Archangel's Blade (Guild Hunter #4)(79)

Now, framed snapshots cascaded down one wall of her living room—a laughing grandmother snapped during a hunt in Mexico, a mountain storm captured in Colorado, a single elk against the snow in Alaska—while her battered but beloved camera sat on the dining table, ready to be checked after its time in storage. Her bedroom, too, she’d begun to make her own. The sheets were a fine blue cotton, the pale cream walls hung with more photographs from her personal collection.

“Wildflowers,” Dmitri said, halting on the doorstep. “Those weren’t here last time.”

Startled that he’d focused on the photographs when the sexual tension between them was at fever pitch, she said, “I just put them up. I was tracking a vampire across Russia a few years ago when I found this field.” The memory of it had haunted her for months, until she’d put up the photos where she could see them before she closed her eyes, again when she woke.

Dmitri walked to stand in front of the array of fine black frames, touching his finger to one particular shot with a bright blue flower nodding in the corner. “There was a ruin here once.”

Spine tingling, she crossed the carpet to join him. “I had the strangest feeling something had once stood there, even though there was no evidence of it.” She’d also had the insistent sense that she’d be disturbing something precious should she cross the border of tiny blue flowers that separated one small section of the riotous field of color from the rest.

“How did you find out, Honor?” Dmitri’s eyes were hard black stones, his tone the same one he’d used on Valeria, on Jewel Wan.

They’d stripped themselves of weapons as they entered, neither wanting a violent interruption, but now instinct had Honor calculating how fast she could get to the knife hidden down the side of the bedstand.

“I was,” she said, forcing herself not to act on the instinct, “driving through a fairly isolated area when I lost my way.” The truth was, she’d driven off the path and into an uncharted wilderness on purpose, unable not to follow the painful tug that drew her onward.

“I must’ve driven for hours, and this is where I stopped.” She shrugged, trying to make light of an experience that had pierced with such aching sorrow, she’d cried for hours after she finally returned to civilization. “I’d never seen a place as beautiful.” As eerie, as heartrending.

Dmitri continued to stare at her, such lethal calculation in his eyes that it took all her control to stay in position, to not lunge for the bed and the blade so close. “What do you see in the photos?” she asked instead, feeling as if she stood on a precipice, her entire life balanced on this moment. “Dmitri?”

Face stripped of all sophistication, until he was only the sleekest of predators, he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “If this is a game, you won’t like the price you’ll have to pay.”

The hairs rose on the back of her neck. This time she stepped away . . . but didn’t go for a weapon. She couldn’t. She had to trust him, because if she couldn’t . . . if she couldn’t, then her world would simply shatter into a thousand fragments. “Threats aren’t sexy.” Don’t do this. Please. “Take your black mood and leave.”

He stalked her instead, trapping her against the corner, the body she’d looked forward to caressing suddenly a stifling wall. It took every ounce of her will to keep from striking out, from kicking and clawing. But when he bent his head and very deliberately put his mouth over her pulse, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

She stabbed her fingers into the exposed side of his neck.

Or would have, if he hadn’t manacled her wrist with a steel-strong grip. No, no, no! The restraint threw her back into the pit where she’d spent so many weeks, the pit she now realized she’d never escaped—but twined through with her terror was a crushing sense of betrayal.

Not my Dmitri. This isn’t him.

And then there was no more thought.





Dmitri had never been as angry as he was at that instant, riding a vicious edge where he hungered only to hurt the woman in his arms. He didn’t know what game Honor was playing, but he would get the answer out of her, even if he had to break her into a million tiny pieces. That field, what it represented, it was not to be touched, not by anyone.

Squeezing her wrist as she froze against him, he went to touch her with his fangs in an act that he knew was cruel, but then again, she’d been playing him from the start. There was no chance in hell that she’d just happened to come upon the field where his wife and baby girl had died, where he’d brought his son afterward, so that Misha wouldn’t be alone, where he’d stood vigil for an entire turn of the seasons.

“My beautiful Dmitri.” Big brown eyes filled with worry. “Don’t let her change you. Don’t let her make you cruel.”

Ingrede’s words had been unable to halt the change, not after she was gone. Nothing would reverse it. So he would make use of it.

A burst of movement from the hunter who had thought to make him a fool.

He had no trouble pinning her to the wall. But Honor didn’t stop fighting, twisting and wrenching her body with a strength that would break something soon if she didn’t stop.

When he pinioned her arms above her head with a grip on her wrists, and pressed her lower body against the wall with his own, she bit him on the neck. Hard enough to draw blood. Jerking away, he tightened the hand he had around her wrists. “Foreplay already, Honor?”