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Authors: Heather Killough-Walden

Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (44 page)

BOOK: Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
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He turned his attention to Michael, who had yet to say anything further. His eyes were still closed, his head bowed, his strong body hunched over.
“Are you all right?” Max asked.
A single nod was his only reply.
“Someone is coming,” Azrael said then.
Max turned to face him.
The vampire archangel was striding gracefully toward the archway that led to the foyer and the door beyond. “It’s Samael’s servant,” he added, just before disappearing through the exit.
“What?” Max asked in alarm. He stood, and with one final worried glance at Michael and Gabriel, he hurried to follow Azrael out of the living room.
Az reached the door, grasped the handle, and opened it. On the threshold stood Jason, Samael’s right-hand man. Max greatly disliked him. On the outside, he was a fairly handsome, well-dressed man of perhaps thirty years. Max knew something quite different to be underneath the attractive facade.
“I won’t mince words or waste anyone’s time,” Jason said, clasping his hands behind his back. He was, as always, dressed impeccably in an Armani suit and tie that flattered the blue of his eyes. “You already know that Miss Granger is with us. Lord Samael wishes to bring the archess here. In light of the situation, he feels he has much to discuss with the four of you.”
“He knows what has occurred,” Azrael stated.
Jason nodded. “Indeed. And I think you will agree this calls for cooperation.”
“What a coincidence,” came a gravelly, weakened voice from behind Max. He turned to see Michael standing in the archway behind them, leaning up against the wall. “Sam is so very good at lending help to those willing to pay his price.”
Jason met Michael’s gaze and held it. Their mutual unmitigated hatred and distrust was clear.
“In this case, Michael,” Max said with a sigh, “Samael might be right. We are fighting something we can’t defend ourselves against, let alone comprehend. And they have Uriel.”
“What does your master want, exactly?” Azrael asked, always the one to cut to the chase.
“He wishes permission to enter the mansion. If you won’t agree to this, he has acquiesced to meet with you in a public place. However, if you choose the latter, be aware that your proceedings may not be as private or protected as you desire.”
“Son of a bitch,” Michael whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned back and ran a rather shaky hand through his blond hair.
“I’ll bloody well agree to that,” came yet another gruff voice from behind them all. Michael and Max turned to find Gabriel pushing himself away from the wall on which he’d apparently been leaning on his way to the foyer. He looked terribly weak, horribly pale, and his silver-gray eyes were strikingly bright in his face, as if he were feverish. There was a slight sheen of sweat along his brow, dampening his shaggy black locks. “But the wee shite’s go’ Ellie. And whatever we’re up against feels like the bubonic plague in a bloody bullet.”
“You look like hell,” Michael said softly, almost teasingly.
“I need a drink.”
Max turned from the two archangels to face Jason once more. “We have no choice in this instance. When would he like to meet?”
“Now,” Jason replied simply. “All you need do is invite him in.”
At this, Max’s eyes cut to Azrael. The archangel had to be invited?
The corners of Azrael’s lips turned up ever so slightly. “Humans have their myths confused.”
“How long would the invitation last?” Max asked him.
“A night,” Azrael supplied. “Most likely the day as well.”
Max sighed and turned to spear Jason with a hard look. “The invitation is for your master—not for you.”
“That’s okay,” came yet another voice from behind the group in the foyer. Michael and Gabriel were instantly straightening to their full heights, their bodies in alarm mode as they spun around to face the intruder in the living room.
“He doesn’t need an invitation from you,” said Samael, from where he sat back in one of their plush leather recliners, his legs casually crossed at the ankles, his charcoal-gray suit the very image of perfection.
“That was fast,” Max said under his breath.
Samael’s smile was all-knowing and lightning flashed in the depths of his stormy eyes. A moment later, Eleanore appeared beside him, still dressed in red satin, a veritable goddess of crimson temptation.
“Eleanore!” Max rushed toward her.
“Max,” she said, hugging him. She straightened, looking over his shoulder. “Michael, Gabriel, Az—you’re all right.” Relief flooded her features, but guilt clouded her eyes and the fidgeting of her fingers in her gown gave away her feelings of culpability.
“Ellie, this is
not
your fault,” Max instantly told her, taking her hands in his. He could see the stains of tears on her porcelain cheeks. “Christ, Eleanore you can’t blame yourself for this.”
“Yes, I can,” she whispered, her eyes down-turned. “Those men are after me. And they hurt all of you and—now they have Uriel.” Her voice cracked as she finished, and Max pulled her into his arms again.
“This wouldn’t be your doing, would it?” he accused as he locked eyes with Samael over Eleanore’s shoulder.
Samael shrugged innocently. “On the contrary. I have already tried to convince her that she’s not to blame. If I were to place responsibility anywhere, it would most likely be with the Old Man.”
“Oh, here we go.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and dropped hard into another plush love seat, his body clearly exhausted with the effort of standing.
Jason disappeared from the threshold of the mansion, and in a greenish grayish flash, reappeared behind Samael’s chair. No one was surprised. Obviously Samael had pulled his servant inside.
Azrael calmly closed the door and joined them in the living room. “What is it you wish to discuss?” he asked, no hint of emotion showing on his stark, handsome features.
Samael turned his gaze on the dark archangel. “While Eleanore was mending, I read her thoughts and scanned her memories.”
No one was surprised by this confession, though a general tensing of muscles around the room gave away the fact that they were no less irritated by it.
“It seems that while you and I were having it out in a cemetery in Texas, a group of men were in the process of tracking Eleanore’s progress across the country.” He laced his fingers over his stomach and continued. “I don’t know who they are. But they apparently cornered her in a parking lot outside of a grocery store just before she eluded them and managed to make her way to the graveyard.”
Eleanore slowly pulled away from Max and ran the back of her hand over her eyes. “They were dressed in lab coats and black fatigues. Some had needles filled with a clear liquid,” she said softly. She gave a small shudder and Max could see a tremor make its way through her slender frame. “I recognized them. They looked like the men who came after me when I was fifteen. My family barely escaped.”
The group digested the information for a moment. “You think these are the same men who attacked us at the gala and abducted Uriel?” Michael asked.
“Almost certainly,” Sam said.
“Do you have any idea what kind of weapon it is they’re using?” Max asked.
Samael considered this. “Honestly, no. But if it’s capable of taking out the four of you at once, then we have much to be concerned about.”
“What do they want Ellie for?” Michael questioned.
“I’m afraid I can’t be certain of that, either. I know little more than you do in this case. However, if I were to hazard a guess . . .” He shrugged. “As an archess, Eleanore possesses many enviable abilities. They might want a number of things from her. Perhaps they want her to join them in some fight. Or they want to determine a way in which to reproduce her powers and create them in others. The possibilities are many.”
“Well, on the one hand, this is good news.” Max sighed. “It means they’ll keep Uriel alive long enough to barter with him.”
“Speaking of which,” Azrael said, “we have company.”
Max frowned, his brows drawing together in utter confusion. “That’s impossible. No one knows the location of the mansion.” He blinked then, considering something, and added, “No one human, anyway.”
There was a knock at the front door and it reverberated through the room like a tidal wave of doom.
“In that case, I think we can assume one thing for sure,” Michael said.
Everyone looked at him.
“Whatever we’re up against isn’t human.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
 
