Archangel's Consort (Guild Hunter #3)(27)

“Don’t you forget it.” Moving her hand down to play over the amber he wore on the ring finger of his left hand, she used those same teeth on his jaw. “You belong to me, Archangel. And I look after what’s mine.”




An hour after he’d watched Elena’s wings sweep out toward the Guild in a play of midnight and dawn, Raphael turned his attention to the vampire who huddled in a chair in front of the black granite of his desk, a weak, whimpering creature who’d sought to steal from an archangel. The stupidity of the act aside, the fact that he’d even considered he might get away with it argued to a greater rot. Raphael intended to excise that rot from existence before this day was done.

“Do you know what I’m going to do with you?” he asked softly from where he stood by the huge window that looked out over Manhattan. He’d punished and executed many over the centuries that he had ruled, but he had not expected betrayal in the heart of his territory and that honed his anger into a gleaming blade.

“Sire, I didn’t—I—” Blubbering words running together in an unintel igible babble.

Raphael let him speak until he ran out of words. “Tell me why,” he said, turning to watch for his hunter in the skies as he had a habit of doing.

A sniffle, a sucking in of air. “She said you would never know.”

Raphael swiveled to face the vampire. “Who?”

Compulsively rubbing together his hands, he said, “One of the head accountants.”

“I want a name.” How deep did this treachery run?

“Oleander Graves.”

Raphael knew all of his senior people, and that name wasn’t on the list.

“She said you’d never know,” the vampire blubbered again, bringing Raphael’s mind back to the unpleasant task at hand. “She was so beautiful.”

Weak, Raphael thought in disgust. The male was so weak, he should’ve never made it into the Tower, but even immortals sometimes made mistakes.

Without further words, Raphael reached out with his power and crushed the vampire’s rib cage into his chest, piercing his internal organs.

As blood bubbled out of the man’s mouth, Raphael knew that to those outside the Tower the punishment would appear barbaric. They knew nothing of the bloodlust that lurked near the surface of so many vampiric minds, how easy it would be for the monsters to roam free. And this damage would heal in a day at most. The real punishment was yet to come. “You are to go to ground for the next decade.”

Panic in those eyes, a plea that Raphael could not heed, not if he intended to keep the Hudson from running a dark ruby red. He was an archangel—

even if every vampire in the city surrendered to bloodlust, he’d gain control within hours at most, but to do so, he’d have to slaughter hundreds of the Made. “Go.”

As the vampire left, clutching broken ribs and fighting not to dribble blood on the pristine white of the carpet, Raphael turned back to the window. The sentence was just, but it would likely break a mind as weak as the one that had just scuttled out of his office. Any other punishment would’ve given encouragement to others who might seek to betray me. Reaching out to speak to Elena was not a conscious decision.

Raphael?

I sentenced him to be buried alive in a coffin-sized box, he told his hunter with the heart of a mortal. He will be fed enough to be kept alive and whole, but he will remain in that box for ten years.

Shock, worry, pain, he felt the cascade of her emotions like blows.

I’m sorry, Raphael. I’m sorry he put you in a position where you had to make that choice.

In spite of her earlier words, he’d expected her to be horrified by what he’d done, for this was not something she could have expected. It was not a human punishment. But he’d forgotten that she was a woman who’d survived a monster, who understood that sometimes there were no easy choices.

Come to me after your talk with Sara. I would hold you.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a flicker of midnight and dawn on the horizon as his consort dropped down from the clouds not far from the Tower; Illium’s distinctive wings remained in shadow. The blue-winged angel had an open affection for Raphael’s hunter, and he’d let it go—would continue to let it go . . . so long as Illium never forgot that Elena was mate to an archangel. I have her.

Sire. The angel cut away in another direction.

Wait. I received a message for you earlier today.

A questioning silence.

The Hummingbird wishes to see her son.

Quiet, such quiet. I will go to her.

No. She is coming to New York.

He felt Illium’s shock. The Hummingbird seldom left her secluded mountain home, and even then, it was only to go to the Refuge. We will watch over her, Illium. Have no fear of that.

The Hummingbird had saved Raphael from excruciating pain when she’d found him on that forsaken field where Caliane had shattered his body like so much glass, and for such would’ve earned his loyalty. But Illium’s mother had gone beyond that—she’d shown a broken young boy incredible kindness at a time when his whole world was falling apart. There was little Raphael would not do for the Hummingbird.

Sire, I must—

Go, Raphael said, knowing the angel needed time to get his mind around the news. She arrives in a week’s time. He was walking out onto his private balcony as he spoke, switching the mental connection. Come, Elena.