"Uram?" Elena asked, trying not to think about the stomach-churning "delivery" Raphael had just described. "Is he-"
"Later." Raphael cut her off with a slice of his hand. "First we'll go to the site and see if you can track him."
"He's an archangel. I scent vampires," she pointed out for what felt like the millionth time, but neither archangel nor vampire was listening.
"I've organized transport," Dmitri said and she had the sense that more information was being communicated than the words she could hear.
Raphael shook his head. "I'll take her. The longer we wait, the more the scent will dissipate." He held out his hand. "Come, Elena."
She didn't argue, her curiosity rabid. "Let's go."
And that was how she found herself tucked against Raphael's chest as he flew her to an abandoned warehouse in an unfamiliar part of Brooklyn. She ended up squeezing her eyes shut for most of the journey because Raphael was doing that invisible thing again, and this time he'd extended it to cover her. It made her nauseated to not be able to see herself.
"Do you sense him?" he asked moments after he landed on a patch of dirt with a few struggling clumps of grass and helped her get to her feet.
She took a deep breath and was hit with an influx of smell. "Too many vamps. It'll make it harder to separate out the scents." She couldn't see a single vampire, couldn't see any living creature at all, but she knew they were there-though this wasn't a place anyone would want to end up.
The chain-link fence on either side was ragged with holes, the buildings scrawled over with graffiti, the grass scraggly underfoot. There was a pervading sense of disuse, but overlaying that was the odor of rotting garbage . . . and something even more foul. She swallowed bile. "Alright. Show me."
He nodded at the warehouse in front of her. "Inside."
The large warehouse door slid up, though he'd spoken in a low tone. She wondered if he could speak to all his vampires mind-to-mind. But she didn't ask that, couldn't. Because the scent of garbage, of disuse, was suddenly wiped out by stomach-churning foulness.
Blood.
Death.
The sickening miasma of bodily fluids left to stew in an airless space.
The urge to gag tore at her throat. "Never thought I'd say this, but I wish Dmitri was here." She'd welcome his seductive scent at this point. A wash of clean, fresh, rain scent hit her on the heels of that thought. She drew it in, then shook her head. "No. I can't afford to miss the cues. But thank you." Then she stopped hesitating and walked into the horror.
The warehouse was huge, the only light coming in through narrow windows high up on the walls. Her brain couldn't understand the piercing clarity of that light until she felt the crunch of glass underfoot. "The windows are all broken."
Raphael didn't reply, moving behind her like a midnight shadow.
She crunched her way through the glass and onto a patch of clear concrete. Deciding to focus, she stood in place, widened her senses, searched.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
No, she thought, teeth gritted, this was no time to lose it.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She shook her head but that sound-the soft, wet splash of blood hitting a hard surface-didn't disappear. "The dripping," she said, realizing the sound wasn't in her head. Horror choked off her breath but she made herself move forward, through the gloom and toward the very end of the cavernous space.
The nightmare came into sight slowly.
At first, Elena couldn't make sense of it, couldn't figure out what it was that she was seeing. Everything was in the wrong place. It was as if some sculptor had gotten his pieces mixed up, stuck them into place while blindfolded. That leg, the bone, it had been driven through a woman's sternum, her torso ending in a bloody stump. And that one, she had beautiful blue eyes but they were in the wrong place, staring out at Elena from the gaping maw of her neck.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The blood, it was everywhere. She glanced down in fresh horror, terrified she was standing in it. Her relief was crushing when she saw the rivulets were sluggish, easy to avoid. But the bodies continued to drip, hanging from a tangle of rope like the most macabre of puzzles. Now that she'd looked down, she didn't want to look back up.
"Elena." The rustle of Raphael's wings.
"A minute," she whispered, her voice raw.
"You don't need to look," he told her. "Just follow the scent."
"I need an example of his scent before I can go anywhere," she reminded him. "What he gave Michaela-"
"Michaela destroyed the package. She was in hysterics. Do what you can here. We'll visit her afterward."
Nodding, she swallowed. "Tell your vampires to vacate the area around the warehouse-at least a hundred yards in every direction." There was too much sensory input, as if the sheer amount of blood was amplifying everything, even her own hunter abilities.
"It's being done."
"If any of them are like Dmitri, they need to get out completely."
"There are none. Do you wish to scent those who came inside, for elimination purposes?"
It was a good idea but she knew that if she turned her back on this madness, she'd never return. "Did any of them spend a lot of time near the bodies?"
A pause. "Illium took on the task of determining if any had survived."
"It's obvious they're dead."
