Archangel’s Ascension (The Guild Hunter Series)

The fine-boned angel of about five feet five inches who called herself Vixen was wrapped up in a silken robe, her feet bare and her hands around a mug of coffee, when Illium and Aodhan dropped onto her seventh-floor balcony an hour later.

The open doors gave them a clear sight line to where she stood by her kitchen counter.

Eyes devoid of contacts—and yes, a distinctive and pale greenish-hazel—grew huge, her lips, stained a soft pink, parting on a gasp. “I did not ever expect to gain the notice of the Tower,” she gushed, abandoning her coffee to run toward them.

The hair that streamed behind her was a rich and false yellow akin to marigolds.

“You must excuse how I’m dressed.” Pretty words, an even prettier smile. “I have only now risen. The clubs in this city are astonishing—I go for an hour or two and end up staying till they close their doors.”

Aodhan had been afraid he’d strangle her the minute he came within sight of her, but while the rage remained, it was a cold, cold thing. He saw her…and he saw weakness and guile and evil, the smiles and the words nothing but window dressing.

Céline without the subtlety or talent.

While the mask would’ve frustrated the child he’d been for his inability to paint it, Aodhan had gained that skill over the years, until he could paint this woman with her smile and outward prettiness and have it radiate cunning and viciousness.

But no matter how covetous and murderous her nature, she was no threat to him or Illium or anyone else of their ilk; the only reason she’d been able to harm Marco and Tanika was that they’d been so heartbreakingly young. Against stronger foes, Vixen was a coward.

He’d wait for evidence to convict her, but he had no doubts on his conclusion of her guilt.

“The angels of the Tower have been aware of you for some time,” Illium said in that light way those who didn’t know him often took as flirtation. It wasn’t. It was a mask for his own anger, because masks could be used for good as well as evil.

Vixen, however, wrapped up in her grandiose plans of rising to the apex of angelic social hierarchy, was oblivious. Blushing right on cue, she invited them inside. Aodhan felt Illium’s body tense, reached out with his mind: We should accept, or it will be a show for her neighbors.

Marco and Tanika deserved better than that.

Stop me if I give in to the urge to wring her neck, Illium responded before crossing the threshold.

Inside, the apartment was wide and spacious, decorated with an elegance that was about the finest things. Artwork, the furniture, even the mug that held her coffee, it was all from well-known designers and artists across time.

“I have never been able to acquire one of your pieces,” she whispered to Aodhan in a tone that was perfectly modulated to flatter without appearing servile. “But I hope now that you know of my interest, you will put aside a sketch for me.”

She fluttered a delicate hand to her chest, her nails painted a translucent yellow and her eyes huge orbs of innocent wonder. “A small thing, perhaps even a piece you might otherwise discard. I’d never presume to ask for a work on canvas or for one of your sculptures.”

He’d always thought evil intelligent, but cunning wasn’t the same as intelligence. This woman truly thought two senior Tower angels had come to her home because she was a dazzling drawcard.

“I have heard that you collect gems,” he said instead of answering, because they must have concrete proof. “I’m currently working on a piece that requires many different gemstones.” He kept his tone remote because he knew that would compel her to do whatever she could to get in his good graces.

Aodhan hated playing such games, but here? With this woman who’d murdered two good people out of spite and envy? Yes, he was more than willing to make an exception. “Several of the gems I need are rare.”

Vixen’s eyes fairly blazed. “Oh, indeed, I’ve had many dazzling finds over time. You have come to the right person. If you will give me but a moment!”

Neither he nor Illium said anything aloud while she was gone from the room, but that didn’t mean they were silent.

She’s very stupid, Aodhan said with an unkindness he reserved for evil. Her avarice and desire to rise to the top blind her to reality. She seems to have no concept of the fact that we’re in a post-war reconstruction period, with no time for inane social calls, even were either one of us so inclined.

I really want to slice off her head. Illium’s mental tone was as grim as his expression was light. Get blood all over this white carpet. How mad do you think Raphael would be if I did that?

I think the sire would be exasperated but never angry. Not after what had happened to Dmitri, then to Aodhan; there were some trespasses the Archangel of New York was incapable of forgiving.

Eyes as familiar as his own breath held Aodhan’s, the understanding in them a testament to his Blue’s huge heart. What do we do with her? We both know she’s the culprit.

Aodhan had already considered that question, come to the only possible answer. First, we must have proof. Our instinctive certainty isn’t enough, because any action we take reflects on Raphael.

Illium exhaled slowly. At least one of us has a calm head.

