Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(23)

The door opened behind him. "Sire?"

"Dmitri, you are to stay away from the hunter."

"If the sire so wishes." A pause. "I could reduce her to begging. She would no longer disobey your orders."

"I don't want her to beg." Raphael was surprised to find that to be true. "She'll be more effective with her spirit intact."

"And after?" Dmitri's voice was full of sensual anticipation. "May I have her after the hunt? She . . . draws me."

"No. After the hunt, she's mine." Any begging Elena would be doing would fall on his ears alone.

He was going to kill her.

Elena sat bolt upright in her beautiful artwork of a bed. The headboard was a one-of-a-kind design of the most delicately formed metal, while the white-on-white sheets and puffy comforters were embroidered with tiny, tiny flowers. To the right of her bed were sliding French doors that led out onto a small private balcony she'd turned into a miniature garden. And beyond that lay the view of Archangel Tower.

Inside, the walls were papered in a heavy cream design with accents of blue and silver that echoed the deep blue carpet. The curtains on the French doors were gauzy and white, though there was a heavier set of brocade curtains she usually kept tied back. Huge sunflowers bloomed against the white porcelain of the large Chinese vase in the opposite corner of the room, bringing the sunshine inside.

She'd been given that vase by a grateful Chinese angel after she tracked down one of his wayward charges. The young vampire-having barely completed her Contract-had decided she didn't need angelic protection anymore. Elena had found her huddling terrified in a sex shop that catered to a very weird set of clientele. The job had taken her into the bowels of the Shanghai underworld, but the vase was a piece of light, unblemished by time. The whole room was a haven, one she'd spent months getting just right.

But right then, she could've been sitting on a dirt floor in a hovel somewhere south of Beijing. Her eyes were open but all she saw was a frozen image of that vampire in Times Square, the one not a single f*cking person had dared help. She knew she wouldn't end up that way, not if Raphael wanted the whole thing swept under the rug, but she was most certainly dead.

He'd told her about glamour.

As far as she was aware, no hunter, no human, knew about that particular little piece of archangelic power. It was akin to seeing the face of your kidnapper-no matter what he says after that point, you know you're done for.

"No. Fucking. Way." Clenching her hands on her beautiful Egyptian cotton comforter, she narrowed her eyes and considered her options.

Option 1: Attempt to back out.

Probable result: Death after painful torture.

Option 2: Do the job and hope.

Probable result: Death but probably no torture (good).

Option 3: Get Raphael to give her an oath not to kill her.

Probable result: Oaths were serious business so she'd live. But he'd still be able to torture her until she went insane.

"So think of a better oath," she muttered to herself. "No death, no torture, definitely no turning me into a vampire." She bit her lower lip and wondered if the oath could be extended to her friends and family. Family. Yeah, right. They hated her guts. But she didn't want them ripped open while she was forced to watch.

Blood hitting tile.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A whistling, gurgling plea.

Looking up to find Mirabelle still alive.

The monster smiled. "Come here, little hunter. Taste."

Drip.

Drip.

A wet, tearing sound, thick, obscene, out of a nightmare.

Elena shoved off the comforter and swung her legs over the side of the bed, face ice-cold. That particular memory had the ability to destroy any and all warmth in her soul. Sitting there with her head in her hands, she stared down at the deep blue of carpet and tried to zone out. It was the only way to escape when the memories found a hole in her defenses and snuck inside, their talons as grasping and as venomous as that of-

Something smacked to ground on the balcony.

The gun she kept under her pillow was in her hand and pointed toward the French doors before she even realized she'd moved. Her hand was steady, her body flushed with adrenaline. Scanning the balcony through the gauzy curtains, she saw no one, but only a very stupid hunter would lower her guard that easily. Elena wasn't stupid. She got up, unmindful of the fact that all she wore was a white tank top and mint green panties cut to mimic tiny shorts, the sides slit halfway up and decorated with pretty pink ribbon.

Gaze focused outside, she used her free hand to push the gauzy curtains aside, one at a time. The balcony came into full view. No pissed-off vampire stood there. The f*ckers couldn't fly but she'd once seen three of them scale a high-rise building like a pack of four-legged spiders. That bunch had done it as a joke, but if they could do it, so could others.

She double-checked.

No vampire. No angel, either.

Her arm was starting to ache a little from holding the gun in position but she didn't breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, she started scanning the edges of the balcony-she had a lot of plants out there, including creepers that hung down from the curved "roof" she'd had added-but she made damn sure nothing ever blocked her view of the balcony rim. If someone was clinging out there, she'd be able to see their fingertips.