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“Behold,” I say, “an angel of the Lord.”
Vlad lifts a hand and stumbles back as if my light will sear him to a crisp. I chuckle and drop the light show.
Vlad growls, and the next thing I know, he’s coming at me faster than I can track with my eyes. Instantaneously, he’s got my wings and back crushed against the stone wall, his arm at my throat, fangs bared. “Why shouldn’t I rip your throat out right here?”
I can only laugh. “Why? Because I revealed we’re powerful creatures?”
“You are from Heaven, and I’m from Hell,” he spat. “We’re natural enemies.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re not from heaven, and I don’t know where you’re from. I was just kidding with the whole angel of the Lord shtick. Yeah, we’re angels, but that’s just what they call us on this plane. We’re from a different realm and snuck our way onto this one. Probably like your ancestors somehow did. We’re just a non-native species, that’s all.”
His eyes widen when I speak of his ancestors, and his arm loosens ever so slightly from my throat. “So it’s true,” he whispers. “Spirits from other realms can break through.”
I shrug. “I’m not a spirit, but sure, pal. We figured out how to get here, and the humans sometimes worshipped us as gods.”
Vlad’s eyes light up at that. Ah, the thirst for power. He drops his arm completely. “Tell me more. Tell me everything.”
I hold up my hands. “Ah ah ah. Tit for tat. I’ll share when you do. I have a little problem I need your help with.”
His eyes narrow again.
“I’ve got this little parasite I need help with subduing.” I turn around and point to the back of my head.
Vlad makes a surprised, disturbed noise, and when I look back at him, he’s taken several steps back. Not wanting to get Layden in trouble, I say, “I heard that vampire blood could help me with this problem.” He told me it was an ingredient in some of his potions, but that he was only ever able to get blood from the youngest vampires. How powerful would blood from someone as old and ancient as Vlad be?
Vlad looks immediately pissed. “Our blood is sacrosanct! None of us would spill it for—”
I hold up my hands. “Then I guess our negotiations are over. It’s the blood—five vials worth, to be exact—or no more information.” I start to walk toward the door.
I can all but hear him going apoplectic behind me. “Wait,” he finally snaps right as I’m about to reach for the doorknob.
He lifts his hands and snaps several more times, glaring up toward the ceiling. Ah, so perhaps we weren’t as alone as I thought. It makes sense. No true leader would leave himself completely defenseless. And yet, for whatever is about to happen, he won’t allow any eyes at all. I repress my grin.
I turn and walk back toward him. “We both have something the other wants,” I say quietly, not wanting to press my advantage but still trying to appeal to his deepest desires. “My family and I are immensely powerful beings. And what I ask would not only make me more powerful still but put us further in your debt.”
“I do not know that our blood would do what you seek,” he says.
“But you are the oldest of your kind, so surely your blood is the most powerful.”
A growl comes from his throat, and I know I’ve asked more than he’s comfortable with. So, I decide to sweeten the pot.
“My brothers and I are known as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. For millennia, we have been the power behind the powers that shape nations and empires. I am the angel of War, Layden is Famine, Abaddon is Pestilence, and Kharon is the angel of Death.”
Vlad’s eyes grow wider with each of my words, widest of all at Kharon’s designation. “What does that mean? What are your powers?”
“All I ask is a small price for any question you might have for me,” I say meekly.
Vlad looks frustrated, and at the same time, I see the moment he makes the decision. He yanks a small dagger from his waistcoat, then leans over to snatch a crystal goblet from a nearby table.
His movements are so quick even my superior senses struggle to follow as he slices a neat slit along his wrist. Dark red, almost black liquid gushes into the goblet. It fills halfway before he winces and lifts his wrist to his mouth, licking the slash there, after which it neatly closes.
I eye the goblet greedily, but he holds it away from me. “My father met one of your kind once. On the battlefield. He warned me, should I ever come upon your kind again, to run and never stop. He said you were the only thing on Heaven or Earth that could challenge us.”
Ah ha. So it was his father I met that day. I decide not to inform him of this.
“How many of you are there? How many angels?” he demands.
“Only my brothers and I. And, once upon a time, our father. But we sent him back to the realm we came from.”
