Guild Hunter 04 - Archangel's Blade

worry,” Honor said, remembering how Valeria had sipped at her own tears, how she’d giggled when Honor screamed so much her throat turned raw, her voice gone, “we’ll get to Tommy.” She didn’t know what Valeria heard in her voice, but the vampire suddenly looked afraid in a way Honor would have never expected in a vampire of her age and power.
    “He did everything, remember?” Valeria said, hands rising to her throat again as the wound began to heal around the heavy hunting knife.
    “I wouldn’t.” Dmitri ate another chocolate.
    Dropping her hands in spasming fear, Valeria continued to speak to Honor, eyes shimmering with tears. “He was the one who hurt you—I just wanted to feed.”
    Yes, Tommy had hurt her, as only a man could hurt a woman. But only because Valeria had egged him on. Before that, his physical assaults had been relatively minor in the scheme of things—the bastard had enjoyed her blood more than anything else. Valeria, however, had always been very inventive when it was just her and Honor in the dark.
    “Oh, did that hurt?” A whisper-soft laugh. “Naughty me. But a girl has to feed.”
    “Dmitri,” Honor said, “I’ve changed my mind.”
    And then she shot Valeria through the other thigh.

10
     
    It worried her a little that she didn’t hesitate, but this woman, who now screamed because it was her own flesh on the line, had tortured her. Who the fuck was anyone else to say what would make her feel better . . . because putting that bullet in Valeria sure as hell did. “I’m done.” Never again would this pathetic creature stalk her in her nightmares.
    “See if you can find the invitation.” Dmitri rose to his feet. “Valeria and I need to talk in private.”
    Holstering her weapon, she turned to him. “Don’t kill her.” It would be too quick, not enough. And from what Valeria had done to her, her expertise in certain kinds of pain, Honor knew she was far from the vampire’s first victim.
    A lazy smile that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Trust me.”
    The strange thing was that she did. Perhaps that made her a self-deluding fool, but it didn’t change the fact of it. Leaving him with the terrified vampire, who was already whimpering and attempting to cajole a man Honorknew no female wiles would ever influence, she strode out and up the stairs.
    The theme of opulent elegance continued on through the rest of the house, the artwork on the walls displayed in frames gilded with gold, but tastefully so, the runners handmade in tones that didn’t break the flow of the decor, an exquisitely carved marble banister bordering the curving staircase to the second level. The bedroom boasted a massive four-poster bed of dark wood with curtains tied neatly back at the corners. The sheets were finest Egyptian cotton, tumbled from Valeria’s early morning wake-up.
    It was as she was opening the bedside drawer that the first scream reverberated through the house, so high-pitched that Honor couldn’t imagine what Dmitri was doing to Valeria. Pity stirred within her, but she set her jaw and kept going. Because if Dmitri showed mercy here, then other vampires would soon begin to give in to their darkest lusts and the world would turn bloodred.
    There.
    The invitation was a silver card folded in half.
    Ennui is such a bore, is it not, Valeria? Words written in black ink in a graceful hand that could’ve been either male or female. I have an entertainment that should satisfy even your jaded appetites.
    Below that was an address, a list of three dates and times, and a note that said: Should you wish to indulge, come at the same times on the same days in the weeks following.
    There was no signature, and though Honor had handled the note with care, she knew there were unlikely to be any fingerprints. Still, she went down to the kitchen, to the accompaniment of another chilling scream, and found a plastic bag. Not Ziploc, but it would do for now. Placing the card inside, she walked back to the morning room, the halls full of a lingering silence broken only by the sound of Valeria’s whimpers.
    She stepped inside to find not a speck of blood on Dmitri’s body or clothes, his bronzed arms catching her eye as he tucked his gun into an ankle holster with the unhurried actions of a man who knew he was the most dangerous thing in the room by far. Valeria by contrast, was somehow . . . diminished.
    “I have it,” she said.
    “Good.” He angled his head toward the drive.