Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

Realization hit her like a sledgehammer, and she barely suppressed a cry of alarm when she saw the stream of light had run its course, from the tips of Uriel’s fingers to the palm of his outstretched hand, and the wrist and forearm beyond. Everywhere it touched, it left a scorch mark, deep and black and smoking. The smell of burnt flesh registered in her brain at the same time that she hit the mattress and was covering Uriel’s body with her own.

  She tried to bring the clouds back, tried to call up a storm with her powers, but the weather wouldn’t answer her. She drew Uriel’s arm across his chest and tried to roll him off of the bed, but he was too heavy—uncommonly so. It was as if he were weighted down by some unnatural force.

  She sat back a little and tried to use telekinesis on him, hoping to move him in that manner instead. No doing. He wouldn’t budge.

  The sunlight crept up her back; she could feel its heat through her thin T-shirt. It outlined her shadow across the far wall.

  Desperation wrenched a half sob, half cry from her throat. She needed help in moving him. She took a chance and called out. “Is anyone out there?” She hollered the question at the door, hoping against hope that someone would hear her. “Somebody please help me!” she called. “Hello!” she tried one last time.

  Where was Tilda? Where were the other bed-and-breakfast tenants?

  She couldn’t move from where she was or the sun would hit Uriel again. Think, Eleanore! Think! She racked her brain.

  Inspiration struck her at the sound of a Harley’s engine on the road that ran along the front of the bed-and-breakfast. She remembered the Harley she’d lifted and shoved into the window of the garage in Uriel’s mansion.

  She could do the same thing now, only in reverse. She turned to spear the table against one wall with a determined glare. The table began to rattle—and then it lifted from the floor and floated toward the window, turning on its side as it neared the sliding glass doors. Eleanore concentrated on laying the table against the window and managed to block a small amount of the sun. However, light poured in over the top of it and she realized that she needed more furniture.

  She lifted a chair next—and then another one. But balancing them all was beginning to be a problem and she could feel that the stream of sunlight was now on her shoulders. She was running out of time. A weakness was stealing over her. She was getting tired.... Uriel had taken a fair amount of her blood and this use of her power was draining her.

  Come on, Ellie! Think, damn it!

  Her gaze drifted over her lover’s features, so cold and so handsome. He was dying there in that bed; she knew it. He would die, his gorgeous body eaten up by the daylight because there was nothing to protect him from it but a flimsy little sheet....

  The sheet!

  Eleanore cried out with frustration that she hadn’t thought of this before and instantly focused her attention on the blankets and towels in the rooms of the suite, instead of its heavy furniture.

  A flurry of different materials sailed across the room toward the tall windows and drew themselves across the glass. She blocked out the sun a little more with each layer she added to the makeshift curtains. As she worked, she couldn’t help but curse Tilda just a little for not providing the huge glass doors with blinds of their own. But she wasted little time on her anger; she was feeling very tired as it was. The important thing was to protect Uriel from the direct sunlight until she could figure out how to move him.

  When the sun was completely blocked, Eleanore slumped forward a little and bowed her head. But she couldn’t let go yet. She had to maintain her concentration or the blankets would fall.

  “Uriel!” She grabbed his broad shoulder and shook hard, trying to wake him. He barely moved beneath her ministrations; his body was like iron, heavy and solid beyond logic. “Uriel! Please wake up!”

  She pressed her fingers to his neck and felt the pulse there. It was weak and erratic, but at least it existed.

  The corner of a few sheets slipped at the window and Eleanore closed her eyes.

  Oh God, she thought. I need help. What the hell do I do?

  She was on the verge of tears when the door burst open and Michael, Gabriel, and Max Gillihan rushed into the room.

  “Ellie!” Michael cried.

  “Uriel!” Max echoed.

  Eleanore let out a sob of gratefulness at the sight of them and hurriedly got off of the bed as they rushed in to surround the sleeping figure.

  “I can’t move him!” she wept, still trying to concentrate enough to keep the window blocked. She was ready to fall, she was so exhausted now. Max looked from her to the window, noticed the drapes, and cut his gaze to her once more.

