Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

were worse things than death. Some of them involved screaming and screaming and screaming until your voice broke.
    “New codes.” A piece of paper rested in the printer tray. “Use them to get out—I’ll change them again the instant you exit the elevator.”
    She nodded. “Thanks, Vivek.”
    “Wait.” He zipped his chair off to a small locker in the corner. She didn’t know what he did, but the locker suddenly swung up. “Take that.”
    Elena picked up the small, sleek gun. “Won’t do much good against an archangel but thanks anyway.”
    “Don’t shoot his body,” he told her. “Those rounds are meant to shred an angel’s wings.”
    No! The idea of destroying the incredible beauty of those wings caused an almost physical pain in her heart. “They grow back, heal,” she forced herself to say.
    “Takes time. And we’ve been keeping records—it takes an angel longer to heal his wings than anything else. It’ll cripple him long enough that you can get out of a tight spot. Unless . . .” Fear spiked his tone. “I heard what you said about mind control. If he can do that from a distance, I don’t know if anything will help.”
    She tucked the gun into the back of her pants after making sure the safety was on. “He’s not controlling me now, so there’s a limit to his abilities.” At least she hoped so. “I don’t think he’ll come down once he knows I’m gone but you need to be safe. Has Ashwini left?”
    “Yes, and nobody else was down here.” His eyes were scared but resolute. “I’ll lock up behind you, then bunk down.” He nodded at the entrance to the secret room hidden behind a wall. He could survive in there for days. “Be safe, Ellie. We need to finish our game.”
    Bending, she gave him an impulsive hug. “I’ll beat your skinny ass when I come back.” Now it was time to keep herself alive . . . and whole. Because there were lots of body parts a hunter didn’t need in order to successfully track prey.
     
     
    Raphael stood in front of the elevator he’d been told would transport him to the Cellars. But it appeared he had no need to go down below. His quarry had been flushed out.
    The message was pinned to the side of the elevator doors, held up by a nail that had been driven in with enough force that concrete dust littered the ground.
    You want to play, angel boy? Then let’s play. Find me.
     
     
    It was a challenge, clear and simple. A foolish thing for the hunter to do. In the Quiet, he couldn’t be enraged, but he understood strategy very well. She wanted to draw him away from the Guild and her friends.
    He considered that. That primeval part of him whispered, Will you let her lead you around on a leash? She insults you.
    He ripped the note off the wall. “Angel boy,” he read out loud, crumpling the paper in his hand. Yes, she needed to learn some respect. When he found her, she was going to beg for mercy.
    I don’t want her to beg.
    The echo of his own words stopped him for several long seconds. He remembered that he was intrigued by the hunter’s fire, that she relieved the boredom of centuries. Even in the Quiet, he understood the decision not to harm her. To prematurely break a new toy, one that promised such pleasure, was a foolish act. But there were ways to ensure respect without fully destroying the object of his search.
    The Guild could wait. First, he had to teach Elena Deveraux not to play games with an archangel.
     
     
    Elena drove to the Blue safe house through the streets with grim purpose. She wasn’t going to hide—that would simply lead to more problems for those she cared about. She had every certainty that Raphael would go after them one by one until he found her. So she did the only thing she could to keep them all safe.
    She went home.
    And waited, gun in hand.
     
     
    Raphael stood outside an apartment building, and even in the Quiet, he knew that he was dangerous. If Elena was inside those walls, then blood would spill. There was no room for flexibility in his mind. This was one place where he would not accept or permit her presence.
    Wrapping the glamour around himself once more, he entered the apartment through the front door, breaking the dual deadlocks without effort.
    Voices from the other room. Male and female.
    “Come on, baby, just—”
    “I’m through listening to you!”
    “I admit I was an idio—”
    “A giant, pigheaded imbecile would be more like it.”
    “Fuck this!”
    The sound of rustling, then jagged