Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

somehow, she knew the evil that had butchered the ones above had done so in front of the living girls, shoving terror through them, feeding on their fear. She stepped nearer the drained girls, having skirted the dripping nightmare above. Going down on her haunches, she moved long black hair away from a slender neck. “In cases where a human dies, I usually get the strongest scent impression at the point where blood was taken,” she said, talking to drown out the pervading, endless sound of blood hitting concrete. “Oh, Jesus.”
    Raphael was suddenly on the other side of the bodies, his wings flared out in a way that struck her as odd . . . until she realized he was attempting to keep them out of the blood. He hadn’t been wholly successful. A bright red splash marked the tip of one wing. She looked away, forcing her gaze back down to the shredded neck of the girl who’d looked so peaceful from a distance. “This wasn’t a feed,” she said. “It’s like he tore out her neck.” Remembering Michaela’s “delivery,” her eyes dipped. The girl’s heart, too, was gone, ripped out of her chest.
    “A feed would’ve been too slow,” Raphael said, continuing to keep his wings off the floor. “He must’ve been starving by this point. He needed a bigger hole than the fangs provide.”
    The clinical description actually helped calm her. “Let’s see if I can pick up his scent.” Tightening every muscle in her body, she leaned close to the dead girl’s neck and breathed deep.
    Cinnamon and apples.
    Soft, sweet, body cream.
    Blood.
    Skin.
    A jagged lash of acid. Sharp. A scent with bite. Interesting. Full of layers. Pungent but not putrid.
    That was what always amazed her. When vampires went bad, they didn’t magically gain an evil scent. They smelled the same as they always had. If Dmitri went bad, he’d retain his allure, his seductive chocolate cake and frosting and sex with all the toppings kind of smell. “I have it, I think.” But she had to confirm.
    Standing, she waited until Raphael had risen before gritting her teeth and stepping below the abattoir hanging from the ceiling. She took every step with slow deliberation, knowing she might just run screaming from this warehouse if touched by even a single drop of cold blood.
    Drip.
    A splash by her foot. Close, too close.
    “Far enough,” she whispered and then went absolutely still, sorting through the scent layers once more. It was harder here, much harder. Terror had a scent, too—sweat and urine and tears and darker fluids—and it overlaid everything in this area. Like a thick perfume that had been sprayed with wild abandon, cloaking anything more subtle.
    She dug down, but the terror was a choking grip around her throat, a hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her from sensing anything else. “How long ago did they die?”
    “We estimate two to three hours, perhaps less.”
    Her head jerked up. “You found the location so soon?”
    “He made a lot of noise toward the end.” A tone so glacial, she barely heard Raphael in it, and yet it was chill with rage, not like when he’d been Quiet. “A neighborhood vampire called Dmitri after coming to investigate.”
    “You told me this morning I’d be earning my paycheck. You expected this?”
    “I knew only that Uram had to be reaching a critical point.” His eyes moved over the nightmare. “This . . . no, I did not expect this.”
    She didn’t think anyone could have—it was something that simply shouldn’t exist. And yet it did. “The vampire—what will happen to him?”
    “I’ll take his memories, make sure he remembers nothing.” Said without the least apology.
    She wondered if that was what he planned for her, but this wasn’t the time to ask. Instead, she set her shoulders and dug deeper. Nothing. “There’s too much fear here. I’ll have to go with what I got from the body.” Stepping away with as much care as she’d entered, she tried not to think about what hung above.
    Drip.
    A drop of blood splashed off the shiny black of her boot. Her gorge rose. Turning, she ran, not caring if it betrayed weakness. The damn door had been pulled down behind them and now refused to open. Her hand slid off the hot metal. She was at screaming point when it shifted a fraction. She fell to her stomach and squeezed out into the dead earth of the yard.
    The sun shone bright overhead as she stood bent over, retching. She was aware of Raphael coming to stand beside her, his wings