But archangels and queens like Neha weren’t always rational—and this archangel had kept her promises to him. His visit had been a gesture of respect and honor.
“Has Neha ever tried to lure you back?”
Venom sent Holly another slow smile, wondering exactly how much she’d picked up of the current state of archangelic politics. It was probable that she had no idea Neha now considered Raphael an enemy, though Venom had the feeling Neha’s hostility was intermingled with a deep sense of loss. When beings lived that long, their emotions tended to be complex, layered things where contrary feelings could exist side by side.
Venom wasn’t that old. His emotions were less knotty—and his pleasures simpler. Annoying Holly ranked at the top. “Everyone wants me.”
She snorted. “Doesn’t being that delusional make it hard to function?”
He felt his lips tug up . . . right as Holly stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. He’d snapped out an arm and curved it around her waist before she did more than sway a little. She’d reacted quickly, too—just not as quickly as him. The side of her body slammed into the front of his, his hand fitting into the curve of her waist.
She was gone as fast, jerking out of his hold with the inhuman speed that made her so much fun as a sparring partner. “If I wanted to be pawed,” she said, brushing her arm as if brushing off his germs, “I’d go to a furry convention.”
“If you thought that was pawing, kitty,” he said with deliberate sophistication in his tone, “your education has been sadly lacking.”
She forgot her coolly elegant persona and made a face at him. He’d reached out a finger and flicked her nose before he thought about what he was doing. Eyes narrowing, she hissed at him, flashing those tiny fangs he still couldn’t believe were functional. “Next time you touch me, I’m going for blood.”
“It’s been said that once you go Venom, you never go back.”
“Argh!” Holly fought the urge to take off one of her high heels and throw it at his smug head. But she’d spent good money on those heels, she reminded herself. Money she’d earned in the work she did with Ashwini and Janvier—work that meant she had far better contacts in this part of town than Smugface Venomous.
Taking a deep breath in an effort to control her racing heart as the otherness that lived in her stretched inside her skin, she turned her attention to the club that had appeared out of the darkness. The neon was pink and blazing and the outside walls matte black covered in creative white graffiti.
Used needles lying carelessly against one wall glinted in the neon glow.
“They like pretty boys here,” she said to the deadly vampire who was very much a man. “You shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
His hand was suddenly against her lower back.
Holly went to kick back her heel when he said, “Don’t.”
It wasn’t the word that got her to pause, it was the tone. It was the same calm, dangerous tone he’d used just before they’d fought off the goons who’d tried to kidnap her. Scanning the area in the way Ash had taught her, she caught the furtive movement on the left, deep in the shadows to one side of the club.
Her chest eased. “I know them.” She stepped away from Venom’s coiled body. “Don’t follow me.”
He just looked at her.
Rolling her eyes, she patted the taut muscle of his biceps. “It’s okay, Sir Venomous, Knight of the Tower. You can move fast enough to rescue the damsel in distress if she squeals for help.” She turned and walked away before he could respond.
She could feel his eyes on her, but he stayed in position. Thank God. If he hadn’t, the two skinny vampires loitering in the shadows would’ve been ghosts in one second flat. “Zeph, Arabella.”
“Hol, hey.” The pockmarked male vampire smiled at her, his face so badly damaged that she’d believed for the longest time that he’d been Made while in that state and that vampirism hadn’t healed him though it healed most imperfections.
Then one night, she’d spent ten minutes with him; he’d only lasted three before starting to pick at his face with his ragged and dirty nails. His vampirism couldn’t keep up with the constant wounds, especially since Zeph didn’t exactly subsist on the best blood. Holly had tried to pay him for his information in good bottles of blood, but he preferred money—which he spent on