“General.” As Kevin reached the cell, the men on either side of the door greeted him and stepped aside.
“Any trouble from our guest?” asked Kevin.
“No, sir. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
The door clicked open and Kevin peered into the grayness of the room beyond. He listened. Shallow breathing came from its corner. He adjusted his vision and Uriel’s tall, bent outline became clearly visible.
“No need to stand on my account. Please sit before you fall down.”
“If you’ve come to torture me, at least do it in silence. I really can’t stand the sound of your voice,” Uriel rasped.
Kevin stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind him. It clicked shut and the lock slid into place.
He took in the archangel’s physical state: bloody lip, bloody nose, black eye, cut on the forehead, bruises forming everywhere. His men had been having fun with their prisoner. No doubt it confused Uriel that he could not defend himself against them. The manacles around the archangel’s legs were lined with the same metal that he’d been strapped down with on the interrogation table. It was a metal that Kevin had created centuries ago when he’d discovered that the alloy prevented an archangel from using any of his supernatural abilities.
“It’s a shame you’ve had to suffer so much. If only Eleanore were here.” Kevin moved through the room to stand before Uriel, who was leaning against the back wall, his clothing tattered and torn and soaked with both blood and sweat.
The archangel eyed Kevin through wary—and weary—eyes.
“She could heal you,” Kevin finished.
Uriel threw back his head and laughed, the deep, barking sound bouncing and echoing off of the walls around them.
Kevin stopped in his tracks. The laughter was Uriel’s only reply. Not that Kevin had expected anything more. But it would have been nice, for once, not to have to do things the hard way.
Lightning coursed across the dark night, thunder chasing on its heels with dogged determination. It shook the windows in their panes and created a chaotic background music to the conversations taking place within the mansion.
The storm was Eleanore’s doing, Though she’d had years of practice controlling the weather, it reflected the turmoil inside of her now no matter how much she tried to calm it. And she wasn’t the only one upset. Everyone in the mansion’s large kitchen was agitated to some degree.
Everyone, that is, except one.
Samael alone appeared calm. He was the eye of the hurricane, and he remained collected and in control. It was unnerving and felt a little like sitting in a living room with a disturbingly composed dragon.
When the knock had come at the door less than an hour before, Azrael had opened it to find a sealed envelope on the doorstep. An ultimatum had been delivered: Eleanore for Uriel, or Uriel would die and Eleanore would be taken, one way or another.
The ultimatum had set off a domino-like tremor of anger through the room. Not one of them was under the delusion that their enemy intended to turn Uriel over to them alive, no matter what the paper might read. If Michael, Gabriel, and Azrael had any hope of seeing their brother alive again, the fact was they needed Samael’s help. Nothing brought home that realization more than the fact that the enemy had found the mansion in the first place. Such a thing was supposed to be impossible.
No one in the mansion was reacting particularly well to the night’s developments.
Gabriel’s reaction was the most impressive. He’d gone through a six-pack in forty-five minutes and had nearly carved a trench in the floor where he had been pacing back and forth, furiously running his hand through his thick black hair, his silver eyes flashing with obvious wrath.
Max handled it differently, preferring to remain in his role of caretaker than to break down and show any real emotion. He had instructed the archangels to create new clothing for Eleanore so that she could get out of the Lavonde dress and be more comfortable. Then he brewed a pot of tea.
Michael, for his part, had taken up residence in a seat across from Samael at the dining room table. Jason, as usual, was standing, and was watching Ellie’s storm through a large window several discreet steps away from his master. Azrael had gone out to find a “meal.” Eleanore was under no delusions as to what that meant.
The men who had Uriel wanted to make a trade at two a.m. in a field outside of Dallas. They had an hour and twenty minutes to go and virtually no workable plan as to how to retrieve Uriel alive. Eleanore’s skin felt prickly. Her face felt hot and her body felt cold. She was terrified.
