Archangel's Viper

32

Holly stepped out of the glorious heat of the shower to find that Venom had thrown clothes on the bed in the spare bedroom she’d claimed. A loose white sundress with spaghetti straps and little eyelet holes in the lined fabric. It wasn’t what she’d have chosen, but, to be fair to Venom, there probably wasn’t much of a selection. She pulled it on . . . and had to laugh. She hadn’t seen the front, as it had been lying on the bed with the back showing before she tugged it on over her head.

That front had splatters of color across it.

“Okay,” she whispered into the mirror, “you do get me.”

Not bothering with underwear since her spare pair was shoved in their backpack, which was probably still in the lounge, she brushed her damp hair until her scalp tingled, then headed out . . . straight into a rich, savory scent. Underneath that lay a softer undertone of sugar and cardamom and spice. Her stomach rumbled.

She ran to the kitchen.

And came to a sudden halt.

Feet bare and a pair of well-worn jeans hugging his butt, the black shirt he wore a little worn at the seams and his dark hair falling forward across his face, Venom was . . . She took a deep breath and, bracing her back against the doorjamb, pressed her thighs together. Tight.

When he looked up, she found herself caught in the lethal beauty of his eyes, as if he’d mesmerized her. Holly gripped the doorjamb, her hands behind her back. If she got any closer she might jump his bones, and watching him cook was way, way too much fun for her to end it just yet. “What’re you making?”

“Here.” The gorgeous man who’d given her the most wonderful vampiric feeding experience of her life put a plate on the counter. “Sit. Eat.”

When Holly padded over to scoot up onto one of the three breakfast stools that lined this side of the counter, she saw that he’d made her an omelet with all kinds of things in it. Onion, ham, green peppers, mushrooms. Her stomach rumbled. She’d eaten half of it before she looked up and saw him watching her, a smile playing with the edges of his lips. “Get back to your cooking,” she ordered.

And he laughed.

God, he was beautiful.

Her heart went all askitter despite what she knew of his view of relationships. Because Holly wasn’t thinking about just a fun time in bed. Not with him. Not with the one man who’d always pushed her buttons and who challenged her on a daily basis.

No matter what they’d convinced themselves, it would never be simple, not between them.

Eating the second half of her omelet with a little more grace, she watched as he picked up a covered bowl of what proved to be dough. After using his fingers to quickly bite off the dough and shape the bites into small, flat circles, he began to roll out each piece. The tendons in his forearms shifted with every move, the burnished brown of his skin taut over pure muscle. She suddenly understood the obsession with cooking shows on television. Because if the chefs all looked like this . . .

Her toes curled.

Dough rolled out, Venom cut each circle in half before turning on the power to the wok he had on the stove. It only took him a few seconds to pour in enough oil for deep frying. He’d already made something else in a little pot—the man was fast—and now shifted it next to the rolled-out dough. Then his hands were moving to create small triangular pockets so fast she could barely follow the movement; as she watched wide-eyed, in went the filling before he sealed up the final edge of the pocket.

“Are you making samosas?” she whispered, barely daring to interrupt the magic.

A quick nod before he dropped the prepared samosas into the hot oil. The sizzle of frying dough filled the air, making Holly’s stomach rumble all over again. The omelet had barely touched the hole in her belly. “Why am I so hungry all the time?”

Venom gave her a considering look. “Elena’s hungry a lot of the time, too.”

“That at least makes sense. I mean, she turned into an angel and grew wings. There’s probably all kinds of stuff going on inside her.” Holly drew in the delicious smell of Venom’s creation. “Can I please have one?”

“A little longer.” Venom flipped the samosas. “Keir,” he said, naming the senior-most angelic healer, “says Elena is still becoming, still growing into her new skin.”

“You think that’s happening to me.” Holly’s eyes widened as he lifted up another pot she hadn’t noticed at the back of the range, and poured a milky light brown liquid into a small mug for her.

She almost cried when she lifted it to her nose and sniffed—to be hit by the smell of cardamom and tea and the bite of other spices she couldn’t identify. “You made me masala chai?” It was stupid, how her throat got all thick. He couldn’t know how much she loved the stuff. So much that she’d given it up during the dark time when she’d wanted to end herself—she’d thought herself a monster who didn’t deserve anything nice, not even a simple cup of her beloved chai.

Venom said, “I saw the tea packets at your place in New Jersey before I was transferred out of New York.” A disdainful curl of his lip. “Real chai is made from the ground up. This is the quick-and-dirty version, until I have time to grind the right spices for you.”

Even though she knew it was too hot, Holly dared take a sip. The slight burn was worth it. The sweet, spicy taste swept through her like lightning. “If this is your quick-and-dirty version, I’ll probably orgasm at the real thing.”

A sharp look, Venom’s eyes glinting. “Drink your chai and eat this.” He put several samosas on a plate he’d already layered with paper towels, and then, as soon as the excess oil had been soaked away, he transferred the hot pockets to her plate.

