Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter series Book 7)

by Singh, Nalini

  His voice was hoarse as he said, “I had a hunch, with Giorgio being scientifically trained. Dug around in the other warehouse.” Trace opened his palm. On it sat a tiny ziplock bag with a few crystalline granules colored a reddish brown.

  Ashwini recognized it from Janvier’s description of the new designer vampire drug that was the reason for Lacey’s horrific murder.

  “Supply or creation?” Illium asked after taking the bag.

  “Creation. There are tools. Nothing elaborate, but enough.” Trace glanced around. “Giorgio must’ve separated out his drug operation from his sadistic games”—utter distaste in his voice—“because the other warehouse already had the right setup for it.”

  “See if you can discover anything else about the origins of the drug,” Illium said, his glance taking in all four of them. “I’ll alert Raphael that it appears either Cornelius or Xi somehow managed to remain behind in the city, or return to it after the rest of Lijuan’s forces retreated.”

  The angel couldn’t technically give Ashwini an order, but this was one order with which she had no argument. First, however, they finished going over the warehouse. Ashwini found another tiny red feather, this one with a tip of rich cream. Xi, she remembered, had no cream in his wings. Still, she double-checked with Naasir and Janvier, received the same answer.

  That narrowed their target down to a single angel: Cornelius.

  “They were careful,” Janvier said, his hand touching her lower back. “Must’ve picked up any larger feathers.”

  “No.” She stared at the tiny feather as Naasir contacted Illium with the updated information. “They had no reason to be careful—Giorgio was so sure he couldn’t be tracked that he used a warehouse held under his own name. There’s something wrong with this feather.” Holding it cupped carefully in the palm of her hand, she walked outside into the light. “Do you see it?”

  First Janvier, then Naasir examined the feather. Even Trace. None could see anything wrong, and when she looked at it in their hands, she couldn’t, either. But as soon as she took it, she felt it again, the wrongness. “There’s something wrong with Cornelius, then,” she said, skin crawling. “Very, very wrong.”

  Sliding the disturbing thing into her pocket, after rooting around in there for something to act as a bag and finding a crushed plastic sleeve that had once held tissues, she walked with the men across to the other warehouse.

  It was identical to the first one in size and shape, but the lighting was much better, most of the space filled with what appeared to be normal goods. They opened a few boxes to be sure, found the kinds of things a man who served the luxury market might acquire—exotic spices, antiques, rich bolts of silk.

  The back right of the warehouse, however, was sectioned off into its own room with a single small window. It said Office on the door, and at first glance that was what it appeared to be. Tall filing cabinets, a desk, invoices, a phone. There was even a tiny sink behind the filing cabinets, as well as a camp stove.

  It was under that sink that Trace had found a clear plastic box that held a steel bowl, a dirty syringe, a tiny spoon, and what looked like a bunch of ordinary sugar crystals alongside more ziplock bags. Putting everything on the sink, Trace said, “Either the foreman who ran this warehouse was oblivious to his master’s activities or he was the cook.

  “The bag I found was crushed under the bowl, must’ve been missed when they made the last batch.” He held the syringe up to show them the brownish residue inside before putting it back down. “In all honesty I’m not sure how or what they were doing, but I believe they must’ve needed water and the stove. The actual raw materials are nowhere in evidence.”

  Naasir sniffed the air. “I smell blood.”

  Frowning, Ashwini, Janvier, and Trace spread out, looking for any evidence someone had been held or hurt in here. “I don’t see any blood,” she said. “Janvier?”

  “Nothing.”

  Trace’s response was the same.

  Naasir sniffed the air again, walking closer and closer to the sink until he had his nose in the bowl. “Blood,” he said definitively. “Strong blood. Angel blood.”

  “They made a drug out of the blood of an angel?” Ashwini just stared at the wild silver of Naasir’s gaze.

  37

  “Yes.” Naasir sniffed again, his eyes going flat. “This blood is wrong.” He hissed, drawing away from the bowl. “Bad to drink.” He came to Ashwini. “Show me the feather again.”

