Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (25 page)

Yet even that, Juliette could have dismissed as probably having to do with lack of sleep and an overwhelming boatload of information and nastiness being dumped on her best friend’s head.

What she couldn’t forgive or dismiss or even understand was the way Sophie was closing herself off from Juliette.

Right now.

“Jules, I just need some time to think. Please.”

Juliette wasn’t stupid. Sophie was trying to get rid of her. “You do know that if you leave, you won’t get far. Not with Az on your tail.”

Sophie blinked, and her expression hardened. Her beautiful golden eyes felt like amber in that moment, and whatever intentions she’d had were now frozen within them. “Please leave, Jules.”

“It isn’t safe out there, Soph. The Adarians are bad enough. But this Gregori guy?” Juliette flinched, unable to help herself. She couldn’t stop seeing what he’d done to the Adarians in that cell on Alcatraz. “Azrael will never leave you unprotected. Not now. I’m sorry, Soph, but you just happen to have gotten paired up with the most intense archangel in existence. The man was willing to go after you during the
day
.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “It would have killed him, and Max had to seriously talk him down.”

Sophie stared at Juliette, and as she absorbed what Juliette had told her, the expression on her face softened a little. The amber in her eyes melted, appearing warmer, like honey. She seemed to be momentarily at a loss for words, but then she flinched and Juliette noticed that she clenched her fist harder where she hid her hand beneath her tight blue jeans.

“Jules,” Sophie said, looking away. “When you first met Gabriel, did you warm to him right away?”

Juliette realized that Sophie already knew the answer to that question. Soph was well aware of the power struggle Juliette and Gabriel had gone through in Scotland a few months ago. She was only asking the question to make a point. Juliette wasn’t sure she wanted to know what point that was.

“No,” she replied.

“No,” Sophie echoed. “And he wasn’t a vampire.”

“No,” Juliette admitted.

“And you had never killed anyone,” Sophie added.

Sophie looked back up at Juliette then, and saw a new expression on her lovely features. It was a look Juliette had never before seen there.

“No.” Juliette’s voice fell, along with her hopes. “I had never killed anyone.” She’d never had real cause to feel fury toward Gabriel the way that Sophie might feel toward Azrael and the archangels. As an archess, Sophie had possessed the intrinsic ability to stop her foster fathers from attacking her all those years ago, but her archess powers hadn’t actually appeared until now. She most likely felt cheated. She probably felt as if she’d never had control over her own life. And she no doubt blamed the archangels and their creator for this sense of helplessness.

Juliette fell silent, unsure of what to say or how to say it.

“Jules, I need some time alone.”

Juliette straightened, gazing long and hard into her best friend’s beautiful eyes. She saw a desperation there, a sadness, and a pain. Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe the solitude and time she was asking for were what she needed more than anything else right now.

But Juliette couldn’t overlook the fidgeting and the twitch of Sophie’s right hand. The man in white was pulling her strings; Juliette would have bet her castle on it. This was beyond her capabilities. It was something she couldn’t handle alone. It was time to call in the big boys.

“Okay,” she said softly, rising from her seat on the couch. “I’ll leave you. But please remember that I love you, Soph. You’re a part of us now—and you’ve
always
been a part of me.” She leaned over and pulled Sophie into a fierce hug. She felt her friend relax against her, absorbing the warmth of the embrace. And then Juliette let her go and headed for the door.

She didn’t wait for Sophie to walk her out or close the door behind her. Instead, she left the apartment and went directly to the nearest alleyway. Once there, she glanced over her shoulder to make certain she was alone. Then she turned toward a metal door in the wall that led to a small shop beyond. The door was for employee use only, according to the white and red metal sign hanging above it.

Since Eleanore and Juliette had each “earned their wings,” they had been capable of using the mansion for transportation, just as their archangel mates could. Max’s thoughts on the matter were that the mansion had been created for the archangels to use as they searched for their archesses. It wouldn’t make any sense to limit its use to the archangels once the archesses had been located; therefore each archess was able to use it as well.

