She followed on quiet feet. "Scent's deeper inside."
He opened the doors to the library and stepped out. Riker was staked to the wall in front of him, a wooden chair leg embedded in his throat. The vampire was still alive but unconscious-likely from the blow to his head that dripped blood down his temples.
"Jesus," Elena whispered. "He's having a very bad week. Do we leave him?"
"He won't heal until the stake's removed."
"Then let's go. I can only deal with one psychopath at a time." She nodded left.
He began walking that way, not particularly surprised when he found another one of the guards impaled on a savagely compelling sculpture from Michaela's years with Charisemnon. The vampire's head hung at the wrong angle for life. "He's dead."
"Broken neck?"
"Decapitation"-he showed her how the head was barely attached by a few tendons-"coupled with removal of the heart. It wasn't planned, though. This was just to get him out of the way." He put a foot on the stair.
"No." Elena pointed in the other direction. "Deeper inside."
A scream shattered the air.
He stopped her from running. "That's what Uram wants." Pushing her behind him, he headed toward the sound. Uram was a master of strategy-he'd obviously figured out that Elena was the linchpin. Take her out and he could evade the Cadre for years-there were other hunter-born, but none as gifted as Elena. And if Uram wasn't executed within half a century of his devolution, he might gain enough power to rule. And the world would drown in blood.
Elena tugged on his wing. He glanced over his shoulder, about to warn her not to distract him. It could prove fatal, even for an immortal. She was pointing up. He nodded. I know. Michaela's home had high ceilings, as was the case with the homes of most angels. Her living room, like his, was basically the central core of the house, the upper floors arranged around the edges. Uram wouldn't be waiting below, he'd be waiting above.
That left Raphael at a disadvantage. This house had been remodeled from a human dwelling, rather than being designed for angelic inhabitants. There were no high windows he could use to fly straight through to the living area. He'd have to walk in the door. Elena tugged again, until he bent his ear to her lips.
"Let me go in, distract him. You come in straight after-he won't have time to kill me."
Had anyone outlined this scenario to him before he met Elena, his answer would've been instant. Yes, send in the hunter, distract the bloodborn. And if the hunter died, it was a small price to pay to win this war. But now he knew her, now he'd taken her, now she belonged to him.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she could read his thoughts.
"Go in low," he said, knowing he'd startled her. "He'll aim for head-height. Roll."
She nodded. "He's definitely in there. The scent's crawled into my blood it's so thick, so heavy." Then she was moving toward the doorway.
The next few instants went at inhuman speed. Elena rolling inside, chunks shearing off the doorway, a howl of rage, and then Raphael was in the room, looking up at Uram as the other archangel fired bolts of pure energy at Raphael's hunter.
He launched himself upward, gathering his own energy. This, too, was why he'd been asked to lead the hunt. Of the Cadre, only four could create the energy bolts. It was a gift that came with time-but only if the imprint for it was already there. And unlike with the room of Quiet, this energy didn't have to come from within. As he rose, he drew power from electrical sources, shorting out the lamp burning below.
He threw the first bolt at Uram before the other archangel realized he was there. It hit midchest, throwing Uram against the wall. But Uram wasn't an archangel for nothing. Stopping himself from crashing through the wood, he threw back a ball of red-hot flame. Raphael dodged it, knowing that if it hit his wings, he'd go down. Angelfire was one of the few things that could truly damage an immortal.
Angelfire and a hunter's gun, he corrected. Elena, did I see you arm yourself with that little pistol you used to unman me?
Another exchange of blue and red, huge holes in the wall, dust floating to the earth in serene quiet. As they fought, he watched Uram, tried to see the monster. But the archangel looked as he always had, his new fangs hidden from sight as he focused on repelling Raphael's blows, attacking with his own.
A passing fireball singed Raphael's wing. Shrugging off the shrieking nerve endings, he returned fire, catching the tip of the other angel's left wing. Teeth bared, Uram howled and the monster emerged, red fire in his eyes, fangs lengthening past his lips . . . and a dervish of flame in his hands.
The blood had made him stronger.
That was the draw, the temptation, the insanity. After the Scourge took hold, blood increased an angel's power to the nth degree. But by then, no matter how they appeared, they were so insane that it mattered little. However, Raphael was no green boy to allow himself to be cornered. He dropped at the last instant, and the wave of angelfire hit the wall where he'd been moments ago, decimating everything in its path to expose the outside world, even as he shot upward with a bolt of his own.
Something fired, the sound a loud crack. Uram tipped to the side, faltering, and Raphael saw the tear at the bottom of his wing. He struck out at the vulnerable spot and hit, causing considerable damage. But Uram was already moving. Dodging Raphael's second strike, he flew out the hole created by their battle.
Raphael went after him, knowing he could take him while the bloodborn angel was injured. He'd just swept out into daylight when a body slammed into him. He began to spiral down, managing a soft landing only by dint of years of experience-and put the body on a relatively clear section of the floor.
Michaela.
The female archangel was missing her heart, a glowing red fireball where the organ should've been. Not stopping to think, he thrust in a hand covered with blue fire and pulled out the red, throwing it at a wall and dissipating its destructive force. Michaela's heart began to regenerate in front of his eyes.