Guild Hunter 02 - Angels' Flight

stood, flaring out his wings until they dominated the room, all shimmering amber and terrible beauty. That fear, it was healthy. She held it to her, a shield against the impact of the power coming off him. For the first time, she
truly
saw him, truly understood how very inhuman he was, how completely removed from mortal life.
     
    This being saw them all—vampire and human—as nothing more than interesting, amusing, or irritating toys, depending on his mood.
     
    “I have no quarrel,” the angel began, his voice quiet… and as cutting as an unsheathed blade, “with my vampires sorting out their problems amongst themselves. However, when you take it to this level, you bring my control of you into question.” His gaze went to Antoine, then Simone. They stayed on the terrified female for several long seconds. “Of course,” he said softly, “some of you apparently believe you can do a better job than an angel who has lived seven hundred years. Is that not so, Simone?”
     
    Simone’s fingers were trembling so hard, the red liquid in her wineglass sloshed over the edge as she put it down on the table. “Sire, I would never—”
     
    “Lying,” Nazarach interrupted, “is something I despise.”
     
    “Sire,” Antoine said, putting a protective hand over his mate’s, “I’ll take responsibility for any missteps. I’m the older party.”
     
    Nazarach’s amber eyes glowed as he looked at the vampire. “Noble as always, Antoine. She would sell you to the highest bidder, if it came down to it.”
     
    Antoine gave a faint smile. “We all have our foibles.”
     
    Nazarach laughed and there might’ve been a glimmer of amusement in it—but it was the amusement of an immortal, a knife that made others bleed. “I’m pleased Callan didn’t manage to kill you, Beaumont.” Turning, he looked at the man he’d just mentioned. “The young lion—one not very good at guarding what you aim to keep.” His hand stroked over Monique’s hair again, a silent, merciless taunt.
     
    Callan’s eyes cut to Janvier. “I trusted too easily. I won’t make that mistake again.”
     
    “That mistake,” Janvier corrected with shrugging insouciance, “saved your life.”
     
    Nazarach’s expression didn’t change, but his voice, it held a layer of white frost. “The Cajun is right. You took that which is mine. Why shouldn’t I rip your bones from your skin while you stand screaming?”
     
    Callan stood, then fell to ’m knee. “My deepest apologies, sire. I was… overzealous in my attempt to prove to you that I can bear you better service than those who take their position for granted.”
     
    For a moment, there was no sound, and Ashwini knew it was the instant of judgment. When Nazarach’s wings snapped back to lie sleek against his spine, no one dared draw breath.
     
    “Simone,” he said in that soft, dangerous voice. “Come here.”
     
    The slender woman got up, trembling so hard she could barely walk. Antoine rose with her. “Sire,” he began.
     
    Nazarach shook his head in a sharp negative. “Only Simone.” When it appeared as if Antoine might open his mouth, the angel said, “I’m not that indulgent, Antoine, even for you.”
     
    Clearly reluctant, Antoine retook his seat. And that, Ashwini thought, was the price of immortality. Giving up part of your soul. She watched as Simone reached the angel, but before she could go down on her knees, Nazarach caught her by her upper arms and bent his head to her ear.
     
    What he said to her, no one would ever know. But when she turned back to the room, her face was a shock of white, her bones cutting against her skin. Nazarach’s right hand remained on her shoulder as he met Antoine’s eyes. “It seems Simone will be my guest for the next decade. She agrees she has some lessons to learn about dealing with angels.”
     
    Antoine’s face grew tight, but he didn’t interrupt.
     
    “You will stay loyal to me, Antoine.” A quiet order, a brutal warning, his fingers playing over Simone’s pale, pale cheek. “Utterly loyal.”
     
    “Sire.” Antoine bowed his head, looking away from the woman he called his own.
     
    But Nazarach wasn’t finished. “For what you’ve done, I’ll spare your life, but not those of your children’s children. There will be no more Beaumont vampires, not for another two hundred and fifty years.”
     
    Frédéric sucked in a breath and Ashwini didn’t have to ask to know why. The vampire had just been