Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

  The child on the ground stirred and rolled over and Eleanore lifted her hand, straightening to rest back on her knees. There was a quiet conversation between the two children then, one Uriel could not hear.

  “The little girl is asking her if she’s an angel,” Kevin said. He let the scene play out for a few seconds longer, and then waved his hand once more, dispelling the image.

  “What would you do to her?”

  “That depends,” Kevin replied easily. “We would prefer that she join with us and pass her DNA along naturally. A new race of beings possessing a mixture of our abilities and hers would be unstoppable.”

  Uriel realized, then, that Abraxos had no idea Michael also possessed the ability to heal. As far as Kevin Trenton knew, only Ellie possessed that power. And the general planned to bed her—and allow his men to do the same—with the hopes of passing on whatever gene it was that gave her that ability.

  Uriel had never wanted to kill a man so badly in his entire existence.

  “If that fails, we can take the DNA straight from her veins and experiment with it until we have the results we need.”

  Uriel imagined Eleanore strapped to a hard white-sheeted bed with needles in her arms and he knew that what he was seeing would destroy her.

  Kevin stared at the spot where the image of Eleanore’s past had disappeared and said, “She’s not an archangel. I can tell that much.” He turned to face Uriel and pinned him with blue eyes so intense they nearly glowed. “So what is she?”

  “Bite me,” Uriel ground out, trying the metal around his wrists once more. His efforts did nothing but cause the manacles to cut into his skin, releasing more of his precious blood.

  “Apparently, that’s your job now,” Kevin said. “I have it on good authority that you’ve made some sort of transformation.” He grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “You liked your Hollywood character that much?”

  Uriel didn’t answer. He tried to enter the man’s brain, but was blocked. He tried to use telekinesis to throw him into the wall. It didn’t work. He tried to set him on fire. That didn’t work either. He tried to transform him into something small and amphibian. But Kevin remained Kevin and Uriel was starting to feel tired.

  “It’s all right.” Kevin gave a small shrug and slowly paced toward Uriel. “I can wager a guess as to what she is.”

  Uriel held his breath.

  “She’s an archess, isn’t she?”

  This time, it was a question, but Uriel still wasn’t going to answer it. However, he knew his silence was as good as an affirmation.

  “That’s what I thought.” Kevin nodded, smiling a strange, somewhat sad smile. “I know of their existence through a sort of . . . celestial grapevine.” He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “Believe me when I tell you that archangels aren’t the only creatures the Old Man has disposed of on Earth.”

  The laughter trailed off and Kevin’s expression became serious. He locked eyes with Uriel and his gaze narrowed. “I assume you believe her to be yours.”

  Uriel gritted his teeth. “There’s no doubt,” he ground out.

  “Oh?” Kevin looked bemused. “I met her long before you set eyes upon her, archangel. Purely by accident. Who’s to say she wasn’t, in fact, meant to be mine?”

  “You’re delusional.”

  Again, Kevin laughed. “Maybe. But then, you and I both know that the Old Man is not the most powerful force in the universe. Only I’m wise enough to admit it and you’re still a stubborn fool.” He turned away, walked to the table, and leaned against it a second time, his hands shoved casually into his pockets once more.

  “No, Uriel. The Fates are stronger. And the Old Man has made mistakes before.” He leveled that sapphire gaze on Uriel again. “And it doesn’t matter. My men and I need Eleanore one way or another. Therefore, now that I know exactly what she truly is, I fully intend to test my theory. After all”—he smiled a devastating smile and Uriel was reminded of his costar on Comeuppance , the one who had played his enemy—“I was her first crush.”

  “Touch her and I swear on everything unholy that I will kill you.”

  “Yes, of course.” Kevin waited several beats. Then he shook his head. “Do you really believe that I’m going to let you live long enough for you to pose any kind of competition, much less threat, to me?”

  Uriel felt his gaze burning as his vision turned red.

