Archangel's Storm

43

Four days after he’d put her in it, Dmitri brought Honor partway out of her drugged sleep. “Dmitri.” It was a sluggish question as he cradled her in his lap, but he heard the panic.

“You’re safe,” he said. “It’s time for the first blood kiss. Do you remember?” He’d told her every step of the process, so she wouldn’t be afraid when she woke without full control of her faculties, his Honor who had once been held prisoner by monsters.

Her fingers curled into his chest, fear a slick sheen on her face. “I can’t move.”

“Honor, baby, I can’t bring you fully out.” She was ripping him apart. “Please remember.” He nuzzled and kissed the woman who made eternity worth living, holding her as tight as he dared, for her skin would be sensitive now, easier to bruise. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

A sigh against his neck, the panic subsiding, though her voice remained thick with the drugs. “I love you.”

Relieved until he could barely breathe, he allowed himself three precious minutes with her before he used one of his fangs to puncture his wrist and hold it up to her mouth. “I know it doesn’t taste good now”—wouldn’t until the transformation had had longer to take hold in her body—“but you only have to take a few drops.”

Honor wrinkled her nose but didn’t fight.

“Very not sexy,” she muttered afterward and made him laugh, the tension leaching out of his body.

“Trust me, it gets sexier.” Kissing her, he forced himself to lay her back down. “Ready?”

“I want it done.” She cuddled into his body. “Want to be with you.”

He reached down to reactivate the drug that would take her under once more. “I’ll be here, waiting for you when you wake again.” He’d waited near to a thousand years—nothing would induce him to move from her side. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”