"The ones on the floor-their fate wasn't immediately clear."
She'd been so horrified by the hanging bodies that she hadn't paid attention to the pile below. Or perhaps she hadn't wanted to see, to know. Now she did and wished she hadn't. Unlike the nightmare above, these bodies looked as if they were sleeping, one on top of another. "Were they arranged like that?"
"Yes." A new voice.
She didn't turn, guessing it to be Illium. "Are your wings blue?" she asked, coating her pity and sorrow in a casing of dark humor. These three girls below, they were so young, their bodies smooth, uncharted by age.
"Yes," Illium said. "But my cock isn't, in case you were wondering."
She almost laughed. "Thank you." That comment had snapped through the nightmare, allowing her to think. "Your scent won't interfere with my senses." Her nose was ten times better than that of most humans, but when it came to tracking, she was a bloodhound attuned only to vampire. Or that was her normality. This . . .
The sound of footsteps retreating. She waited until she heard the door close. "You took his feathers and he remains with you?" Her eyes traced the bodies. A symphony of unbroken, tangled limbs and curved spines, unmarked but for the gray chill of death.
"Others would have taken his wings."
An angel without wings. It made her remember how she'd shot Raphael. "Why are they so washed out?" Their race was immaterial. Chalk white, dull mahogany, it mattered little. All three girls in the pile were pale in a way that screamed-"Vampire. A vampire fed from them. Drained them." She went to step forward, halted. "The M.E. hasn't been here. I can't touch them."
"Do what you must. Ours are the only eyes that'll see this."
She swallowed. "And their families?"
"Would you leave them with this image of suffering?" A cold blade of anger in every word. "Or a story of a sudden plane crash or car accident in which the body was destroyed beyond recognition?"
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Deluged with blood and death on every side, her brain struggled to fight the memories of old horrors, things no amount of time would wipe away. "He didn't drain the others. Just these three."
"The others were for play."
And somehow, she knew the evil that had butchered the ones above had done so in front of the living girls, shoving terror through them, feeding on their fear. She stepped nearer the drained girls, having skirted the dripping nightmare above. Going down on her haunches, she moved long black hair away from a slender neck. "In cases where a human dies, I usually get the strongest scent impression at the point where blood was taken," she said, talking to drown out the pervading, endless sound of blood hitting concrete. "Oh, Jesus."
Raphael was suddenly on the other side of the bodies, his wings flared out in a way that struck her as odd . . . until she realized he was attempting to keep them out of the blood. He hadn't been wholly successful. A bright red splash marked the tip of one wing. She looked away, forcing her gaze back down to the shredded neck of the girl who'd looked so peaceful from a distance. "This wasn't a feed," she said. "It's like he tore out her neck." Remembering Michaela's "delivery," her eyes dipped. The girl's heart, too, was gone, ripped out of her chest.
"A feed would've been too slow," Raphael said, continuing to keep his wings off the floor. "He must've been starving by this point. He needed a bigger hole than the fangs provide."
The clinical description actually helped calm her. "Let's see if I can pick up his scent." Tightening every muscle in her body, she leaned close to the dead girl's neck and breathed deep.
Cinnamon and apples.
Soft, sweet, body cream.
Blood.
Skin.
A jagged lash of acid. Sharp. A scent with bite. Interesting. Full of layers. Pungent but not putrid.
That was what always amazed her. When vampires went bad, they didn't magically gain an evil scent. They smelled the same as they always had. If Dmitri went bad, he'd retain his allure, his seductive chocolate cake and frosting and sex with all the toppings kind of smell. "I have it, I think." But she had to confirm.
Standing, she waited until Raphael had risen before gritting her teeth and stepping below the abattoir hanging from the ceiling. She took every step with slow deliberation, knowing she might just run screaming from this warehouse if touched by even a single drop of cold blood.
Drip.
A splash by her foot. Close, too close.
"Far enough," she whispered and then went absolutely still, sorting through the scent layers once more. It was harder here, much harder. Terror had a scent, too-sweat and urine and tears and darker fluids-and it overlaid everything in this area. Like a thick perfume that had been sprayed with wild abandon, cloaking anything more subtle.
She dug down, but the terror was a choking grip around her throat, a hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her from sensing anything else. "How long ago did they die?"
"We estimate two to three hours, perhaps less."
Her head jerked up. "You found the location so soon?"
"He made a lot of noise toward the end." A tone so glacial, she barely heard Raphael in it, and yet it was chill with rage, not like when he'd been Quiet. "A neighborhood vampire called Dmitri after coming to investigate."
