Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

  Which was impossible, of course. He really had it bad for her. He needed Eleanore as he needed nothing else in the universe. She completed him; she was his other half. The missing part of his soul.

  With that thought, Uriel withdrew his fangs and tossed the now-unconscious man to the ground at his feet. Azrael followed suit a second later. The third man, Azrael had simply knocked unconscious in order to get him out of the way. The three would-be rapists now lay unmoving on the alley asphalt, surrounded by cigarette stubs, empty plastic water bottles, and straws from mixed drinks that were sold up and down the strip.

  They wouldn’t be harming anyone that night.

  “Help me hide them,” Azrael instructed. Uriel helped him drag the bodies behind a nearby Dumpster, where the men would sleep out the remainder of the night.

  It seemed almost pointless to ask, as he could not have cared less either way, but Uriel found himself asking anyway. “Will they be okay?”

  “They’re not dead. In the morning, they’ll wake feeling less than fantastic.” Azrael smiled. “And I’ve added a dream or two to their memories.”

  “Oh?” Uriel turned a questioning gaze on his brother. Azrael had long had the ability to influence mortal dreams. Along with a host of other abilities, the power had come after many years on Earth and was now considered by the archangels to be part and parcel to being a very old vampire. Uriel was suddenly very curious as to just what the Angel of Death had done to these three troublemakers.

  Azrael grinned. “They won’t be wanting to rape anyone anytime soon,” he said, his gold eyes sparking with dark mischief. “Not now that they’ve experienced the nightmare version themselves.”

  Uriel’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. Azrael clapped a hand on his back and turned away to lead them out of the stinking alley. As Uriel followed him out, he focused his attention on his own body and the changes it was continuing to make even now. The blood he’d taken was fueling his senses. His range of hearing had increased; he could make out a conversation that must have been taking place close to a mile away. And was that a shower running? A toilet flushing?

  His sense of smell had increased as well. But it seemed like his unconscious desire for Eleanore was overriding it; he could swear he still scented her on the wind. Not just her blood, either. He could smell her lavender shampoo, her cinnamon breath. Even the gentle, clean scent of her skin.

  Christ, he thought. She was filling him up inside. He couldn’t get her out of his head and suddenly it felt as though his awareness of her might drive him mad.

  But then Azrael was roughly shoving him back into the darkness of the alleyway shadows, one hand pressed solidly to his broad, thick chest.

  “What the—”

  “Quiet,” Azrael hissed. “She can’t see you here. Not yet. Not like this.”

  “Who?” Uriel whispered, too distracted by his thoughts of Eleanore to be as confused or irritated as he probably should have been.

  At this, Azrael’s hand slipped from Uriel’s chest and he turned to face his brother, his stark amber gaze pulsing with warning light. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said softly, taking a step back so that Uriel had a clear view of the street beyond.

  The slender profile of a woman with long black hair instantly caught his attention.

  Azrael nodded at the dawning comprehension he must have seen in Uriel’s face. “It’s your archess.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It took a few seconds for Uriel to gather his wits about him and realize that his fantasy was actually reality. Eleanore was the last person he had expected to see in Las Vegas that night, but he was almost more surprised by the fact that he had known she was there all along.

  “I thought she was with Samael,” he muttered under his breath. He was simply thinking out loud. Had she escaped? Had Samael let her go? What the hell was going on?

  “Gabe found out that she was here, and Max told me to bring you when you woke up,” Az told him calmly. “I just thought we should have breakfast first.”

  “What hotel is that?” Uriel asked, his voice stronger this time.

  “The August.”

  Uriel glanced around the hotel’s entrance at the plethora of overly handsome men mulling about it and moving in and out. “What’s with all the beef?” Uriel asked, feeling his irritation rise.

  “The August is supposedly where performers prefer to stay while in town.”

  That would explain it. These men were probably magicians, jousters, dance instructors—you name it. But it only managed to quell a little of his mounting anger.

  “How the hell did Eleanore manage to choose that hotel, out of every hotel in Vegas?” he asked with irritation.

  “She didn’t choose it. Samael did.”

  As far as Uriel was concerned, that clinched it. “I’m getting her out of there,” Uriel said with finality. He wasn’t asking for permission in this, and as far as he was concerned, Azrael could either help him in his endeavor, or get the hell out of his way.

  “Clean yourself up first,” Azrael said as he turned to face him. “You’re wearing someone else’s blood.”

  Uriel looked down to find that he was right. He had disliked the flavor of the drug addict’s blood so much that he must have inadvertently pulled away, allowing some of the red liquid to coat his chest.

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. He could head back to the mansion and change there, but he didn’t want to waste the time. He could buy another shirt—but again, that took time. And the salesperson would undoubtedly question the blood.

  On the other hand, he could simply transmorph the shirt and be done with it. Of course, that was a supernatural power and he would have to remove the bracelet if he wanted to use it. Which he wasn’t at all certain he wanted to do.

  Being an archangel, in and of itself, was like walking around with a constant buzz. The power hummed through his veins on a near constant level, and somehow, he’d always managed to keep a lid on himself.

