Shuddering, she braced her palms on the rough surface on which they sat. There would be no more whispers, she knew, from a life long gone—there was no longer any need, the barrier between past and present wiped out in the storm of her tears until she saw the woman she’d been as clearly as the one she was now.
The reawakened memories caused her agonizing pain. The thought of losing Caterina and Misha . . . she couldn’t bear it. But she’d remembered, understood something far more beautiful, too. Loved, she had been loved. And, she thought, remembering the arms that had held her so very tight this morning, she was loved again. He might never be able to say it, the lethal blade her husband had become, but she knew.
What she didn’t know was whether her beautiful, wounded Dmitri was ready to hear what she had to tell him.
Dmitri watched the two women sitting out on the balcony and checked for the third time to ensure the wing of angels waiting below were on alert to catch if necessary. “I should go out there and drag them both inside,” he said to Raphael when the archangel walked in to stand beside him.
“Yes,” Raphael said. “It should be a most amusing sight.”
Dmitri shot the archangel a dark look. “Your consort is a bad influence.”
“My consort is now joining your woman.”
Turning, Dmitri saw Elena come to a somewhat wobbly but safe landing on the balcony. She pumped her fist in the air before sitting down next to the long-legged hunter with the dark eyes who was Honor’s best friend—and, according to the reports they had on her, an extremely gifted individual when it came to those senses that weren’t accepted by most humans. Immortals, however, had been alive too long to dismiss such things as fancy. And so they kept watch on Ashwini. “Janvier courts her.”
“I think it’s time to pull him in.” It’ll give Venom a long enough period to ensure a smooth transfer.
Dmitri nodded, feeling a wild kind of peace within him when Honor laughed, her body half hidden behind the midnight and dawn spread of Elena’s wings. “It’ll be good for Venom to work alongside Galen.” The vampire was strong but young and could be impulsive; while Galen was as stable and centered as a rock.
“I agree.” Raphael’s own wings rustled as he resettled them. “I spoke to Aodhan—he hasn’t changed his mind.”
Dmitri thought about the extraordinary, fractured angel, wondered if he’d find what he sought in this bold, brash city with its pulsing heartbeat of life. “Do you think this is the start of his healing?”
“Perhaps.” A quiet pause. “We will be his shield, Dmitri.”
“Yes.” The young angel?
Resting. His will is strong—this won’t break him.
Good.
Outside, the women continued to talk, their hair tangling together in the playful wind, Elena’s brilliant near-white strands against Ashwini’s sleek black and Honor’s softer ebony curls. It was a sight that would make any man take notice. “We aren’t who we were even two years ago, Raphael.”
“Are you sorry about this change?”
“No.”
Honor challenged Dmitri to a sparring session that afternoon and lost. He took her to his bed that night, laid her out for his delectation. When she bit her lower lip and whispered, “I thought you said something about a velvet whip?” in a voice that held both anticipation and the tang of sensual nervousness, he took her mouth with a voracious need that had her scenting the air with the sweet musk of her arousal.
Drawing it in, he made her lie on her back—her unbound hands holding on to the bars of the headboard—and began to kiss, to taste, every tiny inch of her, from the smooth warmth of her brow to the hollow of her throat and the tight furl of her nipples. There, he stopped, took his time, until her nipples were wet and pouting, before moving to the dip of her navel, the quivering nub of flesh between her thighs, the curve of her knee, and finally, the graceful arch of her foot.
Breath coming out in ragged gasps, she shook her head when he told her to turn over.
“Honor.” It was a command.
“No.” Haunting eyes full of defiance that was an invitation, her body so sensitized that when he ran his finger lightly between her legs, she jerked up, her eyes clenched tight and her muscles tensed in readiness for a shattering peak. “Dmitri.”
“No,” he said, removing his touch and dipping his head to speak with his lips against her ear. “You don’t get rewarded for misbehavior.”
Unrepentant, she kissed the side of his face, his jaw. Soft, wet kisses that made his cock throb in the black pants he still wore, while she lay bare to him, her skin hot silk, her blood warm and aroused and whispering to him of an erotic addiction he couldn’t afford to indulge.
“Does bribery work?” Another kiss.
He pressed his hand to her abdomen, nudging her flat onto her back again. “That’s another rule you’ve broken.” He’d ordered her to lie motionless.