“I’m not suicidal, Viper Face. I’m not going to step on an archangel’s toes.” A shiver. “But if Mr. Turret hasn’t done anything that requires Raphael’s attention, then can I bite him?”
Venom smiled despite himself. “We’ll see, kitty.”
Growling deep inside her chest, Holly stalked beside him as they headed to the front door. It was already open, being held that way by a tall and skinny vampire with ghost white skin and pitch-black hair. “Sir.” He bowed so deeply he almost bent his skinny body in half.
Montgomery could teach this one a few things, Venom thought. Raphael’s butler was in a class of his own. “We’re here to see your master.”
Still bent over, the vampiric butler said, “Master Kenasha regrets to inform you that he’s not taking guests at present.”
“How unfortunate for him.” Venom turned his voice to the silken menace that always got a result.
Pulse thudding hard in his neck as he rose to his full height, the butler swallowed. “Perhaps you’d like to leave a card?”
“Perhaps you’d like to tell your master to meet us in two minutes or we’ll be leaving here with his head and no other part of him.”
Going paler, if that was even possible, the butler said, “Of course, sir. Please wait in the living area.” He waved to their right.
15
Venom prowled into the room as the butler scuttled away. He was aware of Holly shooting him a sideways look, but there was no fear in her, only a slight glee. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
“The butler has a repugnant taste for young flesh.”
“Ugh. How come old vampires are so creepy?”
“I’ll ask Dmitri.”
“I’ll punch you if you so much as mention that question to him,” Holly threatened. “I don’t mean Dmitri or Trace or other sane vampires. I mean the creepy ones that just get off on pain and ugliness.” She poked at an ornate gold cushion edged with thick black satin rope. “Money clearly doesn’t buy style.”
Venom watched her take a seat on the equally ornate sofa, a small and deadly woman with acid green eyes who crossed her legs and watched the doorway. Her intense focus would surely terrify Kenasha. Amused by the idea, Venom moved to the left, so that Holly was who Kenasha would see when he walked in.
That happened moments later, the short and thickly built angel blustering in. It really took a lot of work for an angel to make himself unattractive—the angelic race was extraordinarily beautiful. So beautiful that an angel could still sometimes stop Venom’s breath. He didn’t want to own an angel as some vampires coveted. He didn’t even want to sleep with one—he’d been there, done that, but he could admire their sheer physical beauty the same way he could a stunning work of art.
Kenasha, however, bucked the trend. His body was flaccid and without shape—and fat on an angel took serious commitment, as flight burned so much energy. His hair was a blond pompadour that might’ve been in style a few centuries back, but even then wouldn’t have suited his round face.
His wings were patchy. In the three hundred and fifty years or so since Venom became a vampire, he’d never seen such a sight. The only times he’d observed angels missing feathers had been after an accident when they’d lost part of their wing and the feathers were in the process of regenerating. Kenasha, by contrast, appeared as if he’d fallen victim to a disease that was causing his feathers to waste away and drop off.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the angel said in an exaggeratedly angry voice before freezing as his eyes landed on Holly. “Who are you?” It came out slightly squeaky.
Holly smiled slowly and didn’t move a muscle. “Holly. And I really want to claw out your eyes, then crush your glistening eyeballs under the heel of my boot.” Her smile never faded.
Kenasha gulped and took a stumbling step backward.
It took effort for Venom not to laugh. Keeping his expression impassive only through centuries of experience, he stepped out of the shadows. Kenasha swayed on his feet at first sight of Venom, though his wraith of a butler had to have clued him in as to the identity of his visitor.
“We have something to discuss,” Venom said mildly. “You should sit.”
The angel didn’t argue, instead sinking into a large armchair that was a catastrophe of dark red and yellow and green. Ugly. Really ugly. Just like the being who occupied it—and Venom wasn’t talking about Kenasha’s physical appearance. “We