Avenger''s Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

  Max also hired extra “muscle” to beef up the security ratio of the crowd. Ellie knew very well that this would do no good against Samael and his minions, but that wasn’t the point. Sunlight Cinematics, the company that owned the rights to Comeuppance, had publicized the charity event to kingdom come, so it was going to be beyond packed. The point was to waylay any extra trouble where it might lurk—and to give Max some semblance of control over what was nearly a hopeless situation.

  Ellie was stoic as her thoughts turned dark and she wondered just what Max and his archangels were planning to do if Samael popped himself into existence behind her and shoved a magical dagger through her heart.

  Eleanore shared this concern with Uriel.

  “It occurred to us,” he said, “but we dismissed the possibility. Samael doesn’t want you dead.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “It’s simple,” he said. “If he wanted you dead, you would be.”

  Eleanore could say nothing to that. She only hoped he was right.

  Uriel reached across and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

  The car turned a corner and slowed to an idling stop behind a limousine that was emptying itself of passengers. Eleanore could see them through the window to Uriel’s right. One was the actor who played the enemy of Jonathan Brakes. The other was the actress who played Brakes’s love interest. Both were making their way through a boatload of excited fans crowding at the ropes along either side of the red carpet.

  “I can’t do this,” Ellie said, not meaning to voice her thoughts out loud. She was at once overwhelmed by the throng outside the car door and unsure of what part she was to play in all of this.

  “Yes, you can,” Uriel said gently, giving her hand another squeeze. Then his jade-colored eyes flashed with something impish. “Besides, you wouldn’t deny the Global Fund for Women its hefty donation by deciding to become a no-show and forcing me to become a no-show too, would you?”

  Eleanore blanched. “That’s the charity this event is sponsoring?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh jeez.” Eleanore rolled her eyes and ran a nervous hand over her face. She was lucky she never wore makeup or it would have smeared. She sighed and her voice came out shaky. “Fine,” she croaked.

  The glass that separated the passenger seats from the driver’s section slid down. Max turned and draped an arm over his seat and offered her a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine, Ellie. We’re watching you carefully. No one will even touch you. Now, are you sure you know what to do?”

  “When we get out, Michael and Gabriel will escort me into the building while Christopher Daniels over here signs autographs and talks to the press.”

  “Yes. And not that Mike or Gabe would allow you to, but if anyone tries to ask you any questions, don’t stop and oblige them,” Uriel added.

  Eleanore didn’t like this. She understood how important it was to keep promises and support charities and all of that, but this could still be considered a brand of insane. Plus, by being rushed from the limo to the security of the building, she felt like some sort of “secret” that the famous actor was keeping. She had no doubt that the crowd would put two and two together and realize she must be the “Ellie Granger” that he’d asked out on national television. At the very least, they would expect her to stop, smile, and introduce herself like a normal, sane human being.

  “What are you going to tell them?” she asked. “When they ask about me?”

  “You’ll tell them she’s an old friend who’s camera shy, then move quickly on through the crowd,” Max informed him brusquely. “Just get yourself into the building as fast as inhumanly possible.”

  Uriel sighed. “Right.”

  Max turned back around just as the car in front of him pulled away from the curb and he was able to inch forward into its place. Uriel sat back and reluctantly released Eleanore’s hand. Immediately, her fingers curled into fists and her nails dug into the skin of her palms.

  “Showtime,” Uriel whispered with a glance at the throng outside the windows. The car came to a complete stop and a tall man in a tuxedo and white gloves opened the limo door.

  Uriel stepped out first and stifled the urge to put his fingers in his ears as the crowd went absolutely wild. His hearing was sharper as a vampire; the adoring din actually hurt his eardrums. But he plastered a smile to his face and took a minute to wave at his fans. Then he turned and reached back into the car to offer Ellie his hand.

  Ellie stared at his hand, her eyes bright and wide with trepidation. She swallowed hard and he could hear it, despite the roar of the crowd. He was simply that tuned in to her.

