Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

  She gazed up into those eyes and felt lost. The world around them melted away into a monochromatic background. He’s a vampire. It was irrational and impossible, but there it was. He had become the Jonathan Brakes of America’s imagination. He’d become the vampire, the darkness, the hunger.

  It suits him, Eleanore thought. It was one of those crazy, senseless thoughts that raced unhindered through a person’s mind when they teetered on the precipice of madness-inducing fear.

  He’s beautiful. He’s going to kill me, but he’s gorgeous.

  The corners of Uriel’s mouth turned up then, offering the slightest, cruelest smile.

  “I can read your mind now,” he told her, his voice deeper and more seductive than it had been before. Can you hear me, my love?

  She was startled that he could make his own thoughts heard in addition to being able to read hers. His laughter echoed through her mind, low and rumbling and erotic. And Uriel’s eyes sparked, his pupils suddenly expanding to nearly engulf his red burning irises.

  Eleanore wasted no energy screaming. Instead, she focused as she never had before, noticing several things in quick succession. The back of Uriel’s leather jacket was smoking. There was a thin beam of light from the slats in the garage windows trained on him from behind. There was a motorcycle a few feet away from them both.

  And then Eleanore concentrated every ounce of remaining power she possessed and willed the motorcycle behind Uriel to rise from its resting spot and rush, full-speed, toward the darkly tinted garage windows. She sent it flying as fast as she possibly could and hoped it would hit the glass hard enough to shatter it.

  It did.

  The garage door shook violently in its casings as the motorcycle slammed into the metal, denting it beneath its chrome weight. The glass instantly exploded, splintering into a million tiny fragments of crystal and flowering outward in shimmering shards of destruction. The sound must have given Uriel pause, for his smile was gone and his pupils instantly shrank to normal size, revealing once more his red and burning irises.

  And then the light streamed freely through the windows and Uriel was ducking, rolling, rushing for cover behind the SUV he’d been crouched beneath moments ago.

  Eleanore squinted against the sudden sunlight that flooded the garage, and then she scanned her surroundings, searching for the other archangels. Michael was pulling himself up from where he’d apparently been thrown against a far wall. His chest was covered in blood.

  Eleanore’s gaze left his form and traveled to Gabriel’s seemingly broken body where he lay, facedown, a few yards from Michael. The back of his head was bloodied; it matted his dark hair and stained his neck and right arm. A familiar terror raced through her when she realized that she hadn’t the strength remaining to bring a full-grown man back from the brink of death. But when he, too, began to stir and push himself up off of the ground, relief flooded her system.

  Max Gillihan was nowhere to be found.

  Eleanore looked down at Uriel once more. He was safely sequestered in the shadows behind the large vehicle and currently spearing her with hard, hungry eyes.

  She started beneath that gaze; there was such determination behind it, it bordered on hatred. But there was pain in those eyes as well. She would always be able to recognize such a thing. And despite the obvious danger he posed as he crouched there and branded her with that gaze, she was hurting for him. By all logical reasoning, she barely knew him. And yet—he was everything. She couldn’t stand to see him suffer.

  Uriel . . . she tried, thinking that she could more effectively reach him through her thoughts. Uriel, I don’t know what’s happening to you, but we can figure this out together. I want to help you.

  The low growl was back, deep and resonant as thunder.

  Please trust me, Uriel. She began speaking rapidly in her mind now, trying to distract him from his pain and hunger; she could almost feel it herself, the way she always did with those in pain. I know something strange is happening—something unnatural. I know you’ve become a vampire. But I trust you. She plunged on, hoping at least some of it was getting through. We have to fix this; you owe me a gala on Thursday.

  “Eleanore, get away from there,” Michael called to her, his voice much weaker than it had been before. She glanced in his direction to find him doubled over, his arm wrapped tightly around his bleeding midsection. He hadn’t healed himself yet, and because she had grown up with the same healing ability, she automatically assumed that it was because he didn’t want to waste his power in case he needed it for something worse later.