"You told me this morning I'd be earning my paycheck. You expected this?"
"I knew only that Uram had to be reaching a critical point." His eyes moved over the nightmare. "This . . . no, I did not expect this."
She didn't think anyone could have-it was something that simply shouldn't exist. And yet it did. "The vampire-what will happen to him?"
"I'll take his memories, make sure he remembers nothing." Said without the least apology.
She wondered if that was what he planned for her, but this wasn't the time to ask. Instead, she set her shoulders and dug deeper. Nothing. "There's too much fear here. I'll have to go with what I got from the body." Stepping away with as much care as she'd entered, she tried not to think about what hung above.
Drip.
A drop of blood splashed off the shiny black of her boot. Her gorge rose. Turning, she ran, not caring if it betrayed weakness. The damn door had been pulled down behind them and now refused to open. Her hand slid off the hot metal. She was at screaming point when it shifted a fraction. She fell to her stomach and squeezed out into the dead earth of the yard.
The sun shone bright overhead as she stood bent over, retching. She was aware of Raphael coming to stand beside her, his wings spreading out to shade her from the sun. She waved him down. She craved the heat-her soul was cold, so icy cold.
She didn't know how long she stood there bent in half, but when she rose, it was to the awareness of being watched. The vampires she'd sent from the warehouse? Illium? Watching the hunter lose her breakfast.
Her mouth tasted disgusting as she used the edge of her T-shirt to wipe at her lips. She wasn't the least bit embarrassed. To see that and not be affected . . . it would've made her a monster akin to the killer who'd anointed her in blood before she'd even been old enough to date.
"Tell me why," she said, voice husky.
"Later." A command. "Search for him."
He was right, of course. The scent would fade if she didn't hurry. Not replying, she kicked some loose dirt over her recently lost breakfast and began to jog slowly around the warehouse, attempting to pick up Uram's exit point. Most vampires used doors but you could never tell. And this killer had wings.
A sharp bite of acid.
She halted, finding herself in front of a small side entrance. From the outside, it looked normal, but when she tugged it open, she found the inside covered with bloody handprints. Too small to have been made by a man of Uram's size. She followed the line of sight . . . and saw the hanging shadows deep in the warehouse.
She slammed the door shut. "He let them run, let them think they had a chance to escape."
Raphael stayed silent as she zigzagged out from the doorway.
"Nothing," she said. "His scent is there because one of the girls managed to get out and he had to retrieve her." She bent down to stare at the brown grass. "Dried blood," she said, swallowing past the raw flesh of her throat. "Poor kid actually managed to crawl this far." She frowned. "There's too much blood."
Beside her, Raphael went very still. "You're right. There's a trail leading away from the door."
She knew his eyesight was keener than hers. Like raptors, angels could reputedly see the tiniest of details even during flight. "It can't be Uram's," she murmured. "I'd have scented it." She followed Raphael as he walked the trail-she could no longer see anything past the first few feet. "Did he drag a body out here, maybe?" They were at the chain-link fence. She went down, examined the small hole at the bottom. "There's blood on the edges of the metal." Excitement slammed into her, a two-fisted punch.
"I'll have to fly across."
As he winged over, Elena found another hole to push through. The blood was more obvious on the other side-there was no grass to hide it, just hard-packed dirt. Her excitement turned into an almost painful hope. "Someone crawled through that hole." Rising to her feet, she found herself staring at the closed door of a small shed. It looked like it might once have been a guard station for the abandoned parking lot behind it.
There was blood on the door.
"Wait here," Raphael ordered.
She gripped the closest part of him-his wing. "No."
The look he shot her was not friendly. "Elena-"
"If we have a survivor, seeing an angel is going to freak her out." She let go of his wing. "I'll check first. She's probably dead, but just in case . . ."
"She lives." An absolute statement. "Go. Get her. We can't waste time."
"A life is not a waste of time." Her hand fisted hard enough that she knew she'd have crescent-shaped marks in the flesh of her palms.
"Uram will kill thousands if we don't stop him. And he'll get more and more depraved with each kill."
Snapshots of the mutilated bodies inside the warehouse cascaded through her mind. "I'll hurry." Reaching the guard station, she took a deep breath. "I'm a hunter," she said loudly. "I'm human." Then she pulled open the door, making sure to stay out of the line of fire in case the person inside had a weapon.
Pure silence.
Using the utmost care, she looked around and . . . into the face of a small woman with darkly slanted eyes. The woman was naked but for the rust red stain of blood, her arms gripping her raised knees as she rocked soundlessly, blind to anything but the terrors of her mind.