“I can do the wing slice now,” Illium volunteered, sliding out a heavy broadsword from his back that hadn’t been visible until then and that Venom knew was currently Illium’s third-favorite blade of choice.
Illium’s ability to hide the sword wasn’t quite glamour, but it was close to it, at least on a small scale. And unlike with Holly’s “droplet of power,” Bluebell could control his ability, could disappear his weapons at will.
“Too much blood and mess on the balcony,” Dmitri said. “Take him to the healers so they can get a sample of his wings—and any other samples they need—then fly him back to his home. Do the excision there. Incinerate his wings afterward.”
Golden energy arced between Illium’s fingertips. “Is he going to be zombie Kenasha the whole way?” he asked Venom.
Venom shook his head. “The connection will break once he’s a short distance from me. He should be like this while in the Tower, though—it’ll make it easier for the healers to get samples without him throwing any dramatics.”
Nodding, Illium took charge of the other angel and dropped down to the infirmary level.
“Uram marked her,” Venom said quietly. “Do we tell the sire?”
“Only if it’s something we can’t handle ourselves,” Dmitri replied, his gaze on the glittering city that spread out around them, dark water in the distance. “He’s surrounded by enemies right now. We can’t afford to divide his attention.”
Venom nodded. “I’ll work on this.”
Dmitri folded his arms as the cold night wind ruffled the dark strands of his hair. “You have it. But Venom, this changes things.” He released a harsh breath. “You have to treat Holly as an unknown threat. She could have things hidden inside her far beyond what came from Daisy.”
Venom had seen the way Dmitri hugged Holly to his side, witnessed the affection of his kiss on top of her rainbow-colored hair. This from a man who otherwise only interacted that way with his wife—and with Naasir, whom he’d all but raised. “What would you do if she does?” he asked softly. “Would you execute her?”
Darkness, dangerous and old, swept across Dmitri’s face. “It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t become a possibility.” His eyes locked with Venom’s. “Don’t let me down.”
Holly woke feeling as if she’d just spent ten hours on the weight machine at the gym. Every freaking muscle in her body ached. Even the ones in her toes. But at least she was someplace warm, where the heat seeped into her bones and made her want to stretch out and never leave.
She curled her fingers into the luxuriantly soft blanket that covered her, and smiled. This stone floor is so nic—
Her eyes snapped open. She wasn’t the least surprised to see Venom sitting on the thick light gray carpet on the other side of the stone. Dressed in black pants and a steel gray shirt open at the throat, he wasn’t looking at her. His back leaning against a sofa, and his hair not as flawlessly combed as usual, he was staring out at the lights of the night-cloaked city, one of his legs raised and bent at the knee.
There was something starkly distant about him at that moment.
She spotted her boots near the edge of the stone, managed to use her foot to get one under the blanket without alerting him. Reaching down to quietly bring it up without altering her curled-up position on the heated stone . . . she threw it so that it landed with a thump next to Venom.
His attention jerked to her, a smile curving his lips. And he wasn’t distant and unknowable any longer. “So, the sleepy kitty is awake.” He prowled to her on all fours. It should’ve looked wrong, but his body flowed like liquid and it was perfectly normal.
Coming to a stop on the stone floor about a foot from her, he went to his stomach and, folding his arms under his chin, propped his head on them. “Have a good sleep?”
She wanted to reply with a snarky comment just because it was Venom who was asking, but she was too warm and comfortable—aside from the aching muscles. Yawning, she snuggled the blanket back up to her chin. “Yes. What happened?” She had a vague memory of being punched by Daisy but that didn’t make sense—Daisy had been strapped down and too far away to hit Holly.
“Something interesting,” he said. “But you should eat first. You missed dinner.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Approximately five and a half hours.” A quick glance at his watch. “It’s currently exactly one minute past midnight.”
Holly’s aching body contradicted the hours of rest. “I feel like I went twelve rounds with Dmitri in a bad mood,” she admitted.
A tilt of his head. “Has he ever sparred with you?”
“A little. But he doesn’t really let go—I think he’s worried he’ll break my neck without realizing it.”
“You’re not that easy to break.”
Holly thought again of how he’d thrown her, and of how her body had just kind of . . . flowed. “How do I learn to do that consciously?” she asked. “The boneless glide down walls?”
“Instinct,” was the unhelpful response. “Stop fighting yourself and you’ll do it the same way you walk and breathe.” His eyes were so pretty and wildly green.
And she was clearly faint from lack of food.
Her stomach rumbled right on cue. “Did you know they deliver takeout to the Tower?” The first time she’d placed an order, she’d gone out front to wait, worried the delivery guy would get scared off by the genuinely scary vampires on guard. Even Holly didn’t dare mess with those grim-eyed men and women.
To her shock, the middle-aged delivery guy had rolled up to her with a grin and a small bag of free chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. “After that last order,” he’d said, “the Tower is our best customer by a country mile.”
It had taken Holly a while to discover that the last order had been placed by a squadron of angelic fighters who’d had a hankering for deep-dish pizza. They’d ordered fifty . . . then fifty more after a second training session.
On the same day.
“I cooked you something.” Venom’s eyes held hers, and this close, she glimpsed the golden striations in the extraordinary viper green. In contrast, the slits of black were such a pure shade of obsidian that she could almost see her own reflection in them.
Lifting her hand without her conscious volition, she brushed the very tip of her right index finger across his eyelashes.
20
His lashes were straight and dark and uncompromising . . . but they felt like the softest of feathers, a whisper of a touch. He didn’t stop her, just watched her with that unblinking gaze he got sometimes; it tended to frighten people who didn’t know him. Those people erroneously assumed it was a threat when it was simply another part of Venom’s nature.
Holly just felt . . . at peace.
She couldn’t hurt him if she lost control. She couldn’t terrify him. She couldn’t even shock him. She could annoy him, but they both enjoyed that—a dirty little secret neither one of them would ever speak aloud. “What did you cook?” she asked in that peaceful, lethargic, oddly content state.
“Fried rice with fresh crab and scallops.”
Holly jerked upright into a seated position. “Really? Give it to me!” She loved seafood fried rice so much that she’d learned to cook it; of course, hers was never as good as her mom’s. Daphne just threw in “this and that,” mostly leftover bits and pieces, and it always turned out fantastic. “You’re competing with my mom’s top-shelf cooking, just so you know.”