  When she turned back to Uriel, it was to find him with his head down; he was no longer gazing at her. His eyes were closed, his hands curled into fists at his temples.

  Uriel? she whispered mentally.

  It hurts . . . came the weak, raspy reply. Even in her mind, he sounded agonized.

  The sun? she ventured.

  Everything. The sun, his empathic voice continued, the hunger . . .

  “We need to get him inside!” Eleanore turned to Michael, and then to Gabriel, who was now standing on two unsteady legs, bracing himself against the far wall. They both looked at her as if she were certifiable.

  “Please!” she called to them. Her legs were shaking beneath her. She felt nearly as tired now as she had after healing the little girl and her father at the accident that morning.

  Gabriel closed his eyes and ran his hand over the back of his head. He flinched, hissing through clenched teeth. Then he opened his eyes again, now a glowing, molten platinum, and leveled them on Eleanore. They startled her, forcing a step back.

  “First, tell ’im to put on the fucking bracelet!” Gabriel shouted harshly, coughing after he did so. Blood appeared on his lips.

  Eleanore frowned and turned back to Uriel. The bracelet? she asked him, forcing the mental thought into his head.

  Smart . . . keep me from . . . using my powers, came his agonized reply. Uriel lowered his hands, unclenched his fists, and shoved his right hand into the front pocket of his jeans. When it came back out again, his fingers clutched the thin gold bracelet that he’d been wearing when he’d been in her apartment. It shook in his trembling grasp and he flinched when it reflected a stray beam of sunlight, as if to magnify its cruel potency.

  No way, Ellie thought. It was true? The story he’d told her about the bracelet—it was all true? It was really magical? If what he’d told her was true, it would bind all of his supernatural abilities inside of his body. It would render him powerless. She remembered how she’d been confused as to why an angel would need its powers bound. He’d given her that enigmatic smile and a shrug.

  Now she knew. Angels were not necessarily always angels.

  She watched as he lowered the bracelet to his left wrist and touched it to his flesh. On contact, the gold wreath evaporated in another display of bright light and then reappeared, seamlessly wrapped around his arm.

  And that answers the question of how he got it on, she thought.

  He dropped to his hands and fell forward. At the same time, both Gabriel and Michael erupted into motion, rushing forward to grasp their brother by the arms, one on each side of him. Eleanore stepped back out of the way as they lifted him from his kneeling position.

  Instantly, a ray of light struck his left hand and the left side of his neck and he bellowed in pain. They dropped him as he ducked down, trying to cover the redness that had appeared in a line across his neck and the back of his hand.

  “Here!” Max was back and running from the entrance of the garage to where the three of them crouched down behind the black SUV. He was carrying what looked like a thick leather tarp. He didn’t hesitate in tossing the black material over Uriel’s smoking form. Michael and Gabriel instantly wrapped it around him tighter and then, with a nod to each other, they once more attempted to draw him out of the Bronco’s shadows and across the garage. This time, there was no howl of agony and the team was able to move quickly.

  Outside the broken garage
windows, the sky began to darken with storm clouds. No one but Eleanore noticed. The weather had always reflected her emotions. Now was no different. She was torn by both fear of Uriel and fear for him and the sky was likewise torn between light and building darkness.

  As the two men ushered their brother back into the mansion, Eleanore hung back. She felt like a vessel composed of bewilderment and adrenaline. Just when she had come to accept that Uriel was an archangel and she was his archess—just when she thought she might actually be okay with the fucked-up events of the last few days—he’d changed on her.

  He’d become something else. She wasn’t sure what to do now. She wasn’t sure what to think. She was numb—in shock. She was more than a little confused.

  Max turned as the brothers went past and gently took Eleanore by the arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, leading her to the door as well.

  She nodded. Then shook her head. “What happened to him?” she asked. Her voice was higher pitched than normal.