  Taking it out of her pocket, she removed it from the plastic sleeve. Naasir didn’t take it, just put his hand under hers and lowered his nose to the feather. The silver liquid of his hair slid forward to kiss her skin. “Yes,” he said, rising to his full height. “You were right—the feather smells wrong, too, but it’s much more subtle.”

  Ashwini put it away in her pocket. “No question it’s the same angel?”

  “None.”

  The deep, deep green of Trace’s eyes glinted. “That explains why Umber is so exclusive—even an angel can’t donate blood every day without consequences.”

  “It also,” Janvier said, “confirms the why of the drug.”

  “A poison.” Naasir’s features set into piercingly intelligent lines, his feral nature taking a backseat. “The aim was always to kill or cause bloodlust.”

  “Yes.” Trace stared at the wall, his mind clearly working. “Either they’re adding something to the blood or the angel’s blood is poison. Given what you said about the feather, my bet is the latter.”

  That left the question of how the blood had been poisoned in the first place—but if their man was Cornelius, well, he was Lijuan’s protégé, and the Archangel of China had created infectious reborn. Not a stretch to say that one of her minions hadn’t been “blessed” with poisonous blood courtesy of his goddess.

  “Can you track the scent?” she asked Naasir.

  “Yes,” Naasir said. “But there is no fresh trail outside—the snow has buried what was there. We’ll need to narrow down the location.”

  “We may as well start at Giorgio’s house,” Janvier said. “Ash and Naasir and I can do that. Trace, can you get this to the Tower”—his nod took in the drug paraphernalia—“and have it tested?”

  “I’ll have it fast-tracked.”

  Leaving the vampire in the warehouse, a number of the Legion on guard over both properties, the three of them went directly to Giorgio’s tony Vampire Quarter town house. Allowed in by the guards Dmitri had left at the door, they decided to start at the top and work their way down. The town house’s décor was, as she’d noticed on her first visit, far more modern than the velvet and lace Giorgio favored on himself and his cattle.

  It was also sumptuous. Three-hundred-count Egyptian cotton sheets, designer curtains, granite counters in the bathroom, and fixtures polished to perfection. Ashwini found plenty of evidence that the women were welcome in the master bedroom—not the least of which was a crumpled pair of lace panties.

  Not touching the panties and the discarded seamed stockings hung over the back of a chair, Ashwini tapped the walls to check for hidden compartments. She didn’t find anything, and neither did either of the two men. Naasir shook his head when they met again in the downstairs hallway, having split up during the search of the lower half of the house. “No scent.”

  “Giorgio has other properties.” She scanned the information that had come through on her phone from the combined Guild/Tower team. “Small rental homes, shares in a hotel . . .”

  “The desiccated dog,” Janvier reminded her, “was found in the Quarter, so our angel may be comfortable in this area. Even if he isn’t, the Quarter is Giorgio’s milieu. I can’t see him putting up his guest anywhere that would take him too far out of his way.”

  Ashwini frowned. “None of the places on this list are anywhere near the Quarter.”

  The three of them headed to the closes
t property regardless, with Dmitri and Sara having already dispatched teams to clear the others.

  • • •

  Eight hours of fruitless searching later, Ashwini kicked the punching bag in the Guild Academy gym. She’d been working out her frustration on the bag since the final possible location was cleared forty-five minutes past, but wasn’t having much success in calming herself down.

  Not only had an angel with freaking red in his wings disappeared into thin air, to the point that no one they’d questioned in the Quarter recalled ever seeing him, but so had Giorgio, leaving behind only his bewildered and distraught showpiece cattle. All had seemed genuinely upset when Ashwini interviewed them.

  Apparently, even psychopathic bastards had their fans.

  As for the vampire guards from the warehouse, they were the vicious brutes Ashwini had tagged them; Giorgio had trusted none of the three with details of his plans. Their only task was to guard that sickening torture chamber while it wasn’t in use. When it was, they played guard dogs outside the warehouse.

