It was gone.
“Get him in quick,” a guard ordered. Uriel was shoved forward until his shin hit the van’s doorframe and he fell onto his manacled wrists and across the metal floor. The handcuffs once more bit into his skin, but this time the metal scored fresh slices into his flesh. Which meant that the wounds he’d had before had healed.
Again Uriel blinked, astonished. He could barely fathom how this had occurred. Somehow, the storm that raged outside had healed him. At least to some physical extent. He was still drained of precious blood—and as a vampire, that was particularly dire.
But the cuts and bruises were gone, and the few bones they’d managed to break felt as if they’d mended. He wondered if the guards had noticed his miraculous recovery.
Uriel thought fast. In an effort to keep his mending hidden, he curled in on himself, as would a man in great amounts of pain. Someone standing above him laughed. Another man snickered. The door to the van slid shut.
His captors made a few rude comments about “vengeance” and “comeuppance” and the van started up and pulled out of the empty, private lot. Uriel lay still and listened to the sound of the tires on the wet asphalt and the rain pelting the van’s roof. His mind was spinning in a mad, frantic attempt to formulate some sort of plan.
He had no idea where they were going. He only knew that, wherever it was, the men who held him prisoner, along with their general, were positive Eleanore would be waiting for them there.
If Uriel’s attack on her had indeed sent her to Samael, as he’d planned, then she wouldn’t be alone. Samael might not care what became of Uriel, but he sure as hell cared about what happened to the archess. Archangels were a dime a dozen to Samael, but an archess was precious.
And his brothers . . . Would they be there? Were they even alive?
Uriel’s chest felt tight at the thought, but he shoved his doubt away and forced himself to think positively. They are alive. He would know if they weren’t.
In which case, it was possible that they might be able to help. Not probable, but possible. All it would take was a little cooperation between them—and Samael.
Uriel closed his eyes and forced his negative thoughts away. It was a long shot. Like rain healing your wounds. There was something that didn’t happen every day.
It’s Ellie.
The thought struck him from nowhere, but it echoed in his mind clear as a bell. Eleanore was causing the storm. She must be somewhere nearby. She had called up a gale—and, somehow, it had healed him. She had healed him.
As impossible as it seemed, he knew it was true. And whatever the reason, it only strengthened Uriel’s resolve to be free of these monsters and save Eleanore from the fate he’d endured for the past several hours. He would not let them touch her. She was more precious than the sun and moon. And she was his alone.
From beneath the cover of the arms he had folded over his face and head, Uriel opened his eyes and glanced quickly around the van. There were three men in the back with him. All were armed with the strange, horrible guns. Uriel’s wrists and ankles were still bound with cuffs made of the same metal as his cell and prevented him from using any of his supernatural abilities. And he desperately needed blood. Now that the rest of his body was healed, it was easier to feel the gnawing pain in his gut that told him he needed to feed—and soon—or he would die.
Think, Uriel. Think! He shut his eyes again and saw the van’s interior behind his closed lids. Three men. All armed. He envisioned them all, their positions, their weapons. His powers had not yet worked against any of these “first” archangels. He knew that well enough now not to waste his energy even trying. If he was going to defeat them, he would have to do it without any supernatural ability.
Like a human.
Think like a human, he told himself. Think.
“So let me get this straight,” Eleanore ventured, licking her lips and drawing the glances of several of the men around her. Not that she noticed. She stared at the tabletop as she concentrated, her focus one of stark determination. “The boy I communicated with through my bedroom window when I was a teenager isn’t actually named Kevin. His name is Abraxos?”
Lilith nodded. “Yes, though he does go by Kevin for the most part these days. He has changed his name many times over the years, as you can imagine.”
Eleanore nodded her understanding.
Lilith continued. “At first glance, and to an outsider, this appears to be some kind of military operation as he has colonels, lieutenants, and captains working beneath him. But most of them aren’t even human, much less belonging to any army on Earth. The ones that are human obviously come and go. They act as servants to the Adarians—pawns, if you will. But they do so of their own free will and usually for the rewards that come with the service. The general has amassed a hefty amount of wealth over the years. Not one of his human soldiers has ever betrayed his trust, and I’m sure you can guess why; it would be suicidal. The rest of his men are Adarians. All of them, human or not, are aware of what he is and are loyal to a fault.”
“So what are their weaknesses?” Michael asked, a tad impatiently.
Lilith thought carefully. “They can’t heal themselves, so if they’re injured, they have to heal at a normal, human rate.”
“But Samael can heal,” Eleanore said with a slight frown. “I don’t understand.”
“He was determined different from the other Adarians for several reasons,” Lilith explained, as if Samael were not actually sitting there with them at the dining room table. Much to everyone’s surprise, though, Samael simply sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and listened quietly as a small smile curled the corners of his lips.
“There are a few powers that the Adarians possess that Samael does not. And vice versa,” Lilith said.
There was a brief moment of silence after this, and then Michael leaned forward on his arms and laced his fingers together on the tabletop. “So they can’t heal themselves, they can’t control the weather, and they can’t read people’s minds. So far, this is a list of non-powers, not a list of weaknesses. What the hell can we do that will actually hurt these guys?”