Many people made it a policy never to deal with terrorists or hostage takers. It wasn’t a good idea to allow the enemy any kind of control over you. Everyone in the mansion was aware of that. They were all well aware that agreeing to anything the kidnappers proposed would be as good as saying, “You win. You’re stronger than we are. Take what you want; we can’t stop you.”
But their enemy’s weapons were superior, their powers were greater, they knew about the mansion and those inside it—and they had Uriel. They were holding all the cards.
“You can’t place any confidence in such an action,” Samael said, in response to something Michael had just suggested. “We don’t know what powers they possess. We don’t even know what they are.”
They had been tossing ideas back and forth for the last forty minutes, and with each passing second, Gabriel and Max became more agitated. Samael, on the other hand, simply remained the poster boy for handsome, confident serenity. From the look on Michael’s face, Eleanore surmised the man had never hated Samael more.
“Then wha’ the bloody hell are they?” Gabriel finally shouted, slamming his fist down on the table as he shot out of his chair to take up pacing once more. “Will someone just fucking tell us already!”
“They are called Adarians,” came an unexpected female voice from just beyond the archway that led to the living room and foyer.
Everyone in the room spun to find Lilith standing beside the fireplace, her hands calmly clasped before her, her wealth of dark hair pulled into a loose bun that allowed wisps of it to fall and frame her delicate features.
“Lilith,” Max said, clearly surprised, as he came to his feet.
“Max.” Lilith nodded at him. “Michael, Gabriel, Azrael.” She greeted them all in turn and then settled her dark eyes on Eleanore. “Archess,” she said, smiling kindly and bowing her head ever so slightly.
Eleanore blinked, surprised by the gesture. But she was saved from having to respond in any way by Samael’s deep, sexy voice slicing through the silence.
“Lilith, what are you doing here?” There was an edge to his words that hadn’t been there before. It was the first break in his calm facade that any of them had witnessed thus far that night.
“I’m helping, Sam,” Lilith said. “As you should be.”
To this, Samael said nothing. But his storm-gray eyes darkened and the lightning that crisscrossed the sky outside was reflected in their shadowy depths.
“As I was saying,” Lilith continued, undaunted by his dark look. She moved away from the fireplace and Max simultaneously moved around the table, drawing closer to her. Eleanore noticed that Samael had straightened in his chair as if he, too, were ready to stand.
“The men who have Uriel are the Adarians. They are, for lack of a better description”—she paused and met each of their gazes before she finished—“archangels.”
Stunned silence followed this proclamation. Archangels? The idea was impossible.
Michael and Gabriel stared at Lilith in shock. Max was pale. Azrael was still as a statue, which Ellie knew only meant that whatever surprise he was feeling, he was hiding as masterfully as always.
Samael was the only one among them who did not look astounded. Instead, his expression was one of barely contained fury.
Lilith went on. “You didn’t know of their existence because the Old Man did everything he could to hide their creation from you. You were made long a
fter they were disposed of.”
“Lilith.” Samael’s voice was so low, so deadly in its warning that the Fallen One drew every pair of eyes in the room.
However, Lilith ignored him once more. “Their name was given to them by their creator after their disposal, and means ‘the first,’ though they were obviously not the last of their kind,” she continued. She had come to a halt near the archway that led to the dining room, and she drew no closer. Instead, she glanced once at Samael, who speared her with a hard gaze, and then she pulled her eyes away to look at Max.
“There were twelve Adarians created before one was fashioned that the Old Man was not unhappy with. The thirteenth Adarian did not appear to be as powerful as the others, or as concerned with his own welfare and interests. Up to that point, the Adarians had proven themselves to be selfish, and the combination of their egotism and immense power troubled the Old Man. So the first dozen were cast down. However, the thirteenth Adarian—”
“Lilith, that is enough.” Samael rose from his chair then and lightning struck directly overhead, its thunder shaking the very foundations of the mansion.
“Oh my God,” Eleanore whispered, her hand at her throat in an unconscious protective gesture. She stared up at Samael in wonder. “The thirteenth archangel—the thirteenth Adarian—is you.”