  Max’s brow furrowed with concern. “I don’t know,” he told her. “Let’s get you inside.”

  She turned to go with him, but then suddenly stopped short. “W-wait,” she said, shivering violently. Shock was setting in. Max must have noticed it and recognized it for what it was because he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

  “D-did he know s-something like this was going to happen?” Her teeth were chattering now, as if she’d just gotten out of a cold swimming pool. “I mean . . . he h-had that bracelet on him, right?” Ellie looked up at him. “He t-told me what it does. Why was he c-carrying it if he didn’t kn-know this would h-happen?”

  Max Gillihan visibly paled. He blinked behind his glasses and looked away, taking a slow, deep breath. “It’s complicated,” he told her. “Come inside, Eleanore. You’re not doing so hot. I’ll make you some coffee or tea.”

  An idea came slamming into her in that moment, broadsiding her as if she’d crossed the street against traffic. “Oh my G-god. It was m-meant for me, wasn’t it?” She knew it was true, even as she said it. Uriel hadn’t known this was going to happen; he hadn’t known he would turn into a vampire, for whatever bizarre reason. He’d been carrying the bracelet to use it on her. Because she was an angel. An archess.

  Max closed his eyes and put his hands on his hips, his lips in a thin, grim line. He thought long and hard about his response before he replied. Then he said, “Like I said, Ellie, it’s complicated.” He sighed defeatedly and his shoulders dropped. “The bracelet was only a precaution. We had no idea how you would react to learning what you are. Most women these days would rage at the idea of having been created for a man.”

  He was trying to reason with her, but she was only half hearing him now. I’m not safe here, Ellie thought. It was an irrational, shock-induced thought and it whiz-banged through her mind like a pinball. First they’re angels and so am I and now Uriel is a vampire and I know they were going to use that damn bracelet on me. . . . She continued to shiver, but her focus sharpened and her gaze narrowed. I can’t trust these men. I can’t trust Uriel.

  Max opened his eyes and studied her expression. “There’s much to explain, Eleanore, and I’m sorry that it’s all coming out like this. It couldn’t have gone worse. But if you’ll give us a chance, we’ll make it right.” Max turned and headed for the door of the garage. “Please come with me and I’ll see that you get warmed up.”

  He stopped in the hall when he realized she wasn’t following him and turned to face her. Eleanore swayed just a bit on her feet, but she managed to meet his gaze. And then she called the lightning forth from the skies.

  She knew exactly when to duck and cover her ears.

  The white-hot electricity snaked through the garage windows, not rising from the ground as it was supposed to, but birthed from some unknown spot in the sky and out of her single-minded will for it to exist. The path of its heat seared the air behind Eleanore as she dove for the ground, covering her head in desperation. The backs of her fingers and knuckles singed as it passed through. Somewhere overhead, it blasted through the wall and Eleanore knew that it had taken a direct route through Max Gillihan on its way.

  She didn’t bother to roll over and look at him after the thunder had ceased booming. Instead, she pushed herself to her hands and knees, shook her head to clear it, and then shoved herself to her feet. Only then did she bother to look.

  Gillihan was lying on his stomach, facedown, and there was a black scorch mark on the back of his button-up shirt. Near his unmoving fingers lay a gold bracelet. Eleanore instantly recognized it. It was another bracelet exactly like the one Uriel had just used on himself.

  Bastard, she thought. He was going to use it on me. Smart man. It would have saved him a lightning bolt.

  With that thought, she bent down, retrieved the bracelet, and pocketed the item. Then she turned to hastily make her way across the garage toward the window that the motorcycle had shattered. She used a nearby pickup truck for leverage and grabbed hold of the windowpanes, hoisting herself up. She sliced her palms as she did so, but she barely noticed the pain. Once up, she planted her left boot firmly on the windowpane and then vaulted herself over the ledge and out into the yard beyond.

