Angel's Blood

"How did you lose her?" Raphael stared at Dmitri, impassive.



"She cut my throat."



Raphael looked at the vampire's clean shirt, his damp hair. "It occurred soon after she left if you've had time to clean up."



"Yes. She didn't want an escort home."



"Did you provoke the attack?" he asked calmly, because the answer mattered nothing to him, except as a test of Dmitri's loyalty.



"I wanted to taste her."



Raphael struck out without warning, slamming Dmitri to the floor with a broken jaw. "I told you she was off-limits. Are you challenging my authority?"



The vampire stood, waiting for his jaw to heal enough that he could speak. "You fought."



"Yes, but I didn't rescind my order."



A bow of Dmitri's head. "My apologies, sire. I did not realize her blood was yours." Disappointment in his eyes, but no hint of rebellion. "I'm surprised you only broke my jaw."



With the dazzling clarity of absolute Quiet, Raphael could see that Dmitri was sincere. "I need you functional. We have work to do."



"I can track her."



That was a secret no mortal knew. Vampires like Dmitri, the ones who gained the ability to entrance hunters with the seduction of scent, could also sometimes turn the tables on their foes. "That's not necessary." This was his hunt-he knew where she'd go. If he was wrong, he knew who to ask. They would answer.



"What would you like me to do?" Dmitri asked, his voice almost normal. He was old enough that most injuries-especially those that involved little to no loss of blood-healed relatively quickly.



"Get me the Guild Director's home address, as well as that of Ransom Winterwolf."