Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(54)

Soft, sweet, body cream.

Blood.

Skin.

A jagged lash of acid. Sharp. A scent with bite. Interesting. Full of layers. Pungent but not putrid.

That was what always amazed her. When vampires went bad, they didn't magically gain an evil scent. They smelled the same as they always had. If Dmitri went bad, he'd retain his allure, his seductive chocolate cake and frosting and sex with all the toppings kind of smell. "I have it, I think." But she had to confirm.

Standing, she waited until Raphael had risen before gritting her teeth and stepping below the abattoir hanging from the ceiling. She took every step with slow deliberation, knowing she might just run screaming from this warehouse if touched by even a single drop of cold blood.

Drip.

A splash by her foot. Close, too close.

"Far enough," she whispered and then went absolutely still, sorting through the scent layers once more. It was harder here, much harder. Terror had a scent, too-sweat and urine and tears and darker fluids-and it overlaid everything in this area. Like a thick perfume that had been sprayed with wild abandon, cloaking anything more subtle.

She dug down, but the terror was a choking grip around her throat, a hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her from sensing anything else. "How long ago did they die?"

"We estimate two to three hours, perhaps less."

Her head jerked up. "You found the location so soon?"

"He made a lot of noise toward the end." A tone so glacial, she barely heard Raphael in it, and yet it was chill with rage, not like when he'd been Quiet. "A neighborhood vampire called Dmitri after coming to investigate."

"You told me this morning I'd be earning my paycheck. You expected this?"

"I knew only that Uram had to be reaching a critical point." His eyes moved over the nightmare. "This . . . no, I did not expect this."

She didn't think anyone could have-it was something that simply shouldn't exist. And yet it did. "The vampire-what will happen to him?"

"I'll take his memories, make sure he remembers nothing." Said without the least apology.

She wondered if that was what he planned for her, but this wasn't the time to ask. Instead, she set her shoulders and dug deeper. Nothing. "There's too much fear here. I'll have to go with what I got from the body." Stepping away with as much care as she'd entered, she tried not to think about what hung above.

Drip.

A drop of blood splashed off the shiny black of her boot. Her gorge rose. Turning, she ran, not caring if it betrayed weakness. The damn door had been pulled down behind them and now refused to open. Her hand slid off the hot metal. She was at screaming point when it shifted a fraction. She fell to her stomach and squeezed out into the dead earth of the yard.

The sun shone bright overhead as she stood bent over, retching. She was aware of Raphael coming to stand beside her, his wings spreading out to shade her from the sun. She waved him down. She craved the heat-her soul was cold, so icy cold.

She didn't know how long she stood there bent in half, but when she rose, it was to the awareness of being watched. The vampires she'd sent from the warehouse? Illium? Watching the hunter lose her breakfast.

Her mouth tasted disgusting as she used the edge of her T-shirt to wipe at her lips. She wasn't the least bit embarrassed. To see that and not be affected . . . it would've made her a monster akin to the killer who'd anointed her in blood before she'd even been old enough to date.

"Tell me why," she said, voice husky.

"Later." A command. "Search for him."

He was right, of course. The scent would fade if she didn't hurry. Not replying, she kicked some loose dirt over her recently lost breakfast and began to jog slowly around the warehouse, attempting to pick up Uram's exit point. Most vampires used doors but you could never tell. And this killer had wings.

A sharp bite of acid.

She halted, finding herself in front of a small side entrance. From the outside, it looked normal, but when she tugged it open, she found the inside covered with bloody handprints. Too small to have been made by a man of Uram's size. She followed the line of sight . . . and saw the hanging shadows deep in the warehouse.

She slammed the door shut. "He let them run, let them think they had a chance to escape."

Raphael stayed silent as she zigzagged out from the doorway.

"Nothing," she said. "His scent is there because one of the girls managed to get out and he had to retrieve her." She bent down to stare at the brown grass. "Dried blood," she said, swallowing past the raw flesh of her throat. "Poor kid actually managed to crawl this far." She frowned. "There's too much blood."

Beside her, Raphael went very still. "You're right. There's a trail leading away from the door."

She knew his eyesight was keener than hers. Like raptors, angels could reputedly see the tiniest of details even during flight. "It can't be Uram's," she murmured. "I'd have scented it." She followed Raphael as he walked the trail-she could no longer see anything past the first few feet. "Did he drag a body out here, maybe?" They were at the chain-link fence. She went down, examined the small hole at the bottom. "There's blood on the edges of the metal." Excitement slammed into her, a two-fisted punch.

"I'll have to fly across."