Archangel's Blade (Guild Hunter 4)

Satisfying as it would’ve been to rush things, continued surveillance made sense. “I called Sara after we found out about the second hunt. All Guild personnel have been warned.” Honor had personally sent a message to Ashwini and been relieved to learn that her best friend was currently working a case with Demarco. Two hunters would be far, far harder to take.

Dmitri nodded. “I’ll make sure Venom keeps the Guild Director updated.” Sprawling on a sofa, he crooked a finger. “Come here.”

Kicking off her shoes and socks, she arched her back in a languorous stretch—both to loosen up tight muscles and to enjoy Dmitri’s eyes on her, hooded and dark and open in their appreciation. Stretch complete, she returned the favor. There was a delicious amount to admire. Black jeans, a plain belt with a tarnished buckle, a simple black tee—the stark shade threw the raw sensuality of his looks into even cleaner focus.

No woman, she thought, would kick him out of the house, much less the bed.

Padding across the carpet, she stood between his legs. “I’m going to freak out,” she said, and, yeah, it bruised her pride to admit that—but the only other option was to hide and Honor was through with being the rabbit Dmitri had called her.

He pointed at the shoulder holster and the knife sheaths.

“Off.”

She’d had a weapon on her every waking or sleeping moment since the attack—under her pillow, hidden down the side of the nightstand, on the back of the headboard. The idea of deliberately stripping herself of weapons with a vampire as powerful as Dmitri? It made her heart skitter against her ribs, her mouth turn dry as dust, her throat fill with grit.

“Want to keep a knife?” It was a low murmur of a question.

Honor gave the offer serious thought as she removed her gun and harness and stepped back to place them on the coffee table. The thigh sheath and the flashlight tucked into her back, along with a razor-fine blade worked into her belt, went next. She put the whole lot, belt included, beside the gun. Dmitri gave an intrigued look when she reached down her spine and removed a long knife from a hidden sheath, the blade as thin as the width of the nail on her pinkie. The single blade left was in the sheath she wore around her upper arm.

Touching it, she looked at the sensual, dangerous man on her sofa. Thought about cutting him again . . . and was kicked by a sense of rejection so deep, it would’ve shaken her if she hadn’t already been caught off guard by so many inexplicable reactions when it came to Dmitri. “No weapons,” she said as she placed her last knife on the table. “Give me yours.” Vampire or not, Honor knew she was smart enough to turn his own weapons against him.

Dmitri began to hand them over. It was her turn to stare. After they were both done, the pile of knives and guns on the coffee table looked like they’d cleaned out an armory. “I think we have a problem, Dmitri.”

“I’m not finished.” Unbuckling his belt, he began to pull it out.

Her eyes dropped. Maybe it was because she’d been blindfolded while Tommy and the others tortured her, but she had no trouble admiring a beautiful male body. And Dmitri’s . . . oh, yeah. “Same as mine?” she asked, stroking him with her eyes, his T-shirt pulled tight over rock-hard abs.

“Have a look.”

Taking the belt, she saw the thin wire worked into the leather. It could be pulled out with a single tug, used as a fatally efficient garrote. “Clever.”

“Illium gave it to me a couple of years ago.”

“I’d say he doesn’t seem the type”—she ran her thumbs over the leather softened by constant use—“but I’ve known my share of hunters who come across as harmless.”

“Put down the belt, Honor.” A sexy smile. “Unless you plan to use it.”

Stomach clenching, she dropped the belt and stepped back between his spread legs. “I had a feeling you’d be into belts and ropes.”

When she reached forward and pushed up his tee, he remained in his sprawled position, a pasha waiting to be served. His skin was the same dark tan shade on his abdomen as it was on his face. “Is your skin this tone all over?”

“Only one way you’re going to discover the answer to that.”

22

Looking up, she saw hooded eyes, lips curved just enough to tell her he was enjoying himself . . . and a sensuality as lethal as the weapons on the table behind her. Not a man who would be kind to a woman in bed. “Take off the T-shirt.”

He did it with a few economical movements—to reveal muscled shoulders, abs she wanted to lick, and a thin line of hair leading down into his jeans. “Orders already?” he murmured, dropping the T-shirt to the carpet. “I think maybe you’d like to wield a whip.”

“Maybe I would.”

A wicked smile.

Stepping back, she nudged his legs together and moved up to straddle him. He let her do as she would, and she knew why. If Dmitri wanted her flat on the floor on her back, she’d be there before she saw him move. But this wasn’t about force or pain. It was something else altogether. What, she didn’t quite know, but she knew it was important.

He felt quintessentially male beneath her, his thigh muscles rock, his body heat stroking her with a languid intimacy so slow and undemanding that she didn’t fight it—though she knew nothing was that simple with Dmitri. He was a man who would take advantage of every vulnerability.

Touching him with the lightest of fingertips, she began to explore this darkly sexual creature who should’ve driven fear into her heart—and who did still scare her at times with his brutal inhumanity—and yet who also made her feel safe in a way she couldn’t explain. Irrational as it was, she trusted Dmitri.

When she ran her index finger along the top band of his abdominal muscles, he flinched. Only just, but she caught it. So she did it again—and saw the faintest hint of a smile as dangerous as it was sensual.

“Such patience,” she said, leaning forward with her forearms braced against his chest. “I guess immortality gives a man time to learn many things.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth. “Kiss me.”

She shaped his lips with a fingertip, lingering on the slight fullness of the lower one. She’d seen that mouth cool with anger, curved in amusement and in mockery. Through it all, she’d wanted to taste it. There was just one thing. “They fed from my mouth.”

Those dark chocolate eyes turned a sudden, deadly black, but all he said was, “Inefficient.”