by Nalini Singh
Strategy, that was the key to dealing with a man as intelligent and as harshly practical as Dmitri.
My Dmitri.
Dmitri glanced at Raphael as they stood along the cliff behind Raphael’s home, above the relatively calm waters of the Hudson and across from a Manhattan that had become a shining mirage in the morning sunlight. “Was I wrong?” he asked, knowing Raphael had already spoken to Jiana.
He wanted to be wrong, the need coming from the part of him that believed a mother should always care for her child, the part that knew Ingrede had spent her last breaths trying to save Misha and Caterina.
“Your wife fought to protect your daughter, Dmitri. Such a tiny rag doll of a thing.”
Raphael’s voice overrode the memory of Isis’s cruel whisper, the raw echo of his broken cries. “No, you weren’t wrong. Jason’s information has also been confirmed.”
“And Jiana?”
“I will take care of her.” Absolute cold in those words, a reminder that the Archangel of New York had no mercy in him for those who committed such crimes—and that though his consort had awakened a vein of humanity in him, he remained a being of terrible power.
“Jiana was correct—that should be my task.” It was a punishment he would have no compunction in delivering personally. Because Amos was what Jiana had made him. And Amos had hurt Honor so badly that Dmitri couldn’t think of it without a blood haze across his vision. Honor would never know, he said to Raphael. If I broke Jiana.
The archangel took his time replying. Are you sure you do not want your hunter to know you?
No one, not even Raphael, had truly known Dmitri since Ingrede’s death—he’d put away the heart of him the day he’d snapped his son’s neck; he’d believed it dead. The fact that it wasn’t . . . he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Only one thing was certain—he’d never give Honor up.
“If something ever happens to me, how long will you wait before you marry again?” A laughing question as his wife leaned on his bare chest. “Try and be decent and wait at least a season.”
He knew she was teasing him, but he couldn’t laugh, not about this. Thrusting his hand into hair he’d already tangled when he loved her, he tugged her down for a kiss that left her mouth kiss-bruised, her eyes wide.
“Dmitri.” Fingers touching his lips, her voice a whisper.
“Never,” he answered. “I will never again marry.”
Her hand on his cheek, soft skin scraping over his morning stubble. “You mustn’t say such a thing.”
Closing his fingers over her wrist, he brought her palm to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the warmth of her. “Are you planning on leaving me, Ingrede?” She owned him body and soul; she was his reason for being.
“Never.” A nuzzle, nose to nose, that was such a silly thing she did, one that made him smile each and every time. “But I wouldn’t have you be lonely should we be parted. I couldn’t bear you so sad.” Before he could speak, she added, “But you can’t marry that Tatiana. I don’t like the way she looks at you.”
He laughed, kissed her again. “Wicked woman.” But when the laughter faded, he spoke the indelible truth. “I won’t take any other woman into my heart.” He pressed a finger to her lips when distress colored her eyes. “I’ll wait for you to find me again. So don’t take too long.”
Now, he was close to breaking his promise. “Am I betraying her?”
“I think,” Raphael said, his wings shimmering gold in the sun, “your Ingrede was a woman of generous heart.”
Yes, he thought, she had been. Ingrede had never been openly possessive—except when it came to Tatiana, who had indeed looked at Dmitri with an invitation in her eyes that should’ve been directed at no married man. The memory made him smile. “She was also a jealous thing.”
Raphael laughed. “She gave me the most fierce look when she thought I was attempting to seduce you.”
And then, Dmitri remembered, when she’d realized the angel was nothing but a friend, she had invited Raphael to dinner. So gentle had been Ingrede, but she’d spoken without fear to an immortal as they all stood in a newly sown field, and that immortal had come to their humble table. “I don’t think we’ve ever again laughed as we did at that table.”
“It is a cherished memory,” Raphael said. “One I’ve never forgotten, one that has never faded.”
It helped, he thought, to know that someone else remembered her. Remembered their children. Misha and Caterina had had such fleeting lives, but those lives had burned themselves into Dmitri’s soul. And now, another name was starting to make its mark there, that of a hunter who awakened memories of a time long gone even as she began to shadow his wife’s smile from his mind. Forgive me, Ingrede.
