Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

undergone some kind of an irreversible metamorphosis. S. Matheson didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but smile like a fool and wait for someone to come too close. Three doctors lost parts of their bodies to the flesh eater before S. Matheson disappeared without a trace. The general consensus was that the angels had taken care of him. Not good for business to have a vampire who ate people.
    Robert hadn’t reached that stage yet. There was still something in those eyes, something that felt and understood humanity. She watched as Uram stalked to the vampire, blocking Elena’s view of his actions. Then Robert made an awful sound, and she barely stopped herself from screaming at Uram. Instead, she took the opportunity to slide her foot closer. Closer.
    Uram turned, a slight smile on his lips. “What do you think of my work?”
    She’d girded herself, knowing he’d done something monstrous. But nothing could’ve prepared her for the sight that met her—pity choked her throat, sent rage rocketing through her. Uram had taken Robert’s eyes. Now, holding her gaze, Uram took the slippery orbs to his mouth, as if about to bite in. She didn’t blink.
    “You’re a strong one.” Chuckling, he threw the orbs to the floor, crushing them beneath the heel of his boot. “No nutrition.”
    Dismissing a Robert who seemed to have stopped moving, he wiped his hands fastidiously on a handkerchief and came toward her. “You are very quiet, hunter. No heroics to save the poor vampire?” A raised brow that was incongruously regal.
    “He’s only another bloodsucker,” she said, sick to her stomach. “I was hoping he’d keep you distracted long enough that I could escape.”
    He smiled and the chill that crept up her spine felt like the crawling of a thousand spidery fingers. Then, still without speaking, he crouched down, put his hand on her ankle. Smiled wider. And twisted. The snap of the bone sent pain shrieking through her, so hot and vicious that she screamed.
    Raphael!
    She felt her vision blur as the smothering wings of unconsciousness closed around her once more. But something caught her mind before it could spiral down into darkness. Tell me where you are, Elena.
    Sweat curled down the sides of her face, stuck her T-shirt to her back. But she held on to that voice, Raphael’s voice, and clawed her way back to full consciousness. Uram was still crouched in front of her, watching her with the well-pleased expression of someone who’d cornered his prey. “You smell like acid,” she whispered. “Jagged, bright, distinctive.”
    His expression changed, became curious in an almost childish way. But it was the most distorted version of a child’s curiosity she’d ever seen. “What about Bobby?” Another smile even as his eyes turned red again. “He wants to know.”
    She swallowed. Water, she said inside her mind, hoping like hell that Raphael was listening. I can smell water. “Bobby,” she whispered. “Bobby smells like dust and earth and death.” And there’s a noise. She concentrated. Cutting, chopping, a steady rhythm. I should know what it is.
    Uram stroked a strand of hair off her face. She waited for him to snap her neck, but he drew back his hand a moment later. Even as relief whispered through her, she realized he was feeding on her terror, torturing her with uncertainty. The bastard was keeping her live for his pleasure . . . or was he?
    “Why am I alive?” she asked him.
    Be quiet, Elena.
    Oh, shush. I’m cranky when I’m hurt.
    Uram smiled again, his hand squeezing her ankle. The pain almost threw her into the void, but he knew exactly when to relax the pressure. “Because you’re his weakness. It made more sense not to kill you once I thought about it.”
    It’s a trap. Don’t you dare let him hurt you.
    I will deal with Uram. Your task is to remain alive.
    The order almost made her smile, even in the depths of nightmare. “I’m a toy, nothing more.”
    “Of course.” Releasing her ankle, Uram waved off her words.
    His ready agreement shook her more than she liked. But hey, given her current projected life span, she figured she had the right to love idiotically. Love. Oh, hell. “If I’m so forget-table, what’s my value as a hostage?”
    “Because, hunter,” he said with no hint of fang, as smooth as a vampire who’d been around for a few hundred years, “Raphael is possessive about his toys.”
    Icicles grew in her heart at the certainty in that tone. “You sound very