  It was lucky that she’d pulled this trick while still on the first floor. The grass she landed on was thick and wet. The air was dense with moisture, as if it had just seen the passing of a summer storm.

  Eleanore straightened slowly and looked around. The road in front of the mansion was deserted and unpaved; the mud was fresh and deep; a storm had definitely come through. Puddles of water littered the messy street in depthless potholes.

  She turned and glanced up at the building she had just escaped and was shocked to find herself staring at the door to an old, weathered barn. There was no mansion in sight.

  Eleanore gaped for a few seconds, utterly befuddled. At last, she shook her head, decided to chalk it up to yet another supernatural impossibility, and turned back toward the dirt road.

  The land across the street was undeveloped and dense with scrub brush, Russian thistle, and low-lying trees that were more thorn than leaf. Foliage was like that in West Texas.

  Eleanore wasted no time in sprinting across the long, manicured lawn of the mansion . . . or barn. The desert air was cold and damp in the post-rain twilight and she was already beginning to feel its chill through her clothes. Temperatures dropped drastically at night in Texas. She needed to get into town, find a phone, and call someone for help before she got hypothermia.

  Too bad her car was stuck in the garage in the mansion. Wherever the hell that was.

  She knew she needed to act before the sun went down, because something told her that when it did, Uriel the vampire would not be in pain any longer. And she was willing to bet he would come after her. The look in his eyes had more than assured her of that much.

  “Holy fuck, what happened to you?” Gabriel asked.

  Max pushed off the wall of the archway that led to Michael’s bedroom and removed his hand from his mouth where he’d been holding a white handkerchief against his lip. It was stained with blood. “I was struck by lightning.”

  Gabriel frowned and then craned his neck to peer around Max’s still-smoking body. “Where’s Granger?”

  “She’s escaped.”

  Michael slowly stood from where he had been seated beside Uriel’s semiconscious form. The archangel-turned-vampire was spread-eagled and manacled, thick chains trapping his arms and legs to the head- and footboards of a metal-framed bed.

  “What do you mean she’s escaped?” Michael asked.

  Max tossed the handkerchief onto the bedside table and then froze when Uriel’s eyes snapped open and his head turned toward him.

  “You’re bleeding,” Uriel said. His voice was not his own. It was still eerily deep and held a strange echoing quality. His eyes also still burned a bright, fiery red.

  “Indeed,” Max said softly. He watched his charge with a wariness that he w
as not in the mood to exhibit at that moment. He was feeling rather sore and burned out just then. Literally.

  Pieces of his suit shirt and trousers were missing in dark, smoking patches and his hair was also rather darker than it should have been. If he’d been human, he would have been dead, of course. As it was, however, his recovery was taking a tad longer than he liked.

  “Your girlfriend zapped me with one billion volts of electricity. I’m afraid I bit my tongue in the process.”

  Uriel said nothing. He simply continued to pierce Max with those burning eyes until Max could take no more and turned away. He addressed Michael instead. “She’s afraid of us now. She used the last of her power to hit me with the lightning and then took the bracelet I had been about to place on her. She ran out the broken window of the garage.”

  “She cut herself,” Uriel said then, drawing everyone’s attention. The angel-turned-vampire was staring up at the ceiling now. “You got some of her blood on you when you were looking out the window, no doubt.”

  “It’s Sherlock Holmes, the bloody undead,” Gabriel muttered, his eyes wide.

  He, Max, and Michael exchanged glances, and then Max waved them toward the open door that led to the hall beyond. They got the hint and followed him out. Once outside, they closed the door behind them even though each of them was well aware that if Uriel truly had become a vampire, it would do little good.

  “You were going to bind her?” Michael asked, right off the bat.

  “She knew about the bracelet; I imagine Uriel blabbed. And she figured out that he was carrying it to use on her. She was in shock and I didn’t trust her to react rationally any longer. With good reason, apparently,” Max explained.