Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

(good).
    Option 3: Get Raphael to give her an oath not to kill her.
    Probable result: Oaths were serious business so she’d live. But he’d still be able to torture her until she went insane.
    “So think of a better oath,” she muttered to herself. “No death, no torture, definitely no turning me into a vampire.” She bit her lower lip and wondered if the oath could be extended to her friends and family. Family. Yeah, right. They hated her guts. But she didn’t want them ripped open while she was forced to watch.
    Blood hitting tile.
    Drip.
    Drip.
    Drip.
    A whistling, gurgling plea.
    Looking up to find Mirabelle still alive.
    The monster smiled. “Come here, little hunter. Taste.”
    Drip.
    Drip.
    A wet, tearing sound, thick, obscene, out of a nightmare.
    Elena shoved off the comforter and swung her legs over the side of the bed, face ice-cold. That particular memory had the ability to destroy any and all warmth in her soul. Sitting there with her head in her hands, she stared down at the deep blue of carpet and tried to zone out. It was the only way to escape when the memories found a hole in her defenses and snuck inside, their talons as grasping and as venomous as that of—
    Something smacked to ground on the balcony.
    The gun she kept under her pillow was in her hand and pointed toward the French doors before she even realized she’d moved. Her hand was steady, her body flushed with adrenaline. Scanning the balcony through the gauzy curtains, she saw no one, but only a very stupid hunter would lower her guard that easily. Elena wasn’t stupid. She got up, unmindful of the fact that all she wore was a white tank top and mint green panties cut to mimic tiny shorts, the sides slit halfway up and decorated with pretty pink ribbon.
    Gaze focused outside, she used her free hand to push the gauzy curtains aside, one at a time. The balcony came into full view. No pissed-off vampire stood there. The fuckers couldn’t fly but she’d once seen three of them scale a high-rise building like a pack of four-legged spiders. That bunch had done it as a joke, but if they could do it, so could others.
    She double-checked.
    No vampire. No angel, either.
    Her arm was starting to ache a little from holding the gun in position but she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, she started scanning the edges of the balcony—she had a lot of plants out there, including creepers that hung down from the curved “roof” she’d had added—but she made damn sure nothing ever blocked her view of the balcony rim. If someone was clinging out there, she’d be able to see their fingertips.
    More importantly, any intruder would’ve left streaks on the gel she sprayed out there every week. The stuff was made specially for hunters and cost an arm, a leg, and a kidney, but it was a highly effective way to detect intrusion. When inactive, it blended into any surface, but once touched by either vampire, human, or angel, it turned a vivid, unmissable red.
    The gel was undisturbed and her senses didn’t detect vampire.
    Relaxing only slightly, she shot a quick look downward. Her eyebrows rose. A plastic message tube lay next to her lush red begonias. She scowled. The begonia stalks were easily breakable. If whoever had dropped this had so much as bruised the plants she’d babied to blooming health despite the cool kiss of summer’s end, there’d be hell to pay. Finally convinced the area was secure, she lowered the gun and clicked open the door.
    The breeze brought her the vibrant living pulse of the city but nothing else.
    Even then, she was very, very careful as she edged out her body and rolled the tube toward her using her foot. She’d almost gotten it inside when she saw the feather drifting down to land gently on a curling fern. Kicking the tube inside, she lifted her gun and pointed it to the balcony roof—the guy who’d built it for her had told her she was crazy to block even part of the view, but he’d obviously never thought of danger coming from above.
    Sure, she’d lost some visibility, but no one could ambush her from above without warning—though obviously she was getting too reliant on that shield if she’d missed her uninvited guest. That wouldn’t happen again.
    “This ammo goes through stone, much less the fake stuff you’re sitting on,” she called out. “Get the hell off there before you break it!”
    The flap of wings sounded immediately. A second later, a flushed angelic face peered at her upside