in the shadowy corners of the city. The tires were good, but not so good anyone would bother to steal them, and the radio only got about five stations.
Holly loved her ride with the passion of a thousand suns.
Inside this car, she could be free, could fly.
No leash. No blood that craved the monstrous. No flashfire memories of a rust red hand stroking her hair as he told her to “Drink, girl,” in a gentle voice that belied the carnage in which she knelt broken and beaten.
Today, she raced in and out of traffic with bare inches to spare as she made her way to the airfield that handled the Tower’s private fleet. It wasn’t the safest way to drive, but Holly was very careful not to put anyone else in danger. Only herself.
Yes, she needed therapy.
But Holly wasn’t suicidal. Not any longer. Her head was plenty messed up, but never would she hurt her family by making that irrevocable choice. Her mom and dad, Mia, her younger brothers, had suffered more than enough in the immediate days and weeks after the slaughter, and in her months of confused, angry, scared silence.
It was Janvier who’d made her understand what she was throwing away.
“I will miss my sisters my entire vampiric existence,” he’d said to her as they sat on the grass after a sparring session that had left Holly’s body a screaming ache. “I have a big family that loves me so, but to grow up with another, ah, ’tite Holly, that is a different bond.” A sheen in eyes the shade of bayou moss that her deadly boss made no effort to hide. “Amelie and Jöelle . . . they live here.” His fist on his heart. “Always they will stay safe within.”
His gaze had gone to his wife, who was practicing a martial arts kata with cool hunter dedication. “And my dangerous cher, my Ashblade, she yet grieves for her brother and sister.” As he’d risen to go tease Ash into a kiss, the Guild Hunter’s fingers sinking into the chestnut brown of his hair, the copper strands within it glinting in the sunlight, Holly had felt understanding kick her. Hard.
Mia would be gone forever one day.
Alvin and Wesley would be gone.
Her parents would be gone.
She would never get back that time.
Holly had caught the subway home an hour later—to be greeted with tears and hugs and her favorite meal—followed by a grilling so intense it had threatened to set her hair on fire.
It was a memory she hoarded against the unknown future.
Zipping into a parking spot outside the airfield building located at the end of a long and deserted private road, she got out and showed her Tower ID to the guard. He gave her the hard eye regardless and pressed his finger to the receiver in his ear after muttering her name into the microphone on his collar.
Whatever he heard back had him nodding. “You’re cleared.” A faint curve to his lips. “Nice outfit. I didn’t know the Tower let five-year-olds drive.”
Eyes narrowed, Holly pulled out her best sincere tone. “Did you get your suit at Slick Vampires Are Us? Asking for a friend.”
Smile wiped off, the vampire just looked at her, unblinking. Holly stared back, not about to be intimidated, even if he was at least five hundred years old according to the internal chronometer she’d developed over the past year.
A tingle ran behind her eyes.
Shit.
Though backing down was against her personal religion, Holly lowered her eyelids and took a deep breath. When she lifted them back up, the vampire was smirking. Gritting her teeth and refraining from pointing out that she’d been a second away from mesmerizing him into clucking like a chicken, she carried on inside. It was a relatively small area with a glass wall that looked out onto the airfield.
Air traffic control was high above in their own little aerie.
That had always struck Holly as funny: angels flew wherever they wished, but if they traveled in an airplane, they needed to obey the rules of airspace. Not that the man she was here to pick up had wings. Venom was a vampire. One of the Seven, Raphael’s private guard. That, unfortunately, also meant he was far, far stronger than he should’ve been for his three hundred and fifty or so years of age.
All of the Seven were violent powers.
“Tower Airways Flight Three on final approach.”
Holly looked up at the speaker system with a startled grin. “Very funny, Trace,” she said, having