Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “Anita, if you don’t rest you’re not going to be any good to anyone.”

  “Gregory’s my leopard, I’m his Nimir-Ra.”

  Micah smoothed his hand down the side of my face. “And I’m his Nimir-Raj. Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of it, that’s what you hired me for, right?”

  I had to smile at him, but I didn’t like not going to Gregory’s rescue. It must have shown on my face, because he knelt beside the bed, taking my hand in his. “Gregory is having hysterics because his father’s in town. I’m going to go and see how he’s doing, maybe bring him back here so his father can’t find him through the phone book.”

  I was having trouble focusing on Micah’s face. I’d crawled out of sleep, but it was sucking at me again. “Yes,” I said, voice starting to sound distant, even to me, “bring him back here.”

  He kissed me gently on the forehead, my hand still in his. “I will. Now sleep, or you’re going to make yourself sick. A sick Nimir-Ra can’t protect anybody.”

  Since I couldn’t keep my eyes from giving long blinks, it was hard to argue. Him kissing my hand was the first hint I had that he’d stood up. That had been a long blink.

  The bed moved, and Nathaniel cuddled up against me. His arm across my stomach, one leg across my thigh. It was one of his favorite sleeping positions, but something wasn’t right with it. “Clothes,” I said, and I frowned harder, “Can’t feed off Nathaniel again.”

  Micah reappeared in my line of sight. “You’ve only been asleep about two hours, that’s why you’re so tired. If you fed the ardeur at dawn, you’ve got at least six hours before you need to feed again. We’re just putting him in here so he won’t be alone.”

  The last few words floated out of the dark, and it wasn’t until he’d been quiet for a long time that I opened my eyes to an empty room. Nathaniel was tucked in against me, his face hidden against my shoulder. He snuggled in tighter, leaving me with about an inch of bed to spare. I started to move him over and get out of bed to find the pajamas no one had given me, but I fell back to sleep. The wereleopards were having a bad influence on how comfortable I was being nude.

  24

  I DREAMED. BELLE Morte sat at her dressing table, her long black hair fell in waves, freshly brushed, gleaming in the candlelight. She wore a gown of deep yellow gold, and I knew before she turned those honey brown eyes to me that the color of the robe brought out the gold in them.

  Her lips were red and moist, as if she’d just licked them. She held out her white hand towards me. “Come, ma petite, come, sit with me.” She smiled with that red, red mouth, and I wanted nothing more than to go to her, to take that outstretched hand, and be held.

  I actually started forward a step and found I was wearing a gown similar to hers. I could feel the layers of petticoats, the metal of the stays digging in, forcing my posture absolutely straight. The gown was a rich crimson, a color that made my own skin gleam white, my hair blacker for the contrast, my own lips redder than they truly were, my dark eyes nearly black.

  I touched the unfamiliar clothes, and it helped me to think, helped me to hesitate. I shook my head. “No,” and my whisper echoed oddly through the room.

  She waved that pale hand at me. “As you like, ma petite, but come closer, so I may know you better.”

  I shook my head again, forcing my fingers to touch the heavy, unfamiliar fabric of the gown. “I am not your ma petite.”

  “Of course, you are, for everything that belongs to Jean-Claude is mine.”

  “No,” I said. It seemed like I should have been saying more, but I couldn’t think with her sitting there wrapped in candlelight, a bowl of old-fashioned roses on the table by her elbow. The roses were her rose, created and named for her centuries ago.

  She stood in a swish of skirts, that rustling sound that made my pulse beat faster, and my body tighten. Run, run, I screamed it in my head, but my body wasn’t moving.

  She walked slowly towards me, her breasts mounded by the tight clothing. I had a sudden flash of memory of what it was like to kiss along that gleaming skin.

  I took two handfuls of the long skirt, turned on my high-heeled shoes, and ran. The room vanished, as I ran, and it was a long, endlessly long corridor that I ran down. It was dark, but it was the dark of dreams where even without light you could always see the monsters. Though what lurked in the alcoves along the hallway weren’t exactly monsters.