  “You’re only alive now because I need you in order to get to her.” Kevin stood and strode casually to the metal door, which clicked open as he neared it. “When Eleanore Granger is in my possession, you will have outlived your usefulness.”

  He pulled the door open, stepped through, and shut it behind him. Uriel rested his head against the metal “X” that had become his prison and closed his eyes against the pain.

  Max watched as Michael pushed himself up onto one elbow on the cushions of the couch and blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. It was the same thing Azrael had done an hour before. The former Angel of Death was the strongest of the four; his body had repaired itself first, but it hadn’t been pleasant to watch.

  Gabriel, who had been hit twice in the chest with the strange weapons, had yet to awaken. He still lay sprawled and seemingly lifeless on the second couch in the mansion’s living room.

  Max Gillihan was more worried about his charges now than he had ever been. Uriel was missing. Eleanore was with Samael. And Gabriel’s chest was black as night and hard as stone. Max honestly wondered whether the Messenger Archangel would ever move again.

  Max knelt beside Michael and caught his gaze. “Can you hear me?”

  Michael grimaced and held up a finger, unable to speak, then curled in on himself in pain. Azrael had been in agony as well; it seemed to be what happened when they came out of the cursed state the strange weapons had put them in. It didn’t kill them. It just . . . petrified them, or something akin to it.

  Michael groaned low in his throat and then the groan turned into a growl of rage. Azrael had been furious as well. Neither archangel had taken well to being felled by an attack.

  “Who—the—fuck—”

  “We don’t know,” Azrael replied calmly. He had healed completely and now stood in the archway between the dining room and the meeting room, his tall, broad frame outlined by the low light behind him. “But whoever it was has captured Uriel.”

  Michael’s gaze cut to him.

  “Michael, are you well enough to heal Gabriel?” Max wanted to waste no further time. Michael was the only one among them who possessed the ability to heal, and Gabriel didn’t seem to be coming out of this on his own. It might just be a matter of time before he did, but then again, time might take him from them altogether. Max would rather be on the safe side.

  Michael looked over Max’s shoulder to the unconscious form of his brother, sprawled lifelessly on the couch opposite him.

  “His injuries are greater than ours,” Azrael said.

  Michael slowly angled himself to a full seated position, his brow sweating with the pain it caused him. Then he closed his eyes, took several very difficult, deep breaths, and got to his feet. A few stumbling steps across the gap between the two couches and he was once more falling, this time to his knees beside Gabriel.

  “Gabe . . .” he gasped, as he shoved Gabriel’s shirt open to reveal his blackened chest once more. It looked bad—as though Gabriel were a Michelangelo sculpture constructed of some black marble; a statue of an archangel, and not the archangel himself.

  “Christ,” Michael whispered, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. At once, he pressed his right palm to his brother’s rock-hard chest and Max watched him sit back on his heels to concentrate.

  The warm light that peeked from beneath his hand grew from a soft glow to a radiant, blinding flash. When it at last died down, Michael was hunched over, his eyes shut, his body utterly exhausted.

  Gabriel’s chest was no longer black—and best of all, it was moving up and down.

  He’s breathing
, thought Max, feeling vastly relieved.

  It was clear that Michael was drained. He had never had to put forth so much effort to heal someone before. His face was pale, his tall form slumped, his breathing slow. He was nearly unconscious again. But he had healed his brother.

  “You did it,” Max exhaled, only then realizing that he’d been holding his breath. He hurried to the couch and knelt down beside them both. “He’s breathing.” He placed his hand on Gabriel’s wrist and felt the pulse there. Finally.

  It was as if he were back from the dead.

  He turned his attention to Michael, who had yet to say anything further. His eyes were still closed, his head bowed, his strong body hunched over.

  “Are you all right?” Max asked.

  A single nod was his only reply.

  “Someone is coming,” Azrael said then.

  Max turned to face him.

