Her entire body stiffened. Spinning on her heel, she sprinted down a hallway that Riker had specifically warned her not to enter, instinct overriding common sense. This was what she’d been born to do, her senses honed to—
An arm around her waist, pulling her back against a firm, muscled chest, her wings screaming against the overload of sensation. “Riker would like nothing better than to have a legitimate excuse to kill you.” Illium’s voice, that faint British accent laced with a steely thread of warning.
“Right.” She shook her head to clear it, suddenly aware of Michaela’s favorite vampire standing only inches from her side. And she’d let him get that close, she’d been so blinded by the compulsion to follow the scent, to bring back the child. “Right.”
Illium continued to hold her until she pushed at his hands and took a step to the left, creating more distance between her and Riker. “Raphael?”
“It’s done.” Eyes the rich, unique color of Venetian gold looked into hers. “He won’t be long.”
Elena had to fist her hands, grit her teeth, to fight the thundering need to run after that fading scent. Riker stood on Illium’s other side. But his eyes, they never moved off her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Michaela had obviously never rescinded the order she’d once given Riker—to kill Elena.
“You run to your master,” the vampire said without warning. “Like a child.”
“Raphael is my lover, not my master.” She cursed herself for responding to the barb the instant the words left her mouth.
“Is that what you think?” he said, and it was a croon, soft and mocking in its sweetness. “They call you his pet.”
Her spine went rigid, the words too close to the ones Raphael had said to her when she’d woken. “How’s that purse your mistress had made?” she asked, reminding him that Michaela had once flayed the skin off his back, then cured it. “She still taking good care of it?”
“The best.” His tone didn’t change, and that was the creepiest thing of all. Riker was so far in the abyss that he liked it. “Your master comes.”
Refusing to respond to the taunt, she waited until Raphael walked up to stand beside her. “Michaela is not pleased,” were his first words.
“Do you care?”
We’re in her home, Elena. The rules of Guesthood apply. She tried to temper her tone, but it was difficult, her hunter senses shoving at her with escalating force. “I can smell the vampire who took Sam. The scent leads that way.”
“Follow it.” Michaela is furious, but she wishes to see you humiliated more.
Then she’s going to be disappointed. But it niggled at her, that the other archangel would be so sure of Elena’s failure, because the vampire who’d abducted Sam had been here, no ifs, no buts. The tart bite of orange, the sweetness of chocolate—she could all but taste it.
It was so pungent, so rich, she almost missed the scent hidden beneath.
Snow falling on apples.
15
“Sam.” It was less than a whisper as she began running, far more interested in that gentle scent than the one that had drawn her here. The hallway ended at a door, a heavily carved slab that had been varnished until it glowed darkest amber.
Her palms slammed up against it as she came to a halt. “He’s behind here.”
“No, he’s not.” Michaela’s voice lashed the air as she appeared from their left, her face and body pristine once more. A silent testament to the power of an archangel. “I shall enjoy delivering your punishment for violating my home without cause.”
“There’ll be no punishment,” Raphael said. “She falls under my protection.”
Michaela smiled, small, satisfied, vicious. “But she doesn’t accept you as her master. You cannot stand as her shield.”
And Elena knew Michaela was really, really looking forward to making her scream. It didn’t matter. “Open this door.”
Michaela waved a languid hand at Riker. “Do as the hunter says.”
Elena shifted away to avoid physical contact with the vampire as he moved to do his mistress’s bidding. The door swung inward to reveal a room swathed in shadow, but for the faint snow-reflected silver of the moon. Elena didn’t need light to find her target. Walking inside, she headed unerringly to what proved to be a large chest when Riker threw on the wall-mounted lights, their glow a muted honey.
“Can a baby immortal survive without air?” she whispered desperately as she struggled to lift the heavy lid.
“For a time,” was the chilling answer as Raphael took over the task, while Illium stood watch.