“I’m a man. I watch footbal and hockey as I should.”
Even as she responded to his dry humor, Elena thought of the vampires she’d seen skittering over wal s with the strength and speed of arachnids, and knew the answer had to be both more prosaic than a comic-book superhero—and possibly more terrifying, if the hint of scent Elena could taste in the air was to be believed.
Lush. Sensual. Exotic. Whispers of a rain-dark forest, a hidden glade.
Keeping her wings tight to her back in an effort to avoid the rusted metal al around, she shifted along her perch until she was directly above the first vampire. It wasn’t so bad from that position, she realized, because she’d never been on the mezzanine when her mother had chosen to—
Slamming the door shut on that memory, she took a deep, steady breath, drawing in the scents. Salt, the sea, it was a constant, so she took that out of the equation straight away. She also put aside the puzzlingly pristine fragrance of Caliane’s signature black orchids.
Sweetgrass, cut on a summer’s day.
It was one of the most delicate scents she’d ever sensed on a vampire, and it belonged to the one who hung on this rope. Which meant the kil er’s scent was either much more faint or not present. Knowing she had to get closer to the victim, she twisted, managing to drop down into a hanging position with both arms hooked over the metal beam for support, her wings spread wide for balance.
The body was only inches away ... but too far down.
Gritting her teeth, she shifted her hold until she was gripping the metal with her fingers. Stil not close enough. “There’s nothing I can do here,” she said at last, frustration gnawing at her temper. “I’l have to do the final scent track when the bodies are—Fuck!”
“Elena! Talk to me!”
Heart thudding triple-time, she reached out and managed to just graze the vampire’s forehead with her fingertips. Plasticky, frigid from the air. Except...
“Oh God.” She’d definitely seen it this time—the flicker of an eyelid, as if he was struggling to raise it. “He’s alive! Get Rescue down here now!”
“Shit! I’m on it.”
Santiago was efficient but she knew it would take time. If this vampire—Jesus, maybe al the vamps—were in any way conscious, then what they were suffering right now had to be torture. Dropping and sweeping out from under the bridge, she rose into the air, twisting her head in every direction.
“Looking for someone, El ie?”
Startled, she fel several feet before getting her momentum under control. Il ium came to hover beside her when she rose back up and caught the edge of the bridge once again, holding herself in place so she could talk to him. “At least one of them is alive. Can you get them down?” He was the single angel she knew who might have a hope of maneuvering in the cramped conditions.
He held out a hand. “Dagger.”
Glad he no longer looked as tormented as he had the previous evening, she slapped one of her knives in his hand and watched as he flew in, somehow executing the tightest of turns before reaching over and cutting the rope. The vampire dropped. But Il ium was faster. He scooped the male up before the vampire’s dead weight of a body could touch the water. Elena fol owed him up onto the bridge itself—which the cops had cordoned off at both ends, making themselves real popular with commuters—and landed.
Soon as Il ium placed the male on the road and dove off to get the rest of the victims, she took out another knife and began to cut through the vampire’s shirt, pul ing away the matted fabric and wincing at the chunks of skin that came with it. But she had to see the damage. Santiago, having come down on his haunches beside her, watched in silence as she succeeded in revealing the ruin of the vampire’s chest.
It sure as hel looked like he’d suffered major damage to the region around his heart, but there was so much dried blood tangled up in thick curls of black chest hair that she couldn’t tel for sure. Unhooking the wireless device over her ear, she gave it to Santiago before reaching into one of the pockets of the fleece-lined vest she’d put on as protection against the wind, and pul ing out a pair of latex gloves.
Santiago took the chance to lean forward and hold the screen of his cel phone a scant inch from the vampire’s mouth. “Shit,” he muttered when the screen began to mist with steam. “For a minute, I thought you’d lost it down there. But shit.” He glanced over her shoulder to where Il ium was landing a second time.
Elena was ninety-nine-percent certain she might actual y have lost it if she hadn’t been so fucking shocked out of her mind. “I need something with which to wash off the blood.” The irony of the fact that the East River churned below wasn’t lost on her.