  Couples entwined on either side of me. Glimpses of flesh, pale and dark, images of carnal delights. I didn’t see anything clearly, I didn’t want to. I ran, and tried not to see, but of course, I couldn’t not see everything. Breasts like ripe fruit spilling out of old-fashioned dresses. Full skirts lifted to prove that there was nothing underneath but flesh. A man with his pants around his thighs, and a woman bending over him. Blood gleamed down the pale flesh, vampires raised fangs to the light, and humans clung to them, begging for more.

  I ran faster, and faster, struggling against the heavy skirts and the tight upright corset. It was hard to breathe, hard to move, and no matter how fast I ran, the door that I could see at the end of all these carnal nightmares never seemed to get closer.

  There was nothing too terribly frightening happening in the alcoves. Nothing I hadn’t either seen or participated in, in one form or another, but somehow I knew that if I stopped running they’d get me. And, more than anything else, I didn’t want them to touch me.

  The door was suddenly in front of me. I grabbed the handle, tugged on it, and it was locked. Of course it was locked. I screamed, and knew before I turned around that the things in the corridor weren’t in the alcoves anymore.

  Belle’s voice, “Come to me willingly, ma petite.”

  I put my forehead against the door, eyes closed, as if, if I didn’t turn around, didn’t see them, they couldn’t get me. “Stop calling me that.”

  She laughed, and it felt like sex sliding along my skin. Jean-Claude’s laugh was amazing, but this, this . . . the sound made me spasm against the hard wood and metal of the door.

  “You will feed us, ma petite. It will happen, your choice is only in how.”

  I turned slowly, the way you do in nightmares. You turn, knowing that the hot breath on your skin really is the monster.

  Belle Morte stood in the center of the vast echoing space of the corridor, and through Jean-Claude’s memories I knew it was a real place, this corridor. The people from the alcoves crowded to either side of her and behind her, a huge, hungry-eyed, half-naked mob.

  “I offer you my hand, come, take it, and it will be pleasure beyond your dreams. Refuse me . . .” she motioned, and that one small movement seemed to take in all the eager, leering faces. “It can be a dream, or a nightmare. The choice is yours.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t give choices, Belle, you never did.”

  “Then your choice is . . . pain.”

  The mob at her back rushed me, and the dream shattered. I was left gasping in Nathaniel’s worried face. “You cried out in your sleep. Were you having a nightmare?” he said.

  My heart was beating so hard I could barely swallow past my pulse. I managed a breathy, “Oh, yeah.”

  Then I smelled roses, thick, cloying, old-fashioned, almost sickly sweet. Belle’s voice echoed through my head, “You will feed us.”

  The ardeur poured through me, raising heat along my skin. Nathaniel jerked his hands back as if he’d been burned, but I knew it hadn’t hurt. He knelt in the tangle of sheets, eyes wide, the little satin jogging shorts stretched tight over his thighs. They weren’t stretched tight over the front of him yet, he wasn’t excited yet, and I wanted him to be.

  I rolled onto my side, reaching for him, one pale hand outstretched. “Come, take my hand.” The moment the words left my mouth, I was back in my nightmare, except that I was playing Belle.

  Nathaniel was reaching out towards me, to touch my hand, and I knew if he did, the ardeur would spread to him, and I would feed. Nathaniel had collapsed last night because I’d taken
too much from him, what would happen if I fed again this soon?

  “Stop,” I said, and it was almost firm. If it had been almost anyone else, they wouldn’t have stopped, but it was Nathaniel and he did what he was told.

  He stayed on his knees, those tiny shorts stretched so tight across his body. He let his hand fall back into his lap. He was only inches away from me. All I had to do was close that small distance.

  I needed to get out of the bed, to walk away, but that strong I was not. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes away from him, so close, so eager, so young. That thought wasn’t mine.

  I frowned, and the confusion helped me push back the ardeur long enough to sit up, long enough to look at the mirror on the dresser against the far wall. I was trying to see if my eyes were shining with honey-brown fire, but they were my eyes. Belle hadn’t possessed me like she had once upon a time. But she’d done something—awakened the ardeur hours ahead of time.

