Angels' Blood (Guild Hunter #1)(98)

Throwing back just enough angelfire to keep Uram from coming closer, but not enough to drain himself, he watched for a gap in his opponent's defenses, for a single mistake. But when his chance came, it wasn't because Uram made a mistake. No, it came because of a hunter too stubborn to surrender to evil.

Gunshots fired from the open side of the torn apartment building, ripping through the bloodborn angel's wings.

Uram screamed and began to spiral down, shooting angelfire as he fell. Raphael flew toward the tumbling archangel, leading with his hands. As one hand impacted on Uram's chest, he held on to to the bloodborn angel with his other and thrust. His hand went through Uram's rib cage to hit his heart.

"Good-bye, old friend," he said, knowing that nothing of the angel he'd once known remained in this monster. Then he released a final, shocking blast of angelfire. It spread through Uram's body like a fever-the dying archangel's grabbing hands threatened to take Raphael down with him. But Raphael had to live. Because if he didn't, Elena would die.

He wrenched back an instant before Uram exploded in a burst of pure white light, lighting up the whole of Manhattan in a single second-long blast. Then it was over and Uram was not only dead, but erased from the cosmos. Not even dust remained.

Bleeding from wounds that continued to worsen as the angelfire dug in ever deeper, Raphael should have landed. Instead, he beat his barely functional wings upward.

One of Uram's last, desperate bolts had hit the building. Raphael knew Elena had to have been on the very edge of the eight-story structure when she'd shot up at Uram. That edge was now gone, but he could feel Elena's life, feel her dying flame. Elena, answer me.

Quiet, peaceful, a hush of sound. Then, Stay a little human, won't you, Raphael?

A request that was almost not a sound at all. But it was enough. He followed the mental thread to discover her broken body on the narrow ledge provided by a precariously hanging neon sign. Her back was shattered, her legs twisted in a way that was nothing natural. But she smiled when she saw him. And her hand still held the gun that had saved more lives than anyone would ever know.

He dared not touch her, afraid he'd cause her to slip over the ledge. "You are not to die."

A slow blink. "Bossy." It was a sound bubbled through with blood. The voice isn't working so good.

I hear you.

Tell me the secret now, won't you? How do you Make vampires?

He could hear the teasing even in that fading whisper. Our bodies produce a toxin that needs to be purged at regular intervals. The older we are, the longer the intervals.

Uram waited too long.

Yes. We build up an immunity, but only to a point. After that, the toxin begins to bond with our very cells, mutating in the process. However, that base immunity meant an archangel always had a certain level in his blood. Enough. It would be just enough.

The only way to purge the buildup before it goes critical is by transfer to a living human. Angelic history told of a time when they'd given in to despair at the loss of so many mortal lives, and tried to purge it into animals. The resulting carnage had been such that even Lijuan would not talk of it. We know we get something back from the transfer, something that keeps the toxin stable, but even after all these millennia, we know not what.

But . . . A pause, as if she was gathering her strength, determined to have her curiosity satisfied. The tests? Compatibility?

He'd answer every question, betray every secret, if it would hold her here. Only some are born with the ability to survive the toxin, to use it as fuel for the transition from mortal to vampire. The others die. And despite their cruelty, despite the lack of compassion engendered by age, no immortal wanted to bear the stain of that much slaughter. To promise life and give only death was a step too far into the abyss. Before the tests, perhaps one in ten made it through.

Ah . . . Not even a whisper now.

His canines elongated, and a strange, beautiful, golden taste filled his mouth as he felt a tear slide down his face. He was an archangel. He had not cried in over a thousand years. So now you know-that's why so many morons get Made.

Weak laughter in his head. I guess a dying woman can be stupid if she wants. I'm crazy about you, Archangel. You scare the shit out of me at times, but I want to dance with you anyway.

His heart stopped beating when her voice faded, and he leaned forward, his mouth overwhelmed by the taste of beauty, of life. "I won't let you die. I had your blood tested. You're compatible."

Her lashes struggled to open, failed. But her mental voice, though weak, was adamant. I don't want to be a vampire. Bloodsucking's not my thing.

"You must live." And then he kissed her, feeding that golden taste, that intoxicating blend, into her mouth. You must live.

That was when the sign gave away, tearing loose from the building and plunging to the ground in a shattering crash. Elena didn't fall alone, gathered as she was in Raphael's arms, his mouth fused with hers. They fell together, his wings close to destroyed, his soul melded to that of a mortal.

If this is death, Guild Hunter, he thought to his mortal as angelfire scored through his bones and touched his heart, then I will see you on the other side.

Sara stared upward, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Archangel of New York was falling, and in his arms, he carried a body that streamed bright near white hair. "Ellie, no, you can't f*cking do this," she whispered, so angry she could hardly form words. She'd run down here with a crossbow the second things had started turning to shit, knowing Ellie would need her. Ransom had turned up minutes later, gun in hand. But the fight had taken place too far above for either of them to help.