Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I whispered against his skin, “You too?”

  He was still smiling, but he managed to let me see his eyes, his unhappy eyes. “Even me,” he said, barely moving his lips and still smiling.

  Shang-Da was suddenly beside us. He tried to grab Jason’s arm, and Jason moved just out of reach. If you had been watching, you might not have realized what had happened at all.

  A low growl trickled out of Shang-Da’s human mouth, a sound that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

  Jason growled back, and he was standing close enough that the growl whispered over my skin. It made me shudder, a shudder visible from a distance.

  Richard said, “Shang-Da.” One word, just his name, but the big man didn’t try and grab Jason again. He lowered his head and spoke in a voice gone mostly to growl, “A man cannot serve two masters.”

  He was trying to be discreet, so he’d lowered his head over me, not Jason. I don’t think he was worried that I’d take a chunk out of his face. I looked up into that face that was almost kissably close, and asked, “Your orders are to remind Jason who his pack leader is?”

  His gaze slid from Jason, to me, and the look was equally unfriendly. “My Ulfric’s orders are none of your business.” He whispered it, because he was trying not to clue the bad guys into the division in the ranks. I realized in that moment that no matter how much Shang-Da hated me, he didn’t entirely approve of what Richard was doing, not with enemies in town.

  I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Jean-Claude had gone to Richard, and they were speaking, low and earnest. Jean-Claude tried to get close enough to whisper as we were doing, but Richard moved back. He didn’t want to be that close.

  I glanced farther away to see Musette still standing close to Asher. But they were not alone; the wereleopards were ranged around him, not protecting him exactly, but making sure you had to touch them before you touched Asher. Micah met my gaze, gave the tiniest nod. It said, clearly, I’ll take care of it, ’til you’re free. Micah didn’t get distracted. Merle hovered over everything like an angry black leather mountain staring down at that petite figure in white. Musette stood there, looking very much herself, just herself.

  Shang-Da was looking at Musette, too. It was almost as if he could smell where the danger lay. We turned back to meet each other’s gaze at the same time. We were physically close enough to kiss, it should have been intimate, but it wasn’t, it was almost frightening. Because we both understood each other, and that had never happened before.

  I didn’t argue that I was Bolverk for their clan, thus the Ulfric’s orders were my business. Shang-Da disapproved that I was anything to them. I tried for logic. I leaned in close and whispered, “Whatever Richard is doing, tonight is not the night for it. We’re in trouble here.”

  Something flicked through his eyes, and he dropped my gaze, but leaned in a fraction closer, so that his short black hair brushed the top of my curls. “I have spoken with him. He hears no one tonight.” His eyes came up to meet mine, and there was something there I could read now. Pain. “Sylvie has already argued for this to wait until our enemies leave.”

  “I don’t see her,” I whispered, again leaning in closer, not thinking about it.

  “She is not with us.” He breathed it against my cheek.

  I must have reacted, because he added, “She is not dead.”

  I moved back just enough to see his eyes, “He fought Sylvie.”

  “She fought him.”

  I widened eyes. “He won.”

  Shang-Da nodded.

  “Is she hurt?”

  He nodded again.

  “Badly?”

  “Bad enough,” he said, and for the very first time I saw something that wasn’t approval in his face. Tomorrow he would go back to hating me, but tonight was a dangerous night, and Shang-Da was too much the warrior not to see that, even if Richard couldn’t.

  “Jason must come with me,” there was no outright pleading in his voice, Shang-Da did not beg, but there was a softness there, room to compromise.

  “For now,” I said.

  Jason had worked his way behind me, using me as shield against the bigger man. And being Jason, using the excuse to lean his nearly nude body against the back of my velvet and silk-clad one. He laid a gentle kiss on the back of my neck, and it made me shiver. “I can’t go back to being just another pack member, I can’t.”

  I knew what he meant, or thought I did. I answered without trying to make eye contact, as he kissed softly across the bare skin where neck met shoulders. Him playing with my neck was making it hard to concentrate. “Only for tonight.”