  The bed moved, and my head swiveled back, like a predator hearing the mouse in the grass. Nathaniel was exactly where I’d left him, but he must have made some small movement, and that one small movement had been enough. My pulse was in my throat, my body tight and swollen with need. A need like nothing I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t breathe past it, couldn’t move around it. It was as if need had taken me over and there was nothing left of me.

  This wasn’t right. This wasn’t me. I managed to shake my head, to let out the breath I’d been holding. I was being messed about with. I even knew who was doing it, but I didn’t know how to stop it.

  The door to the bedroom opened. It was Jason. He stood in the doorway rubbing his hands on his bare arms. He’d pulled on his jeans but hadn’t bothered to zip or button them. I caught a flash of a new pair of silk undies, pale blue to match the shirt he wasn’t wearing anymore.

  “What are you doing in here, Anita? The power is crawling over my skin.”

  I tried to talk around the ripeness of my own pulse and failed twice, before I managed to say, “Ardeur.”

  He came farther into the room, still rubbing his arms trying to get rid of the goosebumps. “It’s hours too early.”

  I wanted to tell him about the dream, about Belle, but all I could concentrate on was the glimpse of silk through his open jeans. I wanted to go to him, to pull his pants down around his ankles, to take him in my mouth . . .

  The visual was so strong I had to close my eyes, had to hug myself tight to keep myself on the bed. There was another small movement from Nathaniel.

  He had lain down on the bed, his braid trailing behind him like Rapunzel. His face was peaceful. He would let me do anything I wanted to him, even love him to death.

  I drew my legs in against my body, wrapped my arms around myself so tight, and held on. “Get out, Nathaniel, get out.”

  I felt the bed move, but didn’t dare look. I kept my eyes tight shut. “Get out!”

  “You heard her, Nathaniel,” Jason said, “leave now.”

  I heard small sounds as he crossed the room, then the door shut. “You can look now, Anita, he’s gone.”

  I opened my eyes, and the room was empty, except for the play of sunlight, and Jason standing beside the bed. His hair was very yellow in the light, the color of butter, his eyes so blue. I followed the line of his body to the broad shoulders, the muscled edge of his arms, his chest with its pale nipples. There was no hair on his chest or stomach. A lot of strippers shaved their body hair. I’d seen Jason nude often enough to know that he was mostly shaved. I just hadn’t really noticed how shaved. He was my friend, so even nude, he was still my friend. You don’t stare at your friend’s crotch to see how much body hair there is.

  Now, sitting on the bed, holding myself tight, I didn’t feel friendly, I felt crazed. I wanted to fling myself off the bed, onto him. I wanted him naked.

  “What do you need?” Jason asked.

  I looked up at him, and didn’t know whether to cry or scream, but finally I found words, a hoarse voice squeezed past my pulse, “I have to feed.”

  “I know.” He looked so solemn. “What do you need me to do?”

  I wanted to tell him to leave, too, but I didn’t. Micah wasn’t here. The vampires were still dead to the world. Nathaniel was off-limits for today. There were others outside this room, but no one I wanted to touch. No one who was even my friend.

  I looked up at Jason. A square of sunlight splashed across his chest, painting him gold and warm.

  “What do you want me to do, Anita?”

  My voice came out barely above a whisper, “Feed me.”

  “Blood, flesh, or sex?” his face was careful as he asked, solemn.

  My ardeur was always mixed with other desires, but not today. Today there was only one need. “Sex.” That one word, low, soft, while I kept myself from going to him.

  His so-serious face split into a sudden grin. “I’ll take one for the team.”

  I slid off the bed, to stand for a moment nude before him. I wanted to run to him, to jump on him, to fuck him. There was no other word for what my body was wanting. But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to avoid intercourse, if I could. I’d managed to avoid it with Nathaniel for months. Surely, just this once with Jason I could manage it.

  I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, then I dropped to the floor on all fours. I crawled towards him, feeling like I had muscles in places that I shouldn’t have. My beast curled through my body like a cat on its back, stretching in the sunlight. But the ardeur roared over my beast, as if the desire were some great hand, smashing down every other need.