  Add to that power the influx of the hunger and the high of vampirism, and it was too much. Azrael had managed to survive the combination. But he was the only being Uriel knew of to do so, and Az was most definitely special. Uriel didn’t feel ready to be put to the same grueling test.

  “Do it quickly and then put it back on. You need to learn how to control all of your powers together anyway,” the archangel said out loud. Then, mentally, Azrael added, But keep yourself collared around Eleanore, Uriel. You don’t want to frighten her.

  Uriel nodded his assent, and very quickly he pulled the gold bracelet off his wrist. It came away with a white flash and Uriel’s eyes instantly went black from corner to corner. He could actually see it.

  For a moment, he seemed to be floating outside of his body, looking down on the scene in the alleyway. He was watching himself, seeing himself through his archangel eyes, as he often did with mortals in order to judge what kinds of souls they possessed. He could see himself standing there with pitch-black demonlike eyes, his hair unnaturally darker and a touch longer, his skin paler, his fangs fully elongated, his long-sleeved thermal shirt covered in someone else’s blood.

  He was a little terrifying to behold.

  And then, as if caught in some gravitational pull, Uriel was sucked back into his body and instantly overcome by the tremendous power running through his veins. He felt it all there—ready to use, calling to him. Every ability he possessed was amplified. And with this amplification came the piggybacking desire to fuel it. With more blood.

  Focus, Uriel. Control it. Change your fucking shirt, and put the goddamned wreath back on. Now.

  Azrael’s voice found its way into Uriel’s head, commanding him from within. But Uriel had a hard time paying attention. He wanted to run, to jump, to fly, to throw a freight train into the starlit sky—things he normally could not or would not do. He wanted to use his telekinesis to hurl cars across the street, knock buildings into one another, break
something just to hear it shatter. Or to hear it scream.

  Uriel!

  His head snapped in Azrael’s direction, his vision a strange, dark red.

  Think of Eleanore.

  Azrael forced the thought through him and Uriel could almost feel the words scrape the walls of his consciousness. It hurt. But it also helped. Uriel closed his eyes and reined himself in. It was like grabbing a whirlwind of pixie lights and forcing them to come closer—within reach. He managed it, but barely.

  When he did, his vision changed and he could safely assume that his eyes no longer looked black from corner to corner. He wasted no time in reaching into that vortex of lit-up abilities to pull out the one power he needed to clean himself up.

  Within a few seconds, the blood was gone, his clothes were new, and he was slamming the bracelet back down onto his wrist. When it solidified into a solid gold wreath once more, the craziness left his blood, his heartbeat ceased roaring in his eardrums, and he no longer felt like rending something limb from limb.

  He took a deep, shaky breath and looked over at his brother.

  “You did well.” Azrael nodded sagely. “She’s made it into her room,” he said, turning to peer at the hotel across the street once more. “Give her a few minutes. Then . . .” He glanced back at Uriel and smiled. “Good luck.”

  E: It’s not what I expected, I guess.

  A: How so?

  E: Oh, you know.... I got here and thought the big-city thing would be fun for a night. But it’s just packed and expensive and sort of smelly. But most of all, it just seems . . . I don’t know. Plastic.

  A: Oh, tell me about it. There’s nothing sadder than a fake Statue of Liberty in flashing neon lights. Awe-inspiring on so very many levels.

  E: Lol. Exactly.

  Eleanore shook her head at the screen.

  A: Listen, girl, I gotta go. Just take it easy for the night. Stay inside and watch the SyFy Channel. Stargate should be on tonight. I know how you lust for Daniel Jackson and his big, massive, pulsing gray matter.

  E: *smiles* Right. Take care, Angel.

  A: You too, sweetie. Xoxo

  Eleanore signed off and closed the chat box. Then she leaned back in the reclining desk chair. With everything going on, she should have felt exhausted, but instead, she felt . . . buzzed.

  She thought about Kevin, the crush she had told Uriel about in the garage before he became a vampire. She was fifteen when she met Kevin, just months before that fateful day with the man and the needle. Kevin was a senior at the local high school in the Connecticut town she was living in at the time.

  She hadn’t know anything about the boy because she was homeschooled, and she’d never met him personally, just watched him from afar. Every morning, he waited on the corner of the block for the bus. He stood out from the others because he was taller and more built and seemed older.

  Most seniors drove themselves to school. But he always took the bus, his hands casually tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. And he filled those jeans out nicely. He wore tight T-shirts and she could tell, even from where she watched through the slats in her venetian blinds, that he had a few tattoos. She liked the tattoos. They made him seem tougher and she secretly liked them on the tougher side. In movies, she always fell for the bad guys. And, though she’d never actually dated anyone, she could imagine that dating a “bad boy” would be more fun, if shorter-lived, than dating a “good boy.” She just wasn’t stupid enough to mention as much in front of her family.

  The boy was quiet. He kept to himself. She never saw him talk with the others who were waiting for the bus.

  Then, one day, he turned to face the window. She wasn’t able to move back in time to avoid being seen, but she reared away from the window, dropping the blinds, her hand to her heart. After a few seconds of calming her breath and steadying her rapid pulse rate, she chanced another peek through the slats.

