Archangel's Viper
Page 43

Venom’s tone was impossible to read when he replied, his eyes still trained on Battersby, “Why do you perceive I haven’t?”
“You’ve never been spotted in any of the usual haunts of those pushing their senses to the edge in an effort to feel something—and when photographed by the magazines that seem to enjoy following you, you are alert and aware. There’s no sense of boredom to you.”
It was true, Holly thought. Venom could give an impression of languid carelessness when he wanted, but he was never actually careless. He was interested in the world, noticed everything. Tonight, he smiled. “You are an intelligent man, Walter,” he said. “But unfortunately, if you’ve crossed the Tower, that intelligence won’t save you.”
A fine layer of perspiration broke out over Walter’s upper lip, but he didn’t beg or plead. “I accept that I let myself down by not digging below the surface—I should’ve realized Holly was the Tower’s.” Returning his attention to Holly, he said, “In an effort at redemption, I’d like to warn you that much of my information on you came from an individual you may trust.”
23
Holly trusted few people. And could see none of them betraying her. “Who?”
“David Shen.”
Holly curled her lip. “That weenie? I should’ve guessed.” He’d been a mistake during a period when she’d been fighting brutally hard to cling to normality. Of course, David hadn’t known the truth of her transition at Uram’s blood-soaked hands. His life would’ve been forfeit had she told him; she’d given him the same story she’d given her family.
David had been suave and sophisticated and onboard with dating a vampire. It gave him a certain cachet in his friend circle—composed of fellow financial advisors and other smug bastards. He didn’t, however, have the balls to handle waking up five times in a row with his girlfriend staring at his jugular.
It wasn’t as if she’d bitten him.
“What did this ‘weenie’ tell you about Holly?” Venom’s tone hadn’t warmed up, his form that of a predator who was keeping an eye on his prey but wasn’t yet ready to strike.
Even Holly had to admit he was doing a good job of being coldly terrifying.
“Mr. Shen informed me that Holly was a failed attempt at a Making, and that she was only under Tower supervision because of the need to make certain she wasn’t at risk of falling into bloodlust.” Walter took a careful sip of the blood once more in his hand. “You haven’t tasted your liqueur, my dear.”
Holly tilted up the glass, looked at the astonishingly dark pink color that swirled within the crystal. It was pretty, no doubt about it. As for the taste . . . the first sip made her sigh quietly. “Definitely a drink you could use to seduce your lady friends.” Holly had grown up in a cosmopolitan city filled with mortals and immortals both; she’d seen that love had facets as complex as the crystal of her liqueur glass—it couldn’t be assumed that a man would always prefer a woman, or that a stable and committed relationship could only feature two people.
However, one of the black-and-white images on the wall was of Walter with his arm around a woman, his hold openly proprietary. Given the way he chose to dress and furnish his home in the fashion of another place and time, the broker struck her as a man who was very firm in his inclinations and desires. It’d be women for Walter Battersby.
Now, his eyes filled with a joy that was at odds with the fear that cloaked him. “That is good to know.” Another sip of his own drink of choice. “The perfidious David also led me to believe that the Tower wouldn’t care too much if you simply disappeared—you took up ‘a lot more bandwidth’—his words of choice—than justified.”
“Ass,” Holly muttered, unsurprised . . . but hurt all the same. She’d thought she’d loved David once, enough to excuse his overweening ego and obsession with wealth and status. It was only after their relationship went down in flames that she’d realized the entire thing had been built on her desperate desire to be “normal.”
She hadn’t loved David; she’d loved the idea of him: normal, mortal, human.
So no, theirs hadn’t been a grand romance, but to talk of her as disposable? What kind of person did that?
“I thought the same,” Walter murmured. “I’m afraid your abnormally small fangs did lend weight to his words.”
“You, of course,” Venom said, “didn’t rely only on the words of a weak and faithless man.”
“No, indeed,” Walter said as Holly caught the sharp edge of disgust in Venom’s frigid statement. “I spoke to those who haunt the shadows where Holly works, and all were of the opinion that she wasn’t a vampire Made by choice.” Anger lit his expression as he returned his attention to Holly. “People said the circumstances of your Making had caused you to be angry and difficult to control, especially as those circumstances put you outside the Contract structure. You were an annoyance to the Tower.”
If only this man knew how much she’d give to be on a standard Contract.
Venom’s phone vibrated at that instant. Walter Battersby went motionless.
Taking out the phone, Venom scanned the message, then slid it back into an inner pocket of his suit jacket.
“So.” Walter put down his glass. “Are my years of life over?”
“It appears you are to have a stay of execution.” Finishing off the glass of blood Walter had given him, Venom rose to his feet and held out a hand for Holly.
She took it because . . . because, after hearing what David had said about her, she needed not to feel like a monster, and Venom did that for her. Warm and strong, his fingers closed over her palm.
“However,” he continued without glancing at her, “you now work for the Tower in the matter of the bounty on Holly.”
“Of course.” Walter got to his feet and bowed with old-world courtliness. “I will pass on any information that comes to me, though it’s unlikely the client will contact me now that my part in this is over.”
“It’s a long game, Walter. Play it well.” The warning was clear.
Venom didn’t speak again until they were in the elevator. “You are unique, kitty. The Tower considers you many things, but the one thing you are not is disposable.”
She squeezed his hand hard as her throat thickened. She couldn’t speak, not until they were in the car. And then she didn’t talk on the subject of David and his view of her worth. “You liked Walter Battersby, didn’t you?”
“I’ve always had a soft spot for the hustlers of this world.” He floored the pedal, zooming them out of the tony street and startling the drivers of the gleaming black town cars that prowled this part of the city.
Holly laughed, exhilaration in her blood.
Grinning, Venom threw his sunglasses into her lap . . . without slowing. His speed was deathly fast, his reflexes insane. As he displayed when he brought the car to a sudden halt in front of a crosswalk where a homeless man was pushing across his cart. Holly’s seat belt had jerked her safely in place, but her heart thumped a bass beat. “How did you even see him?”
“Do you think I would drive this way if I couldn’t?” He took off as soon as the man was safely past.
Holly screamed and it was a sound of sheer excitement. The roads were quieter at this time of night, but with New York a city loved by night-owl immortals and mortals both, they definitely weren’t empty. Yet Venom made his car flow like liquid around all possible obstacles until she thought that if anyone was watching from above, his car would look like a lightning streak against the black of the tarmac.
They’d just hit a stretch of road that was miraculously empty when Venom came to a total stop. She went to ask him why . . . and glimpsed vivid flame red out of the corner of her eye. Dmitri’s Ferrari, a low-slung crouching tiger of a car, sat on the other side of the passenger window. Dmitri’s hair was windblown and he was laughing, a grinning Honor waving to Holly from the passenger seat. Holly waved back, astonished at this side of Dmitri.
He looked . . . young.
Without warning, Venom gunned the engine and they were off, Dmitri streaking along beside them. Holly whooped as the two vehicles built for speed powered down the straight at insane speed. The waters of the East River rushed up at them.