“Gold.”
The room went still at the single word Samael uttered. He smiled at the response and exchanged a knowing glance with Lilith.
“Come again?” Gabriel said, his voice gruff with the anger he’d managed to keep in check for the past half hour.
“Gold is caustic to the Adarians,” Lilith said.
“You mean in the way that silver is caustic to werewolves?” Eleanore asked.
“Silver is not caustic to werewolves,” Azrael told her gently. “Again—humans have their myths confused.”
Eleanore supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point.
Michael turned his gaze to Lilith. “So gold will harm them. And all it has to do is touch them?”
“I believe so. Mind you, my knowledge of the Adarians is limited,” Lilith replied.
Max sighed heavily. “So we need a boatload of gold and we need it fast. You’d best get to work, boys. We’re supposed to meet the Adarians somewhere just outside of Dallas in little more than half an hour.”
“No problem,” Azrael, Gabriel, and Michael all said at once. The three archangels turned to face the living room behind them and, as one, they focused on the coffee table at the center of the room.
A flash of light, a buzz in the air, and the oak coffee table was solid gold.
Eleanore’s eyes widened. She remembered the thick gold “paint” that Gabriel had created over the window in the bed-and-breakfast in Trinidad. Now she realized he had actually turned the window to gold. “Okaaay,” she whispered. “Why isn’t every piece of furniture in your house made of solid gold, then?”
“What, like a King Midas kind of thing?” Michael asked, turning a friendly smile on her. “Not our style. Besides,” he went on, shrugging his broad shoulders, “gold is cold and hard and blinds the crap out of you when the s
un catches it.”
“So we have our gold,” Max said. “Now we need to figure out what to do with it.”
“I say we try this out right now and see if it works on Adarians like he says it will.” Gabriel cut his eyes to Samael and narrowed his gaze. Then he reached his hand out and a carving knife from the kitchen countertop slid from its resting place in a wooden receptacle and flew into Gabriel’s grasp. Another small flash of transforma-tive light and it, too, was solid gold.
“Control yourself, Gabriel,” Max warned, coming to his feet to stand between the two archangels. “We don’t have time for this.”
Gabriel shot Samael a warning look of pure silver and the golden carving knife flew back to its place in the block.
Max turned to face Samael. “For hand-to-hand combat, solid gold bends too easily. We need weapons constructed of some kind of alloy; I would say ten carats or less?” He looked to Lilith for confirmation and, after brief consideration, she nodded.
“Good. Can the four of you handle that while I speak with Eleanore?” His gaze slid from Sam to Michael and his brothers.
He didn’t wait for them to reply, but instead he offered Eleanore his hand. She looked up at him with uncertainty. Then she took his hand and he led her out of the dining room, through the living room, and into one of the long hallways beyond.
Once they were alone in one of the guest rooms, Max closed the door behind them and waved his hand over the face of it. It rippled slightly and then settled back into place.
“What did you do?”
“Soundproofed the room. I don’t want Samael hearing what I have to tell you.”
Eleanore fidgeted nervously as he turned his full attention on her.
“If what Lilith told us is true about Samael and the Adarians, and I have no reason to doubt her, then Samael is incredibly powerful, Ellie. More powerful than we had imagined. If he’s determined that he’ll claim you as his own archess, then you and Uriel both have a terrible fight on your hands.” He shook his head. “A fight you have almost no hope of winning.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s a possibility.” He waited a moment before continuing. “It’s also possible that it’s not you in particular that Samael is after. It’s possible that he has his sights set on an archess in general. You’re just the only one we’ve managed to find so far.”
“Okay . . . and?” Eleanore hedged him for his point.
“In that case, his plan might be to stop the bonding of at least one of the archangels. I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want all four of them to find and claim their archesses. A part of me dearly hopes that this is the case, because it would mean that once you are fully bonded with Uriel, Samael will let you go in favor of hunting down another archess.”
Eleanore considered his words, her stomach turning somersaults. She didn’t know what to do. How was she supposed to bond herself to Uriel? “What do you need me to do?” she finally asked.
“I want you to search your true feelings, Eleanore,” Max said, cupping her cheek gently with his palm as his eyes peered deeply into hers. “Because when the time comes, you are going to have to make a choice—and you’re going to have to make that choice very clear. It isn’t as easy as proclaiming your love in three little words. I hope you didn’t think it would be.”
Eleanore frowned. “Well . . . yeah. I guess I sort of did.”
Max smiled and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many lies have been told using those words? Countless. It’s number one on the top five million lies list and has been since time immemorial.” He chuckled softly and Eleanore found that she couldn’t help but smile as well, even though her heart was sinking into her stomach.
“But that’s what Uriel did,” she said softly. “He told me he loved me.”
Max nodded. “Uriel truly loves you. He has from the moment he set eyes upon you, Eleanore. His devotion to you was never in question. But you are a being of free will and you haven’t been searching for your angelic mate for the duration of your life, as he has.”