  The vampire archangel was striding gracefully toward the archway that led to the foyer and the door beyond. “It’s Samael’s servant,” he added, just before disappearing through the exit.

  “What?” Max asked in alarm. He stood, and with one final worried glance at Michael and Gabriel, he hurried to follow Azrael out of the living room.

  Az reached the door, grasped the handle, and opened it. On the threshold stood Jason, Samael’s right-hand man. Max greatly disliked him. On the outside, he was a fairly handsome, well-dressed man of perhaps thirty years. Max knew something quite different to be underneath the attractive facade.

  “I won’t mince words or waste anyone’s time,” Jason said, clasping his hands behind his back. He was, as always, dressed impeccably in an Armani suit and tie that flattered the blue of his eyes. “You already know that Miss Granger is with us. Lord Samael wishes to bring the archess here. In light of the situation, he feels he has much to discuss with the four of you.”

  “He knows what has occurred,” Azrael stated.

  Jason nodded. “Indeed. And I think you will agree this calls for cooperation.”

  “What a coincidence,” came a gravelly, weakened voice from behind Max. He turned to see Michael standing in the archway behind them, leaning up against the wall. “Sam is so very good at lending help to those willing to pay his price.”

  Jason met Michael’s gaze and held it. Their mutual unmitigated hatred and distrust was clear.

  “In this case, Michael,” Max said with a sigh, “Samael might be right. We are fighting something we can’t defend ourselves against, let alone comprehend. And they have Uriel.”

  “What does your master want, exactly?” Azrael asked, always the one to cut to the chase.

  “He wishes permission to enter the mansion. If you won’t agree to this, he has acquiesced to meet with you in a public place. However, if you choose the latter, be aware that your proceedings may not be as private or protected as you desire.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Michael whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned back and ran a rather shaky hand through his blond hair.

  “I’ll bloody well agree to that,” came yet another gruff voice from behind them all. Michael and Max turned to find Gabriel pushing himself away from the wall on which he’d apparently been leaning on his way to the foyer. He looked terribly weak, horribly pale, and his silver-gray eyes were strikingly bright in his face, as if he were feverish. There was a slight sheen of sweat along his brow, dampening his shaggy black locks. “But the wee shite’s go’ Ellie. And whatever we’re up against feels like the bubonic plague in a bloody bullet.”

  “You look like hell,” Michael said softly, almost teasingly.

  “I need a drink.”

  Max turned from the two archangels to face Jason once more. “We have no choice in this instance. When would he like to meet?”

  “Now,” Jason replied simply. “All you need do is invite him in.”

  At this, Max’s eyes cut to Azrael. The archangel had to be invited?

  The corners of Azrael’s lips turned up ever so slightly. “Humans have their myths confused.”

  “How long would the invitation last?” Max asked him.

  “A night,” Azrael supplied. “Most likely the day as well.”

  Max sighed and turned to spear Jason with a hard look. “The invitation is for your master—not for you.”

  “That’s okay,” came yet another voice from behind the group in the foyer. Michael and Gabriel were instantly straightening to their full heights, their bodies in alarm mode as they spun around to face the intruder in the living room.

  “He doesn’t need an invitation from you,” said Samael, from where he sat back in one of their plush leather recliners, his legs casually crossed at the ankles, his charcoal-gray suit the very image of perfection.

  “That was fast,” Max said under his breath.

  Samael’s smile was all-knowing and lightning flashed in the depths of his stormy eyes. A moment later, Eleanore appeared beside him, still dressed in red satin, a veritable goddess of crimson temptation.

  “Eleanore!” Max rushed toward her.

  “Max,” she said, hugging him. She straightened, looking over his shoulder. “Michael, Gabriel, Az—you’re all right.” Relief flooded her features, but guilt clouded her eyes and the fidgeting of her fingers in her gown gave away her feelings of culpability.

