Archangel's Blade (Guild Hunter #4)(72)

“They have their own subculture,” Dmitri told her. “Marry within it. Makes everything go smoother.”

Putting away the photos, she tried to get her head around the idea as Dmitri drove them out of the Bronx into Westchester and toward Connecticut. It was as they were passing from Greenwich into Stamford that she remembered something she’d meant to mention about another strange subculture. “I had an e-mail from Detective Santiago,” she said, realizing she felt no dread in spite of the fact that she’d been held and brutalized a bare hour outside of this city—the area was so different as to be on another planet. “They’ve already arrested someone for the murder yesterday morning.”

“The victim’s boyfriend and another member of the club,” Dmitri said. “I made it a point to keep an eye on the situation.”

Honor knew that that subculture would soon be getting a visit from the scary kind of vampire. “Old-fashioned sex and jealousy, according to Santiago.” All three had been involved in a sexual relationship with each other.

“And a good dose of stupidity.” With that pitiless statement, he turned in through a set of open gates that fronted a long, winding drive lined with mature sycamores. The Ferrari was almost to the door when it opened to disgorge another couple. Honor winced.

Catching it, Dmitri laughed. “Appetites don’t decrease with age, Honor. You should know that.”

“It’s easier to accept with vampires,” she murmured, watching the elderly pair get into their aging car. “I always think of the younger ones as having an extended adolescence.” Stepping out after the couple drove away, she drew in a breath of the fresh spring air. “It’s a pretty place.” More trees backed the house, while the drive featured a delicate fountain. Landscaped lawns and gardens flowed off on both sides and into the distance, beds of colorful blooms nodding in the wind that whispered down the slight rise to the right.

“Michaela, too,” Dmitri said, coming around the car to join her by the fountain, “has the most gracious of homes.”

Honor had only ever seen the female archangel in the media, but there was no denying that Michaela was both beautiful and vicious. “What about Favashi?” she asked and it was only because she was looking right at Dmitri that she caught the tightening of his jaw.

“That one looks soft and gentle, and all the while, she’s grinding her enemies beneath her boot.” A brutal summation.

Not long ago, she’d discovered Dmitri had once had a wife he had loved. Now she realized he might have had an archangelic lover. “Bad breakup?” Jealousy turned her words razor sharp.

A raised eyebrow. “Perceptive, little rabbit.”

Yes, he knew how to push her buttons. But oddly enough, she knew how to push his, too. “I guess being dumped by an archangel would bruise the male ego.”

“I didn’t realize rabbits had claws.”

The door to the house opened before she could reply to that amused comment. Looking up, she saw a tall, thin vampire with the bones of a supermodel, the pillowy lips of a screen siren, and mocha skin that glowed in the sunlight—all of which was displayed to perfection in a lace and satin robe of exquisite bronze that barely hit midthigh. “Do none of these women own clothing?” she muttered.

“We did interrupt her during a feed,” Dmitri drawled as they walked up the steps.

Jiana blanched at their approach, but she wasn’t staring at Dmitri . . . and the knowledge in her eyes was damning. “I didn’t know.” A whisper, her hand clenching on the doorjamb. “When I accepted the invitation, I didn’t know. And when I saw you there, I didn’t hurt you. Please, you have to remember.”

Honor put a hand on Dmitri’s forearm, stilling his forward motion. “That scent.” Rich and sweet and speaking of wealth. “Yes, I remember.”

“I’m sorry. Here, would you like some water?”

Drinking because her captor, the one who controlled the others, hadn’t bothered to give her any water or food that day, she took in as much as she could. “Thank you.”

“No, it’s nothing.” Muted sobs. “I can’t help you. Please don’t ask me to.”

Honor heard the panicked tremor of fear in that voice, knew there would be no deliverance at those slender hands. “Who are you afraid of?”

“Who are you afraid of?” she asked again, meeting eyes dark as onyx.

Jiana seemed to collapse in on herself. Hugging her arms around her trembling body, she stepped back in silent invitation. Inside, the house was as elegant as the grounds were harmonious, the décor relatively modern—light dominated, the walls painted a lush cream.

A skillful portrait of Jiana hung on one wall. It was a nude, beautifully done in its languid eroticism and framed with a simplicity that drew the eye to the art, not the surroundings. The décor flowed flawlessly from the hallway to the room into which Jiana led them, bright splashes of color provided by the furniture.

Collapsing on one of those jewel-toned sofas, Jiana braced her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. “I haven’t slept since the day I left you there.”

Honor experienced the same strange mix of anger and pity she’d felt in that basement. “I was the one who was tied up, but you were weaker.” Even now, it seemed impossible. Then, it had made her laugh in near-hysterical amusement.