Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

shined it inside the woman’s mouth. “No bites.”
    They went through the other bodies with methodical precision. Each had been shredded by a knife, some more mercifully than others. The first victim had been alive at the time of her disembowelment, the last dead. “No bite marks. Doesn’t mean he didn’t suck up the blood from the wounds.” Or the entrails.
    “Taking blood with the fangs is part of the pleasure.”
    “Then he definitely didn’t feed.” Just tortured.
    “One of the bloodborn wouldn’t be able to resist feeding.”
    The pieces clicked. “He did this first, the bodies in the warehouse second.” The air-conditioning had kept these bodies from decaying, but now that she was looking, she saw a number of signs that this had happened at least a day, more likely two days, past—the color of the dried blood on the walls, the lack of rigor, the bruises that had bloomed on the girls’ bodies as blood followed gravity.
    All hunters were required to take a course in the general details of death—they were often the first people to find a vampire’s kill. Now, pressing against the bruises, she saw no change in the discoloration—the skin didn’t pale, then fill back with blood. Livor mortis was fixed. “These girls were practice.”
    “Yet you followed his scent here.”

30
     
    She rocked back on her heels, staring at the single blood- stain that didn’t fit the timeline—the one on the carpet. It was too fresh. “You’re right. The bastard came back to admire his handiwork!”
    “I’ll put watchers in place.” He rose to his feet after her, his fingertips dusted with blood, his clothing stained where the bodies had brushed up against him. It made her remember the last time she’d seen him, a bloody fist, the panicked beat of a pulsing heart.
    Somehow, it no longer seemed horrific. Not after this. Uram had played with his victims—like a cat with a mouse it doesn’t want to eat but simply torment. Say what you would about the Archangel of New York—pitiless, hard, certainly lethal—he didn’t torture for the sake of it. Everything Raphael did had a purpose. Even if that purpose was to scare people so badly that no one would dare betray him again.
    She spoke as he walked to the kitchen area to wash his hands. “I don’t think he’ll come back—he returned after the warehouse kills, maybe to gloat, maybe to rest, but look at this.” She pointed her foot at a bowl that had rolled under a table. “He threw this—probably after finding the blood he’d saved didn’t satisfy him.”
    “This was his funhouse, but he’s realized he prefers live playthings.”
    “Yes, he’s going to want fresh meat.” The words sounded cold but she had to stay on that level. If she allowed herself to feel . . .
    Raphael nodded. “Do you think he’ll rise to feed again tonight?”
    “Even if he’s continuously in bloodlust”—and that was a nightmare she didn’t want to contemplate—“I’d say it’s unlikely, given the way he glutted himself at the warehouse.”
    That was when rain thundered to earth outside, as if some great faucet had been turned.
    “Shit!” She swiveled to the door. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
    Raphael just watched her have a fit, then calmly asked, “I thought you said Uram flew?”
    “Scent markers like the ones that led me here are now all gone! He’s been erased from the entire city.” She gave a little scream. “Rain’s the one thing that messes up the trail this bad—vampires who have any idea of what they’re doing run to the wettest places on this earth.” She wanted to kill the rain gods, settled for kicking the stone of the counter. “Fuck! That hurt!”
    Raphael nodded at the doorway. “Take care of it.”
    She didn’t have to turn around to know Dmitri had arrived. His scent wrapped around her like a damn coat. “Turn it off, vampire, or I swear to God, I’ll stake you with your own leg.”
    “I’m not doing anything, Elena.”
    She glanced over, saw the tight lines of strain on his face, and knew he wasn’t messing with her. “Double-shit. I’m wired, too much adrenaline, I’m going to crash soon.” Her ability always spiked before a crash. “Might as well give in to it and catch a few hours’ shut-eye.” She hadn’t slept much more than an hour or two last night, that damn chair had been so uncomfortable. “I won’t be able to get anything now until Uram moves again.”
    Until he killed again.
    “Are you keeping an eye