Archangel's Blade

ferocity until it was over.

Reaching the car, she slid in. Not only was having a chauffeur in New York nothing to sniff at, but acquiescing to it didn’t do her any harm, while it allowed Dmitri to do what he needed to do: take care of her.

A smile bloomed over her face, a silly kind of happiness infusing her blood. She didn’t fight it, even as she thought that her capitulation when it came to the car would give her an excellent negotiation tool when a bigger battle loomed.

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.”