Another stunned moment of silence followed, and then Gabriel turned his silver gaze on the Fallen One. “You knew,” he accused with a hiss. “You bloody well knew who they were this whole fucking time.”
Samael met his gaze and held it. He didn’t confirm it. But neither was his silence a denial.
Michael must have sensed what was coming a half second before it happened, and he shoved his body into motion in an effort to stop the impending trouble.
Gabriel was rushing for Samael, a blur of tall, dark male, and Samael was turning to meet him head-on. Michael moved so quickly, he seemed to almost blink out of existence from where he was standing to reappear between Gabriel and Sam.
“Stop!” He turned and barked the order at Gabriel, allowing his otherworldly command to boom through the room and echo off the walls.
Gabriel came to a sudden halt, his silver eyes glowing eerily in his tanned, handsome face. “Get out of the way, Mike, or I bloody swear I will take you down along with’im,” Gabriel growled.
“Enough, both of you.” Max waved his hand forcefully and a surge of hardened air separated Gabriel from Michael, shoving them both back until Gabriel slammed into the counter behind him and Michael hit the wall. Both men landed on their booted feet, teeth bared, bodies primed for battle.
Eleanore backed up into the kitchen that adjoined the dining room. She didn’t know what to make of any of this. But she knew that the fact that Samael had kept the truth from them was not just selfish and wrong, it was dangerous. She had no idea why he wouldn’t share what he knew, especially since he had come to them in a kind of truce. But she knew she couldn’t trust him—ever.
Samael’s tall, strong form had never appeared more like carved steel. He turned away from the two brothers and focused his attention on Lilith. “You believe you’ve helped, but as you can see, you’ve only complicated matters.” His expression was calm once more, but behind that cool and unruffled exterior was a tumultuous temper.
“So you would like to believe, Sam,” Lilith said. “But you and I both know that isn’t true. And you know that Uriel will die unless his brothers understand and can prepare for what they are up against.”
“Why would you want Uriel to die?” Eleanore asked softly. She couldn’t help it. None of this made any sense. “If Uriel dies, then you’ll lose him as a servant. I thought that was what you wanted,” she accused.
Samael turned those intense charcoal-gray eyes on her and she swallowed hard. There was more than just anger in their stormy depths. There was something covetous there as well.
“Don’t look at her like that!” Gabriel bellowed. “She’s no’ yours!”
He launched himself from where he was standing against the counter in the kitchen. He and Samael hit so hard, so fast, the impact created a flash of power that rippled out like circles in a pond. Lightning and thunder once more shook the mansion. Eleanore was forcefully thrown back, but Max managed to catch her in his arms before she hit the wall behind her. He set her on her feet and rushed toward the two struggling archangels, as did Michael.
But before either of them could interfere, Azrael’s tall form shifted where he stood in the shadows on one side of the dining room. Eleanore looked up to catch the briefest flash of an image overlaying the vampire archangel. It was blurry and indistinct, but she could have sworn she saw the outline of what looked like a dark figure in robes, carrying a scythe.
And then it was gone and Azrael’s gold eyes were glowing like suns and his fangs were bared and there was a sound wave of power swelling outward from his corner of the room.
The wrinkle in space slammed into both Samael and Gabriel, separating them with hurricane force and throwing them both across the rooms of the mansion. It was an immensely focused wave of power and, miraculously, hit no one else. Gabriel went sailing through the air to slam into and then through the wall on the left so that he landed in the hallway on the other side. Samael came within a foot of hitting the living room wall to the right before he stopped, straightened in midair, and gently landed on the carpet beneath him. However, his glowing eyes were anything but gentle.
The storm raging outside had now given birth to a wind so strong, it sounded as if they were about to be hit with a class five tornado.
“Azrael is right,” Eleanore said. “This needs to stop.” Hers was a voice of reason in what had become a mansion filled with raging testosterone. “We haven’t much time,” she continued, as she made her way to the dining room table and began to pull out a chair.