“Kallistos,” Raphael said after long minutes of silence, his eyes on the angels flying across the river to land on the Tower roof.
Dmitri forced his mind off the only two women—one so sweet and of the hearth, the other a hunter but with those same gentle hands—who had laid claim to his heart in his near thousand years of existence. “I’ve alerted every one of our people in the region.” He knew the vampire was close—the taunts had been too personal. At least in Times Square, Kallistos had to have been lingering nearby to witness Dmitri’s reaction. “But he’s old, and he’s intelligent.” However, Isis’s lover didn’t concern him as much as the angel who had been taken. “Will the boy survive the constant use Kallistos is making of him?”
Raphael’s expression was grim, his bones sharp lines against his skin. “He’s young, still vulnerable. There is no knowing how much damage Kallistos has caused.” Do you have a watch on your hunter?
Of course. If Kallistos truly was mad enough to attempt the vengeance he’d threatened, she would be his target—because Honor was mortal, far easier to hurt and kill. As Ingrede had been mortal. “Not this time,” he said, the words a vow.
33
Sorrow welcomed Honor with a bright smile when she dropped by the young woman’s home a couple of hours after returning from Jiana’s estate, and she was delighted when Honor told her it was time for her first self-defense lesson. “I’ll go get out of my jeans.”
Having stopped by her apartment to change into long black exercise pants paired with a simple deep green tank top, Honor began to warm up on the private lawn behind the house while the other woman ran inside.
The vampire who watched her from his relaxed seat on the back steps wore wraparound shades and a black suit with a crisp white shirt, his hair brushed back into perfect lines. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he’d stepped out of some Fifth Avenue salon and wouldn’t know one end of a blade from the other. Except she did know better. She’d seen the way Venom moved—that kind of grace a man only had if he danced. And she wasn’t talking about the ballroom.
“Want a partner?” he asked, taking off his shades to reveal those startling eyes, so very alien. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Honor was almost certain she would now be okay with unfamiliar male contact, especially in a combat situation, but she shook her head. “Sorrow should be out soon.”
Venom leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, the sun caressing brown skin that had enough warmth in it that it was extremely strokable. Not as strokable as that of the lethally sexy man Honor had had in her bed not long ago, but she bet Venom didn’t have trouble getting dates, even with those eyes.
Now, his lips curved just a fraction. “I always thought Dmitri would choose someone a little more . . . sophisticated.”
Taunting her, she thought, the viper-eyed male was taunting her to amuse himself. “You remind me of an eight-year-old foster brother I once had,” she said, continuing her stretching routine. “He used to throw mudballs at me after I showered because he thought it was hilarious.” There had been no meanness in Jared and she’d actually kept in touch with him for a while until age and time had faded the relationship. “He didn’t find it funny after I dropped one down his back.”
Ven
om’s expression turned disgruntled. “I’m hardly a child.”
Strange—she was decades, centuries younger, and at that moment, she wanted to cross the distance between them, rumple his hair, and kiss him on the cheek in amused affection. Before she could shake off the inexplicable feeling, Sorrow ran down the steps, dressed in pants similar to Honor’s and a navy T-shirt bearing the name of a famous Irish bar.
“Are you going to pull out your cock to prove it now?” the girl asked with mock sweetness, having obviously overheard Venom’s declaration.
The vampire’s eerie pupils contracted to hard pinpoints. “Be careful your claws don’t get you eaten, kitty.”
Making a hissing sound at him, Sorrow stalked to join Honor on the grass. “Dmitri must really hate me,” she muttered. “All the men at his command and he sends me Poison.”
“Kitty?”
Sorrow bared her teeth to expose tiny fangs about half the normal size. “He calls them little kitten teeth.”
Venom, Honor thought, glimpsing the rage in Sorrow’s changing eyes, either had no idea what he was playing with . . . or he had a very good idea. “We’ll start with basic moves,” she said, making a mental note to ask Dmitri to confirm if she was right about the fact that Venom was pushing the girl on purpose to gauge her level of control.