  “You’re doing great, Ellie,” he told her quickly as he brushed by her to rush to the window. He held the corners of the blankets up manually and turned to the archangels.

  “A little help!” he called out. “Eleanore’s about to drop.”

  Gabriel glanced up, took in the situation, and his silver eyes began to glow. Eleanore could feel a shift in the air as he began to use his powers. The light behind the sheets darkened, continuing to fade until it was naught but a faint grayness, almost as dark as the wall itself.

  The sheets dropped to reveal windows that looked as though they had been painted in thick gold paint. Whatever it was, it blocked the sun. She pulled her gaze from the strange windows to where Uriel lay on the bed.

  Michael had his arms wrapped around the top half of Uriel’s body and Gabriel had his legs, but both men were still having trouble moving him.

  “It’s Samael,” Michael said.

  “I know,” Gabe replied.

  “Sam, you’ve had your fun, now lay off!” Michael bellowed into the air, his blue eyes flashing for a moment with unnatural sapphire light.

  Eleanore’s eyes widened as laughter filled the room like thunder, low and otherworldly—and cruel. She closed her eyes then and shuddered as it brushed her body like the tips of warm fingers, running along the back of her neck. A sapping kind of warmth followed after, rushing over and through her, making her even sleepier and draining what was left of her strength.

  She leaned back against the wall behind her, trying to focus on what was happening in the room. It was so hard.

  Beyond the bed, Michael and Gabriel could now lift their brother’s body enough for them to move him. They wasted no time. She watched as they rushed him to the door—and just beyond that, she could see that a portal to the mansion had been opened up.

  Max crossed the room in two long strides and took Ellie’s arm in his hand. As he muttered something under his breath about “Samael’s infernal influence,” he pulled her from the wall and half carried her toward the portal after the others.

  “See that she gets through; I’ll stay behind to deal with this mess,” Max told them hurriedly. He gave her a well-meaning shove forward and she stumbled through the opening.

  When the portal flashed around her and closed off their passage behind them, Eleanore’s legs finally gave out. Someone caught her easily on the other side, wrapping her in a strong embrace and lifting her from the ground to hold her against his chest.

  They were in an underground chamber of sorts; a stone platform was raised at the center of the room and lit torches lined the circular wall.

  “Rest your head, Ellie,” her savior whispered in her ear. It was Azrael, and without realizing she was doing so, she obeyed him, laying her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. Tears slid free as she did so.

  Please let him be all right....

  “Wha’ the bloody hell do we do now?” Gabriel cursed.

  Eleanore opened her eyes and focused on him and Michael. Uriel had been laid on a stone altar. It looked like an altar to her, anyway.

  He was so still and pale. Like a sacrifice.

  “He’ll need blood,” Azrael told them calmly, his voice rumbling in his chest near Eleanore’s cheek. It was the kind of voice that nearly hurt because you feared you wouldn’t hear it again soon enough. It was that
voice, of course, that had made her a fan of Valley of Shadow and the Masked One.

  Gabriel and Michael both looked at her—and she could feel their gazes slide to the mark Uriel had already left on her neck.

  “Not from her, he doesn’t,” Michael stated flatly.

  “No,” Azrael agreed easily. “From me.”

  Michael and Gabriel both blinked, their expressions horrified.

  Azrael, however, wasted no time. He strode toward Michael, closing the distance between them. “Take her. I have no time to explain. He needs blood, and once more, human blood will not do.”

  Michael came forward, taking Eleanore from his brother’s grip. “You’ve never given anyone your blood before,” he said. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No,” Azrael admitted. He rolled up his sleeve and approached the stone platform where Uriel lay.

  “Then let one of us do it instead,” Michael said, allowing his voice to carry in the semidark chamber. Azrael froze beside the platform and then slowly turned to meet his brother’s gaze.

  “It will hurt,” Azrael told him simply.

  “I’ll bloody well do it,” Gabriel volunteered, coming forward before anyone could stop him.

