Archangel's Blade

And Dmitri knew it.

Those beautiful lips setting in the slightest curve, he angled his head toward the elevators. “Come, little rabbit.”

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to follow—though her heart threatened to punch out of her chest at the thought of being trapped in an elevator with him. Unfortunately, escape wasn’t an option. There was nowhere she could go in this city where he wouldn’t track her down.

And he would, because she had what he needed. The fact that he wanted to sleep with her was an adjunct, a diversion. “Did your people discover anything else about the victim?” she asked, sweat beading along her spine as they reached the elevator.

“He died perhaps a day before the head was discovered.” Dark, dark eyes lingering on every curve and shadow of her face. “You need to slow down your pulse, Honor. Or I’ll take it as an invitation. And we both know just how much you’d enjoy my fangs.”

Her stomach clenched, roiled. “Carmen was right. You are a bastard.” In the pit, one of the vampires had used his fangs to pump something into her bloodstream that was meant to make things pleasurable for the donor, forcing her to orgasm over and over again—a wracking rape of her senses that she couldn’t fight.

She’d vomited after he finished, much to his disgust. Ice-cold buckets of water thrown over her had been her punishment. “I’d rather eat nails than let you near me.”

“A colorful analogy, but I don’t have to force my food.” Extending his arm to keep the elevator doors from closing, he waited. “As you saw, it comes begging to my door.” He continued to hold the elevator even when it began to beep.

No way in hell would she let him win.

He smiled when she stepped in, and again, it was the smile of a predator. Without warmth or any hint of humanity. “So, the quivering rabbit has some spine left.”

The doors whooshed shut.

“How’s your face?” she asked, hand itching for a blade.

He turned so she could see the cheek she’d cut. The dark honey of his skin was smooth and warm with health once more, the kind of skin that invited touch . . . if you forgot the fact that he was as dangerous as a cobra watching its prey.

“The tattooed vampire,” he said, leaning lazily against the wall, his voice a languid stroke, “was barely-Made. Two months old at most. He shouldn’t have been out of containment.”

Frowning, she bit the inside of her lip. “Hunters don’t usually have anything to do with vampires that young. I’ve heard they’re relatively weak.”

“Weak is one word.” Glancing toward the doors as they opened, he nodded at her to step out.

She locked her feet into place. “After you.”

“If I wanted to go for your throat, Honor,” he said in that same deceptively lazy voice, “you’d be pinned to the wall before you saw me move.”

Yeah, she knew that. Didn’t change things. “I can stay here all day.”

Once again, Dmitri held out his arm to block the door from closing. “Who were you before they got to you?”

It ripped at the pride Honor hadn’t thought she still had that he knew how she’d been debased and degraded, how she’d been made less than an animal, but she found her voice in a rage that had grown in brittle silence since the day she stumbled out of the pit. “I have a question of my own.”

A raised eyebrow.

“Why the fuck are the worst of them still out there walking around?” While she was trapped in this body that couldn’t forget the bruises, the broken bones, but most of all, the agonizing loss of her right to make a choice, to allow or not to allow a touch.

A cold, cold something swam behind Dmitri’s dark eyes. “Because they don’t know they’re dead yet.” Icy words. “Would you like to watch when I make them scream?”

Her blood froze in her veins.

Dmitri smiled. “What fantasies have you been having, little rabbit? Stabbing out their eyes, perhaps, letting them grow back so you could do it again?” A terrible, sensual whisper. “Breaking their bones with a hammer while they’re conscious?” Not waiting for an answer, he stepped out of the elevator.

Following, she stared at the black suit jacket that sat so very perfectly over broad shoulders graceful with a liquid kind of muscle. Nothing about Dmitri was less than sophisticated. Even his violence. And yet he’d come scarily close to guessing at the vicious dreams she entertained when she thought of having her attackers at her mercy—in a cold room devoid of light as they’d had her.

“I know,” he said, as if he’d read her mind, “because I once cut out the tongue of someone who had held me prisoner.”

Something slumbering in her stretched awake, some waiting, old part that hungered for his answer to the question she was compelled to ask. “Was it enough?”

“No, but it was satisfying nonetheless.” Pushing through the door to his office, he walked over to the windows. “Those who say vengeance eats you up are wrong—it doesn’t, not if you do it right.” Glancing over his shoulder, he gave her a razored smile that both fascinated and terrified. “I’ll make sure to invite you when I track them down.”

“You sound certain you will.”

He didn’t answer—as if it was a given he’d hunt down his prey. “Come here, Honor.” A command twined with the faint taste of some exotic spice that made her breasts swell, her breath catch.

It was a good thing she appeared to have only the merest drop of the hunting bloodline. “Even before the attack,” she said, digging her nails into her palms, “I wasn’t the kind of hunter who played with vampires.” While she had nothing against those of her brethren who took vampiric lovers, she knew herself well enough to know she needed commitment of a kind the almost-immortals couldn’t give. Their lives were too long, love an amusement, fidelity to a mortal laughable. “Being food has never appealed to me.”

Dmitri turned to lean against the plate-glass wall that looked out over Manhattan, his masculine beauty starkly outlined by the piercing light of the sun at his back. “Ah, but I think you’d be a delicious snack.”

Dmitri watched the hunter across from him tug her laptop bag off her shoulder and place it on his desk before pulling out the slim computer. Her face was flushed, her breasts pushing against her sweatshirt, but there was nothing less than unyielding focus in her words. “We can play games all day, or I can show you what I’ve found.”

“Dmitri, stop playing games.”

Words spoken in a distant language, as clear to him as the sunlight. She’d been angry with him that day, his Ingrede. And yet in the end, he’d tumbled her into bed, stripped her down to her skin, and kissed every inch of her small, lush body. He’d loved sinking into her, of having his hands full of her breasts, his thighs wedged between her softer, plumper ones as he sucked and licked at her mouth, her neck. That was the day Caterina had been conceived, or so Ingrede had always maintained.

“That’s why she is such a bad-tempered child, your daughter.”

“Dmitri?”

Lashes lowering, he fought to hang on to a memory that held nothing of the pain or horror that was to follow, only to have it flitting out of reach. “I’m listening,” he said, eyes on Honor.

Her gaze lingered on him and, for an instant, he felt the most disconcerting sensation—as if he had been in this moment before—but then she blinked and looked down and it passed. “The tattoo isn’t in our database. However, I’ve sent out some discreet feelers along the international hunter network.”

Dmitri had also put out the word amongst the network of high-level vampires who either worked in or with powerful courts. The cooperation at that level was much more prevalent than believed by most people. It was only when issues of territory and power became involved that things got problematic. “Have you had any success deciphering the lines of text?”

Her eyes sparkled, the first time he’d seen such a light in them. It fascinated him, the sudden, brilliant life of her. This, he thought, this was who she had been before she’d been broken . . . before she’d learned to taste fear in her every breath. He understood what it was to break, better