Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (6 page)

Terrence Colby, or Terry, had been born in Tennessee in 1850 and joined the Texas Rangers in 1875. There, he worked under Randall, who took a strong liking to him and thought of him as the son he’d never had. However, a mere three months into his service, Terry was fatally shot by the outlaw John Wesley Hardin. That was when Randall had called on Azrael for help.

As a vampire himself, Randy inherently possessed the ability to create a new vampire on his own, but he had never done so, and he wasn’t certain how to do it now. Azrael answered the call and helped Randall turn Terry before the young man’s heart beat its final time.

Randy and Terry had remained in each other’s company ever since, and their behavior toward each other was today as it always had been. Terry’s youthful energy kept Randall young. Randy’s wisdom kept Terry out of trouble.

Casper MonteVega, the third vampire to answer Azrael’s call, was the youngest among them, though his behavior would never reveal it. Monte had been a very successful author living in New York when he’d climbed out on the icy ledge of his thirty-second-story apartment on the morning of February 22, 1959.

Monte had suffered from severe obsessive-compulsive disorder since he was a child. He was an incredibly sensitive individual who noticed things that others did not. However, he was unable to block out the stimuli all around him and, though it helped him to write best-selling novels and earn a lot of money, it also made him miserable. He’d reached a breaking point.

In a move that Monte would never forget for as long as he lived, Azrael proceeded to land on the ledge beside him, scaring him so badly that he nearly slipped off anyway. Of course, Az would have caught him if he had.

Azrael knew the man didn’t want to die, but could no longer bear the pain of life. He told Casper there was another way. Vampires did not suffer from psychological disorders. It was, perhaps, the silver lining in the thunderhead of their strange existence. A few softly spoken words between two troubled figures on the ledge of an apartment building in the midst of a New York winter—and moments later Casper MonteVega became a vampire.

He met Randall McFarlan and Terrence Colby a few years later in San Francisco, and the three of them had become fast friends.

Now Randall turned away from Terry and faced Az with a serious expression. “Terry’s right in a way, though, isn’t he? I’ve felt something strange in the air lately.”

Azrael nodded. The Adarians were shaking things up, changing the rules. But there was something else. It was odd to Az that the archesses seemed to be coming to light all at once. Why now? After two thousand years? And wasn’t it a little too much of a coincidence that two of them not only knew each other but were best friends?

What did it mean?

“I have an edict to deliver,” Azrael announced, looking them each in the eye and allowing them to feel the urgent, stark command behind his words. The reaction was strong and instantaneous. The air around them thickened, the three men straightened, and Terry stopped fidgeting. Azrael had no idea what was happening on a global scale, but Randall was right. There was a new sensation in the air. Whatever it was, Sophie Bryce was sure to wind up at the middle of it all—just as the previous archesses had. So he was going to send out a message—to every vampire on the planet, and every human servant they depended upon.

“Sophie Bryce is to be protected as if she were your queen,” he told them softly.
Because she soon will be
, he thought. Against all odds and no matter what it took—she would be
.

The three vampires before him nodded once, their serious expressions indicating that they understood.

“And, Randall,” Az added, almost as an afterthought, “Michael needs your help with a case.”

* * *

Abraxos, also known as General Kevin Trenton among his fellow Adarians, was a patient man by nature. You couldn’t live as long as he had and not develop some kind of resistance to the frustrating idiosyncrasies of time. However, time seemed to have sped up around him of late, and he had the sensation that if he didn’t hurry up and start running along with it, he was going to miss the train.

Kevin had lived on Earth with his Adarian brethren for thousands of years. The Adarians had been created by the Old Man long, long ago—and subsequently disposed of here, on this trash heap of a planet, along with a plethora of other beings, both supernatural and
non
. In those thousands of years, he had suffered a lot. His men had suffered a lot. The one ability their powerful bodies lacked was the one that could make their existences less painful. None of the Adarians possessed the power to heal.

For this reason, Kevin had been searching for such a power for millennia. He’d found it in young Eleanore Granger—and for fifteen years, he’d hunted the girl, who became a woman and was eventually revealed as an archess.

Several months ago, Kevin had located the archess and tried to apprehend her so that he and his men could determine some way to absorb her ability to heal. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Ellie was a beautiful woman. She always had been lovely, even as a teenager. Kevin could think of no sweeter victory than to finally have her in his possession.

