“I know.” It was part of the reason he’d never again take her to his bed. She’d been too willing from the start; and while Dmitri had nothing against willing—liked his women soft and wet with welcome—Carmen wanted more than sex.
Dmitri didn’t. Not with her. Not with any woman. “Go home, Carmen.”
She pushed herself into him instead, her nipples pressing through the dove gray material of her dress to make it clear that, elegantly sexy or not, she wasn’t wearing a bra. “Just once more, Dmitri.” Thudding hunger in her pulse. “I want to feel your fangs breaking through my skin.” The shudder that rolled through her was almost orgasmic. “Please, just once.”
“Any vampire will do, Carmen. We both know that.” She’d become addicted to the pleasure a vampire’s kiss could bestow, something he hadn’t realized until after he’d taken her to bed. “I don’t fuck and feed from the same woman.” It was an ironclad rule.
Her hands clenched on the lapels of his suit. “Anything, Dmitri.”
“You don’t want to say that to me.” He allowed the cold, dark predator within him to rise to the surface, to fill his eyes as he lowered his voice to hold pure, silken menace. “I don’t play nice and I never stop when asked.” Raising his finger, he touched it almost delicately to her cheekbone, the violence in him a pitiless blade as a result of the memories that had suddenly begun to surface. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
Carmen went white, didn’t resist when one of the vampires on watch put a hand on her arm at Dmitri’s minute nod.
Watching her go, he turned to Honor. “Now, you,” he murmured, having never lost awareness of the staccato beat of her pulse, the jagged spike of her breath, the subtle complexity of her scent. “You, I want to say those words to me.”
A sucked-in breath. “I don’t sleep with men who get off on making me bleed.” A biting anger in those words . . . and something older, richer, darker.
Having reached her, he smiled and knew from the look in her eyes that he’d let a little too much of himself bleed through, the blade too lethal. “Good,” he murmured. “It’ll make it sweeter when I do have you.”
Spots of color on her cheeks, though he could hear her heart beating like a small, trapped creature’s, panicked and stuttering. “I don’t fuck.”
“You,” he said, wanting to place his mouth over her pulse and suck, “I wouldn’t fuck. Not the first time anyway.”
Regardless of the words he’d chosen, Honor wasn’t sure Dmitri was talking about sex at all in that dark purr of a voice that was both the most sinful decadence and a deadly warning. He’d terrified Carmen with quiet, calculated menace, was feared by every other vampire in the city—and yet she found herself standing her ground, her courage coming from some hidden part of her she didn’t entirely understand.
Maybe she’d collapse into a gibbering mess when she was alone, but she would not break in front of this vampire who’d looked at a former lover with the same detached distance as another man might an insect. “If you want to know what I found out, get the hell out of my personal space.”
He didn’t move. “Pity you’re not one of the bloodhounds.”
“Scent,” she said, breath catching as she felt the faintest caress of black fur and diamonds entangling her senses, “Sara told me you can lure with scent.” It made her wonder how many hunters he’d called, naked and willing, to his bed with nothing but the intoxication of his ability. “I’m not hunter-born,” she argued, though it had just become clear that she may well have had one of them in her lineage.
And Dmitri knew it.
Those beautiful lips setting in the slightest curve, he angled his head toward the elevators. “Come, little rabbit.”
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to follow—though her heart threatened to punch out of her chest at the thought of being trapped in an elevator with him. Unfortunately, escape wasn’t an option. There was nowhere she could go in this city where he wouldn’t track her down.
And he would, because she had what he needed. The fact that he wanted to sleep with her was an adjunct, a diversion. “Did your people discover anything else about the victim?” she asked, sweat beading along her spine as they reached the elevator.
“He died perhaps a day before the head was discovered.” Dark, dark eyes lingering on every curve and shadow of her face. “You need to slow down your pulse, Honor. Or I’ll take it as an invitation. And we both know just how much you’d enjoy my fangs.”
Her stomach clenched, roiled. “Carmen was right. You are a bastard.” In the pit, one of the vampires had used his fangs to pump something into her bloodstream that was meant to make things pleasurable for the donor, forcing her to orgasm over and over again—a wracking rape of her senses that she couldn’t fight.
She’d vomited after he finished, much to his disgust. Ice-cold buckets of water thrown over her had been her punishment. “I’d rather eat nails than let you near me.”
“A colorful analogy, but I don’t have to force my food.” Extending his arm to keep the elevator doors from closing, he waited. “As you saw, it comes begging to my door.” He continued to hold the elevator even when it began to beep.
No way in hell would she let him win.
He smiled when she stepped in, and again, it was the smile of a predator. Without warmth or any hint of humanity. “So, the quivering rabbit has some spine left.”
The doors whooshed shut.
“How’s your face?” she asked, hand itching for a blade.
He turned so she could see the cheek she’d cut. The dark honey of his skin was smooth and warm with health once more, the kind of skin that invited touch . . . if you forgot the fact that he was as dangerous as a cobra watching its prey.
“The tattooed vampire,” he said, leaning lazily against the wall, his voice a languid stroke, “was barely-Made. Two months old at most. He shouldn’t have been out of containment.”
Frowning, she bit the inside of her lip. “Hunters don’t usually have anything to do with vampires that young. I’ve heard they’re relatively weak.”
“Weak is one word.” Glancing toward the doors as they opened, he nodded at her to step out.
She locked her feet into place. “After you.”
“If I wanted to go for your throat, Honor,” he said in that same deceptively lazy voice, “you’d be pinned to the wall before you saw me move.”
Yeah, she knew that. Didn’t change things. “I can stay here all day.”
Once again, Dmitri held out his arm to block the door from closing. “Who were you before they got to you?”
It ripped at the pride Honor hadn’t thought she still had that he knew how she’d been debased and degraded, how she’d been made less than an animal, but she found her voice in a rage that had grown in brittle silence since the day she stumbled out of the pit. “I have a question of my own.”
A raised eyebrow.
“Why the fuck are the worst of them still out there walking around?” While she was trapped in this body that couldn’t forget the bruises, the broken bones, but most of all, the agonizing loss of her right to make a choice, to allow or not to allow a touch.
A cold, cold something swam behind Dmitri’s dark eyes. “Because they don’t know they’re dead yet.” Icy words. “Would you like to watch when I make them scream?”
Her blood froze in her veins.
Dmitri smiled. “What fantasies have you been having, little rabbit? Stabbing out their eyes, perhaps, letting them grow back so you could do it again?” A terrible, sensual whisper. “Breaking their bones with a hammer while they’re conscious?” Not waiting for an answer, he stepped out of the elevator.
Following, she stared at the black suit jacket that sat so very perfectly over broad shoulders graceful with a liquid kind of muscle. Nothing about Dmitri was less than sophisticated. Even his violence. And yet he’d come scarily close to guessing at the vicious dreams she entertained when she thought of having her attackers at her mercy—in a cold room devoid of light as they’d had her.