Sorrow leaned closer, lowered her voice. “Does he have to watch?”
“If you tell him to leave, he’ll take even more pleasure in staying.” As it was, Venom was answering a call on his cell phone, his body in a languid position she had no doubt could change in the blink of an eye. One of these days, Honor would spar with the vampire—after first taking Dmitri on in a session.
Her thighs clenched at the idea of tangling with her sexy, dangerous lover in that arena, their bodies sweaty and straining. “Just ignore him,” she said, wrenching her mind back to the present.
Sorrow took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said on the exhale. “Show me.”
It was twenty minutes into a relatively undemanding session that the young woman swayed and collapsed.
Venom was beside her with such speed that Honor’s breath caught in her throat. Jerking the semiconscious woman into a half-sitting position, he shoved back the left cuff of his shirt, having removed his jacket earlier, and said, “Feed,” in a voice that was a whip.
Sorrow tried to shove him away but she was frighteningly weak, to Honor’s worried gaze. “Fuck you.” Her voice slurred on the curse.
“Stand in line, kitty.” He shoved his wrist to her mouth. “Feed or I will pin you down and pour my blood down your throat. After which I will take you to the Tower so you can be placed under twenty-four-hour supervision as a spoiled brat should be.”
Sorrow bit down on his wrist. Hard, judging from the vicious glint in eyes ringed by glowing green—though Venom showed no reaction. Realizing the young woman had allowed her power reserves to run low to the point of endangering herself, Honor said nothing until Sorrow shoved at Venom’s arm again. This time he allowed her to break the blood kiss.
Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, Sorrow said, “I suppose you’re going to tattle.”
Venom used a handkerchief to clean off the neat puncture marks on his wrist before redoing his cuff. “You want this to be our secret?” It was a steel-edged question, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses an instant later. “Too bad you’ve got nothing that would interest me when it comes to bartering.”
Honor would’ve ignored the taunt, having caught on to Venom’s games. But Sorrow gave a sharp scream and jumped on the vampire. Laughing, he plucked her off and rose to his feet with a fluidity that was as reptilian as his eyes. “Careful,” he said, brushing off his shirt as the young woman pushed herself upright, “or you might hurt my feelings.”
Sorrow went very, very quiet. Then she moved.
Sucking in a breath, Honor ran to grab her gun out of her practice bag, but she didn’t know which one of them to aim for once she had it in hand—or even if she’d hit the intended target. It was like watching two feral cats in the most deadly of dances. They moved so fast the eye couldn’t quite track them, their strikes and counterstrikes flowing from one to the other with a grace that was breathtaking.
But while Sorrow fought with instinct born of primal rage, Venom was a cold, quiet predator who was playing with his prey.
Honor’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t lift the gun.
Games or not, the vampire wasn’t hurting Sorrow. Not only that, he was allowing her to express the terrible fury inside her, an anger that had its roots in something far more sadistic than Venom’s barbs. The young woman kicked, tried to claw and punch, even went airborne a couple of times, but she made no impact on the vampire, who simply wasn’t there, his reaction time not human in any way, shape, or form.
It was beautiful. In a terrifying sort of way. “Can you move that fast?” she asked the man who’d come to stand beside her with a dark grace as old as Venom’s power was young.
Dmitri slid his hands into the pockets of his stone-gray suit pants, his white shirt open at the collar to expose skin she wanted to lick and suck and bite. “Venom has a particular way of moving,” he murmured in a voice that was pure sex, though he kept his attention on the fight. “Comes from the same place as his eyes.”
It was difficult to breathe with him so close, and in a mood that wrapped her in warm honey and champagne and promises of sin dipped in chocolate. “Stop spreading sex pheromones around.”
A faint smile that promised all sorts of debauched, decadent deeds. “I think we should spar, Honor. Winner gets to do whatever he or she likes to the loser.”
