Deep green eyes connected with his own even as warm brown lingered in his memory, the impact far more visceral than it should’ve been. “I see so much pain in you,” Honor whispered, “so much loss.”
He wasn’t a man used to being read. “Don’t fool yourself about me, Honor,” he said, because while he intended to have her, he wouldn’t do it with false promises. “The human part of me died a long time ago. What remains isn’t that different from Tommy.” Stepping over the threshold, he took in the splatters of blood that decorated the walls, the rugs, the varnished floor.
“After he—or she—questioned him,” Honor said from behind him, picking up a PDA that looked as if it had been crushed under a heavy boot, “the attacker brought Tommy in here and played with him.”
Played.
Yes.
If this had simply been about an execution, the entire cabin wouldn’t have been splattered with red congealing to black—more to the point, handprints wouldn’t streak the floor and the walls. “He was allowed to believe he could escape.” The vampire’s panicked fear would’ve been even greater when he was wrenched back.
Dmitri waited to see if he felt any kind of pity. No. “Here,” he said, pulling out a tiny plastic case from his pocket when Honor put down the damaged PDA. “Copy of the memory card. My people are mining it for data.”
Taking it, she slid it into her jeans. “I’ll go through it, too. My mind has a way of seeing patterns.” She scanned the room. “The violence appears random, but it was structured to inflict maximum terror.”
“The vampires who abused you,” he said, glimpsing what appeared to be a fingernail embedded in the wall, “did any of them betray this kind of behavior?”
Boot swiveling on the wood of the floor, Honor walked out and down the steps into the trees. Closing the cabin door behind himself, Dmitri followed at a slower pace, heading toward the gentle sound of water. He came out on the pebbled shore of a small stream—Honor stood only a couple of feet to his left.
Today, she’d teamed a fitted khaki shirt with sleeves to the elbows with those jeans that skimmed her form, well-worn boots on her feet. Simple and strong and beautiful. But even the strongest of women had nightmares that couldn’t be conquered in a day or even a year.
Saying nothing, he crouched down on the pebbles, picking up one and rolling it between his fingers. The water was clear, the air crisp and touched with the scent of a hundred thousand leaves, the space above the stream wide enough that the light was bright, the sky a searing blue. A lovely place in which to consider the most unspeakable violence. “Isis,” he said, accessing a section of his memory that had grown dusty with age, “was used to being adored, considered one of the most exquisite women in the world.”
That had been no lie—with skin of finest cream, hair of shining gold, and eyes of entrancing bronze, Isis had embodied the mortal ideas of the angelic race. Men and women both had run to see her when she’d stopped in his village on what he didn’t realize until later was a well-planned journey to avenge herself against Raphael.
“Do you know my crime, Dmitri?” Raphael’s voice, echoing in the cold stone chamber beneath the keep. “I was overheard to say that I would prefer a snake in my bed to Isis.”
Vain and cruelly intelligent, Isis hadn’t been satisfied with simply capturing and torturing Raphael for what had been nothing but a passing comment. No, she’d intended to corrupt Raphael’s mortal friends until they joined her in hurting the angel; she had chosen Dmitri because the archangel’s friendship with his family went back generations.
Then she’d seen Dmitri.
“At first she took my polite refusal to her offer with good humor. She thought I was playing a game, wanting a courtship.” He dropped the pebble but remained in his crouching position. “It amused and delighted her that I was so apparently proud. Gifts of exotic meats, precious spices, tapestries such as had never been seen in my small village, it all arrived day after day.”
18
Honor had covered the distance between them as he spoke, until she stood right by his side, close enough that his shoulder touched her leg. “I sent them all back, but she didn’t take offense.” Isis had believed he wanted more, considered himself worth more. “Hunks of pure gold, jeweled swords, a cascade of treasures that would’ve made a dragon proud, began to land on the simple doorstep of the home from where I farmed the land.”
“Dmitri, I never even imagined such beautiful things.”
He looked up, saw raw fear in those familiar eyes of darkest brown. “Ingrede, you are my wife, not Isis.” Anger that she’d doubt him made his tone harsh.
“I know you won’t break your marriage vows, husband.” Trembling hands tucking the blanket around the baby. “But I’m afraid of what this angel will do to possess you.”
He’d shrugged off Ingrede’s concern, because, after all, he was a farmer, no one important. “I thought she would eventually tire of my refusals and move on.” He had been a fool, an innocent in a way he couldn’t comprehend now. “But like Michaela,” he said, naming the archangel most people considered the most beautiful woman in the world today, “Isis was used to getting anything and everything she wanted.”
Her vampires had taken him as he returned home after a trip to the markets, a sweet for Misha tucked safely in one pocket, a pretty ribbon for his wife in the other. For the baby, such a small thing she was, he had bought a piece of scented wood with which to make a rattle. He’d seen Isis’s creatures coming, had had time to give Misha his sweet, caress his sleeping daughter’s cheek, and kiss his beautiful, strong wife good-bye.