  “Ellie, take my hand, baby,” he said softly, hoping his voice would assuage some of her fear. She looked up into his eyes and he thought of how much he loved her. As if she could see that love transferred there in his gaze, she offered a small, brave smile and took his hand.

  Protectively—possessively—his fingers closed over hers and he gave her a gentle tug to help her out of the backseat. When her long, bare leg and the hem of the gorgeous red dress were revealed to the flashing camera bulbs and the mob of fans, a hush fell over the crowd. He couldn’t blame them. She was a goddess. He felt a smile of pride tug at his lips.

  She slowly stood and straightened beside him, her dark blue gaze skirting across the faces of the crowd. They were in awe of her. He could hear their hearts beating rapidly, hear their gasps, see their dropped jaws and wide eyes. Ellie wasn’t immune to the attention either; she blushed furiously beneath their scrutiny and he felt her tense beside him.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “That’s my girl.”

  When he pulled back, it was to find Michael and Gabriel in front of them, both dressed in SWAT-like attire from head to toe. “Come with us, lass,” Gabriel said as he and Michael moved to flank her on each side and Uriel reluctantly released her hand.

  The hush that had fallen over the crowd lapsed into a murmur of whispers and then a din of shouted questions. The questions were directed at all of them—Christopher Daniels, the “beautiful lady in red,” and even her “bodyguards.” Once Max stepped out of the vehicle as well, they were also directed at him.

  No one answered, of course. Michael gently took Ellie’s elbow and he and Gabriel ushered her forward. Uriel noticed her vague unsteadiness at first, but she dutifully forced one leg in front of the other and managed to make it halfway down the red carpet before something shifted in the air.

  Uriel felt it a half second before it went down.

  BANG. A gunshot, loud and clear. There was no sound on Earth like it.

  The crowd fell into an eerie, sudden hush, and Ellie was immediately surrounded by a wall of muscle. A split-second later, someone screamed. Shouts rang out and were joined by a second BANG.

  Uriel rushed forward and grabbed Eleanore’s arm, jerking her back. She gasped as he lifted her into his arms and shot at an impossible speed toward the doorway of the building ahead.

  He wasn’t thinking. He was simply acting. His body had become a vessel of pure animal instinct. His mate was in danger; he needed to protect her. Outside, he could smell the iron tinge of blood and the tangy overlying notes of fear. Adrenaline was thick in the air as Uriel swept Eleanore up into his arms. More shots rang out and the atmosphere thickened with the scent of blood and fear. Uriel’s brothers remained beside him as he headed with lightning speed toward the theater.

  “Where are the shots coming from?” Michael asked.

  “I canno’ tell,” Gabriel replied.

  “Uriel, put me down!” Eleanore was digging her fingernails into the muscles of his biceps as he shot them both through the doorway and into the darkness beyond. Her eyes were wide. “Someone’s hurt! I can feel them!”

  Uriel set her down between a table and a booth seat and they both hunkered down together. Michael and Gabriel split up then, leaving the two alone. “You can’t go out there,” he told her.

  “There’s more than
one!” she screamed, unable to help the pitch of her voice.

  She was desperate; he could see the set of her jaw and the glint in her indigo eyes. Uriel knew that several people had been shot. That much was plain to him. He could tell by their scent that they were young. Two women, one man.

  “They’re dying, Uriel!”

  She was right about that, too. He could hear their heartbeats—single them out from those other, rapidly beating hearts around them as they slowly waned, denied the blood they needed to pump through the veins of their torn bodies.

  “Michael!” Uriel bellowed, wondering where exactly his brother had gone. Most likely, he and Gabriel were outside, trying to figure out who had done the shooting.

  But Uriel had a sinking feeling. He knew the shots had come from several directions.