However, he lost her in a battle with the Four Favored and she was consequently claimed by her mate, the former Angel of Vengeance, Uriel.

In that battle, Kevin had lost several of his men. He’d lost more in the fights that followed when a second archess, Juliette Anderson, made her appearance. Of the twelve original Adarians, only seven remained. And Kevin was no closer to achieving his goal than he had been before their deaths.

Now there was another archess—the third. They were cropping up like weeds all of a sudden, after thousands of years. Something was happening, and he was running out of time. Despite his age and the calm that comes with the millennia, he was running out of patience.

Kevin now stood still on the rocky outcropping of Alcatraz Island, a solitary figure who gazed out over the dark, deep bay at the San Francisco skyline a mile away. It was quiet out here at night, cold and lonely and perfect. The bustle of the city was far enough away that its sounds could be heard only on the occasional breeze. He’d been in the Bay Area because of the third archess. He knew now that this was where she lived, and so this was where he lurked, planning and plotting and biding his time.

But in this infamous, lonely place, Kevin felt a kindred spirit. It was a rock, famed for housing the wicked and the wrong . . . an island from which no goodness escaped.

At his right, an information booth with a map of Alcatraz swayed gently in the strong wind coming off the ocean. It drew Kevin’s attention and offered his reflection on the surface of its smooth, polished plastic.

Kevin smiled at the reflection, flashing sharp white fangs in an uncommonly handsome face with sapphire blue eyes and hair the color of a raven’s wings. He chuckled softly.
Another vampire myth shot to hell.

There was one favorable circumstance that had come out of his continual confrontations with the archangels and their archesses over the last few months.

During his initial battle with Uriel and his brothers after Kevin’s attempt to abduct Eleanore Granger, Uriel had been inexplicably trapped in the form of a vampire. Kevin still wasn’t certain what had caused this, and no intel on the sudden change—not to mention the switch back to his normal self—was forthcoming. However, while he was briefly in this form, Uriel had attacked two of Kevin’s men and taken some of their blood.

In so doing, Uriel managed to temporarily absorb the powers of the men he drank from. This had given Kevin pause. If Uriel was able to take on the abilities of those he attacked, then perhaps another archangel, or more specifically, an
Adarian
, could do the same.

Kevin had made the hard decision to sacrifice one of his own men in order to determine once and for all whether this was possible, not just temporarily but on a permanent basis. After all, if it was possible, then it meant that Kevin had solved the problem of how to absorb the archess’s powers as well when the time came.

The outcome, however, had been worth it. Kevin was able to permanently absorb his victim’s powers along with his blood. The downside was that this dark act came with a dark consequence.

Kevin was no longer just an Adarian. He was now also a vampire.

It had been a week since their last battle with the Four Favored. Kevin and his men had spent the time resting, planning, and learning valuable life-changing lessons. The fact that Kevin had become a vampire after draining another being to the point of death and ingesting that blood made him wonder about the effect it would have on his Adarian brethren. It also made him wonder whether the effect would occur only after draining an Adarian, or would also happen with the killing of a mortal.

He decided to put it to the test. After all, he knew that Azrael, the “king” of the vampires, had been turning men into vampires for centuries. Clearly, it was possible to do so without killing a being. However, Kevin had no idea how this was done, and he had no internal, natural,
instinctive
knowledge burgeoning to life within him. He was guessing that Azrael taught his subjects how to do it—and that the Angel of Death wouldn’t be teaching Kevin anytime soon.

On the other hand, if it were possible to turn an Adarian into a vampire with the killing and drinking of a mortal’s blood . . . well, becoming vampires could only increase an Adarian’s power tenfold. The possibilities were enormous.

Ely was the first to attempt the transition. He seemed to have the best constitution for the task of them all. The enormous black man managed to down nearly every last drop of his human victim’s blood without once appearing as if he wanted to vomit. Kevin was impressed—and hopeful.

As fortune would have it, the grisly task had not been completed in vain. As Ely ingested the human’s blood, it became easier for him to do so. By the time he was finished, he appeared nearly hungry for the thick red liquid. And within twenty-four hours, a transformation had begun to take place.

Now when Ely smiled, he did so through wicked, sharp fangs and from behind eyes that could glow a hellish red.