The mansion’s transporting powers were available for Juliette to use now, just as they were for Eleanore. All she needed was a door.

Juliette raised her hand toward the door in front of her in the alley and opened a portal to the mansion.

Chapter Twenty-six

T
he sun would soon dip into the Pacific, but no one could tell. The sky was laden with clouds, heavy and dark. Thunder rumbled along the West Coast and the wind sent sailing ships scurrying for the harbor.

Azrael tossed in his sleep as images flashed across his mind. He felt an anger stirring his blood as if it were his own—but it wasn’t. It was Sophie’s. He knew it as if she were a part of him, body and soul.

In the distance of his dreamscape, lightning split the sky and tore holes in a land parched and destroyed. Wind howled, rushing through his hair. He reached out to settle it and it fought him, but eventually obeyed.

He heard a gunshot and turned toward the ancient cemetery sprawling behind him. Black dandelions coated the once green hills, surreal and beautiful and terrifying. Fear gripped him hard and cold, squeezing his soul in its taloned fingers. To step into another person’s mind and see the headstones was bad enough. To dream of them himself . . .

He needed to wake up.

It was too soon; he knew this, but Sophie’s spirit called to him, shuffled through his subconscious, and unsettled his mind. He was sinking into death, into what he once was. He needed her. His sunshine. Only she could pull him back from this precipice.

Ten minutes before the sun set, Azrael opened his eyes where he lay on the stone altar that served as his bed. At once, the torches that lined the walls leapt to burning life as if they recognized the conscious presence of their liege.

The shadows shifted and Azrael rose in one fluid motion, his gold eyes glowing hot in his face. Despite the instant weakening effect it had on him to be moving even this late in the day, the vampire archangel was blurring through the corridors of the mansion at an incomprehensible speed well before the final rays of sun winked out and twilight took the land.

His brothers were waiting for him, as were Eleanore and Juliette. The curtains and blinds had been drawn tight; they’d known he would be up early.

“Where is she?” he asked. It was all he cared about.

Juliette rose from the couch. Her expression was pained, worried. Gabriel stood beside her, his well-muscled arms crossed over his chest. His silver eyes flashed warily. Alarm bells went off in Azrael’s head, deafening in their warning.

No one answered his question.

“There is much we must discuss, Azrael,” said Max. He stood at the opposite end of the couch, once more dressed in the brown three-piece suit he normally wore. A serious expression settled over his features, and in his hands he held one of the four gold bands that the Old Man had given them so long ago. The bracelets possessed the power to trap a supernatural being’s abilities within their body, rendering them useless. The fact that Max was bringing one of the bands out now no doubt meant that Az would soon be faced with an archess who would fight him.

“I just left her a little while ago,” said Juliette, drawing his attention. “She’s fine,” she assured him. Then she shook her head. “But the situation is not good.”

* * *

The final minutes of the day had taken a proverbial bite out of Azrael’s constitution, but he’d healed rather resolutely once the sun had gone down. And then he’d fed.

Now he stood on the roof of the apartment complex directly across from Sophie’s and let the angry wind whip through his hair and trench coat. Beside him stood Michael and Max. Gabriel and Uriel had remained at the mansion with their wives. They’d insisted that the archesses stay behind, and because none of them knew how powerful their new enemy was, the archangels remained with them. The archesses could not be left alone.

Behind Azrael on the rooftop were the members of Valley of Shadow, his oldest friends and created vampires. Uro, for his part, had been the fortunate recipient of the healing powers of two archesses and had not a single scar to show for the attack Abraxos had mounted against him. He was as handsome as ever, but the event had struck a serious chord with them all. They knew what they were up against now and it was far more powerful than any of them would have believed. It went without saying that Uro was on guard, and his band mates echoed the sentiment. If Abraxos had been more than Uro could handle, the man in white who had so effortlessly killed the Adarians was an unmeasured threat.

Az peered down at the windows of Sophie’s second-story apartment. There had been no movement within the rooms, but he could feel her there. She was like a piece of a star, bright, volatile, and barely contained. He could also feel the presence of his other subjects all around him, on rooftops and bridges for miles in every direction.