Holly forced herself to put aside the delicious, delicious chai he’d made for her because he knew she liked it, and picked up a piping hot samosa using the tips of her thumbs and forefingers. “What’s inside?” she asked in an effort to make herself wait so she didn’t sear her tongue.

“Potato and peas,” Venom said. “Fastest option.”

Holly took a bite and flavors exploded on her tongue. Potatoes and peas? Hah! He’d mixed in all kinds of spices that took those prosaic items to a whole new level. She basically inhaled an entire one before coming up for air. “Where did you find the spices?”

“Our host must’ve told his housekeeper to fully stock the kitchen. There was an entire unopened spice set.” He put the extra samosas to drain. “What do you want for dessert?”

Holly had her mouth full of most of a second samosa—she was well past trying to look in any way elegant—and had to wait to reply. After swallowing the samosa down with chai, she dug up a smidgen of shame. “Are you sure? You already made so much.” All things she loved.

And the aggravating viper expected her to keep her emotional distance?

“Seeing how much you can put away is currently my favorite entertainment show.”

“Ha ha.” Holly decided she’d kick him later. When he wasn’t cooking for her. “Do you know how to make cinnamon pinwheels?”

“No. Describe them to me.”

After she did—around bites of a third samosa—she met his eyes. “Are you—”

“The bottled blood I’ve already had should keep me going for a long period, but there are more bottles inside the fridge. None are flavored.”

Holly laughed. “You liked the flavors, admit it.”

“Do I look like a barbarian?” Seeing that she’d almost finished her chai, he refilled her mug with an easy motion.

Holly had never before felt so incredibly spoiled. It softened things inside her that she hadn’t even realized were still hard. Hopping off the stool, she walked around the counter and wrapped her arms around Venom from behind, pressing her cheek against the muscled warmth of his back.

He went motionless in a way that wasn’t human. “Holly.”

She didn’t let go despite the warning in his tone. “I’m stubborn,” she whispered. “Especially when it comes to people who matter.” And he mattered. “You don’t get to do the lone viper thing anymore.”

“How will you stop me?” A cold purr of sound.

“Do you really think I’d warn you?” A snort. “This is war.” Pressing a kiss to his back on a raw wave of affection that scared her with its strength, she drew back . . . but only after running her palms down either side of his chest.

The gauntlet? It was thrown.

Venom had fought countless battles, had faced down enemies and dangerous allies alike, but even after his earlier thoughts about how lethal she could be to him, he hadn’t been ready for this. For a Holly who hugged him and smiled at him and stood next to him asking him to teach her how to roll the pinwheels.

This woman was . . . soft. Vulnerable.

He knew that was only the here and the now, a time when she felt safe, that Holly was dangerous and tough and a fighter, but even this fragment of vulnerability, it terrified him. “We’re not dating, kitty,” he said harshly. “I’m not a boy who’s going to go steady with you.”

Holly’s eyes flicked up, the hurt in them an iron-handed blow to the gut. And he knew. It had taken enormous courage for her to lower her defenses and retract the prickles she used in self-protection, and he’d just taught her that it had been a mistake. One more nudge—or just silence—and he’d break her precarious confidence that he was worth her vulnerability.

That was the correct move, the smart move, the move that would make sure the damn switch inside him never turned on. Holly’s future was a dark unknown that could end in a single fucking day. If he allowed her in, what would be left after she was gone?

“Fuck.” Gripping her face in hands covered with flour, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m broken inside,” he said, his voice ragged. “I function so well that even my closest friends think I’m healthy and whole, but I’m not.”

Her hands came up to close over his wrists. “And I’m the poster child for mental health,” she said in a tone so dry, it was dust. “Stop trying to drive me away by snapping like a cobra.” Tilting back her head, she kissed him and it wasn’t hard, wasn’t demanding. It was a lush, feminine type of kiss. The type of woman Holly was below the anger and the rage and all that had been done to her.

She liked color and pretty beads and painting her boots with daisies.

“Even if you survive that monstrous thing in Michaela’s turret, you won’t survive immortality,” he ground out. “Not being so soft inside.”

“Maybe not,” Holly said with clear-eyed serenity, “but I’ll be myself until the day I die. That’s good enough for me.” A squeeze of his wrists. “The question is, do you like who I am when I’m not sniping at you?”

He bit her. Out of frustration at all that she was asking of him. Out of arousal at the scent of her. Out of a viciously powerful emotion that had been building inside him for years and had burst to the fore only when he saw that she was healing, becoming herself again. He’d never been tempted to take her while she was so badly psychically wounded. But this Holly?

She didn’t fight his fangs sinking into her throat, didn’t fight that he had a death grip on her hair, pulling her head back to arch her neck taut, didn’t fight the hand he shoved under her dress to grip at her hip. Her blood flowed into his mouth and went straight to his cock. He didn’t drink. He wouldn’t hurt her. He just needed to taste her.

Her blood pulsed with the rapid beat of her heart.

Venom moved without conscious volition. Shifting his hand around to the front of her body, he moved it down . . . to find she wasn’t wearing panties. Spearing his fingers through her delicate folds, he discovered she was wet, so wet. Wild, sensual creature. He found the nerve-rich little nub hidden within, pressed hard at the same time that he penetrated her with a finger.