  He also knew that this was not Samael’s doing. Guns were not the Fallen One’s style. Samael had most assuredly had something planned for this night, but whoever these shooters were, they had beaten him to the punch.

  Uriel, is Eleanore safe?

  Azrael was communicating with him. He probably already knew, just by sensing her heart rate and biorhythms, that she was fine. But he needed to establish a link.

  She’s fine. But she wants to heal whoever was injured. Who’s been shot?

  Two teenage girls and a camera man. However—

  BANG, BANG, BANG!

  Uriel could not make sense of the cacophony outside the doors of the building. People were racing inside now, rushing toward bathrooms and trying to dive behind tables and booths, as Uriel and Eleanore had done.

  Who the fuck is shooting? he called out to Azrael.

  I can see no one. I see no armed men, no guns. The bullets are literally coming out of nowhere.

  Azrael’s mental voice was as calm as his spoken voice usually was, but there was an undercurrent of urgency and frustration as well.

  BANG!

  This time, the sound of the gunshot came from inside of the building—and Uriel looked up in time to see one of the women who had raced through the door go flying face-first into a nearby table. Her own blood preceded her, fanning out across the tablecloth and wax candles like a Gothic display.

  The shooter was inside now.

  Uriel looked from the fallen woman to his archess, who was even now rising from her crouched position in order to run to the victim’s aid. He wasted no time in grabbing hold of her arm and jerking her back down beside him. “Ellie, no!” he yelled.

  “Uriel, let me go, for God’s sake. She’ll die if I don’t heal her!”

  Uriel blinked. It struck him then—in that moment. The shootings were random and vicious and supernatural in nature. There seemed to be no reason for them—and no logical explanation for their existence. They achieved nothing.

  Unless you were trying to get someone with healing powers to separate herself from her protector and then drain herself by healing as many people as possible.

  Oh my God, he thought, his horror matched only by the depth to which his feelings sank. Whoever is doing this is after Eleanore.

  He knew what he had to do. If he wanted to keep her safe, it was his only option. He only hoped that she would forgive him. Eventually.

  “I’m so sorry, Ellie,” he said. His tone had lowered and he wasn’t certain that she heard him over the sounds of screams and sirens.

  But then, with teeth gritted and eyes darting to the injured woman, Eleanore shook her head and asked, “Uriel, forgive you for wha—”

  He never gave her the chance to finish her question. Instead, he reached out like lightning and grabbed the hair at the back of her head. Then he jerked her forward into his embrace and simultaneously yanked her head back, exposing her throat. His fangs erupted in his mouth and, a split heartbeat later, they were plunging into the side of her neck.

  He didn’t bother with the pleasure this time. That was not the point. This time, he needed her to feel the pain and only the pain. He needed it to hurt, in every sense of the word. It was, quite probably, her last hope.

  Eleanore’s slim form went rigid in his arms and Uriel’s heart broke. He felt it; a very real pain in the hollow of his chest. She didn’t even scream. When true pain overtakes a person, it can steal their breath from their lungs, taking their voice altogether.

  Please forgive me, he repeated desperately, sending the thought into her mind even while he knew that he shouldn’t. It would be best for her if he showed no emotion, no remorse; if he simply took and gave nothing back. He had to really hurt her if he wanted Samael’s contract with her to kick in. But, though he was able to bring himself to hold her still, to pierce her flesh, and drain her nearly dry, he could not keep from doing this one tiny thing. He could not keep his pleas from her mind and from her soul.

  I love you, he told her. Forgive me.

  The gala had officially begun and Samael smiled at the knowledge that he would be fashionably late. However, he turned in surprise from where he had been adjusting his cuff links in the mirror as the air in his master bedroom shimmered and began to hum. The vibration had a familiar ring to it—a delicate, female kind of buzz.

  It can’t be, he thought. But he was wrong this time, because as it turned out, it was.