  None had ever seen the angel’s face—at least according to the one who could speak, Giorgio’s partner had always arrived covered in a black cloak, the hood shadowing his features. The guard said they’d all assumed it was another vampire, because there was no indication of wings beneath the cloak. That, of course, should’ve been impossible. The guard had also admitted to taking advantage of a captive and said his partners had, too.

  Punching the bag in renewed fury, her hands protected by boxing gloves, she swung out with a hard kick. The bag swung, exposing the lean form of the man who stood against the wall on the other side. Stilling the bag using her hands, her chest heaving, she said, “How did you get in here?” He was neither student nor instructor nor hunter. Right now, it was only the latter two in here, the students being at dinner.

  “I am a teacher, cher,” he said, strolling closer.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Truth.” He held up his hands before taking hold of the bag and keeping it steady while she threw a few more punches. “I volunteered my services for your final-year students.”

  “You’re playing prey?” Every student had to successfully complete a “hunt” before graduating. “Usually one of us does that.”

  “Not that you are not brilliant, my darling, devious Ash, but you aren’t a vampire. We do have certain tricks.”

  “You have more than most.” No vamp but Janvier had ever come close to outwitting her on a hunt. “How many have caught you so far?”

  “All,” he said. “I am not here to destroy their confidence, only to make them work hard and earn the collar, and each has done that.”

  At that instant, he could’ve been any hunter in the room, at once proud of the students and concerned with making sure they went out into the world with the right tools to survive. Tools Giorgio’s victims had never had. “We’ve hit a dead end, haven’t we?” She went through a rapid series of punches and kicks.

  Moss green eyes shadowed, Janvier stopped the bag from spinning. “Yes, but every vampire and angel in the city has been alerted to be on the lookout. Neither Giorgio nor Cornelius will be able to show his face without being picked up. Need will draw them out.”

  She knew he was right. Even if Giorgio had a store of blood, it wouldn’t last forever. And if they found Giorgio, they’d find the angel. “I hate waiting,” she said, though at this point, there was no other option. The Guild’s financial whiz was running through Giorgio’s finances with her counterpart at the Tower; if the vampire had hidden any properties under shell corporations, the two would find it. All his accounts had also been flagged to send up an alert should he attempt to access them.

  Ashwini knew she wouldn’t be any good to Felicity, Lilli, and the other victims if she didn’t have her head in the right space when the information came through. Modulating her breathing with conscious effort of will, she tugged off her gloves. “I have to shower,” she said. “You’re taking me to dinner after we drop my gear off at home.”

  “Then will you be my dinner?”

  Skin shimmering at the reminder of how potent he was, she said, “Play your cards right and I just might.”

  His wicked smile followed her into the shower, scoured some of the frustration off. Not all of it. Nothing could do that until they’d hunted down the evil behind the torture and deaths of so many hopeful young lives, but she could breathe, could think . . . could remember that she, too, had a life.

  Full throttle.

  Exiting the locker room after her shower, her duffel over her shoulder, she found Janvier chatting to Ransom. The other hunter was on his crutches but dressed in workout clothes that likely meant he’d come to lift weights, his hair pulled back in a tight twisting braid. Flicking it, she said, “Pretty.”

  “Nyree did it.” A smug smile.

  Never had she thought she’d see Ransom gaga over a woman. It was cute. “So, when’s the wedding?”

  “We haven’t decided, but it won’t be long. I figure if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it.” A glance from her to Janvier. “So . . .”

  Her scowl made his grin widen. “Have a nice dinner!” he called out as they left, loud enough to alert the others in the gym. “Call me if you want any tips about doing dirty, dirty things on the back of a motorcycle!”

  Their fellow hunters hooted and whistled.

