Guild Hunter 04 - Archangel's Blade

had discarded him when he became less than perfect. Except—“You have far more courage than I ever will, V.” Abandoned in an institution by his family, he’d literally made himself through the sheer, stubborn refusal to surrender.
    “I was a kid when this happened,” he said, voice raw. “I had a lot of time to get over the self-pity as I lay rotting in that hospital bed, so don’t give me kudos I don’t deserve.”
    Honor shook her head, but kept her silence. Then she asked what she’d come down here to ask, though the horror of it continued to be a jagged brick crushing her chest from the inside out. “I need you to do a search.” Anger and panic and nausea roiled in her stomach. “For images or video clips of me.”
    Vivek’s eyes flared with a rage so deep she might’ve been startled if she hadn’t known he was hunter-born—wheelchair bound or not, he had the same instincts as the rest of the Guild. Now, turning to focus on his computers, he began to issue vocal commands so fast across so many different screens that she couldn’t keep track.
    A drop of ice trickled down her spine as she watched the hits come in one on top of the other. Swallowing the bile burning her throat, she forced herself to wait until he’d completed the search. “Show me.”
    Image after image filled the screens.
    She scanned every single page of results, with Vivek doing a double check. “Is that it?”
    “Yes. I dug down as far as you can go, used multiple and wide-ranging search terms.”
    Shuddering, she collapsed into a chair. “They’re all file photos released when I disappeared, or candid shots taken after my rescue.”
    Vivek continued to talk to his computers for the next ten minutes as he checked and rechecked. “Net’s clean, Honor. Whatever images the bastards took, they haven’t uploaded them.” A gleam in his eye. “I’d say they’re too scared of the Tower.”
    “They’re right to be.” She should’ve been happy, but finding Valeria and discovering Tommy’s identity had only reinforced the fact that the others who had treated her like a piece of meat were out there walking around, mocking her by living their lives free of terror or fear. “I won’t stop,” she said so low that it didn’t reach Vivek, her hand fisting on her thigh. “And neither will Dmitri.” A reminder that she had someone infinitely more dangerous and relentless on her side than any of Valeria’s sick friends.
    “I don’t intend to break you, Honor. I intend to seduce you.”
    Of course, that man also wanted to take a bite out of her. Not a little bite either. No, Dmitri wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than total, carnal surrender.
     
     
    Nine hours after he’d last seen Honor, with night blanketing the world, Dmitri had just finished speaking to Galen via a satellite link when Venom strode into the room. “Sorrow slipped her security.” The vampire had had no trouble switching to Holly’s new name—perhaps because he’d once embraced a new identity of his own. “At least an hour ago.”
    Dmitri didn’t swear. “I’ll find her.” He’d also be having a chat with the guards, because while Sorrow was highly intelligent and not quite human, she was also less than a quarter of a century old to their hundred and fifty–plus.
    Venom shook his head, his hair falling across his forehead. “Look,” he said, shoving it back with an impatient hand, “you’re dealing with this other situation. I’ll—”
    “No. She’s my responsibility.” Elena had tracked her, but he was the one who’d coaxed her out of that tiny guard shack where she’d been hiding, her entire body encrusted with blood. “I know the places she goes.”
    Venom didn’t budge, his willingness to stand up to the others in the Seven part of the reason he’d been accepted into the group in the first place. “You’re getting too close, Dmitri. If . . .” The vampire’s black pupils contracted, hard points against the searing green of his irises. “If she has more of Uram in her than she has of her humanity, execution might become necessary.”
    “That won’t be a problem.” He’d broken the neck of his own son, after all.
    “It will be all right, Misha. I promise.” He told the lie with a smile, kissed his son on the forehead, that fine baby-soft skin so hot against his lips. “Papa will make it all right.”
     
     
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