Kevin selected Mitchell and Luke to follow suit, but once they had become vampires he stopped the others from doing the same. Kevin was very aware of a vampire’s one incredibly strong weakness—the sun—and he wanted the remaining three Adarians to be able to stand guard during daylight hours.

The Adarian family was now composed of four very powerful and dangerous archangel-vampires and three non-vampire Adarians. Kevin liked those odds. And that wasn’t all he had going for him. The ability to absorb
powers
through blood opened up new doors for the Adarians. Each of the men possessed his own unique abilities, and it had occurred to Kevin that it might be possible to join certain abilities together, through the ingesting of blood, in order to produce
new
powers. He was right.

One of his Chosen, Mitchell, had the Adarian ability to read minds. Another, Luke, was able to invade a person’s dreams from anywhere in the world and determine that person’s location in this way. Because people often dreamed of what they had experienced during the day, Luke was able to recognize certain places in the backgrounds of those dreams, thus learning their current whereabouts. Out of curiosity, Kevin combined the two powers by mixing his men’s blood and ingesting it. As a result, he gained the temporary ability to scry a person’s whereabouts. It was how he and his men had located Juliette Anderson several days ago.

It was also how Kevin located the third archess now.

In the last week, he had experimented with many different powers, acquiring supernatural skills that he and his men had dreamed of for centuries. The Adarians now had a handful of high cards and aces up their sleeves. They had regrouped and were stronger than before. Kevin had a few surprises in store for Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Azrael.

Unfortunately, the ability to heal was still beyond their capacity. But no matter. As a vampire, Kevin was certain that he would now require assisted healing much less often than he’d needed it before his transformation. There were far fewer supernatural creatures who could do real harm to a vampire than to an Adarian. They still existed, and the ability to heal would still be a tremendous boon, but it wasn’t as urgent now as it had been. And it didn’t matter, because Kevin was going to possess it soon anyhow. Thanks to Sophie Bryce.

* * *

Randall McFarlan stood as still as the death that had created him, waiting and watching in the shadows of Angel Island. When the intruder he’d been following finally left the bay, Randall nodded once to himself, stepped back into the receding darkness behind him, and disappeared.

Chapter Four

T
he teenage girl on the bed tossed and turned, her sleep clearly interrupted. Her covers had been wrapped tightly around her in her restlessness and hugged the curves of her body, hinting vaguely at the form beneath them.

The man beside the bed watched her with hungry eyes. His tall form was a tower of hard darkness in the quietly disturbed room. With slow determination, he reached down and grasped the top of the covers. Inch by inch, he pulled them off her body. She wore the same clothes she’d worn the day before, from her thin gray sweatshirt to her painted-on jeans.

Marcus shook his head. Teenagers lived so hard these days. She hadn’t removed her makeup, and her mascara was darkening her bottom lid as she slept.

But despite her carelessness, it was clear she was pretty. Her hair was dark, her skin fine, and her form-fitting jeans and top were stretched taut across her curvy legs and ample bosom.

As he watched, the girl shivered, curled in on herself, emitted a soft moan, and rolled over again. Her dreams were troubled; he’d made sure of that.

His kind had been invading the nighttime thoughts of mortal women for countless centuries. Of course, they’d never done so in the manner that he was using right now. Their king would never have allowed it.

His kind lived by a strict and simple code: harm no woman. Their supernatural gift, in fact, was of the opposite ilk. He and others like him were capable of imbuing their partners with pleasure so complete and intense that it was often considered unequaled in the supernatural world.

The reason for this was as simple as their code. They could see into a woman’s soul, well past the thoughts her mind harbored and the subconscious fears she kept hidden inside. Deep down—in the core of who and what she really was.

Here, at a woman’s absolute center, could be found her deepest and truest desires. Her needs. And it was those desires and needs that his kind both fed—and fed
from
.

If he had been living by their code, he would have given the young woman pleasure, taken his own, and left her in the morning with no recollection of what had transpired the night before. That was the way it was
supposed
to happen.

But there was a fury inside of Marcus that couldn’t be quelled by the rules that their king had set forth thousands of years ago. It burned in his veins and consumed his mind, and now here he was, standing in the bedroom of yet another unsuspecting victim.

Marcus wondered how many women it would take. How long would it be before King Hesperos understood what Marcus was doing? Before the others figured out it was him and came after him?