“Venom!”

He removed his fangs long enough to say, “Tushar. Say it.” He thrust in and out of her in a demanding coda.

“Tushar.” Acid green eyes holding his, her pupils hugely dilated. “Tushar.”

He sank his fangs into her again, and then he drove her over. Once. Twice. Until her body quivered and her flesh was liquid for him.

And still she held him, this stubborn and deadly and complicated and soft woman who’d decided to claim him.

Caressing her down from the edge, he removed his fangs, licked the wound closed. But not totally. He was strong enough to have done that, but he didn’t. He left two bruises that made it obvious he’d bitten her. And though he’d just shown her he wasn’t human, could strike without warning, she smiled at him, her hazy eyes dancing. “Do I have flour on my face . . . and other places?”

“Yes.” Removing his hands from her naked flesh, he lifted her up and put her on an unused part of the counter. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Throwing her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips as if he hadn’t just warned her in his coldest voice, she said, “My mom is going to adore you.”

His heart kicked, memories from a lifetime ago crashing so hard into him that he wrenched away—or tried to. Because even with that old anger riding him, he couldn’t hurt her and so he didn’t pull as hard as he should have, and she held on.

“Who was she?” A deadly question.

The viper in his blood raised its head in interest at the reminder of the poisonous danger that lived beneath her feminine surface. “No one.”

A narrow-eyed look. “Spill it.” Poking at his abdomen with a finger, she added, “Don’t make me mad.”

He could take her at her worst, but he found himself opening a box of memory he’d sealed centuries ago. “I was pledged to be married before my Making.”

“And you went ahead and got Made?” Eyebrows drawing together in a dark vee. “That seems like asshole behavior.”

“It would’ve been—but she was to be Made, too. Our marriage was to take place five years after our Makings, on the condition that we were assessed as having achieved full control over our vampirism.”

“So what happened?”

“I was accidentally bitten by one of Neha’s pet vipers a month before my Making. My body’s reaction was to shrug off the bite—the only indication I’d been bitten was a faint soreness at the site of the bite.”

Holly’s pupils dilated in a flare of understanding. “That attracted Neha’s attention,” she said.

“No one knew why I had such a strong tolerance for snake venom—others in my family had been bitten by far less venomous snakes over the years and they’d all had a severe reaction.” Venom had been curious, too, not realizing he’d sentenced himself to a nightmare. “Neha told me she couldn’t waste me, that I contained within me something that might make it possible for her to create a vampire unlike any other.”

“That bitch,” Holly spit out. “She hurt you to satisfy her own arrogance!”

“She is a queen and an archangel.” Venom had never expected her to act human. “The end result is that my betrothed came out a normal vampire. I didn’t.” He and Aneera had deliberately been placed in different parts of the country, to ensure they didn’t breach the rules. It wasn’t until four years after being Made that they’d met again.

Venom’s eyes had only partially changed by then, but one look and Aneera had run screaming, the same horror on her face that he’d seen in the faces of his family when they’d begun to glimpse the depth of the changes in him. Fear had been acrid in their sweat, their refusal to touch him a staggering hurt, the wards against evil they’d made behind his back brutal blows.

He’d been almost glad when one of his sisters had found the courage to tell him he was no longer welcome—at least then, no one could question his honor in walking away. Because that was all he’d had left. “The marriage pledge was deemed invalid since I was no longer ‘human.’”

“Well, duh, you were a vampire.” Holly flashed her fangs. “Is she still alive, this woman who couldn’t handle it when things didn’t go exactly as planned?”

Venom shrugged. “I don’t know. I left the past behind long ago.”

“Then what’s all this baggage you’re carrying, huh?” Tightening her grip on his hips, Holly moved her hands to his hair. “Did you love her?”

“I barely met her. It was a different time.” A time when his parents and hers had made the arrangements and he and Aneera had agreed to it. “With both of us from similar family backgrounds, and all other concerns in alignment, it was considered the perfect match.”

It felt so strange to say that, to think about his parents and about a time in which he’d been the dutiful eldest son who’d seen nothing wrong with pledging to marry a woman who was a stranger to him. “If I’m being honest, I’ve never understood why her reaction hit me so hard.” As if he’d been kicked.

“I know why,” Holly said, her eyes seeing right through him. “You’d committed to her and you’re not a man who breaks his commitments. It left you totally unprepared for her defection.”

A quiet pause before she added, “Especially coming as it must’ve done on the heels of your family’s rejection. That’s what hurts, isn’t it? Not the loss of a stranger who didn’t know the incredible gift she was throwing away. That woman was just the foul icing on the really shitty cake.”

Venom wanted to bite her again for stripping him bare, punish her for making him face wounds he’d thought long-scarred and only now realized were still oozing. Most of all, he wanted to sink his fangs into her and hold her down until even an archangel’s fucking ghost couldn’t steal her life.

Pulling away from her before he gave in to his inhuman nature once again, before he betrayed far too much, he went to wash his hands. “I’ll finish making your dessert.”