,” Elena countered. “The city is on our side. Give them a sign that the Tower knows that, that’s all—people just want to feel included, to feel as if they have a part to play.”
“Try it,” Raphael said to Dmitri. “The Cascad
e will bring many more such decisions our way, so we must begin to establish what works.”
An hour later, news hit the networks that the tortured woman reported to have run out of Central Park had been the victim of a cowardly attempt by their enemies to disrupt the city’s recovery. While no one from the Tower appeared to confirm the reports, the Legion made an impressive flyover across the city that night, accompanied by two full squadrons led by Illium.
A half hour after that, Raphael’s second told him the mood in the media had altered from fear to proud outrage. “‘No one has the guts to hit us head-on,’” Dmitri said, reading out a comment on an article. “That encapsulates the direction of the conversation.” Sliding away his phone, he came to stand beside Raphael on the edge of a high Tower balcony. “Elena was right.”
“There, Dmitri, you did not melt at admitting that.”
His second laughed and the sound was one that was becoming familiar again after a thousand years of silence. It wasn’t only his city that was healing, Raphael thought, his eyes catching the refracted light that betrayed Aodhan’s presence in the sky; his people were, too. And it had all begun with a single, vulnerable mortal who did not accept that to be an archangel was to be always right.
35
Janvier didn’t sleep for the ten hours that Ash was out, motionless and so deep in her mind that the life of her was a muted shadow. She finally stirred as the city was awakening, the high-rises wreathed in mist and coated with a light layer of snow he’d watched fall an hour before through the sliding doors off her bedroom.
Stretching against him, she made a sound in the back of her throat. He imagined it was his name, knew he was fooling himself. But then she turned to nuzzle his throat. “I knew it was you, cher.” A sleepy, drowsy statement.
Janvier wanted to smile, to tease her in delight about his name being the first word on her lips, but he couldn’t stop the convulsive shudder that shook his body, his arms locking around her.
“Shh.” Wiggling until she could get both arms around his neck, Ash held him to her in a bruising grip that still wasn’t tight enough for him. “I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her cheek against the roughness of his. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
He couldn’t speak, the hand that had been choking him for the past ten excruciating hours slow to release its punishing grasp.
Ash continued to murmur apologies, pressing soft, unexpected kisses along his temple and jaw. “Mujhe maaf kardo na, cher.”
The private, intimate intermixing of language, it broke through the icy fear, made the choke hold ease, his breath no longer jagged rocks in his lungs. Shifting to brace himself on one forearm, he thrust a hand into her hair. “What did I tell you about apologies?”
He’d never forget those ten endless hours, but neither would he forget her dazzling, sinful smile as she said, “I’m not sleepy anymore.”
Naked joy in his blood, he hauled her up over him, her unbound hair creating a curtain of black silk around their faces as they drank one another in. “Where did you come from?” Ash whispered in the hushed space. “I wasn’t looking for you.”
“Are you planning to throw me back?”
“Never.”
The single empathetic word was better than any flowery declaration of love.
Coming down, she rested her head on his heart, not disputing his right to run his fingers through her hair. “I can’t remember what I said in the hospital. Did I tell you about the peanuts?”
“You tried to say something, but you didn’t complete your sentence.”
“Damn.” She jerked up into a sitting position. “Lilli told m—” A pause, her voice ragged and her hands fisted to bloodless tightness as she said, “That was her name. Lilli Ying.”
“I won’t forget.” He couldn’t take the agony of her gift from her, but he could help her carry the names of the lost. “What did Lilli say?”
“That she could smell peanuts during her captivity and that the space where she was held was a large one.”
Squelching his need to continue to hold her, Janvier grabbed his phone. “I’ll get the computer teams on to creating a list of possible locations.”
“Good.” She thrust her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “I’ll update Sara, then I’m going to shower.”
He watched her swing out of bed, sway on her feet. He was beside her with vampiric speed, but she held out a hand. “Give me a sec.”
Stretching carefully, she said, “I’m a little light-headed, but I’ve felt like this before. Lots of liquids, a bit of protein, and I’ll be fine.” Clouds darkened her expression. “It’s Felicity who needs our help. Lilli’s gone, but I don’t think Felicity is.” She rubbed a fist over her heart, her eyes pools of shadow that saw into another realm. “We need to give her justice, give her peace.”
