Archangel's Kiss (Guild Hunter #2)(35)

“Taken.”

The tiny female angel lifted a fist to her mouth, her hand so small it could’ve been that of a child’s. “Find my son, Guild Hunter.” The same words, said by Raphael, would’ve been an order. From this woman, they were a plea.

“I will.” It was a promise and a vow. Hunkering down, she drew in the scents again, then stood, angling her head like the bloodhound she was.

The faintest trace of oranges.

Following the tug, she walked past Raphael and Sam’s mother to place her hand on the back doorknob. The scent rocked through her. “Yes,” she whispered, her hunter senses singing in recognition. Pulling open the door, she stepped out . . . into nothing.





14




She’d fallen before. But then, she’d been held in the arms of an archangel. This time, there was nothing between her and the unyielding embrace of the rocks below. Panic threatened but was beaten into submission by her will to live. Elena P. Deveraux had never given up yet.

Gritting her teeth, she spread out her wings. They faltered, still weaker than necessary for flight, but managed to slow her descent. Not enough, she thought, her eyes tearing against the wind, her back muscles starting to spasm. Even an immortal—especially a young immortal—couldn’t survive such a crippling fall.

Her body would be shredded by the velocity of the impact, her head separated from her body. That killed vampires. And Raphael had said—“Oh!” A wash of powerful air that sent her spiraling, terror a shock through her bloodstream. Then arms grabbing hold of her with a steely strength she’d never mistake for anyone but Raphael’s.

They fell several more feet, their velocity accelerated by the impact, before Raphael steadied and they began to rise in a storm of speed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, shaking with relief. “Seems like you’re always catching me when I fall.”

His answer was a hard squeeze.

They landed on an empty section of the cliff, the nearest angelic home hidden from sight by the jutting teeth of the craggy rock face. “Okay, lesson number one,” she said, trying to relearn to breathe as Raphael put her down, “never assume there’s going to be earth beneath my feet.”

“You must stop thinking like a human.” Raphael’s voice was a whip. “It could’ve gotten you killed today.”

She jerked up her head. “I can’t simply stop. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Then learn.” He gripped her chin between his fingers. “Or you’ll die.”

Her first instinct was to strike back, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the more important life at stake, or perhaps it was the way his wings came around her, sheltering her from the snow-laced wind even as he spoke to her in such anger. “I need to get back inside,” she said, “see if I made a mistake in the track.”

Raphael held onto her chin for another second before placing his lips over hers. They were still locked in the angry relief of the kiss as he rose into the air, flying her to the front entrance of Sam’s home. Shaken but determined, she walked through the house, every sense on alert . . . and came to the same conclusion.

“He went out through there,” Elena said, glad Sam’s mother was no longer in the room. It was impossible for Elena to look at her and not remember another mother’s anguish in a small suburban home almost two decades ago.

“That means he had an angelic accomplice.” Raphael’s voice was toneless—and all the more terrifying for it. In this mood, the Archangel of New York might kill without remorse, torture without compassion. “You picked up the members of Sameon’s family—can you separate out the angel’s scent?”

“Raphael,” she asked, needed to ask, “are you going Quiet?” He’d become someone she didn’t know in those terrifying hours before she’d shot him, an archangel who’d stalked her across New York, relentless in his menace.

No.

Her heart still erratic with fear—for him, for what the Quiet might take from him if he fell into it again—she returned to the now open doorway, attempting to intentionally trigger what appeared to be an extension of her abilities.

Spring and fur.

Apples dusted with fresh sno—

A crackle of white noise.

Disappointment stabbed her, harsh, final. “If my Making altered my hunter senses, the change isn’t complete. It seems to be cutting in and out.” She shoved a hand through her hair, falling back on her training and experience. “He likely didn’t touch the door in any case—the vampire’s scent was too rich, too strong to have been diluted.” Looking down into the inky depths of the ravine, she felt her cheeks turn to ice. “How strong would an angel have to be to catch someone if they knew that individual was about to jump?”

“No one younger than three hundred.” His wing brushed hers as they stood side by side, staring at the dense blackness. “I’ll begin sweeps of the area.” And then he said what she hadn’t been able to articulate. “There’s a chance the fall wasn’t successfully executed.”

Elena’s whole being rebelled against the idea of Sam’s small body lying irrevocably broken in the cold dark. “If those bastards have hurt him, I’ll gut them myself.”

That is why you’re mine, Elena.