  Both archangels turned to watch as the former Messenger rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and held his other hand out toward his brothers. His jaw was tight and he sighed impatiently. “Well?” He waved his fingers as if waiting for them to hand him something. “I’ll need a boggin blade, then, won’t I?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Once Azrael handed the wicked-looking dagger to his brother, Gabriel wasted no time in slicing a clean line across his wrist. Ellie flinched as the blade sliced clean through his flesh and a line of crimson rose to meet it. But she was so weak, it was all the reaction she showed.

  Gabriel held his wrist out beneath Uriel’s unconscious nose. For a moment, nothing happened. Uriel’s strong body remained motionless, splayed out where it was upon Azrael’s altar. And then, without warning, Uriel shot forward, blurring into motion as he gripped his brother’s forearm, bared his fangs, and sank them deep into Gabriel’s wrist.

  Eleanore had never seen Uriel like this, and the ferocity with which he ripped into his brother’s flesh and fed on him was highly unsettling. The tight, pained expression on Gabriel’s face left her feeling queasy. She sat up in Michael’s arms and he allowed her to stand on her own feet. She was wobbly, but numb enough that her muscles worked on their own.

  Gabriel gritted his teeth as Uriel clamped down tight and greedily drank. Eleanore’s stomach tied itself in more and more knots as the scene unfolded before her. As she had always been able to do with someone who was in pain, her healing instinct kicked in and she could sense Gabriel’s discomfort as if she were feeling it herself.

  Each pull for Gabriel felt as if combs of needles were scraping the insides of his veins. Each swallow felt like a sharp stab of steel pikes in the muscles of his arm. And the pain was spreading.

  “Easy, Uriel,” Michael whispered, his voice reflecting the bewildered, somewhat disgusted awe with which they all watched one brother feed off of another. “He’s taking a lot,” he said, his brow furrowed with worry. “Uriel, take it easy!”

  “He doesn’t hear you,” Azrael told him flatly. “And if he did, he would not care. Nothing either of you say to him will make him stop.”

  “Bloody Christ, this hurts,” Gabriel said tightly, as sweat broke out on his brow. “Did it hurt you like this, Ellie?” he asked, his voice reflecting a world of hurt.

  She felt her face flush with embarrassment, but it was no secret Uriel had bitten her. There was a very real bite mark on her neck as proof. She glanced at Uriel and then back up at Gabriel and she shook her head. “No,” she told him, honestly and somewhat breathlessly. She was still so weak. “It didn’t.”

  “This is different,” Azrael told him. “You’re his brother and you are very, very old. Your blood is not meant to be shared.” Azrael cut his eyes to Uriel. “And Uriel is close to death. He is unable to make this easier on you as he undoubtedly did for Eleanore.”

  “Did it feel like that for Lilith?” Michael asked.

  There was a short pause in which Azrael’s expression was dark but unreadable. “I believe it felt worse.”

  Eleanore turned away from Azrael to look back at Uriel and Gabriel once more. From the pale tinge to Gabriel’s handsome face, she wasn’t certain how much more of this he could take. Just when she was certain he would not be able to stop himself from either falling or pulling away from Uriel, Azrael stepped forward and placed his hand on Uriel’s shoulder.

  “You must stop, Uriel.”

  Eleanore watched as Uriel ignored him and continued to drink. Gabriel gritted his teeth and sweat broke out along his brow. Eleanore found herself chewing on her lip, her stomach cramping with tension.

  And then something strange and dark passed between Azrael and Uriel; it was like a flitting shadow or shroud that skirted from Az’s tall, dark form and blanketed Uriel before disappearing entirely.

  And Uriel froze. He straightened and his eyes flew open, flashing like emerald lightning.

  “Let go,” Azrael commanded. His voice sounded different. Deeper.

  Uriel released his grip on Gabriel’s arm and withdrew his fangs.

  Gabriel took a step back, no doubt earning a good deal of respect from Uriel and his brothers by not instantly falling to his knees with the weakness and pain he must have felt.

  “Uriel?” Ellie’s small voice sliced through the silence of the chamber, at once claiming Uriel’s attention.

  His green eyes cut to her where she was still standing beside Michael. Uriel’s form blurred into motion and then came to an abrupt halt a few feet in front of them. The sudden movement took Ellie’s breath away once more, surprising her enough that she found her hand pressed to her heart. But his handsome face was no longer composed of hard angles and hunger. His eyes looked normal. And she couldn’t see his fangs.