Max seemed to shake himself and leapt into gentlemanly action, moving forward to take the back of the chair from her hands and scoot it out for her. She offered him a small, grateful smile and sat down. Then Max turned to Lilith and pulled out another empty chair. He gestured that she should sit as well.
Lilith sat down and Max joined them.
In the dining room, Samael snapped his fingers and the torn and slightly ruffled suit he’d been wearing a moment before was instantly replaced with a suit and shirt of pitch-black. His charcoal-gray tie matched his eyes. As he made his way to the table and gracefully took a seat across from Eleanore, she had to admit that it was an incredibly sexy look on him.
Samael caught her gaze and he held it fast; there was no way he’d missed her appreciation. Eleanore blushed furiously and forced herself to pull her attention from the Fallen One and back to the task at hand.
She could hear Gabriel coming up from behind and could see Michael joining them as well as she turned to Lilith and asked, “How do we get Uriel back alive?”
“Finally,” Lilith said, smiling warmly at her. “A reasonable angel.”
“I’m no angel,” Eleanore quietly insisted.
“Yes, you are,” said every man in the room.
“All right, big guy,” the guard said as he gave Uriel’s chains a jerk and, with the help of two other guards, brought Uriel to his feet. “It’s time to move out.” The guard flashed a nasty, brilliant-white smile. “The rabbit’s nearly in the wolf’s den.”
Uriel slowly raised his head and peered at the guard through the tops of his green, glowing eyes. The man was caught, if only for a moment, in the hatred of that burning, emerald gaze. For a millisecond, uncertainty flashed in his own light brown eyes. But then it was gone, and the guard was once more barking orders to the other members of his security detail.
Together, they moved Uriel down the long, metal-lined corridor and through a metal door that led outside. The moment the door opened, sheets of rain slammed into the group, slanting out of the darkness of the pitch-black night. The guards seemed to be expecting it; they weren’t surprised by the lightning that split up the sky with blu
e-white fractures that looked like spiderweb cracks on an ebony vase. They were unfazed by the thunder that seemed to rumble at a loud and constant drone.
Uriel, on the other hand, hadn’t known it was storming. The tiny cell he’d been locked in had been deep underground and pain had been his constant companion, blocking out all other sensations. The rain surprised him now, as he raised his face and tasted it in the drops that entered his mouth and nose. As they moved him from the nondescript building where he had been kept to the van that awaited them, the rain washed over him, a cool salve on his torn flesh and weary muscles.
His body was exhausted.
The general’s men possessed truly malicious powers. They were all supernaturally strong and they had all been trained to hit where it hurt. But a few of them had the vile ability to simply cause pain with no more than a touch. Or a glance. One of them had demonstrated his aptitude for causing someone to bleed through the pores, soaking Uriel’s shirt with the blood he desperately needed to remain within his vampire veins. Yet another possessed the ability to enter Uriel’s mind, flashing torrid, sickening images of Eleanore, tied down and suffering through all manners of torture, each of them blatantly sexual.
Their combined manipulations over the past several hours had drained Uriel both body and mind. He had tried to defend himself so many times, but he failed and in the end, he was left devoid of strength or power. He couldn’t even fix his clothing, and should he ever see Eleanore again, he desperately didn’t want her to see him covered from head to boot in his own blood.
He had never felt so helpless—so hopeless—in his entire, long life.
But the rain . . . Maybe it was his imagination; maybe he was delirious and his mind was playing tricks on him. But he could have sworn that the rain was taking the pain away. It felt different; it felt good. In the fever of his weary brain, it reminded him of Ellie.
Uriel glanced down at his torn black shirt and noticed the rain washing the blood off of him in pink-tinged rivulets. The red streams were becoming clearer and clearer with each passing moment. He caught a glimpse of his skin and, to his blinking surprise, he didn’t see the cut that had been there moments before.