Once we have the proof, we take her to the sire. She’ll fly with us of her own accord. This execution must be done in front of witnesses after she has confessed her crime—and I think Giulia should be there. Marco’s mother would not rest easy until she knew her son and Marco’s love had been avenged.noveldrama

Illium nodded just before Vixen emerged dressed in a gown of rich orange vibrant against her pale skin. She was too clever at the game of seduction to flaunt cleavage, but the dress was cut in such a way as to hint at her curves, invite the eye.

The angel held a small but not insignificant box made of golden wood polished to a shine and closed with a steel clasp that she’d already unlocked. “I have more stored in a vault in Istanbul,” she said breathlessly, “but these are the best of the best of my collection. I never travel without them.”

Aodhan allowed her to show him jewel after jewel, waiting until the very end to say, “I was hoping you’d have a sunset diamond. It is the gem I wish to make the centerpiece of my work—I’d heard that you had one in your collection, though you wear it but rarely.” A calculated risk, that statement, but he was certain Vixen wouldn’t have been able to resist flaunting Lailah’s diamond, even if only to a small group of intimates.

A rapid flutter of lashes, a kick to the pulse in her neck. “I’m sure I can locate one for you—I patronize many jewelers who save special stones for me. Unfortunately, I gifted mine to a lover who was most ungrateful for it.” Pinched lips before she smoothed them out into a soft smile. “Alas, I do not know what he did with it.”

That she’d called Marco a “lover” when he’d refused all her overtures said even more about her personality and ethics. “He must’ve been a dazzling being indeed,” Aodhan murmured, “to be worth such a stone. Anyone I know? Perhaps I can persuade him to release it to me.”

A flick of her hand. “Oh, he died in the war.”

“Our sympathies,” Illium said, flowing into the conversation. “We lost so many good people. And then there were the countless injured to the point of near death.” He casually mentioned several names. “Talking of which”—he turned to Aodhan—“I forgot to tell you Navarro is back in the city. Figured you wouldn’t want to be surprised.”

Seeing Vixen go motionless, Aodhan said, “A pity that we could not choose who lived and who died.” His ambiguous words paired with Illium’s familiar conversational tone had the desired effect.

Vixen took it for a sign of intimacy. “Navarro steals things from the vampires under Contract to him,” she shared in a hesitant tone, as if afraid of their reaction. “Can you imagine? He just appropriates their gifts. I find that repugnant.”

Aodhan tilted his head. “How do you know this?”

“My lover was, unfortunately, tied to him. Navarro not only took from him the tokens of my affection, but had the gall to wear the items in public.”

It was enough to solidify his certainty to stone, but Aodhan wanted her to admit it, wanted her to show the blood on her hands. Gripping her throat with one hand, he smiled.

Vixen’s pulse skittered, but not in fear.

That came when he lifted her off the floor with that same hand, his grip firm. “This is tiresome,” he said, using words and a tone that would penetrate her self-absorption. “Tell me to whom you gave the gem. I do not play games when I want something.”

Her legs kicked as he began to cut off her air.

“A vampire!” she rasped out. “I tell the truth! Just a vampire under Contract I was foolish enough to fall in love with. He died in the war. In a fire. Navarro may have the jewel!”

“The name of the vampire?”

“Marco Corvino.” Her fingernails dug at his hand in a futile gesture. “If you don’t find the diamond with Navarro, then perhaps Marco gave it to the whore with whom he thought to betray me.” A slow spread of red in her irises, fine blood vessels beginning to burst. “He asked her to marry him! He could’ve had me, and instead he asked her to marry him.”

There we go, Illium murmured. The trigger for Marco’s murder.

“That a vampire yet under Contract, scrawny and young, threw you aside,” Aodhan said, squeezing harder, “makes me believe we’ve made a mistake in thinking you suitable for Raphael’s court.” Raphael had no court, had never had a court as such. His Tower was filled only with people who played a useful role and had no time for petty intrigues. “You are weak, pathetic.”

“No, I’m strong!” Vixen coughed, her face bulging—and he thought it fitting that her outside now matched her inside.

“I can prove it.” An attempt at a shout that came out barely audible.

Aodhan released his grip the slightest amount, enough that she could speak.

“I showed Marco that he couldn’t betray me without consequences. I burned him alive,” she hissed. “But first, I made him watch as I cut the throat of his whore.” Her eyes glittered. “I am worthy of the Tower. Worthy of you.”

Aodhan’s fingers threatened to spasm to crushing tightness. The part of him that had once been Marco, hunted and abused, wanted to watch as she scrabbled at his hand, her feet kicking helplessly and her wings fluttering…but that would be a step into the abyss he’d fought so long to avoid.

So he smiled and put her feet back on the floor. “You are who we believed you to be,” he said, while she gasped and choked. “You will accompany us to the Tower.”

Her expression was dazzled.