“Here.” She stepped away to stand guard while he ran his fingers over the spot.
As she watched, he appeared to press down on specific areas of the stone, though she couldn’t differentiate any one section of the wal from another.
But the instant after he lifted his hand, the stone cracked open with a groan that spoke of great age, releasing a puff of dust that had Elena coughing as she ducked to poke her head inside.
At first, she saw nothing, the area beneath the altar was so dark.
Then her nose picked up the wicked bite of some exotic liqueur. Lime, she thought, it had the tart sweetness of lime, kissed with a richer, more languid flavor. It was a scent she hadn’t realized she associated with Il ium until that second. “He’s here.”
“Be ready.” A brightness of blue.
In the lingering flash, she saw Il ium’s crumpled form in the corner, his head tipped against the stone wal , his wings crushed under his body. “What’s she done to him?”
“Go, Elena.” Taut words. “I need to remain here to ensure the door does not close.”
Blinking against the aftereffects of the blaze of light, she stepped down into the cavern—it went deeper than the floor outside, until even Raphael could’ve stood upright—and made her way through the dark space by feel, stumbling over Il ium when she miscalculated. Please be okay. Crouching, she touched his leg, his thigh, his chest, then final y, found her fingers on his face.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I can’t carry you out of here.” He was too heavy with muscle, and under no circumstances did she want Raphael to leave the doorway—it would snap shut the instant he did, of that she was as sure as she was of her own name.
No response from Il ium.
Leaning closer, she gave in to the urge to press her cheek against his, trembling in relief at the warmth of his skin. “Il ium, you have to wake up. I need you to protect me against Dmitri.”
A change in his breathing, fingers brushing against her hip, then ... “Liar.”
Thank God. She got to her feet, one of her hands around his. “Up, Sunshine, now.”
Il ium mumbled something, but she could tel he was attempting to obey. He got himself on his feet after a few tries, but then al but col apsed against her. Bracing his front against her own, she let out an oomph before managing to manhandle him enough that she could wrap an arm around his waist, pul his own muscular arm over her shoulders.
“Walk,” she ordered, gripping at the wrist of the arm around her shoulders.
His wings lay heavy against her own as he spread them in an instinctive attempt to find his balance. The intimate slide was not something she’d have al owed even Il ium under normal circumstances. Today, she held him even tighter, muttering orders in the voice of a dril sergeant in an effort to keep him conscious as she hauled him out of the pit where he’d been dumped, her back and shoulders straining against his muscled weight.
“Elena.”
Only when she heard Raphael’s voice did she realize she’d reached the doorway. “He’s dazed,” she told her archangel.
Il ium lost consciousness again right then, becoming a dead weight.
“I’ve got him.” As Raphael reached in to haul the blue-winged angel up out into the light, Elena made a mistake. She put her hand on the wal and took a moment to catch her breath. At the same instant, Raphael shifted just out of the doorway, turning to set Il ium down against the outside wal .
The door slammed shut.
The shock of the absolute pitch-dark was so sudden and unexpected that Elena didn’t scream, didn’t cry out, didn’t do anything but stare at the door that she knew was there, though she couldn’t even see her own fingers in the extremity of the blackness. There was no light. None. Raphael? she tried after a couple of seconds, her brain kicking itself back into gear.
Silence.
It didn’t scare her—she knew he was on the other side, working with single-minded focus to get her out. Al she had to do was stay in place and fight the disorientation caused by the utter lack of sensory cues to aid perception. “Nice and easy,” she told herself, shifting very careful y to lean against the wal , her wings tucked neatly to her back. The quiet within the stone room was . . . tomblike.
That was when she heard them.
Whispers. So many whispers. Around her. Inside her.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Come here, little hunter. Taste.
Get on your knees and beg, and maybe I’ll let you back into this family.
Run, Ellie. Run.
She won’t run. She likes it, you see.
Ah, chérie, you know I never left this room.
Mama?
Ari’s having a nice nap—
“Stop it!” she screamed, clapping her hands over her ears. But the voices continued to torment her, her nightmares boiling over to trap her in a prison far more terrible than the stygian gloom that surrounded her on every side.
Little hunter, little hunter, where aaaaaarre you?
Perhaps I’ll tie you to Bobby, let him feed.
You disgust me.
Dead, they’re all dead.