Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood by authors_sort Page B

see?”
    Raphael realized the other man truly had no idea. “He wasn’t mated and Michaela cares for no one but herself.”
    “Harsh.” But he didn’t refute the summation.
    “You have Hannah to tell you if you’re getting close to the edge. Uram was alone.”
    “There were servants, assistants, other angels.”
    “Uram was never merciful,” Raphael said. “He rewarded any show of spine with torture. As a result, his castle was filled with those who hated him and those who feared him. It didn’t matter to them if he lived or died.”
    Elijah looked up, his eyes clear, almost human. “There’s a lesson for you there, Raphael.”
    “Now you are acting like my big brother.”
    Elijah laughed, the only archangel aside from Favashi who ever did such a thing and meant it. “No, I see in you a leader. With Uram gone, the Cadre of Ten has the potential to fragment—you know what happened the last time we splintered.”
    The Dark Age of man and angel, when vampires bathed in blood and the angels were too busy warring with each other to care. “Why me? I’m younger than you, than Lijuan.”
    “Lijuan is . . . no longer of this world.” Frown lines creased his forehead. “She is, I think, the oldest angel in existence. She’s gone beyond petty problems.”
    “This is no petty problem.” But he understood Elijah’s meaning. Lijuan no longer looked upon this world. Her sight was focused somewhere far in the distance. “If not Lijuan, why not you? You’re the most stable of us all.”
    Elijah fanned out his wings as he thought. “My rule in South America has never been challenged. It’s true I have a steel hand with dissent, but,” he said, shaking his head, “I have no desire for killing or blood. To hold the Cadre together, the leader must be more dangerous than any other.”
    “You call me brutal to my face,” Raphael commented softly.
    Elijah shrugged. “You inspire fear without Astaad’s cruelty, or Michaela’s capriciousness. It was why you clashed with Uram—you were too close to taking what was his. The leadership is already yours, whether you know it or not.”
    “And now Uram is being hunted.” Raphael saw, in that vision, his future. To be tracked like an animal. By a woman with dawn-colored hair and eyes as silver as a cat’s. “Go home to your Hannah, Elijah. I will do what has to be done.” Draw blood, end the life of an immortal. But that, of course, was a misnomer. An archangel could die . . . but only at the hands of another archangel.
    “Will you rest this night?” Elijah asked as they both stood.
    “No. I must speak to the hunter.” To Elena.

6
     
    Elena finished her preliminary research on Uram and sat back, nausea a pulsing fist in her throat. Uram had ruled—and as far as the rest of the world knew, still ruled—parts of eastern Europe and all of neighboring Russia. Oh, just like America, those countries had their presidents and prime ministers, their parliaments and councils, but everyone knew that true power rested in the hands of the archangels. Government, business, art—there was nothing they didn’t influence, either directly or indirectly.
    Uram, it appeared, was a very hands-on sort of guy.
    It had been the first story she’d found—a news article about the president of a tiny country that had once been part of the Soviet Union. The president, one Mr. Chernoff, had made the mistake of defying Uram publicly, calling for citizens to boycott the draconian archangel’s businesses, as well as those of his “vampire children,” and patronize those run by humans. Elena didn’t agree with the president’s rhetoric. Being humancentric was a kind of prejudice, too. What about all those poor vampires who were only out to make a living for their families? Most vampires didn’t automatically gain power with the transformation—that took centuries. Some would always remain weak.
    After reading the first few paragraphs of the article, which summarized President