With a strange, sick feeling in his chest, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the girl’s dresser. He was uncommonly tall. But all of his kind were: tall, handsome, built. It felt like a brand—a bad joke. It was worthless, and he’d finally realized it.

He turned from his reflection and dropped the covers at the foot of the girl’s bed, his once hazel eyes now glowing gold and green. He watched her for a moment and then smiled to himself. He raised his hand, palm down, to wave it over the girl’s body. As he did, she awoke.

Her eyes came open fast, and her breath hitched. He could hear her heart pounding. He knew what she’d been thinking, what had been going on behind those pretty blue eyes. She was so young. The dream he’d given her had caused her nipples to harden against the fabric of her top and had moistened her panties between her legs. He knew damn well that she’d never experienced anything quite so . . .
delicious
.

Slowly, the girl blinked against the darkness in her room, trying to adjust her vision. He sensed her disappointment at having awakened. It was natural; she’d been so
close
. But then she noticed the tall shadow beside the bed. Her vision adjusted a little more and she noticed it breathing. Then she stared up into his glowing eyes.

In a split second they were both moving. Her back arched as she tried to sit up in the bed, her lips parting as she inhaled a scream.

But his hand was over her mouth and his body was pressing hers to the bed before she could make a single sound. And then he was in her head again—and she went still beneath him, her eyes lost in his.

“That’s it, little one,” he whispered, his words caressing her lips. “Remember what I did to you in your dream?” He smiled, and he knew that in the dim light of the room, it was a wicked smile. “Would you like me to do it again?”

The air around him shifted a split second before the voice came from behind him. He had no time to prepare for the intrusion.

“You’re finished here, Marcus,” said the voice. “Get off the bed and face us.”

Marcus froze where he was positioned over what would have been his fifty-seventh victim. His muscles flexed, his mind quieted, and he felt a strange sense of completion. It was over. He’d been caught—and he had his answer as to how long it was going to take Hesperos to find him.

With deliberation, he removed his hand from the girl’s mouth and moved off the bed to stand beside it. The girl watched him, her mind trapped between his control and hers, her body caught in a confused state of arousal and fear.

Marcus gave her an enigmatic smile and turned, just as slowly, to face his would-be executioners.

The two men who stood before him were dressed in street clothes. Nothing in the manner of their attire would have given them away as being from the higher echelons of Hesperos’s army. But Marcus knew better.

“You’ll have to kill me, Aarix,” he said to the first of the two—a very tall man with jet-black hair and deep, dark eyes. “I’m done with you and our king. I’m done with our kind.”

They would be able to keep him there. As soldiers in Hesperos’s army, they possessed the power to anchor him in place, preventing him from transporting away. There was no escape this time.

Aarix watched him for a moment in silence. The man beside him cocked his head to one side, watching him just as intently. His name was Darion. His thick brown hair and seafoam eyes had fulfilled the dreams of countless women for eons. There was a time when Marcus had been proud to be among the ranks of some of the most beautiful creatures in any realm. Now it left him cold.

“Hesperos would rather hear your case than kill you outright,” said Aarix. “But I have no problem with the latter if that’s the way it has to be.”

Behind Marcus, the girl stirred on the bed. At once, he felt Aarix’s influence slip past him as the soldier quickly infiltrated her mind and sent her spinning into another deep—this time
peaceful
—sleep.

Marcus gave a bitter smile. “Your heart is too soft, Aarix. You are the perfect tool.”

Aarix’s dark eyes glittered. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. And then he and his companion extended their well-muscled arms. The air shimmered. As the unnatural glow receded, swords that shone with a magical light remained in their grips. The blades of the swords were decorated with ornate etchings, their hilts wrapped in what appeared to be leather that sparkled like stardust.

“Arm yourself,” Aarix warned.

Marcus shook his head. “Like I said, Aarix,” he repeated. “You’ll have to kill me.” His smile broadened as he extended his empty hands out at his sides. “I don’t intend to let you feel good about it.”

Darion’s gaze narrowed, his sea-colored eyes taking on a brighter cast. “I have no issues with striking down an unarmed man,” he told him, “especially if it means saving even a single innocent from your depravity.”