  Eleanore stepped away from Michael and approached Uriel. “Are you okay?” she asked, not really knowing what else to say. She was exhausted and wrung out by the morning’s events and she could feel a new, more volatile strength coming from her archangel. She wasn’t sure what to think of it, but she was glad—really glad—that he wasn’t dead.

  Uriel’s eyes cut to hers and his features relaxed, his expression softening. “I’m fine,” he said softly, almost whispering it. “You saved my life, Ellie.”

  Eleanore looked down at the ground, recalling the clouds outside and the way they’d blocked the sun and then the furniture and drapes she’d cast across the window’s surface. She supposed he was right. More or less.

  Uriel turned to address Gabriel, who stood across the room and looked more than a touch pale. “You both did,” Uriel said.

  Gabriel immediately looked away, his silver eyes flashing in the darkness. He was too proud to cradle his arm, but Eleanore knew that it hurt him very badly. The cuff of his sleeve was red with blood. The Scottish archangel glanced back at Uriel once, and then away again. He nodded. It was his version of “you’re welcome.”

  Michael made his way to Gabriel’s side and, before his brother could pull away, he placed his hand to Gabriel’s chest. A brief flash of light later, and Gabriel was healed. The knife cut and the double wounds on the inside of his arm were gone.

  “He’s gone too far this time,” Michael said then, letting his arm drop and turning to face Azrael and Uriel. His gaze skirted over Eleanore as well. “Samael could have killed you today.”

  “I’m aware,” Uriel said.

  “You may be aware,” said Max, who suddenly appeared through a new portal, stepping into the room as it closed behind him. “But you aren’t taking it seriously enough.”

  “Oh?” Uriel asked, raising a brow.

  “You went to sleep without protection and failed to set an alarm,” Azrael told him, his tone as calm as ever, but hinting at disapproval. “If I were Sam
ael, I’d have done the same thing.”

  “I’m going to kill him,” Uriel said then, his tone tight with pent-up anger.

  “No, you aren’t,” Max told him simply. “But if you go to that gala tonight, Sam will be there. And I think we can be certain that he’s done playing nice.”

  “He’ll get nothing by killing me,” Uriel said. “The contract was for my eternal services. It’ll be hard to serve him if I’m dead.”

  “He isn’t trying to kill you.” Max shook his head, his tone weary. “Can’t you see that? He was well aware that we were coming for you this morning.” Max’s gaze cut to Eleanore. “He was also well aware that Eleanore would protect you, and he let up on his control over you. He doesn’t want to kill you, Uriel. I can’t say for certain, but it seems to me that he just wants you to lose. My guess is he wants you to fail in the one thing you thought you could acquire before he could.”

  With that, Max’s eyes cut to Eleanore once more—as did everyone else’s.

  “Well, Sam’s all but attacked the both o’ them, hasn’t he?” Gabriel pointed out. “It’s no’ likely she’ll accidentally fall in love with the arsehole now, is it?” Gabriel shrugged. “I don’ see wha’ you’re afraid of.”

  “Like I said”—Max sighed—“I have no idea what Samael is really after. But he’s immortal. And as long as Eleanore is kept from Uriel, then he has all the time in the world to bring whatever twisted plan he has to fruition.”

  “You’re saying he’s going to try to separate them,” Michael said. “At the gala.”

  “No.” Max shook his head, turning to meet Michael’s gaze. “He won’t try. We’re talking about Sam here. He’ll succeed.”

  “Then you can’t go.” Michael turned to Uriel. “You should stay here within the mansion. It’s the one place in the universe where he can’t interfere.”

  “That isn’t going to happen,” Uriel told them. “I won’t allow us to become prisoners because of this.”

  “You’re risking a lot, Uriel,” Max warned.

  “We always risk a lot, Max. Existence is risky. Life is a battle—you know that.” He paused and looked down at Eleanore. He caught her gaze and she lost herself in his emerald eyes. “And I owe Eleanore a dress.”