Uh-huh. “You’re an almost-immortal,” she said, able to see that Sorrow was slowing down, “and you’re Raphael’s second in command.”
“I’ll keep to human speed.” The kiss of exotic spice against her skin. “Give you your choice of blades while I have only my hands.”
Knowing she was a sucker, but unable to get the image of dancing with Dmitri out of her head, she nodded. “You’re on.” That was when she saw Sorrow stagger.
Venom pulled back at the same instant, and suddenly they were no longer two feral creatures in motion, but a shockingly sexy vampire, with his hair messed up, his sunglasses gone, and his shirt ripped, and a petite Asian woman covered in sweat, her chest heaving as she braced her palms on her knees.
Striding closer, Honor showed Sorrow no mercy. “He kicked your ass.”
Sorrow’s head jerked up, long, silken strands of hair having escaped her ponytail to stick to her face. “I—”
“Be quiet.” She flicked a hand at Venom. “Go away.”
Whether he would’ve obeyed had Dmitri not been present was a moot question, because he inclined his head and left without a word.
“If you were an Academy student,” Honor said, realizing this young woman needed a type of guidance no man could provide—not without slamming into Sorrow’s jagged pride, “you’d be on your ass now because your instructor would’ve put you there.”
Honor knew about pride, about clutching at the tattered shreds of it when you had nothing else left. But she also knew about survival. “Then you would’ve run or crawled twenty laps of the practice field before dragging yourself into bed, only to run twenty more when you woke.”
“He—”
“Was taunting you, mocking you.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you lost control. That loss of control will get you killed one day.” Sorrow was dangerous, but without discipline, that strength could turn into a lethal liability. “Before we do any more sparring, we’re going to work on your discipline.”
Sorrow clenched her jaw, but managed to contain her temper this time.
Good girl. “Have you ever meditated?” The skill of dissociating her mind from the horrors inflicted on her body was one of the reasons Honor had come out of the assault sane.
Sorrow gave a stiff nod. “My grandmother taught me. I haven’t tried it since . . .”
“I t
hink you should.” Honor put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “I want you to go inside, have a long, hot bath, do whatever else it is that relaxes you, makes you happy.”
Those brown eyes being overtaken by vivid green were bleak, all defiance leached away until she was suddenly heart-breakingly young. “Nothing does anymore.”
“Do your best.” Nightmares couldn’t be vanquished overnight, and Sorrow’s had altered her on a fundamental level. “Then sit down and attempt to meditate. Next time I’m here, we’ll talk things over—because, Sorrow? You can’t keep it all bottled up inside. I know.” The notebook she’d never intended to use had become so important, a cathartic release that drew away the poison. “We’ll find something that’ll help you cope.”
Sorrow swallowed. “Do you think I can?”
“Yes.” Sorrow needed someone to have faith in her. “Oh, yes, sweetheart.”
“Elena wanted to come see me,” the other woman blurted out without warning. “I know she saved me . . . but she has wings.” A shiver that shook her entire frame. “I couldn’t.”
“I’m sure she understands.” Squeezing her shoulder, Honor had another thought. “How much time are you spending alone?”
“I’m never alone.”
“Sorrow.”
“It’s not too bad. My family . . .” Her lip wobbled and she bit it hard enough to leave red crescents in the delicate flesh. “They don’t know about Uram—the story is that I was attacked by a human crazy and infected with a dangerous virus. I thought they’d reject me when the changes started to show, but they’ve been wonderful. Mom would be here every day if I’d let her.”
“Then let her,” Honor said, touching her hand to the girl’s cheek. “Family builds a foundation, one that’ll help you stand, fight.” Honor had never had that foundation, so she understood its value on a level Sorrow couldn’t comprehend.
Nodding, the young woman reached out with an impulsive hug. Honor returned the embrace, happy she was at the point where such sudden actions didn’t cause her to flash back to the pit where Amos had trapped her. As she stroked her hand over the girl’s back, her eyes met Dmitri’s and something unsaid but understood passed between them—Sorrow was no longer simply his to watch over, but theirs.
