Archangel's Viper

He angled the woman’s head slightly to the side to look at the wound. “It appears the killer didn’t cut through her spinal cord. And she would’ve had blood dripping onto her face from the body parts for a period. Some would’ve gone into her mouth.”

Sometimes, the worst times, Holly wondered if she had blanks in her memory because Uram had made her feed on the blood of her dead friends. Remembering something like that could drive an already half-crazy survivor all the way insane, so maybe she’d chosen to forget.

“These bruises, however,” Venom said before the horror could dig into her brain, “they were made by a hand gripping hard and the color makes it clear they’re older.” He was pointing to marks on the woman’s thigh.

“She must be really young if she’s healing this slowly.”

“It isn’t always a matter of age. Some vampires of ten thousand will always be weak. Others will be powers at two hundred.”

Holly nodded. At around two and a half centuries of age, Janvier was a walking example of the latter. “It looks like her leg was broken recently, too.” There was a jagged scar on her right shin, as if bone had poked through.

Rising, Venom circled the thin brunette. “The bottoms of her feet are burned. Scarred.” His voice was cold. “That’s torture.”

The woman’s watery blue eyes, eyes ringed in pulsing blood red, flicked open. And this time, they focused on Venom. Her fear was a vicious curling up of her body, a tiny creature cringing in dread. “Please.” A rasped whisper. “No more.”

Sliding on his sunglasses, Venom hunkered down beside the fallen woman. Then, to Holly’s surprise, the most well-dressed vampire she knew slipped his arm behind the filthy woman’s back and helped her up into a seated position with gentle care. The woman shivered violently, her bones rattling. Taking off his jacket—which probably cost thousands—Venom put it around her shoulders.

The brunette clutched the lapels closed over her naked breasts, shooting Holly looks so hopeful that it was all she could do not to cry. Holly thought of what her mother would do if she found someone like this, and reached out to brush the woman’s matted and dirty hair off her face.

Sobbing, the vampire fell into Holly’s arms. And said, “I thought you were dead. I’m so sorry. I thought you were dead.”

The words made no sense . . . and they sent a chill up Holly’s spine.

“Holly.”

She glanced at Venom, startled at his use of her actual name.

He spoke quietly. “Watch her fangs. There’s something not normal about her.”

13

Holly wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. This woman could’ve been her not so long ago. But the ring of red around this broken vampire’s eyes was a warning she couldn’t disregard. Holding her nonetheless, she made sure she was very aware of the woman’s mouth and fangs.

The vampire cried until she went limp . . . then jerked back so hard that she tore herself out of Holly’s arms. Scuttling backward like a spider crab until her back was to the mound of body parts, she took harsh, hard breaths, her eyes scrunched shut. As tightly clenched as her hands where she gripped the lapels of Venom’s jacket.

Holly was almost expecting the blood red eyes that met hers when the woman flicked her eyelashes back up. “Help me.” This time, her voice was as rough as coarse sandpaper.

Venom was there before Holly saw him move.

Seizing the vampire’s wrists with a single hand, he used his other to hold her jaw with enough force that she couldn’t turn her head and try to sink her fangs into him. “Fight it,” he ordered. “You have my blood in your veins now. You have power.”

The vampire’s throat moved as she swallowed. “More,” she pleaded in a whispery tone that was eerie in its lack of humanity. “Please.”

Holly expected Venom to say a flat no, but he said, “Holly.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Hold her wrists.”

“I have them.” The woman’s bones felt like a bird’s, so thin and fragile—but Holly knew not to be fooled. The stranger was still a vampire.

Raising his own wrist to his mouth, Venom tore open a vein and, tipping up the woman’s head using his grip on her jaw, dripped his blood into her mouth. The woman swallowed frantically, blood splattering her lips when she missed.

“Enough,” he said after a few moments, when his vein began to knit naturally. “You’ll die if you glut yourself on me.”

Holly stared at him. He was right, of course he was right. He was too powerful for a weak vampire to take—but he’d let Holly drink her fill of him last night. Which said certain things about her that Holly didn’t want to face just now.

The vampire licked her tongue around her mouth to get all the splattered drops and at that instant she wasn’t human at all. But a heartbeat later, she smiled, and her eyes, they were devoid of red. “Thank you,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks again. “I haven’t felt clean inside since . . . a long time.”

“What’s your name?” Holly asked.

“My name?” The woman looked at her blankly. “I . . . I had one, once. I d-don’t remember.”

Holly’s fury was a cold rage in her heart. “How about Daisy? It can be your temporary name until you remember your real one.” Everyone should have a name, should have the dignity of an identity. “Or you can choose another name you like.”

A shaky smile. “I like Daisy, it’s pretty.”

“Look at me, Daisy.” Venom hadn’t raised his voice, but it demanded attention nonetheless.

Daisy turned her head, and, after examining her face, Venom released her jaw, though he shot Holly a look to ensure that she kept hold of Daisy’s wrists. “What are you doing here?” he asked the vampire. “Were you with one of the dead men?”

A hard shake of Daisy’s head, hate in the stare she shot toward the decapitated heads lined up on the pool table. “My master gave me to them for a week,” she spit out. “To reward them for something.”

Holly’s stomach twisted. This was why she would’ve never voluntarily signed up for a normal Contract. Those under Contract had few rights. For a hundred years, they were the playthings of the angels. It wasn’t always like that, of course. Dmitri had been with Raphael since the start, and he’d said things that made Holly think the two had been friends even before Dmitri was Made.

Janvier had come out of Neha’s court far more educated, and experienced in travel and diplomacy than when he’d gone in; he’d also been trained in how to use the kukri blades with lethal skill. Ashwini was treated like an asset by the Tower. So not all those under Contract were destined for a hellish life—but there was no way to know, was there? You could end up with someone powerful but “human” like Illium, or you could end up with a bastard who lent you out to his friends for them to abuse.

“Who is your master?” Venom asked.

“He’ll hurt me if I tell.” It was a rasping whisper.

“You’re not going back to him,” Holly said before she could stop herself.

Venom’s head lifted, turned toward her. But she refused to back down. “I’ll talk to Elena,” she said, speaking to both him and Daisy. “She’ll help.” The Guild Hunter turned angel was still human inside, didn’t look at the world through the jaded eyes of an immortal.

“The name of your master,” Venom said, returning his attention to Daisy.

This time, his voice demanded absolute obedience.

Daisy had no hope of standing against him. “Kenasha,” she whispered. “My master is Kenasha.”

Venom’s expression didn’t change. “When did you sign up to be his?”

It was an odd question. Vampires didn’t get to choose under which angel they served out their Contract—the Tower was in charge of assigning new vampires to angels. And not all angels qualified; they had to be strong enough to control newborn vampires. Holly knew there had to be other prerequisites, but she’d never had reason to find out what.