Eleanore swallowed hard and shook her head, shrugging once more. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Just remember, Ellie,” Max said as he let his hand drop to his side. “Actions speak louder than words. They always have and they always will. You will know what to do when the time comes.” He offered her one last tender smile, winked at her, and then waved his hand over the door. It rippled once, clicked open, and Max left the room.
Eleanore watched him make his way down the hall toward the family room until he disappeared around the corner. Then she turned toward the large French windows against one wall and gazed out at the wet, waiting night. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, echoing the tempest of emotions wreaking havoc with her heart and soul.
“Max Gillihan is a wise man,” came a cool, deep voice behind her.
Eleanore spun to see Samael standing just inside the room, tall and strong and impossibly handsome in his sable suit. His charcoal eyes met hers and darkened. With a casual flick of his wrist, he waved the door shut. For the second time that night, Eleanore watched it ripple under a silencing effect.
“Now that he’s had his say, it’s time that I have mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Samael looked down at the floor as the door’s lock slid telekinetically into place. He casually slipped his hands into his pockets and seemed to be contemplating something deeply as he began a slow pace toward Eleanore.
A sharp, intoxicating mixture of fear and anticipation shot through Eleanore and she found herself taking a step back.
Sam’s stormy gaze lifted instantly, cutting to her with hard precision and holding her in place. His expression was more determined than she had ever seen it.
“Ellie,” he began softly, “I’ll be honest with you. Gillihan is right. I do want an archess of my own,” he told her, still coming ever closer in slow, deliberate steps across the carpeted floor. “And I do have my reasons.”
She could no longer retreat; he was holding her in some sort of thrall.
“He’s also correct in assuming that I possess . . .” He stopped a foot away from her, looked her up and down, and recaptured her indigo gaze. “Formidable power,” he finished.
Then he cocked his head to one side, his charcoal eyes glittering as he studied her features. “I am a king among angels, Ellie. And I could use a queen. What do you say?”
Eleanore swallowed hard and did not even try to hide the fact that her breathing had become ragged and her body trembled.
Samael closed the final distance between them and Eleanore gasped at his sudden nearness. He smelled divine; it was the scent of expensive cologne, and something else, something seductive and heady—power. His tall, broad form, so expertly draped in fine, tailored material, was overwhelming. He was so intense, so vividly potent. She could feel his power all around him, and it was surrounding her as well.
He raised his hand and slowly captured a lock of her raven hair to rub it admiringly between his thumb and forefinger. “You know in your heart that I can give you anything you desire.” He dropped her hair and Ellie felt his hand snake around her waist to press gently against her lower back. She could barely breathe now.
“I want Uriel,” she said.
Samael was not fazed. He chuckled softly, using his hand to pull her body against his. “And you can have him.” He grinned. “Be mine, Eleanore, and Uriel will become my servant. If you join me, he will serve you as well. You can have him whenever you like.” His white smile was devastating. She couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not, but she was lost in that smile and the pure predatory nature of it.
Eleanore closed her eyes. She was not sure it was the safest thing to do while she was in the Fallen One’s arms, but it at least allowed her an escape from his hypnotic gaze. It gave her the slightest bit of room to think.
“You were going to let him die,” she accused softly.
?
??Marry me and I will make certain he lives.”
Eleanore’s eyes flew open and were immediately caught once more in his. She peered long and hard into that stormy gaze, as if searching for some sign that what he said was true. “You can save him?” How could he be so sure? The Adarians were a small army of intensely powerful archangels. Could Samael truly promise such a thing?
His smile and the lightning that flashed so resolutely in his gaze were all the answer she needed. He could do it. He could do anything. He was Samael.
“Consider something, Ellie,” he continued. His free hand rose toward her neck and she tried to pull away, but his arm at her back prevented her escape. Deftly and gently, he encircled her throat and caressed the curve of her chin with his thumb. “I know what you like. I know what turns you on.” Using tender, but persistent strength, he tilted her head to one side, exposing the column of her neck to his gaze. Ellie once more closed her eyes. “And in a week’s time, your precious Uriel will no longer be a vampire. A deal is a deal, after all.”
He bent over her, lowering his lips to her ear. “Tell me, Ellie, will you still enjoy his company so much when he doesn’t bite?”
Fight him, Eleanore. Get away from him! Her mind screamed at her, but her body remained captured in his thrall, her legs weakening, her head spinning end over end. He drew her against him with more persistence. Her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest and she felt his breath on the taut flesh of her neck.
His teeth grazed her there.
Eleanore’s breath caught in her throat and her hands flew up, her fingers gripping the hard muscles in his arms beneath the fine material of his suit.
Stop, she thought, because she couldn’t say it out loud. Please stop.
“Do you really want me to?”
His hand slid beneath her hoodie and T-shirt at her back to meet smooth skin. His teeth trailed a threatening path up her throat to the curve of her ear, where he nipped gently. A wave of piercing pleasure rode through her, making her wet and drawing a moan from somewhere deep in her throat.