Archangel's Blade (Guild Hunter #4)(94)

Venom used a handkerchief to clean off the neat puncture marks on his wrist before redoing his cuff. “You want this to be our secret?” It was a steel-edged question, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses an instant later. “Too bad you’ve got nothing that would interest me when it comes to bartering.”

Honor would’ve ignored the taunt, having caught on to Venom’s games. But Sorrow gave a sharp scream and jumped on the vampire. Laughing, he plucked her off and rose to his feet with a fluidity that was as reptilian as his eyes. “Careful,” he said, brushing off his shirt as the young woman pushed herself upright, “or you might hurt my feelings.”

Sorrow went very, very quiet. Then she moved.

Sucking in a breath, Honor ran to grab her gun out of her practice bag, but she didn’t know which one of them to aim for once she had it in hand—or even if she’d hit the intended target. It was like watching two feral cats in the most deadly of dances. They moved so fast the eye couldn’t quite track them, their strikes and counterstrikes flowing from one to the other with a grace that was breathtaking.

But while Sorrow fought with instinct born of primal rage, Venom was a cold, quiet predator who was playing with his prey.

Honor’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t lift the gun.

Games or not, the vampire wasn’t hurting Sorrow. Not only that, he was allowing her to express the terrible fury inside her, an anger that had its roots in something far more sadistic than Venom’s barbs. The young woman kicked, tried to claw and punch, even went airborne a couple of times, but she made no impact on the vampire, who simply wasn’t there, his reaction time not human in any way, shape, or form.

It was beautiful. In a terrifying sort of way. “Can you move that fast?” she asked the man who’d come to stand beside her with a dark grace as old as Venom’s power was young.

Dmitri slid his hands into the pockets of his stone-gray suit pants, his white shirt open at the collar to expose skin she wanted to lick and suck and bite. “Venom has a particular way of moving,” he murmured in a voice that was pure sex, though he kept his attention on the fight. “Comes from the same place as his eyes.”

It was difficult to breathe with him so close, and in a mood that wrapped her in warm honey and champagne and promises of sin dipped in chocolate. “Stop spreading sex pheromones around.”

A faint smile that promised all sorts of debauched, decadent deeds. “I think we should spar, Honor. Winner gets to do whatever he or she likes to the loser.”

Uh-huh. “You’re an almost-immortal,” she said, able to see that Sorrow was slowing down, “and you’re Raphael’s second in command.”

“I’ll keep to human speed.” The kiss of exotic spice against her skin. “Give you your choice of blades while I have only my hands.”

Knowing she was a sucker, but unable to get the image of dancing with Dmitri out of her head, she nodded. “You’re on.” That was when she saw Sorrow stagger.

Venom pulled back at the same instant, and suddenly they were no longer two feral creatures in motion, but a shockingly sexy vampire, with his hair messed up, his sunglasses gone, and his shirt ripped, and a petite Asian woman covered in sweat, her chest heaving as she braced her palms on her knees.

Striding closer, Honor showed Sorrow no mercy. “He kicked your ass.”

Sorrow’s head jerked up, long, silken strands of hair having escaped her ponytail to stick to her face. “I—”

“Be quiet.” She flicked a hand at Venom. “Go away.”

Whether he would’ve obeyed had Dmitri not been present was a moot question, because he inclined his head and left without a word.

“If you were an Academy student,” Honor said, realizing this young woman needed a type of guidance no man could provide—not without slamming into Sorrow’s jagged pride, “you’d be on your ass now because your instructor would’ve put you there.”

Honor knew about pride, about clutching at the tattered shreds of it when you had nothing else left. But she also knew about survival. “Then you would’ve run or crawled twenty laps of the practice field before dragging yourself into bed, only to run twenty more when you woke.”

“He—”

“Was taunting you, mocking you.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you lost control. That loss of control will get you killed one day.” Sorrow was dangerous, but without discipline, that strength could turn into a lethal liability. “Before we do any more sparring, we’re going to work on your discipline.”

Sorrow clenched her jaw, but managed to contain her temper this time.

Good girl. “Have you ever meditated?” The skill of dissociating her mind from the horrors inflicted on her body was one of the reasons Honor had come out of the assault sane.

Sorrow gave a stiff nod. “My grandmother taught me. I haven’t tried it since . . .”

“I think you should.” Honor put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “I want you to go inside, have a long, hot bath, do whatever else it is that relaxes you, makes you happy.”

Those brown eyes being overtaken by vivid green were bleak, all defiance leached away until she was suddenly heart-breakingly young. “Nothing does anymore.”

“Do your best.” Nightmares couldn’t be vanquished overnight, and Sorrow’s had altered her on a fundamental level. “Then sit down and attempt to meditate. Next time I’m here, we’ll talk things over—because, Sorrow? You can’t keep it all bottled up inside. I know.” The notebook she’d never intended to use had become so important, a cathartic release that drew away the poison. “We’ll find something that’ll help you cope.”