  “Aren’t you going to complain about being naked in front of me?”

  “No,” I whispered it, not trusting anything louder. His feet were bare. I lowered my face to the smooth skin on top of his foot, licked along it.

  His breath came out in a shiver. “God.”

  I used my hands to crawl up his legs, tugging on the jeans, until I knelt in front of him. I’d managed to pull the jeans lower on his hips without meaning to, exposing a wide triangle of the blue silk undies. My face was almost level with his groin. I could see him pressed tight and firm under the cloth, the tip of him straining against the elastic of the underwear, trapped. I wanted to lower that cloth, to help him.

  I slid my hands around behind him, digging fingers into his jeans, gripping his butt. It drew a sound from low in his throat, but it kept me from ripping off his clothes.

  I pressed my face against his thigh, turning it away from his groin. My control hung from a rapidly fraying thread. I’d learned through long practice with Nathaniel that the only way to keep from doing more was to do everything carefully, slowly. But I didn’t want to be careful, and I felt anything but slow. I wanted to beg him to take me. Damn it, I could do better than this.

  Jason stroked my hair, and that one gentle touch brought my face back up. I gazed up the line of his body to his face. There was that look that comes on a man’s face when he’s sure of you, sure of what will happen. I never thought to see that look on Jason’s face, not for me. That look in his spring blue eyes brought a sound low in my throat. He touched my cheek. “Don’t stop,” he said, voice soft, “don’t stop.”

  I lowered my face towards him, still gazing up. I licked him through the silk, and watched his face while I did it. I licked along the length of him until he threw his head back, his eyes closed. He was so hard, so firm against my mouth, under the cloth. I wrapped my mouth around the head of him through the silk, bringing one hand round to hold him, solid and thick.

  He made a noise halfway between a word and a shout, as if I’d surprised him. He looked down at me, and his eyes were wild.

  I drew back from him and the silk had turned dark blue where my mouth had touched him.

  His hands went to the back of his pants and it was Jason that slid the silk and the jeans down his hips. Him that revealed himself to me while I knelt in front of him.

  He was smooth, the head wide and rounded, graceful, straight and fine, running
slightly to the side, so that he nestled in the hollow of his own hip.

  I took him in my hand, and his breath quickened. I lifted him away from his body just enough so that I could spill my mouth over the head of him, rolling my tongue along that graceful curve.

  He shuddered under my touch.

  I drew more of him into my mouth, sliding my hand down to cup lower things. He was smooth to the touch, everywhere I could touch with hand or mouth, there was nothing but the smooth perfection of him. He was shaved smooth.

  I’d been with men who trimmed, and shaved some, but never one that was perfectly smooth. I liked it. It made so many things easier to take into my mouth, to roll and explore.

  Every touch, every caress, every lick, seemed to bring some new noise from him—whimpers, soft cries, breathless words. It became a game to see how many sounds I could draw from him.

  I drew his pants down farther, so that I could spread his legs, lick between them, along that thin line of skin between testicles and anus.

  He cried out, and I moved up his body, one lick, one nibble at a time. I took him into my mouth again, as much as I could from this angle, wrapping my fingers in a ring around the rest of him, my other hand cupping his testicles, playing along that line that ran between his legs. His breath was coming quick and quicker. His body quivered against me.

  He grabbed a handful of my hair, drew me back from him. He looked down at me like a drowning man. “Up,” he said.

  I frowned at him. “What?”

  He bent down, grabbed my upper arms, drew me to my feet. He kissed me, and it was like he was trying to crawl inside me through my mouth, lips, tongue, teeth—something between a kiss and eating me.

  His hands slid down my back, following the curve of my spine, then lower over the swell of my hips, until his fingers found my thighs. He lifted me, with just his hands on my thighs, our mouths still locked together. The movement of his hands spread my legs, pressed me against him. The feel of him so hard, so ready pressed against my body, drew small sounds from me, and he ate those sounds straight from my mouth, as if he were tasting my screams.