Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

her to our healer.” He came closer but the woman started whimpering at the first glimpse of his wings, her muscles locking so tight Elena knew they’d have to break her bones to release them.
    “No.” She stood to block the view. “It needs to be one of the vampires. No wings.”
    His mouth was a flat line, whether in anger or impatience, she couldn’t tell. But he didn’t seize control of the woman’s mind. “I’ve asked Dmitri to come. He’ll take care of her.”
    Her heart froze. “As in kill her?”
    “Perhaps she would welcome mercy.”
    “You’re not God, to make that decision.”
    Raphael’s face was a study in silence. “No harm will come to her while you are gone.”
    She read between the lines. “And when I return?”
    “Then I will decide if she dies or lives.” Eyes of blue fire. “She might be infected, Elena. We must test her. If she is, she has to die.”
    “Infected?” She frowned, then shook her head. “I know—later.”
    “Yes. Time is passing.” His head angled slightly to the left. “Dmitri comes, but he can’t approach until he poses no danger to the scent trail. Leave the woman—the leader of my Seven has a weakness for innocents caught in violence.”
    Elena nodded at the oblique reassurance, and bent down. “Dmitri is going to help you. Please go with him.”
    The woman didn’t stop rocking but she was no longer making that keening sound and her body wasn’t so tense. Praying that Dmitri would be able to get her out without harming her, she made her way back under the chain link and to the other side.
    “Can you check the roof—see if there’s any sign he took off from there?” As Raphael nodded and flew up, she circled her way around the building. She finally found Uram’s exit point on the right side of the warehouse, a few feet from a gaping hole in the chain link.
    Aware of Raphael following overhead, she made her way through the hole to the grassy wilderness of the neighboring lot. Blood coated the tips of the grass, as if Uram had run his hand along the top. She found a feather—a brilliant, silvery gray that shimmered with flecks of amber. Its delicate beauty was an insult, a mockery of the blood and suffering she’d seen inside the warehouse. Fighting the urge to crush it, she held it to her nose, drawing in the richness of Uram’s true scent. That bite of acid but other things, too. An edge of metal, a dark blade. Blood refined, she thought. Acid and blood and something else, something that spoke of . . . sunlight. She shivered, shoved the feather into her pocket, then carried on.
    The scent simply ended in the middle of the lot. “Shit.” She put her hands on her hips and blew out a breath, waving Raphael down. He landed in a feat of pure grace.
    “Uram took flight.”
    “Yes,” she said. “I never had that problem with vampires—that’s how I can track them. I can’t track a being who can fly!” It made her blood boil. She wanted to make the monster pay for the bright young lives he’d stolen. “Dmitri?”
    “I’ve told him to approach. And angels don’t always fly,” Raphael said. “You’re the only one who has any chance of finding his scent on the streets.” He paused. “We’ll return, so you can bathe and gather your things.” He glanced at his wing, distaste open on his face. “I must also clean off the blood.”
    She blushed at the reminder of how ripe she had to be by now. “Why do I need to gather my things?”
    “This hunt won’t be long, but it will be intense.”
    “He’ll keep killing,” she guessed, fists tight. “Leaving a trail.”
    “Yes.” Raphael’s anger was tightly controlled, but the sheer force of it almost cut her skin. “You need to stay close to me or one of my angels so that you can be flown out immediately after we discover a fresh kill.”
    She realized he wasn’t giving her a choice. “I suppose if I say no you’ll just make me?”
    A moment where the only sounds were those of the grass rustling and the whispers of wings at her back as other angels landed—to begin cleanup, she guessed.
    “Uram must be stopped.” Raphael’s face was quiet, expressionless . . . and all the more dangerous for it. “Would you not say that goal excuses any and all means used?”
    “No.” But her mind filled with an endless slideshow of images—of a woman with her mouth full of organs that should’ve remained inside her body, another whose head had been impaled on her arm, a third who