Her eyes narrowed, as if she could read his thoughts.
"Go in low," he said, knowing he'd startled her. "He'll aim for head-height. Roll."
She nodded. "He's definitely in there. The scent's crawled into my blood it's so thick, so heavy." Then she was moving toward the doorway.
The next few instants went at inhuman speed. Elena rolling inside, chunks shearing off the doorway, a howl of rage, and then Raphael was in the room, looking up at Uram as the other archangel fired bolts of pure energy at Raphael's hunter.
He launched himself upward, gathering his own energy. This, too, was why he'd been asked to lead the hunt. Of the Cadre, only four could create the energy bolts. It was a gift that came with time-but only if the imprint for it was already there. And unlike with the room of Quiet, this energy didn't have to come from within. As he rose, he drew power from electrical sources, shorting out the lamp burning below.
He threw the first bolt at Uram before the other archangel realized he was there. It hit midchest, throwing Uram against the wall. But Uram wasn't an archangel for nothing. Stopping himself from crashing through the wood, he threw back a ball of red-hot flame. Raphael dodged it, knowing that if it hit his wings, he'd go down. Angelfire was one of the few things that could truly damage an immortal.
Angelfire and a hunter's gun, he corrected. Elena, did I see you arm yourself with that little pistol you used to unman me?
Another exchange of blue and red, huge holes in the wall, dust floating to the earth in serene quiet. As they fought, he watched Uram, tried to see the monster. But the archangel looked as he always had, his new fangs hidden from sight as he focused on repelling Raphael's blows, attacking with his own.
A passing fireball singed Raphael's wing. Shrugging off the shrieking nerve endings, he returned fire, catching the tip of the other angel's left wing. Teeth bared, Uram howled and the monster emerged, red fire in his eyes, fangs lengthening past his lips . . . and a dervish of flame in his hands.
The blood had made him stronger.
That was the draw, the temptation, the insanity. After the Scourge took hold, blood increased an angel's power to the nth degree. But by then, no matter how they appeared, they were so insane that it mattered little. However, Raphael was no green boy to allow himself to be cornered. He dropped at the last instant, and the wave of angelfire hit the wall where he'd been moments ago, decimating everything in its path to expose the outside world, even as he shot upward with a bolt of his own.
Something fired, the sound a loud crack. Uram tipped to the side, faltering, and Raphael saw the tear at the bottom of his wing. He struck out at the vulnerable spot and hit, causing considerable damage. But Uram was already moving. Dodging Raphael's second strike, he flew out the hole created by their battle.
Raphael went after him, knowing he could take him while the bloodborn angel was injured. He'd just swept out into daylight when a body slammed into him. He began to spiral down, managing a soft landing only by dint of years of experience-and put the body on a relatively clear section of the floor.
Michaela.
The female archangel was missing her heart, a glowing red fireball where the organ should've been. Not stopping to think, he thrust in a hand covered with blue fire and pulled out the red, throwing it at a wall and dissipating its destructive force. Michaela's heart began to regenerate in front of his eyes.
"Elena!"
"I'm here." She touched his arm, staring horrified at the mess of Michaela's chest. "Wha-"
Leaving Michaela where she was, he wrapped an arm around Elena's waist and flew up. "Track him."
Understanding at once, she hung on tight and gave an alert nod. When he reached the opening Uram had used to escape, she pointed up, then toward Manhattan. Raphael knew he was fast, but Uram now had a head start. Raphael was also carrying another and though the other angel was injured, so was he. But they were close, so close . . . until they hit the stretch of the Hudson above the Lincoln Tunnel.
The waters of the river churned below, but Elena could find no hint of Uram's scent in the air. Raphael took them down low enough that he could feel a fine spray on his face, but she shook her head. "He knows about water." Sheer frustration. "Either he dived in, or he skimmed so close to the surface that the moisture masked his scent."
Raphael fought the urge to expend power in a useless fit of fury. Instead, he did several wide sweeps along and around the length of river where they'd lost the trail. "Nothing," Elena said. "Fuck."
Silently echoing the sentiment, he flew them back to Michaela's home through a sky pregnant with clouds, sending Dmitri a command to blanket both sides of the river with searchers. The chances of that search bearing fruit were incredibly low-Uram had to maintain glamour only for the undoubtedly short time it would take him to find a hiding place. For an archangel-even an injured one-that was child's play.
Michaela was still where he'd left her, but her heart was now a beating, pulsing reality in her ravaged chest. Her eyes were open, filled with a kind of horror he'd never expected to see. Michaela was too old, had experienced too much, to know true fear.
"He's mad," she said when he crouched down beside her and took her hand. Bubbles of blood foamed out of her mouth. "There's nothing left of the man he once was."
Raphael saw Elena step out, knew his hunter was giving them privacy. Michaela would kill her as soon as talk to her and she felt compassion. So human, was Elena. "He'll return for you." Killing another angel was a vicious rite of passage, a compulsion the bloodborn didn't seem to be able to fight. And once they fixated on someone, they never shifted their interest.
"He said"-Michaela coughed, her heart still visible through the closing gap that was her chest-"that I was the last thing tying him to this existence, that once I was dead, he'd be free to Rise. Rise to what?"
"Death, endless death," Raphael said, continuing to hold her hand. Michaela was a cobra, but she was a cobra who was needed. If they lost her, the Cadre of Ten would be dangerously unbalanced. There was one who could possibly step into Uram's shoes, but no second. "Where were you?"
"He took my heart once before he went after my guards, then again, and left me unconscious on the roof. I'd almost healed enough to fly when"-another cough, but the blood was gone-"he put the fire inside. He didn't have time to spread it."
They both knew if he had, she'd have died an agonizing, and complete, death.
"Go," she said, her eye skating to his wing. "You're injured. You need to heal before he does."