“Aptly put.” He turned to take her into his arms. “We arrive together.”
“Done.”
With that, Raphael jumped off the edge and opened his wings in silence. The lights flashed up one after the other and they landed on square paving stones in a matter of seconds, the pavers set neatly into the dirt, as if they’d just been laid—though it was clear from the discoloration that they were old. The door to the hidden level was propped open with a rock, the corridor stretching out beyond well made but narrow.
Too narrow for Elena and Raphael to walk down it together.
Elena pulled out her gun, aimed it forward as she took the first step. I am not going second this time, Raphael, she said when she felt him shift behind her. Don’t even try it.
A pause. If there is danger you cannot handle, drop.
That I can do. It’d give him a clear line of sight.
The passage was clean of dust and well maintained, clearly a place that was used often. Other than professionally installed electric lights every two feet—lights that told her some poor, hardworking electrician probably lay buried nearby, since this was a place no one outside a clandestine group could know—there wasn’t anything on the walls or on the floor to give them any clues. Definitely none of the faint carvings that marked the navigation pathways around the rest of Lumia.
Then she caught the first hint of a scent. Perfume, she said to Raphael.
Female, he replied. Heavy enough to linger—or to sink into another’s skin during intimate contact.
Elena thought of the two Luminata who’d recently exited, felt her jaw go tight. Musk, she said, breaking down the scent in an effort to think past the anger that lay hot and heavy in her gut, rich on the oils, expensive. It was the kind of scent that was overwhelmingly opulent, the kind you simply couldn’t ignore. Getting used to it took a little doing for a born hunter, since scent was her business, her nose more sensitive to it even when it had nothing to do with identifying a vampire, but Elena had a lot of experience.
Pushing it aside so it no longer dominated her senses, she carried on.
And came to a halt at the outline of a door on the right-hand side of the passageway. Be helpful if you could see through stone walls.
I can scan mortal minds with ease.
Elena shook her head at the implied offer. No, we don’t cross that line. Not even if it would make this easier—some lines were bright lines, and this one, the two of them had negotiated during a prior investigation. And while it was important to Elena’s sense of honor, it was also important in keeping Raphael “human.” Can you tell if there are mortal minds behind the door without scanning them?
No. If I search, I’ll scan.
Shit. Elena bit down hard on her lower lip. Ideas? It was never a good plan to go into a room with unknown threats.
It’s highly unlikely that anything this close to the entrance is beyond the expected. Unethical and ugly if the people within are coerced rather than volunteers, but nothing dangerous.
Elena nodded. Right. It’s all about easy access. Exhaling quietly, she twisted the handle with care and stepped inside, going low so Raphael could see over her.
Her mouth fell open.
She—Raphael, too, when he came in behind her—stood in a lush living area. It was nice and spacious, the carpet beneath their feet a thick, velvety gray, while what looked to be priceless paintings hung on the walls on either side. The settees—definitely not sofas—were an exquisite, deep burgundy with curved wooden arms and legs.
The furniture was clearly meant to accommodate wings.
A waiting area, Raphael said.
Or one where the sick bastards hang out. Scanning the three doors to their left and seeing no differences between them, Elena decided to go from closest to farthest. She walked in silence to the first door while Raphael stayed slightly back so he could cover her from threats from the other two doors or the one through which they’d entered.
This time when Elena opened the door—after turning the key in the lock—she scented the opulent perfume . . . and came face to face with a small and curvy young woman dressed only in a towel, her hair damp. Her mouth opened, as if to cry out in shock, but Elena was already moving, her hand clamped over the woman’s mouth before the sound could escape.
The mirror in front of them reflected their images, Elena’s golden-skinned hand covering the woman’s mouth—a woman who had her own hands, her skin a rich cream, holding on tight to her towel. Her eyes were huge amber orbs.
Shaking her head in the mirror, Elena lifted her free hand and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh.” A sound and an action understandable in any language.
The woman gave a jerky nod. Releasing her but ready to react at any hint she might scream, Elena watched as the brunette spun around to face her.
40
“Hunter angel.” It was an awed statement.
“You speak English.”
Another jerky nod. “Do you want . . .” She waved hesitantly at the bed on her right, the sheets still tumbled.
Relieved not to see any bruises or other signs of mistreatment on the woman, Elena put her hands on her hips. “You think you can compete with Raphael?”
The brunette smiled with firefly suddenness, dimples appearing in both cheeks. She was beautiful, Elena realized, but it wasn’t the kind of beauty that was intimidating. No, her beauty was soft and sensual and welcoming. “I am glad you do not stray,” she whispered. “You and your archangel, it is a storybook come to life.” A long sigh. “C’est tellement romantique.”