Dmitri gave a clipped nod. “The second individual did nothing of note while under surveillance, but from what I know of his habits, he may well have been involved. I’ve sent Illium to question him.”
“Illium seems far too pretty to be dangerous.” Dmitri’s male beauty, by contrast, was a darker, edgier thing.
“No one ever expects him to take out a blade and slice off their balls,” he said with lethal amusement in his tone as he drove them toward the George Washington Bridge. “He does it with such grace, too.”
Honor wasn’t shocked, because while what she’d said was true, she’d long ago learned that appearances could be deceptive. “Did you cultivate your reputation on purpose?”
He laughed and it was a thickness of fur across her breasts, her body seeming to have become more sensitized to the scent lure. “I was too busy soaking battlefields in blood and fucking women who were drawn to violence to cultivate anything.”
Honor didn’t even consider letting it go, because as of this morning, they belonged to each other, even if that belonging would be a fleeting thing. “You’re so angry.” Honed and blindingly sharp, that anger was a cold, cold thing. “Tell me why.”
A long, still silence. “My memories are my penance, Honor. To share them is pointless.”
“I’m never going to be an ornament, or a bedmate content to stay in that sphere.” She couldn’t be, not when the depth of her draw toward him was nothing sensible, nothing rational.
“And I,” he said, reaching out to grip her thigh, “am never going to be—”
“—manageable,” she interrupted in a sudden burst of humor. “I guess I can’t say I didn’t know that going in.”
Dmitri gave her the strangest look as they stopped for a red light. “Why choose that word?”
“It seemed to fit.” Realizing there was no way he’d reveal any vulnerability until he trusted her on a level it would take time to develop, she decided to return to their earlier topic of discussion. “What about the third vampire?”
Taking his eyes off her after another probing look, he eased the Ferrari onto the bridge. “That’s who we’re going to see—she’s out in Stamford,” he said, explaining why they were heading back into Manhattan. “It appears she’s been bunkered down in her home for at least five days. Been feeding off blood junkies who come to her door.”
“I don’t know that term.” Though she’d heard “vamp-whore” used to describe those who were addicted to the kiss of a vampire.
“Blood junkies come in pairs,” Dmitri explained. “The only way they can get aroused enough to have sex is if a vampire feeds from either one or both in turn. So in effect it’s a threesome—only a subset of the Made finds this even mildly attractive.”
Honor nodded. “The majority of mortals don’t come close to the beauty bestowed by vampirism.”
“The deal breaker is that the vampire is relegated to being a conduit, not the center.”
No old vampire would enjoy that. “The woman we’re going to see—”
“Jiana. She’s not known to be into the junkie scene, but there’s no doubt she’s been indulging lately,” he said, making his way to the Bronx once they cleared the bridge. “Look in the dashboard.”
Reaching forward, she opened the compartment to reveal an envelope. Inside were a number of large, glossy black-and-white photographs. “When were these taken?”
“Early this morning.”
The first one was of a fresh-faced twosome, blond and scrubbed, straight out of a casting call for the “All-American Couple”—the only thing missing was the dog. Hand in hand, they walked up the steps of a gracious old home, wisteria falling from the balconies and the world swathed in black.
The next shot was of the two leaving the house. Both were flushed, their lips swollen, hair messed up—the man’s shirt was buttoned wrong while the woman was missing her thin floral scarf. “Is this something a wife does for her husband and vice versa?”
“They have their own subculture,” Dmitri told her. “Marry within it. Makes everything go smoother.”
Putting away the photos, she tried to get her head around the idea as Dmitri drove them out of the Bronx into Westchester and toward Connecticut. It was as they were passing from Greenwich into Stamford that she remembered something she’d meant to mention about another strange subculture. “I had an e-mail from Detective Santiago,” she said, realizing she felt no dread in spite of the fact that she’d been held and brutalized a bare hour outside of this city—the area was so different as to be on another planet. “They’ve already arrested someone for the murder yesterday morning.”
“The victim’s boyfriend and another member of the club,” Dmitri said. “I made it a point to keep an eye on the situation.”
Honor knew that that subculture would soon be getting a visit from the scary kind of vampire. “Old-fashioned sex and jealousy, according to Santiago.” All three had been involved in a sexual relationship with each other.
“And a good dose of stupidity.” With that pitiless statement, he turned in through a set of open gates that fronted a long, winding drive lined with mature sycamores. The Ferrari was almost to the door when it opened to disgorge another couple. Honor winced.
Catching it, Dmitri laughed. “Appetites don’t decrease with age, Honor. You should know that.”
“It’s easier to accept with vampires,” she murmured, watching the elderly pair get into their aging car. “I always think of the younger ones as having an extended adolescence.” Stepping out after the couple drove away, she drew in a breath of the fresh spring air. “It’s a pretty place.” More trees backed the house, while the drive featured a delicate fountain. Landscaped lawns and gardens flowed off on both sides and into the distance, beds of colorful blooms nodding in the wind that whispered down the slight rise to the right.
“Michaela, too,” Dmitri said, coming around the car to join her by the fountain, “has the most gracious of homes.”
Honor had only ever seen the female archangel in the media, but there was no denying that Michaela was both beautiful and vicious. “What about Favashi?” she asked and it was only because she was looking right at Dmitri that she caught the tightening of his jaw.
“That one looks soft and gentle, and all the while, she’s grinding her enemies beneath her boot.” A brutal summation.
Not long ago, she’d discovered Dmitri had once had a wife he had loved. Now she realized he might have had an archangelic lover. “Bad breakup?” Jealousy turned her words razor sharp.
A raised eyebrow. “Perceptive, little rabbit.”
Yes, he knew how to push her buttons. But oddly enough, she knew how to push his, too. “I guess being dumped by an archangel would bruise the male ego.”
“I didn’t realize rabbits had claws.”
The door to the house opened before she could reply to that amused comment. Looking up, she saw a tall, thin vampire with the bones of a supermodel, the pillowy lips of a screen siren, and mocha skin that glowed in the sunlight—all of which was displayed to perfection in a lace and satin robe of exquisite bronze that barely hit midthigh. “Do none of these women own clothing?” she muttered.
“We did interrupt her during a feed,” Dmitri drawled as they walked up the steps.
Jiana blanched at their approach, but she wasn’t staring at Dmitri . . . and the knowledge in her eyes was damning. “I didn’t know.” A whisper, her hand clenching on the doorjamb. “When I accepted the invitation, I didn’t know. And when I saw you there, I didn’t hurt you. Please, you have to remember.”
Honor put a hand on Dmitri’s forearm, stilling his forward motion. “That scent.” Rich and sweet and speaking of wealth. “Yes, I remember.”
“I’m sorry. Here, would you like some water?”
Drinking because her captor, the one who controlled the others, hadn’t bothered to give her any water or food that day, she took in as much as she could. “Thank you.”
“No, it’s nothing.” Muted sobs. “I can’t help you. Please don’t ask me to.”