Down below, on the street in front of Sophie’s building, stood Randall, Monte, and Terry. Vampires preferred dark clothing, and their figures blended with the shadows around them. As one, they looked up, their eyes glowing as they locked gazes with their king.

They were waiting. Everyone was waiting to see what Azrael would do.

The good people of the world were tucked inside this night. The storm raged, windows rattled, and the tide brought with it froth-filled, crashing waves that beat against the piers and threatened anchored boats in their docks. The air was cold; to a human, it would have been frigid, leaving rime where the salt water coated the wood of the boardwalks.

For
any
time of year in San Francisco, freezing weather was rare. In mid-May, it was practically unheard-of. Sophie Bryce had come into her powers, all right, and they were stronger than anything Azrael had encountered with an archess.

Az had a feeling that the extra help was coming from the man who had left the mark on the palm of her right hand.

Azrael slipped his own hand into the pocket of his trench coat and fingered the gold bracelet waiting there. Once more, the vampire archangel was faced with a choice. He could do this the easy way, the way he wanted to do it, and use everything in his power to overwhelm Sophie until she submitted to him. Or he could rein himself in . . . and do things the hard way. He’d tried so hard to play nice; he’d come so far. It meant everything to him that Sophie trust him—that she grow to love him on her own terms. He wasn’t ready to lose what he’d gained now.

But archesses were a difficult and dangerous breed to scuffle with. On the battlefield, they were every bit as powerful as their archangel counterparts, if not more so. Sophie was not to be taken lightly now—especially not while she was under whatever influence Gregori had over her.

Azrael considered the stranger Juliette referred to as the man in white. He thought of the dead Adarians and wondered where Abraxos and his three Chosen, the Adarian-made vampires, were at that moment. He couldn’t feel them; wherever they were, it wasn’t here, in the midst of Sophie’s tempest.

Not yet.

“You already know Abraxos can move through the shadows,” Az said. “If he comes tonight, he will bring the others through with him again.”

“Do you think if I killed him and took his blood, I could do the same?” Rurik asked, his voice deep and his tone laced with acid. Az glanced back at him. The Viking’s eyes glowed a hellish blue, like the center flames in a bonfire. His fangs were fully extended, and at the moment the scar above his left eye seemed redder than usual.

The four band members together reminded Azrael of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Rancor was moving through the vampires of the world that night. They were angry that someone had attacked their queen—and marked her. They were also angry that the Adarian general and his three Chosen had joined them in the night uninvited. The fact that Abraxos and his turned vampires could move through the shadows sat particularly unwell with them.

And they wanted vengeance for what had been done to Uro.

Max, who was now dressed in fatigues, as he always was for a battle, turned to look at Rurik as well. “Just try not to get yourself killed,” he said. “You have a concert on Saturday.” He looked back at Azrael and his brown eyes softened with genuine concern. “The same goes for you.”

Az shifted his attention from Max to Michael, who was standing at the edge of the roof and surveying the alleyway beneath them. Az brushed his mind. Ever the cop, Michael was thinking about power outages and the problems they would cause for mortals throughout the city. But he was also thinking of how the four brothers had been forced to fight for every one of their archesses so far. He was wondering what would happen when, and if, he ever found his.

Looking at his brother now, Az couldn’t help but remember Samael’s contract and the promise he’d made. His heart turned to lead as he listened for and caught the sound of the powerful archangel’s blood running through his veins. It was blood Sam wanted him to take—along with the power inside of it.

But now was not the time.

With a hardened resolve, Azrael faced his band mates. They met his gaze resolutely. “Keep your heads,” he told them, trying his best to keep his own. And then he turned and leapt off the building. His trench coat billowed as he descended. Lightning crisscrossed behind him; he could feel the heat of it sizzling through the air. He landed with a cat’s quiet, easy grace, as if the world moved for him to make it easier. And then he straightened and looked up at Sophie’s second-story window.

It struck him as odd that there was no rain—or sleet, rather—accompanying Sophie’s storm. It was dry . . . like a tearless rage.