“G
eneral, I have the colonel on the phone for you.”
Kevin took the receiver and placed it to his ear. After a few seconds, he nodded. Then he returned the phone to his captain and strode across the room to the door. The invitation had been delivered. All that was left to do now was wait—and plan.
Kevin had a few more questions he wanted answered. Another conversation with his special prisoner was in order. He left the room and made his way down the hall toward the holding cells.
The archangel Uriel had been released from his bonds in the interrogation room and allowed his own private cell. Of course, he was still secured and there was nothing in the cell but its four walls and floor. It was constructed of the same materials as the interrogation room. Uriel was going nowhere.
Most likely, at this moment, the general had one very angry Angel of Vengeance on his hands.
“General.” As Kevin reached the cell, the men on either side of the door greeted him and stepped aside.
“Any trouble from our guest?” asked Kevin.
“No, sir. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
The door clicked open and Kevin peered into the grayness of the room beyond. He listened. Shallow breathing came from its corner. He adjusted his vision and Uriel’s tall, bent outline became clearly visible.
“No need to stand on my account. Please sit before you fall down.”
“If you’ve come to torture me, at least do it in silence. I really can’t stand the sound of your voice,” Uriel rasped.
Kevin stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind him. It clicked shut and the lock slid into place.
He took in the archangel’s physical state: bloody lip, bloody nose, black eye, cut on the forehead, bruises forming everywhere. His men had been having fun with their prisoner. No doubt it confused Uriel that he could not defend himself against them. The manacles around the archangel’s legs were lined with the same metal that he’d been strapped down with on the interrogation table. It was a metal that Kevin had created centuries ago when he’d discovered that the alloy prevented an archangel from using any of his supernatural abilities.
“It’s a shame you’ve had to suffer so much. If only Eleanore were here.” Kevin moved through the room to stand before Uriel, who was leaning against the back wall, his clothing tattered and torn and soaked with both blood and sweat.
The archangel eyed Kevin through wary—and weary—eyes.
“She could heal you,” Kevin finished.
Uriel threw back his head and laughed, the deep, barking sound bouncing and echoing off of the walls around them.
Kevin stopped in his tracks. The laughter was Uriel’s only reply. Not that Kevin had expected anything more. But it would have been nice, for once, not to have to do things the hard way.
 
Lightning coursed across the dark night, thunder chasing on its heels with dogged determination. It shook the windows in their panes and created a chaotic background music to the conversations taking place within the mansion.
The storm was Eleanore’s doing, Though she’d had years of practice controlling the weather, it reflected the turmoil inside of her now no matter how much she tried to calm it. And she wasn’t the only one upset. Everyone in the mansion’s large kitchen was agitated to some degree.
Everyone, that is, except one.
Samael alone appeared calm. He was the eye of the hurricane, and he remained collected and in control. It was unnerving and felt a little like sitting in a living room with a disturbingly composed dragon.
When the knock had come at the door less than an hour before, Azrael had opened it to find a sealed envelope on the doorstep. An ultimatum had been delivered: Eleanore for Uriel, or Uriel would die and Eleanore would be taken, one way or another.
The ultimatum had set off a domino-like tremor of anger through the room. Not one of them was under the delusion that their enemy intended to turn Uriel over to them alive, no matter what the paper might read. If Michael, Gabriel, and Azrael had any hope of seeing their brother alive again, the fact was they needed Samael’s help. Nothing brought home that realization more than the fact that the enemy had found the mansion in the first place. Such a thing was supposed to be impossible.
No one in the mansion was reacting particularly well to the night’s developments.
BOOK: Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
11.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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