  The boy was holding up a sign he’d made on a blank page in his spiral notebook. He’d written in thick, black ink.

  I’m Kevin. What’s your name?

  For the next two months, Eleanore had found it difficult to concentrate on anything but Kevin. They exchanged notes through the window, though they never spoke.

  It wasn’t that her parents were prison wardens and kept her under lock and key. They simply all agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea to become too friendly with anyone just then; Eleanore was entering a difficult stage. Her powers were inadvertently affected by her body’s changes, and sometimes they were quite difficult to control.

  The Grangers couldn’t afford to take chances. They had grown increasingly worried that someone with ill intent had noticed Eleanore’s abilities and was watching them.

  So Eleanore watched Kevin from the window, and he smiled at her from the bus stop. His smile always filled her with butterflies.

  That was how Eleanore felt now. She was distracted and antsy and a little high on endorphins and adrenaline. There were far too many tall, handsome, powerful men in her life at the moment. They occupied her days and nights, if not in person, then in thought.

  Especially one in particular. She allowed her mind to wander to that first fateful moment in the bookstore, when Christopher Daniels had pinned her to the counter and leaned in.

  Uriel.

  Getting past security had been a breeze in his new vampire body. Despite the hotel’s lavish decor and plethora of guards, Uriel had made it to the top floor of the high-rise hotel with no problems and without being seen.

  Now he stood before Eleanore’s door and moved the bunch of red roses into his left hand. He raised his right to knock—and then he stilled. His head cocked slightly to one side. He could hear her beyond the door. But it wasn’t just her movement and the shuffling sounds her clothes made or the soft creaking noises her chair made when she no doubt swiveled in it. It was that he could hear her breathing. He could even hear her heart beating.

  Even with the gold band around his wrist, he could smell her as if he’d bent to inhale the scent of her hair. Lavender. He could time the beats of the pulse in her throat. And he could imagine what it looked like . . . inviting and tinted slightly blue beneath the taut porcelain of her flesh.

  He lowered his hand and closed his eyes. Azrael was right. He was a hunter now; it was a part of him. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  And then she sighed softly and it sounded so sad, so lonely, his eyes flew open once more, his heart at once aching. The call of that loneliness hardened his resolve and he raised his hand and knocked.

  He could hear her pulse jump, her heart racing, forcing the blood to rush rampantly through her veins. He smiled a slow smile, unable to help himself. That blood was as much a call to him as anything else. He wasn’t surprised when she stopped moving and didn’t answer the knock. She was being careful. But he was being persistent.

  He knocked again and his smile broadened. “Knock, knock,” he added, at once giving himself away. He was pleased to hear that her heartbeat kicked up another notch. “Let me in?” he requested softly. Then, in a slightly deeper tone filled with amusement, he added, “I won’t bite.” It was what he had said to her outside of her apartment several days ago. It held a lot more meaning now.

  He heard her moving then, quickly making her way to the door. She obviously peered at him through the peephole. “That was a lot funnier and a lot less meaningful the first time you said it,” she told him, mirroring his thoughts.

  He chuckled, his body thrumming to life at the simple sound of her voice and the hopeful fact that she was teasing him. But she made no move to open the door. He shifted from one foot to the other and considered his options. He could always break the door down. Vampires didn’t actually need any kind of invitation to enter a dwelling as myth would have people believe. And even without the magic that the bracelet held in check, his vampire body would be through the door and on the other side in the blink of an eye.

  But getting into the room wasn’t the goal here. Getting
into Eleanore’s heart was. He tried another tactic and wiped the smile from his face. “You may as well at least open the door, Ellie,” he told her, his tone calm and reasonable. “Think about it. If I truly posed a threat to you, would a door stop me?”

  She was quiet, hopefully mulling his words over. After a few long seconds, she softly admitted, “Probably not.”

  Again, he smiled, but he ducked his head so that she couldn’t see it through the peephole. It was important in that moment for him to keep the sheep suit on a little longer. Several more tense seconds passed and then Uriel heard the chain in the lock. A latch was thrown and the handle turned and Uriel looked up to find himself staring into a pair of wary indigo eyes.

  A chord of shock vibrated through him. So beautiful, he thought. Was it always going to be like this? Would he be stunned by her every time he laid eyes on her?

  She slowly opened the door wide and gazed out at him, her bottom lip caught tight between two rows of perfect white teeth. He glanced at the pouty pink flesh, captured so tight, and thought about how it would feel trapped within his own teeth. The image made him ache and his muscles flexed of their own accord. He was lost for a while in his constant, returning desire for her, and it momentarily threw him for words.

  Her perfect brow furrowed and her gaze narrowed.

  Uriel realized he’d been lost and quickly pulled himself together. He felt thorns in his left hand and remembered the roses. He cleared his throat. “Truce?” he asked as he tentatively held them out for her.

  Eleanore looked down at the roses and contemplated them in silence. Then, slowly, she took them from him and brought them to her nose. She inhaled and her lovely face unwound into an easy, natural smile. Uriel couldn’t use the vampire ability he’d gained to read her mind while he wore the bracelet, but he didn’t need to. He could see her thoughts written clearly in her expression. She loved the roses.