Eyes on the target, she balanced her throwing knives in hand and set her feet. Her sight was sharper than when she’d been human, but not by much—not yet.
In the end, she hit Illium twice more, missing a third strike by the barest flicker of a feather. Illium swooped down. “I get to go on a hunt.”
“See if you’re smiling when we end up in some mosquito-infested swamp.”
“I’m not scared of mosqui—”
She was swiveling on her heel before Illium stopped speaking, having picked up the scents of three unfamiliar vampires. But it was an angel she found in the doorway, his exotic cheekbones and near- black eyes nowhere near as unusual as the wings she glimpsed before he folded them inward.
Dark gray patterned with streaks of vivid, striking red.
Stunning wings.
But instead of admiration, it was fear, primal and deep, that stabbed her in the gut, sharpening her senses, her reflexes. “Who is he?” She could feel his power pressing down on her, a crushing weight.
The metallic slide of sword leaving scabbard. “Xi belongs to Lijuan.” Illium stayed by her side as Galen walked forward to greet the other angel. “He’s nine hundred years old.”
“Why isn’t he an archangel?” He could topple cities with that power, erase thousands.
“As long as Lijuan lives, Xi will continue to gain power. Without her, his body wouldn’t be able to hold what it does.”
“Can all archangels do that?” she asked, feeling her skin creep when Xi’s eyes shifted to stroke over the exposed portion of her wings. “Share power?”
“Only Lijuan.”
Galen appeared to be arguing with Xi and finally, several minutes later, the Chinese angel snapped his feet together in an almost military salute and passed over a gleaming wooden box. But his eyes, they lingered on Elena for a long, chilling second.
She began to walk toward Galen the instant Xi left. The red-haired angel remained standing with his back to her, his eyes on the entrance. “It would be better,” he said in a very precise voice, “if you wait for Raphael to return before opening this.”
“Raphael’s gone to meet with Michaela and Elijah. It could be hours.”
“I’ll inform the sire—”
“No.” She put her hand on the box, almost flinched at the inhuman coldness of it. “The meeting’s important—it has something to do with Titus and Charisemnon.”
Illium touched her shoulder, his expression grim. “Lijuan is playing games, Elena. Don’t open the box without Raphael.”
She’d accepted that she was physically weaker though it galled, but there was only so much a hunter could take. “Give me a reason.”
“I don’t know what’s in there,” Illium said, his eyes shadowed in a way that turned the gold to something razor- sharp, a reminder that for all his playfulness, Illium hid a core as ruthless as the man he called sire, “but I know it’s meant to weaken Raphael.”
“You think she’d hurt me?” Elena stared at the carvings on the box, stared until the complicated patterns shaped themselves into the horror they truly were. “Corpses. They’re all corpses.”
“I think,” Illium said, placing both hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gentle against her nape, “there are many ways to hurt. Not all of them are physical.”
Elena played with the latch, her lungs expanding as she took a deep breath. “I can smell them. Fresh grass crushed with ice, a warm woolen blanket sprinkled with rose petals, blood strained through silk.” Her heart pounded in her chest, ready to hunt, to give chase. Under her fingertips, the box grew warm, as if sucking in her very life force.
Shoving away the unsettling thought, she swallowed. “There are pieces of vampire in here. Organs. They always smell the strongest.”
“It’s time for us to make our own move.”
She took her hand off the latch. “I don’t need to open it. I know what’s inside.” Lijuan had simply returned what Raphael had sent her. And if part of Elena was horrified by the form of his warning, another part—a raw, primal part born in a blood-soaked room almost twenty years ago—was viciously glad. “Do whatever you want with it.” Shifting on her heel, she broke Illium’s hold and walked out into the biting cold of a mountain afternoon.
Venom was waiting for her by a stony crag that had been left untouched by angelic hands, an incongruously untamed background for a vampire who looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of some high-class men’s magazine. Her sweaty, tense face reflected off the black lenses of his sunglasses, his own as untouched as always. “How much wax does it take to keep your hair that perfect?” she muttered as she tried to walk past.