“My
depravity
?” Marcus asked, raising a brow. “Honestly, Darion?” He shook his head in stark disappointment. “Are you so blind that you can’t see what is happening around you? For thousands of years, we’ve used women as nothing more than sustenance, choosing one every now and then to bear our child before we move on and never know that woman again. Another man raises our offspring. Another man knows his childhood, his first word, his first step.” Again he shook his head, feeling bewildered by the words he was finally giving voice to. “Someone
else
is there to see it the first time he ties his shoes or rides his bicycle. The first time he kisses a girl!”

“It’s not our place to judge why things are the way they are, Marcus,” said Aarix. But his voice sounded tired, and his dark eyes seemed sad. Marcus wondered whether he had possibly reached the ancient soldier with anything he’d just said.

Beside Aarix, Darion had lowered his weapon, just a little. His expression was mercurial. He said nothing.

“That you’re unhappy is one thing,” Aarix went on. “But what you’ve chosen to do about it is another. What were you trying to accomplish?” he asked, shaking his head. “What could
possibly
have been your plan? To impregnate as many women as possible in as little time? Were you trying to prove a point?” Aarix asked, his eyes narrowed, his look one of disgust.

“Yes!” replied Marcus. His head began to ache and his heart pounded in his chest. “Yes, Aarix! If it is our sole purpose in life to leave behind children we can’t raise ourselves, then so be it! I’ll leave a thousand!”

“No, you won’t,” Aarix told him simply. He straightened, raising his sword arm once more. The darkness in his eyes had hardened, though they still seemed sad. When he spoke next, it was with an edge that brooked no argument. “Your freedom ends here,” he said. “Tonight.”

Once more the air warped, shifting with supernatural influence. And once more, it happened so fast that Marcus could not trace it or act before a fourth voice rang out through the room.

“Wrong,” it said calmly. “As luck would have it, this is only the beginning for Marcus.”

There were several flashes of light so bright that Marcus was forced to shield his eyes from the blinding pain they caused. Something solid hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him violently back into the wall. He hit it hard and slid to the floor, trying to clear his head. Stars swam before his closed lids.

On the other side of those lids, there were more flashes—and the sounds of a horrible struggle. Growls and grunts of pain filled the small space—terrible, nightmarish sounds that would have haunted a mortal soul.

Marcus forced his eyes open. But just as he did, the air shifted a final time. He blinked and lowered his arm. Aarix and Darion were prone, their bodies spread across the floor, both severely wounded. Their blood covered the walls and the beige carpet of the girl’s bedroom. The smell of acid and smoke filled Marcus’s nostrils. The fallen soldiers of Hesperos’s army were there on the floor one moment, and then, with what was most likely the last of their strength, they transported away. Their bodies wavered and warped for a second—and were gone.

Marcus swallowed hard. A lump filled his throat. It was a lump of cold, hard fear. Beside the spaces where Aarix and Darion had once been stood two other men. They wore jeans and leather jackets, but their boots and the leather of their coats were encrusted with what Marcus knew were very real gems. The stones glittered in the moonlight coming through the girl’s blinds.

“My employer is a fan of your work,” came a calm voice beside Marcus. He blinked and looked up. Beside him stood an average-looking man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a suit. “He would like a word with you,” the man continued. “He may have use for your particular talents.”

Marcus forced himself to focus. He pressed his palms to the wall behind him and pushed himself to his feet. At his height, he was a good seven inches taller than the man who spoke to him. But the man seemed completely unbothered by this.

“In the meantime,” the man continued, stepping past Marcus to make his way to the bed, where the teenage girl still lay in her enchanted sleep. “We will be taking this one along with us as well.” He stopped and stared down at the girl, taking in her peaceful form with not a single show of emotion.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked. Concern for the girl niggled at him. But confusion was winning out. “Who the hell is your employer?” It would take someone very dangerous and very powerful indeed to control the men who stood behind Marcus. He knew what they were. Marcus glanced nervously over his shoulder at the leather-and-gem-clad men. His skin broke out in goose bumps.

“You’ll see soon enough,” came the enigmatic reply. And then the man turned and nodded toward the two behind Marcus. “Bring her,” he instructed. The men didn’t speak, but instead moved to stand beside the bed. One of them bent and lifted the girl easily into his arms.

Marcus’s breath caught. His concern for the young woman blossomed into real fear.

“Don’t worry,” the bespectacled man said, noting the agitation in Marcus’s expression. He smiled a strange, tight smile and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “In all probability, she’ll live to see the morning.”