“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.”
Sorrow swallowed. “Do you think I can?”
“Yes.” Sorrow needed someone to have faith in her. “Oh, yes, sweetheart.”
“Elena wanted to come see me,” the other woman blurted out without warning. “I know she saved me . . . but she has wings.” A shiver that shook her entire frame. “I couldn’t.”
“I’m sure she understands.” Squeezing her shoulder, Honor had another thought. “How much time are you spending alone?”
“I’m never alone.”
“Sorrow.”
“It’s not too bad. My family . . .” Her lip wobbled and she bit it hard enough to leave red crescents in the delicate flesh. “They don’t know about Uram—the story is that I was attacked by a human crazy and infected with a dangerous virus. I thought they’d reject me when the changes started to show, but they’ve been wonderful. Mom would be here every day if I’d let her.”
“Then let her,” Honor said, touching her hand to the girl’s cheek. “Family builds a foundation, one that’ll help you stand, fight.” Honor had never had that foundation, so she understood its value on a level Sorrow couldn’t comprehend.
Nodding, the young woman reached out with an impulsive hug. Honor returned the embrace, happy she was at the point where such sudden actions didn’t cause her to flash back to the pit where Amos had trapped her. As she stroked her hand over the girl’s back, her eyes met Dmitri’s and something unsaid but understood passed between them—Sorrow was no longer simply his to watch over, but theirs.
It was as Dmitri and Honor were driving away from Sorrow’s that he got the call.
“Dmitri.” The rough male voice brought an ancient memory to life.
“Please.” A lifted hand, the boy’s back bloody from a vicious whipping.
“It’s all right,” Dmitri said, unable to feel pity, his heart stone, but aware this boy was another victim, no threat. “We won’t hurt you.”
“Is she dead?”
“Yes, the bitch is dead.”
“Kallistos.” He pulled over.
A rusty, painful-sounding laugh. “Very good.”
Dead air for several seconds.
Dmitri waited, knowing Kallistos would get impatient—according to the people Jason had in Neha’s court, this vampire, with his face and body that had mesmerized men and women alike over the centuries, had never quite mastered his temper.
“I hold the reins today, Dmitri.” Kallistos’s voice would never be smooth, his throat having been damaged at a critical juncture during his Making, but now it lost the veneer of sophistication. “You’ll do as I say or this rather pretty angel will die a slow and painful death.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I’m sending you directions. Drive. If I see any hint of wings, I’ll gut him.”
Directions came into Dmitri’s in-box as the call ended. “This is only part of the route,” he said, after giving Honor a précis of the conversation.
“He doesn’t want to chance an angel flying ahead of you.”
Dmitri considered his options, made a call to Illium. “Alert Raphael as soon as he’s back in the city.” The archangel was on his way back from a meeting. “You’re too distinctive, Jason’s gone, and I don’t trust anyone else not to muck this up.”
Illium cursed. “I’ll fly out, meet Raphael partway.”
Hanging up, Dmitri turned to Honor. “Are you armed?”
“Always.”
Punching up the speed, he raced out of New Jersey and toward Philadelphia. More instructions came in as he drove, and it was seven hours later, the sky beginning to darken with the first faint streaks of the time between sunset and true night, that he found himself back in Manhattan. Mouth grim, he picked up the call as it came in.
“Have fun on your little drive?” Kallistos laughed, and it was the sound of metal grating.
Dmitri maintained his silence, guessing Kallistos would believe him to be in the grip of a rage that would disallow rational thinking. It didn’t. Dmitri’s hatred for Isis didn’t blind him—not now, not after he’d bathed in her blood.
“I left you a present.” Kallistos was almost giggling. “In one of the New York properties you own.” The other vampire hung up.
Telling Honor what Kallistos had said, he did an illegal U-turn and headed out toward Englewood Cliffs. Sire, he said, able to speak to Raphael since the archangel was directly overhead. If you and Illium will take these three—he relayed the addresses—I’ll take care of the fourth. He sent through the final address as well.
“We’re taking the closest property,” he said to Honor. “Raphael and Illium will reach the other locations much faster.” Kallistos, he thought, was long gone.
“What are the chances this might be the spot?”
He considered the high fences, the lane in the back that could be used to sneak onto the property. “It’s relatively private, and decaying enough to suit Kallistos’s sense of theater, from what we’ve seen so far.” Increasing his speed, he blew past startled motorists.
If it had been an older angel at risk, Dmitri wouldn’t have felt the overriding alarm he did now, but the one who’d been taken was young, his immortality not yet set in stone. Of course, most mortals or vampires would still be unable to cause him a fatal injury, but Kallistos was older than Dmitri; he had both the strength and the knowledge to murder an angel so vulnerable.
34
“We’re here.” Dark hair whipped off Dmitri’s forehead as he took them down a somewhat derelict street, before turning in through a pair of open gates that led to a decaying apartment complex.
“I’m guessing the value is in the land?”
“Millions.” Bringing the car to a halt behind the protective barrier of a pile of rubble, Dmitri got out and opened the trunk to retrieve a stunning blade too big to be covertly carried. No, this weapon was about power and intimidation.