  “Ellie, this is not your fault,” Max instantly told her, taking her hands in his. He could see the stains of tears on her porcelain cheeks. “Christ, Eleanore you can’t blame yourself for this.”

  “Yes, I can,” she whispered, her eyes down-turned. “Those men are after me. And they hurt all of you and—now they have Uriel.” Her voice cracked as she finished, and Max pulled her into his arms again.

  “This wouldn’t be your doing, would it?” he accused as he locked eyes with Samael over Eleanore’s shoulder.

  Samael shrugged innocently. “On the contrary. I have already tried to convince her that she’s not to blame. If I were to place responsibility anywhere, it would most likely be with the Old Man.”

  “Oh, here we go.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and dropped hard into another plush love seat, his body clearly exhausted with the effort of standing.

  Jason disappeared from the threshold of the mansion, and in a greenish grayish flash, reappeared behind Samael’s chair. No one was surprised. Obviously Samael had pulled his servant inside.

  Azrael calmly closed the door and joined them in the living room. “What is it you wish to discuss?” he asked, no hint of emotion showing on his stark, handsome features.

  Samael turned his gaze on the dark archangel. “While Eleanore was mending, I read her thoughts and scanned her memories.”

  No one was surprised by this confession, though a general tensing of muscles around the room gave away the fact that they were no less irritated by it.

  “It seems that while you and I were having it out in a cemetery in Texas, a group of men were in the process of tracking Eleanore’s progress across the country.” He laced his fingers over his stomach and continued. “I don’t know who they are. But they apparently cornered her in a parking lot outside of a grocery store just before she eluded them and managed to make her way to the graveyard.”

  Eleanore slowly pulled away from Max and ran the back of her hand over her eyes. “They were dressed in lab coats and black fatigues. Some had needles filled with a clear liquid,” she said softly. She gave a small shudder and Max could see a tremor make its way through her slender frame. “I recognized them. They looked like the men who came after me when I was fifteen. My family barely escaped.”

  The group digested the information for a moment. “You think these are the same men who attacked us at the gala and abducted Uriel?” Michael asked.

  “Almost certainly,” Sam said.

  “Do you have any idea what kind of weapon it is they’re using?” Max asked.

  Samael considered this. “Honestly, no. But if it’s capable of taking out the four of you at once, then we have much to be concerned about.”

/>   “What do they want Ellie for?” Michael questioned.

  “I’m afraid I can’t be certain of that, either. I know little more than you do in this case. However, if I were to hazard a guess . . .” He shrugged. “As an archess, Eleanore possesses many enviable abilities. They might want a number of things from her. Perhaps they want her to join them in some fight. Or they want to determine a way in which to reproduce her powers and create them in others. The possibilities are many.”

  “Well, on the one hand, this is good news.” Max sighed. “It means they’ll keep Uriel alive long enough to barter with him.”

  “Speaking of which,” Azrael said, “we have company.”

  Max frowned, his brows drawing together in utter confusion. “That’s impossible. No one knows the location of the mansion.” He blinked then, considering something, and added, “No one human, anyway.”

  There was a knock at the front door and it reverberated through the room like a tidal wave of doom.

  “In that case, I think we can assume one thing for sure,” Michael said.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Whatever we’re up against isn’t human.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “General, I have the colonel on the phone for you.”

  Kevin took the receiver and placed it to his ear. After a few seconds, he nodded. Then he returned the phone to his captain and strode across the room to the door. The invitation had been delivered. All that was left to do now was wait—and plan.

  Kevin had a few more questions he wanted answered. Another conversation with his special prisoner was in order. He left the room and made his way down the hall toward the holding cells.

  The archangel Uriel had been released from his bonds in the interrogation room and allowed his own private cell. Of course, he was still secured and there was nothing in the cell but its four walls and floor. It was constructed of the same materials as the interrogation room. Uriel was going nowhere.

  Most likely, at this moment, the general had one very angry Angel of Vengeance on his hands.