Azrael strode to the front door of the building, passing Randall and the others on the way. He moved through the front gate into the enclosed courtyard beyond. Quickly he found the stairs that led to Sophie’s floor, and within seconds he was standing before her door. He didn’t bother knocking. It opened for him with no more than a thought, and the cold entered Sophie’s world on mist and wind and lightning-streaked darkness.

Sophie looked up from where she sat on the couch. Her beautiful golden eyes were unnaturally bright, her teeth were clenched, and her gaze was narrowed.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve come to collect your little archess.”

Something hard and mean ramrodded through Azrael, an animal reaction to the defiance he saw in his mate’s eyes. He watched as she slowly stood, her hands curled into fists at her sides, her glorious golden hair whipping about in the wind he’d let in along with him. She glared at him—and the vampire inside of him raised its head and recognized the challenge. He wanted to take her then, to slam her up against the wall and sink his fangs into her neck and drink her in until she surrendered.

But part of him recognized the emotion in her gorgeous eyes for what it was. It was enough to hold him in check.

Barely.

“You got it in one,” he said calmly, turning to glance at the door so that it slammed shut behind him. “Now it’s my turn,” he said as he moved farther into the room.

A flash of uncertainty skated over her perfect features. She took a step back beside the couch, her gaze wary.

“You met a man on a rock and he reminded you of how you’ve had a hard life filled with pain and loss, and how you’ve been helpless to stop it until now. And you hate that.” He stopped and cocked his head to one side. “Am I right?”

Sophie’s gaze hardened. “What I
hate
,” she said, again speaking through clenched teeth, “is
you
.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in.

Azrael’s chest tightened and his eyes flashed, but he took her attack in stride. He knew this wasn’t Sophie—not completely, anyway.

Relentlessly, she went on. “I hate you and your brothers and your stupid Old Man and the way he thinks he can create people and toss them away and then play
games
with them like fucking chess pieces on a board.”

Azrael raised his head and took a slow, deep breath through his nose. He felt his eyes burning in his skull and knew they were glowing like suns. His gums throbbed, his fangs begging to be released. Somehow he kept them in.

“So what will you do, Sunshine?” he asked as he took a step toward her. The darkness followed him as he moved, wrapping around him, swathing him in its power as if dressing him for war. “Will you run?” he asked. “Hide?”

“If I could, I would,” she hissed.

“But you know you can’t, don’t you?” he continued, taking another step. “You know that it’s pointless to run from me. No one escapes me, Sophie. Many have tried.” He shook his head. “All of them have failed.”

She watched him take another step toward her, so close now, and her gold eyes flashed. “Only a cruel and heartless bastard would consider that something to brag about,” she told him fiercely, shaking her head. “You think it’s funny that everyone dies eventually? You think it’s something to shrug off and laugh at?”

Azrael stilled. He stopped two feet away from her. “No one is laughing, Sophie.”

Sophie’s gaze flicked past his eyes to his lips. He watched as she couldn’t help but take in the curve of his neck, his shoulder, the broad expanse of his chest. He wanted to absorb that attention and crow, but Sophie shut her eyes tight and turned away from him, showing him her back.

“Get out,” she demanded, her voice shaking with pent-up emotion. “Go away.”

Azrael closed the distance between them and gazed down at her. Despite her long, lean body, he towered over her. His darkness shadowed her and he saw her shiver beneath the weight of his nearness.

“That’s not going to happen,” he told her.

She had known he was there, but the sound of his voice so close had an effect upon her. He could hear her heart rate speed up, her breathing change. He knew she could feel him behind her. He watched her fingertips press into the sleeves of her sweater.

“Sophie, turn around and look at me.”

“No.”

If it had been a stubborn refusal and nothing more, it might have made him smile. But her anger was still there, lacing the edge of her tone like poison.

The heat of her ire warmed her veins and Az caught the sweet scent of promising magic that coursed through them. His gums throbbed and his fangs slid partway to freedom. He closed his eyes against their invasion, trying desperately to find the strength he needed to hold back a little longer.