Sara nodded. "Small cubbies-connected, but way too cramped. Ours is better."
The doors opened to reveal a subterranean network so old, it dated to the time of the first American Guild-that history was part of the reason why New York functioned as the permanent home of the Guild Director, and consequently, as HQ for the entire United States Guild.
"Ours might be better," Elena said, stepping out, "but I bet they don't have to dodge carnivorous bugs with a taste for human flesh." The building supports in front of her were massive, but only dirt lay beneath as far as the eye could see. Even if someone unauthorized did make it down here, they'd probably give up long before they discovered the truth.
"Badass vampire hunters eat bugs for breakfast." Light words, but Sara's expression was serious. "You good? I have to get upstairs to initiate damage control."
Elena nodded, then put out a hand to stop the doors closing. "You said you had a message from the president?" It was an attempt to temper the icy tendril of fear that twisted into her mind without warning as a primal part of her reacted to something she didn't yet understand.
Sara nodded. "He saw the news footage-wanted to know if he should be worrying about a wave of bloodlust-crazed vampires."
"Nervous guy."
Sara responded with a snort. "Do you realize exactly how many vamps were chasing you? Just stay under and make up with Raphael-I can't believe I'm saying that-as soon as possible."
As the doors closed, plunging Elena into pitch blackness, she wasn't sure if she ever wanted to speak to Raphael again. She'd thought-The truth was, she didn't know what she'd thought. Her hand flinched involuntarily as her body remembered how Raphael had forced her to hurt herself. From that to lusting after him in less than twenty-four hours. Her mouth tightened. Maybe the bastard had been messing with her mind from the start, letting her believe she was free when all the time, he was making her dance to his tune.
"Which makes him an archangel and me an idiot," she said, walking ten paces left and feeling her way down to the base of the column there. A few minutes later, she unearthed-literally-the stash of weatherproof torches. After making sure hers worked, she spent several more minutes reburying the hoard for the next hunter, then began to make her way through the concrete, metal, and earth jungle.
It took her ten minutes to reach the doorway to the Cellars. It looked like some junkie's idea of a door, all twisted up, graffitied, and shot full of holes. But she knew that that door was backed up by eight inches of pure steel. Shining the torch on what appeared to be a long-broken keypad, she coded in.
Welcome, Elena.
The message flashed across the tiny screen a second before a retinal scanner slid out of the slot. She dutifully put her eye to it and two minutes later, she was inside. But that only meant she'd passed the first hurdle. This shelter was designed to hold even if a hunter was forced or coerced into bringing an enemy inside.
Standing in the seemingly solid steel cubicle, she waited until Vivek cleared her through the second set of doors. She was scanned by several lasers the second she stepped out. All her weapons were noted, as was the lack of any biological or chemical weapon.
"Barev, Elena."
The words came out of hidden speakers. "Barev, Vivek. How's the weather in Armenia these days?" The Cellar Manager liked languages. Over time, it had become a game to guess the origin of the greetings he used.
"Cloudy, with a three percent chance of rain."
Grinning, she headed down the main corridor. "So, what evil plans have you got for me today, O Great Knower of All Things?"
Vivek laughed, safe in the small, bomb-proof, flood-proof, earthquake-proof, probably end-of-the-world-proof room at the center of the Cellars. "Scrabble."
"Bring it on. You still owe me three hundred bucks."
"That's because you cheated." There was a slight pettiness to his tone but that was Vivek. He lived down here twenty-four /seven out of choice.
Up there, I'm nothing, a burden. Down here, I'm king.
She couldn't argue with him. Vivek controlled everything in the Cellars. "Give me a few minutes to shower." Raphael wasn't a vampire, but the rawly masculine essence of him was burned into her brain, her skin, her very pores. She wanted him gone!
Chapter 14
"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."
Chapter 15
Elena made the word "hide" then waited as Vivek thought. "Anytime this century, V."
"Patience." He sat with absolute stillness, but it was no act of self-discipline. Vivek had lost all feeling below the shoulders in an accident as a child. If he hadn't, he'd have been hunter-born. Instead, aside from his considerable duties as Cellar Manager, he functioned as the Guild's eyes and ears in a connected world, his high-tech wheelchair built for wireless capability-he often knew what people were saying about the Guild before the words even passed their lips.