“Dmitri, Misha, what are you up to?”
“Secret things, Mama!”
Laughter, sweet and feminine and familiar, followed by Ingrede’s quiet footsteps. Heavy with child, she kissed first her giggling son, then her smiling husband.
“I was another man,” he said, put on edge by the forceful draw he felt toward Honor. He may have led a life of debauchery after his world burned to ash, may have blackened his soul and indulged in every vice there was in an effort to numb the pain, but he had never, ever betrayed Ingrede where it mattered. His heart, it had remained untouched, encased in stone.
“I will love you even when I am dust on the wind.”
This hunter shattered on the innermost level was not likely to tempt him to break that promise . . . but there was no denying that there were hidden depths to her. Depths he was compelled to explore. “You’re an excellent shot,” he said.
A shrug. “I practice, and Valeria wasn’t exactly a moving target.” Lines marred her forehead. “I should feel bad about taking advantage when she was pinned up like a butterfly, but I don’t. What does that make me?”
“Human. Flawed.”
“Strange how that actually makes me feel better.” She reached to open an upper cupboard. The motion pulled her gray sweatshirt a fraction tighter over her full br**sts, but nowhere near enough to showcase a body that Dmitri was damn certain was meant to be showcased.
Hmm . . .
Turning on his heel, he began to prowl around her apartment. When he turned in the direction of what he guessed was her bedroom, she said, “That’s private, Dmitri.”
He ignored her.
Heard her swear a blue streak.
But he was already at her closet by the time she ran around the counter to follow. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Seeing who you were before Valeria and Tommy.” He pulled out a short scarlet dress with a plunging neckline and no back. “This, I like.”
Honor, her cheeks as red as the dress, grabbed the hanger from him. “For your information, I never wore this. It was a gift from a friend.”
His enthusiasm cooled. “That’s the kind of dress a man buys.”
“Or a girlfriend who likes to jerk my chain,” she muttered, shoving the dress back into the closet. “Now get out.”
He reached in to pull out a number of other items instead, throwing them on the bed. Shirts and simple tops, for the most part, but all of them fitted. Nothing like the shapeless tees and sweatshirts she’d taken to wearing. Throwing them on the bed, he said, “Get dressed properly and I’ll show you something you’ve never before seen.”
Glaring at him, she started to put the clothing back. “I happen to be working—the rest of the ink won’t decode itself.”
A cold burn of anger invading his veins at the reminder of Isis, he shut the closet doors with deliberate care. “From what I saw,” he said in a tempered voice, “you’ve been going around in circles.”
A blown-out breath. “I’ve almost got it. It’s there on the tip of my tongue.”
“A break will help.” While she dressed, he’d make a few calls, including one to Jason. If someone was attempting to revive or revere Isis in any way, shape, or form, Dmitri wanted to know. So he could crush the repugnance.
Movement, Honor walking to the vanity to pick up a brush. “Where are we heading?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
Narrowed eyes. “Leave so I can get dressed.”
“Don’t take too long.” Striding out to her glare, he began to make his phone calls. Jason hadn’t heard even a whisper of anything related to an angel named Isis, but promised to alert his network. Dmitri also contacted Illium, instructing him to brief the rest of the Seven. His final call was to Raphael.
The archangel’s response was simple. “You’re certain?”
“Yes,” he said, understanding the question. “I’ll handle it.” Isis was his nightmare.
Hanging up, he was staring out at a Manhattan still swathed in the graying kiss of night, the Tower dominating the skyline, when the scent of wildflowers in bloom grew stronger. It tugged at long-buried emotions in him, that scent, made him remember the mortal he’d been so many years ago that entire civilizations had risen and fallen during his lifetime.
“Let’s go.”
He turned to see Honor dressed in ill-fitting jeans and a loose white shirt. “I said properly dressed.” He knew full well what she was doing with her shapeless clothing, and it turned him merciless. “Just because the predators can’t get a good look at you doesn’t mean they don’t consider you fresh meat.”
Fury spotted red high across her cheekbones. “Fuck you, Dmitri.”
“Right now?” He gave her a deliberately taunting smile. “Come over here, then, darling.”
He saw her hand twitch, knew she was fighting the urge to go for her gun, drill him in the heart. “You know what?” she said. “I think I’d prefer my own company. Get out.”
“Pathetic, Honor,” he said, well aware the painful buttons he was pressing. “Valeria—if she still has her tongue, which is doubtful—would be laughing at what she’s made you.”
Honor went motionless. “I think I’m starting to hate you.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” There was strength in hate. It was why he’d survived that dungeon. “It’ll make it even sweeter when I have you na**d and wet for me.”