  Instead of snapping a quick comeback as she would’ve done before, Ashwini swiveled to haul Janvier down to her with a grip on his leather jacket and claimed his mouth in a deep, wet, possessive kiss that set the entire gym hollering. When she released him, he looked like he’d been hit over the head with a baseball bat. She took his hand, ignored the ruckus, and headed outside.

  He didn’t speak until they were at his bike and she’d swung up behind him, the duffel slung across her back. Then he leaned backward into her, his hand on her thigh. “Merci, cher.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, her position on the bike giving her the extra height. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.” Publicly claimed him for her own.

  “You weren’t ready—and this is a moment I will never forget.” Sitting up, he passed over her helmet and put on his own.

  The traffic was heavy but they made good time despite that, thanks to Janvier’s driving. It would’ve been reckless in another, less capable man. With him, it was simply exhilarating and they were back in her apartment not long afterward, both of them pumped and laughing.

  When Janvier pushed her up against the wall after they entered and kissed her, his hand curving around her neck, she wrapped one leg around his and thrust her hands into his hair, sank into the heat and the strength of him. It felt so good to touch and be touched, but it wasn’t simply that. It was because this was him.

  Her man.

  He’d kissed her with a half smile, half laugh on his face and it felt like sunshine in her blood. Licking and tasting him, as he did her in turn, she bit down on his lower lip. “How am I doing?”

  “You need lots of practice.” A glint in his eye. “On me. I insist.”

  She bit him again for that, before sucking his lip and flicking her tongue over the sensual punishment. “Don’t complain if I wear you out, then.” Returning to the kiss with a smile that echoed his, she drank in the taste of him. “I like kissing you, cuddlebunny.”

  His shoulders shook. Scraping his fangs lightly over her lips, he slid his hands down to cup her ass. “I acquiesce to being your cuddlebunny, if you’ll meet my terms. They involve naked cuddling and blood.”

  “Done.” Laughing, she just drank in his smile, and then they were kissing again. Their breaths grew shorter, his body harder, hotter. Skin burning under her touch, he shrugged off his jacket to drop it to the floor. Ashwini ran her hands up his back, over the leather of the holster. “Knives,” she murmured, kissing his jaw, his throat.

&n
bsp; Janvier’s muscles shifted, his arms crossing over his back. The slide of blade against scabbard and then the thump of two blades being embedded into the walls on either side of her head. She laughed softly. “You’re fixing the holes.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” He busied himself kissing her neck as she undid the strap across his chest and pushed the holster off his muscular shoulders. Sometimes, she forgot how strong he was, but it was impossible to do that with him so close, his muscles fluid beneath his skin.

  The holster and scabbards hit the carpet with a dull thud.

  Sucking on her neck, Janvier pushed off and reached for the gun she wore in the thigh holster. “Will you shoot me if I touch your gun?”

  “Not today.”

  Deep male laughter, his cheeks creasing beautifully. Unable to resist, she pulled him back to her mouth and demanded another kiss. He gave it to her, but then broke off. “I do not intend to get accidentally shot in the family jewels, cher.”

  “No, that would be a shame.” She tugged up his T-shirt and slid her hands over the hard ridges of his abdomen.

  “That is not helping.” He groaned but managed to get the gun out of the holster. Making sure the safety was on, he put it on the entranceway table.

  “Nuh-uh.” She pushed at him. “Not here.”

  Instead of complaining, he let her go and used the chance to rip off his T-shirt. By the time she made it to the bedroom and put the gun on the bedside table, he’d shucked his boots and socks and was working on undoing his belt, having left a trail of discarded items behind him as he followed her. Her mouth watered. God, he was sexy with his hair all mussed up and his lips wet from her kisses, his body bared for her eyes only.

  Pulling the belt out of its loops, he dropped it to the floor.

  She walked over, put her hands on his hips, then slid down to press her lips to his navel, just above the button he’d flicked open on his jeans.

  He said words she didn’t know in his native tongue, thrust his hand into her hair, and shuddered. “You cannot do that, sugar. Or I will embarrass myself.”