• • •
It took Janvier a few short minutes to shower and change into fresh clothes after they arrived at his Tower apartment. Deciding to wait for him since there’d been no word from the computer teams yet, Ashwini took in the breathtaking view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling span of his living room windows.
Wonder unfurled in her when she caught sight of an angel gliding down inches from the windows, his wings spread to their full breadth. Those wings were so bright as to hurt the eye, diamond dust sprinkled on every filament.
Aodhan.
No matter how much darkness she saw in the immortal world, there was no doubting the splendor of angelic flight—the angels’ physical beauty was less intriguing to her than their skill and grace in the air. Aodhan angled out of sight the same instant Janvier stepped out of his bedroom, hair damp and jaw shaved. Both their phones vibrated right then, the computer teams having compiled a preliminary list.
Taking a bottle of blood from his fridge, Janvier led her down to the Tower’s dedicated tech floor.
“Why are you drinking budget blood?” she asked with a laugh after seeing the label: Blood-for-Less.
He shot her a minatory look. “You know why.”
“Sucking up to the boss’s consort?” Ashwini set her face into lines of mock disappointment. “I thought better of you.”
“Very funny. I’m being supportive.” Scowling, he drank half the bottle. “None of us want Elena’s first business venture to go down in flames. And anyway,” he said a little defensively, “this is a bottle of their premium line.”
“Right.” Delighted at the idea of all these tough Tower vamps throwing their weight behind a fledgling blood café, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his jaw. His devastating smile was her reward . . . and if it lit the candle of guilt inside her, she snuffed it out just as quickly.
Full throttle. That was the promise they’d made to each other, and it was a promise she would keep. To live for today, for him, and not always in anticipation of the awful mental degeneration that awaited in her future.
They walked into tech central seconds later. The Guild techs were already patched in, the two teams having been working together to create the list of locations. Illium and Dmitri were both at a big glass table in the center and waved them over. “I’ve spoken to the Guild Director,” Dmitri said when they reached the table. “She’s putting together teams that will assist ours in clearing the possible locations.”
“We have ten so far.” Illium pointed out the Xs on the map on the table. “Six of them are peripheral—either because the scent would’ve faded long ago or because of their distance from the city. Places like boarded-up movie theaters and old factories.”
“If you’re right about the perpetrator being arrogant and smug,” Janvier said to Ashwini, “and I think you are, then he would want a place he could control. His castle.”
“Something appropriate to his wealth and image of himself.” Ashwini couldn’t see him being satisfied with a musty old theater or
a factory unless he’d upgraded it inside. “Any sign the six were renovated anytime in the past five years?” she asked, knowing they had to cast a wide net—there was no knowing how long the bastard had been doing this. Even five years could be too small a window, but they had to start somewhere.
Illium told the computer experts to see what they could dig up on that point, then moved on to the four remaining properties.
“This one here,” he said, pointing to an X in Harlem, his wings held tightly to his back in an astonishing fall of color, “was a restaurant that shut up shop three months ago.”
“Their gimmick,” Dmitri continued, “was to give all the patrons a free miniature jar of handmade peanut butter.”
Ashwini remembered the place—she’d gone once with Demarco. The food had been terrible. Even peanut butter couldn’t save it. “Three months is too short a window unless the abuse began elsewhere.”
“What about these two?” Janvier pressed his fingers to twin Xs not far from the port where Raphael had blasted and sunk a ship full of Lijuan’s infectious reborn.
“Warehouses with the same owner.” Illium’s golden eyes gleamed. “Giorgio.”
Ashwini’s skin prickled, but she knew they couldn’t rush to judgment. Too many of the older immortals enjoyed pleasure that was perverse to anyone who possessed an ounce of humanity. But the hairs were rising on the back of her neck, the image of Giorgio’s “perfect” brainwashed harem front and center. The man was a master manipulator.
Good enough to string along vulnerable women who wanted to believe in hope.
“The warehouses are in active use,” Dmitri added, “but the computer searches picked up an interesting fact—they’re consistently only being used to half their capacity.”
Ashwini folded her arms. “So one could be empty?”
“Or one is in full use, the second only utilized enough to provide cover for other movements in and out,” Janvier pointed out. “The extra space could’ve been made into a grotesque ‘playroom.’”
Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7) Page 29