Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

sure.”
    “In the time of beauty, of kings and queens, we were in the same court for a century.” He tilted his head. “You did not know?”
    “Toy, remember.” She gave him a close-lipped smile, figuring her real feelings would do for now. “He doesn’t talk to me much.”
    “Raphael has never been a talker, not like Charisemnon.” He made a moue of distaste. “That one talks forever and says nothing. I’ve wished a thousand times that I could crush his voice box. Perhaps I’ll get the chance now.” He frowned, pushing aside the femur near his foot. “The smell in here is atrocious.” Anger filmed his eyes.
    She decided not to point out that he’d caused the problem. “You were telling me about Raphael’s toys,” she said, sensing that topic would keep her alive longer than if he became enraged by the charnel house odor of the place.
    His attention returned to her, and, for the first time, she noticed the strange striations on his skin, fine lines of white that ran down his face. It was almost as if she were seeing blood vessels, but they were the wrong color—filled with something other than blood.
    “We had our pick of slaves at court,” he told her, his voice so deep and true that she could understand how so many had once fallen under his spell. And might yet again if he wasn’t stopped. “They were there for our pleasure and we used them at will.”
    Her throat tightened at the sheer disregard in his voice. “Humans?”
    “Too weak for the most part, not lovely enough. No, our slaves were the vampires—then, as now, it was their duty to worship us.”
    That wasn’t quite what it said in the Contract, but Elena played along. “So your slaves were the ones you Made?”
    “No, that would have been tedious. They were traded. Oh, you feel sorry for them.” He laughed and it wasn’t an ugly sound. “They begged to come to our beds. There were fights in the harems if one was chosen over the other.”
    She expected he was telling the truth. “A win-win situation.”
    “There were favorites—”
    She was only half listening, trying with all her might to figure out where they were. That whipping, cutting sound had faded into silence, but she could hear something else. Cars. Near a road and water. Uram’s injured wing looked fine, but from the way it dragged on the floor, she had a feeling it wasn’t yet fully functional. So they had to be close to where he’d attacked Illium. God, she hoped the blue-winged angel was okay—the way he’d hit the water would’ve torn a human apart.
    Can’t be sure, but I think we’re on the banks of the Hudson, close to where Illium went down, she thought to Raphael, hoping like hell that he was somehow blocking Uram from intruding into her mind, in a room with blackened windows. The smell! It’s disgusting in here. Look for an abandoned building, warehouse, boathouse—or the neighbors would’ve called the authorities by now.
    Unless, she thought, these corpses were the neighbors. But if that were the case, someone would’ve reported at least one of them missing. She was focusing so hard that she made a mistake. Her eyes wandered. A hard squeeze of her ankle and suddenly pain was all she was, every one of her nerve endings on fire. This time, she couldn’t fight the rising blackness, couldn’t hold on to the world.
    If you die, Guild Hunter, I will make you a vampire.
    She scowled inwardly and fought, fought so damn hard. I don’t want to drink blood. And you can’t Make me if I’m dead. It felt like swimming through syrup, but finally, she broke back through the surface of consciousness . . . to promptly lean over and expel the contents of her stomach in a bilious flood. When she finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and raising her head with deliberate slowness, she found that Uram hadn’t changed position.
    “You weren’t paying attention,” he said in the most reasonable of tones.
    She caught something with her peripheral vision. “I’m sorry. It hurts.” I can see a hard hat. The walls aren’t finished. Look for construction. And that pile—her weapons! Almost within touching distance.
    “I do hope Raphael gets here soon.” A disappointed frown. “You’re not going to last much longer.”
    “Are you certain he’ll come?”
    “Oh, yes. The slaves? He used to fight with us if we put a bruise on the one he’d claimed as his.” Uram obviously found that amusing. “Can you imagine? He cared.”
    The line