  He turned toward his king-sized bed, where the shimmering air lowered, warped, and then flashed a blindingly brilliant white. He squinted slightly, and when the flare died down a young woman lay on his bed, her unconscious form sprawled delicately across his black satin comforter. She was dressed in crimson and her very pale skin contrasted starkly against the dark, shimmering material.

  “Ellie,” he whispered.

  He made his way to the side of the bed and looked down on her unmoving form. She seemed not to be breathing, but two terrible, deep wounds in her throat continued to bleed as he watched. Her life’s liquid pumped ever so weakly from the puncture marks, slowly drenching the quilt beneath her.

  It meant that her heart was still beating.

  Samael knelt beside the bed and took her chin in his hand. He gently turned her face toward him and gazed upon her closed lids. Her long lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks. She looked innocent.

  He placed his palm to her chest, closed his eyes, and concentrated. A rare and incredible power eased itself from his form into hers. It repaired the damage to her throat, mended her broken artery, and even replaced what blood had been lost. Not all angels could replace blood. Just him, in fact. But, then, he had many powers that the other archangels did not possess.

  Samael leaned back then, and once he felt her pulse begin to beat steady and strong beneath his palm, he removed his hand from her chest.

  It had been a very long time since the Fallen One had bothered to bring someone back from the brink of death. And yet now, with Eleanore Granger, it seemed the natural thing to do. To not heal her would have been unthinkable.

  In fact, bringing Ellie to the brink of death in the first place was unacceptable. And he could not fathom why it had been done.

  For a moment, he watched her sleep, his gaze sweeping over her slumbering features to the curve of her chin, her long graceful neck, and décolletage—and the slim gorgeous body beyond. Then his gaze flicked back to her eyes. With sudden, hard determination, he mentally delved past them, going deeper. Within the confines of her brain, he scanned through her memories, rifling through her thoughts and sifting through the events of the past several hours, searching for what reason there could possibly have been for Uriel to attack her.

  When he heard the shots and felt the instant fear and saw the confusion from Eleanore’s perspective, Samael understood.

  It all made sense now.

  Uriel hadn’t hurt her because he’d wanted to. And he hadn’t lost control, which was what Samael had assumed happened, considering the sight of Eleanore in that red satin gown. Instead, Uriel had attacked her in order to save her. He’d known that she would have no choice but to keep her end of her bargain with Samael. And he also assumed that, knowing Samael, the
re was most likely a stipulation within the contract that would magically whisk her away from Uriel the moment he hurt her.

  Luckily for Eleanore, Uriel had been right in his assumptions.

  Uriel fell slightly forward when Eleanore suddenly shimmered and popped out of existence in his arms. Then he shoved himself back against the wall behind the table and forced himself to stay calm.

  She was with Samael now. And though he trusted Samael about as far as he could throw him, Uriel knew that she was safer with the Fallen One than she was anywhere else in the world at that moment.

  Uriel took a moment to push away the dizzying swell of power that rushed through him as Eleanore’s blood mingled with his own in his veins. But along with the ebb of power came a hearty dose of fear for what he may have done to her by taking so much.

  However, this, too, he pushed away. It could do him no good to dwell on it. What was done was done.

  The important thing now was to find out what the hell was going on and deal with it. Uriel shifted fully into vampire mode. At once, he was moving so fast that his body became blurred to the people around him. He came to his feet and searched his surroundings for any sign of familiar faces.

  Scores of people had entered the building and were now crowding the bathrooms in order to escape the gunshots that seemed to be coming from all directions. Someone had dragged the injured woman down from the table and moved her aside. From the sound of her heartbeat, she was still alive, but barely.

  Outside, the sirens were drawing nearer, but some of the people in the crowd had become hysterical. Others were in shock. Uriel focused outward and shot out a telepathic call to his brothers and his guardian. There were several beats of silence, in which Uriel had the new and disturbing sensation that he was alone—that his “family” was no longer in existence. But then he sensed a familiar, heavy presence brush his mind and the fear was gone.