Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

launching them heavenward. “You didn’t answer me.”
    “In my defense”—an amused comment—“it wasn’t so much a question as a statement.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you continue to push into my mind?”
    “It’s more convenient than wasting time waiting while you talk yourself into something.”
    “It’s a kind of rape.”
    Chill silence, so cold the goose bumps returned. “Be careful with your accusations.”
    “It’s the truth,” she persisted, though her stomach was shriveling into a terrified little ball. “I said no! And you went in anyway. What the hell else do you call it?”
    “Humanity is nothing to us,” he said. “Ants, easily crushed, easily replaced.”
    She shivered, and this time it was out of pure fear. “Then why allow us to live?”
    “You amuse us occasionally. You have your uses.”
    “Food for your vampires,” she said, disgusted at herself for having seen anything human in him. “What—you keep a prison full of ‘snacks’ for your pets?”
    His arms squeezed, cutting off her breath. “There’s no need. The snacks offer themselves up on silver platters. But you’d know that—your sister is married to a vampire, after all.”
    The implication couldn’t have been clearer. He’d as much as called her sister, Beth, a vamp-whore. The derogatory term was used to describe those men and women who followed groups of vampires from place to place, offering their bodies as food in return for whatever fleeting pleasure the vampire deigned to give. Every vamp fed differently, hurt or pleasured differently. Some vamp-whores seemed determined to taste, and be tasted by, each and every one of them.
    “Leave my sister out of this.”
    “Why?”
    “She was with Harrison before he became a vampire. She’s no whore.”
    He chuckled, but it was the coldest, most dangerous sound she’d ever heard. “I expected better from you, Elena. Doesn’t your family call you an abomination? I thought you’d have sympathy for those who love vampires.”
    If she’d dared let go of his neck, she might just have clawed her nails down his face. “I won’t discuss my family with you.” Not with him, not with anyone.
    You disgust me. Almost the last words her father had said to her.
    Jeffrey Deveraux had never been able to understand how he could’ve birthed a “creature” like her, an “abomination” who refused to follow the dictates of her blue-blooded family and sell herself in marriage in order to expand the sprawling Deveraux empire. He’d told her to give up the vampire hunting, never listening, never understanding that to ask her to stifle her abilities was to ask her to kill something inside of her.
    Go, then, go and roll around in the muck. Don’t bother coming back.
    “It must’ve been . . . interesting when your brother-in-law chose vampirism,” Raphael said, ignoring her words. “Your father didn’t disown either Beth or Harrison.”
    She swallowed, refusing to remember the pitiful hope she’d felt when Harrison was accepted back into the family fold. She’d wanted so desperately to believe that her father had changed, that he’d finally look at her with the same love he lavished on Beth and the two younger children he had with his second wife, Gwendolyn. His first wife, Marguerite, Beth and Elena’s mother, was never spoken of. It was as if she hadn’t existed.
    “My father is none of your business,” she said, voice harsh with withheld emotion. Jeffrey Deveraux hadn’t changed. He hadn’t even bothered to return her call—and she’d understood that Harrison had been allowed back because he was the scion of a major corporation that had deep ties with Deveraux Enterprises. Jeffrey had no use for a daughter who chose to indulge in her “disgraceful, inhuman” ability to scent vampires.
    “What about your mother?” A dark whisper.
    Something snapped. Letting go of his neck, she kicked out with her legs at the same time that she lifted her arms to do some damage to his oh-so-pretty face. It was a suicidal act, but if there was one topic on which Elena wasn’t rational, it was her mother. That this archangel, this immortal who cared nothing for the firefly span of human life, dared use Marguerite Deveraux’s ephemeral existence against Elena was unbearable. She wanted to hurt him in spite of the futility of the goal. “Don’t you ever—”
    He dropped her.

7
     
    She screamed . . . and came to a hard landing on her butt, hands braced against