  “What is it with you, Anita? Does everyone want to fuck you?” It was Richard. When he was really angry he could be more hateful than anyone I’d ever dated. The fact that he said the word fuck told me exactly how nasty he was going to be tonight. God, I didn’t want to do this, shovel emotional shit while the big bad vampires munched on us.

  I was close enough to see the look in Shang-Da’s eyes; he didn’t like what his Ulfric had said. I touched his face, which made him jump. I leaned in close enough that from Richard’s point of view it probably looked like a kiss, but I whispered against Shang-Da’s mouth, “Jason’s yours tonight, but this can’t be permanent.”

  Shang-Da stayed close, so that he breathed his answer on my lips, “We will discuss it.”

  He began to lean back and I caught the back of his head with my hand. “There will be no discussion.”

  His face went hard with his usual anger. He moved back forcefully enough that I either had to let him go, or take a handful of hair to keep him close to me. I let him go.

  He held his hand out and said, “Your Ulfric wants you to stand with the wolves.” His voice held only one emotion, and that dimly—anger.

  Jason slid out from behind me, trailing his fingers across every piece of bare skin he could find, until he left me shuddering. Shang-Da led him away one hand on the smaller man’s arm. Jason kept his gaze on me, like a child being carried away by scary strangers. But he wasn’t really in immediate danger, and I couldn’t say that about everybody in the room. Unfortunately.

  “Maybe I should have made you Erato instead of Bolverk.” Erato had been the muse of erotic poetry, among other duties. Now she was the title among most werewolves for the female that helps new little werewolves control their beast during sex. Eros, god of love and lust, was the male title. More first time shape-shifters lost control and killed people during sex than during any other single event. The point of orgasm is to lose control, after all.

  I looked across the room at Richard, met his angry brown eyes, and felt nothing. I wasn’t angry. It was too ridiculous that he was fighting like this in front of Musette and her people. It was beyond ridiculous, it was foolish.

  “We’ll discuss this when our company goes back home, Richard,” I said, and there was no anger in my voice. I sounded reasonable, ordinary.

  Something crossed Richard’s face, something that leaked through his tight shields. Rage. He was so angry. He’d turned that anger inward, and the depression had eaten him, to the point where he cut his hair. He’d pulled himself out of the depression, but he was still angry. If the anger couldn’t go inward, then it had to go outward. Outward seemed to be directed at me. Great, just great.

  “If you’re Bolverk, then come and stand with your pack,” his voice vibrated with the rage that he was having trouble containing.

  I blinked at him for a second. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “If you are truly Bolverk for our clan, then you need to stand with us.” He met my gaze, and there was no flinching in him now, no softness. I’d waited for him to stop flinching. I’d never dreamed it could mean this.

  Jamil walked back across the room with Stephen held in his arms. Gregory was still clinging to Stephen’s hand, so they moved as a unit. When Jamil was back with the wolves, Richard said, “Gregory is not one of us. He cannot stand with us.”

  I couldn’t hear
what Jamil said, but I think he was trying to persuade Richard that that wasn’t necessary. Richard shook his head, then Jamil made a mistake. He looked back at me, and with his eyes alone asked for help. He’d done it before, many times, most of them had. Tonight, Richard saw it, understood it, and didn’t tolerate it.

  He grabbed Gregory’s wrist and tried to jerk him away from Stephen. Stephen screamed and reared up in Jamil’s arms, clinging with both hands to his brother’s arm.

  I’d had enough. I didn’t care if Belle heard it all. I moved across the floor toward the pack. “Richard, you’re being cruel.”

  He didn’t stop trying to pull them apart. “I thought you wanted me cruel.”

  “I wanted you strong, not cruel.” I was almost to them, and not sure what I was going to do when I got there.

  “You’re strong and you’re cruel.”

  “Actually, I’m strong and pragmatic, not cruel.” I was beside them now, and I knew I didn’t dare touch anyone. If I touched Richard, or the twins, it would lead to more violence. I could feel it.

  Stephen was making a high piteous noise like a baby rabbit being eaten alive. He was scrambling with his hands, trying to hold on to Gregory. Gregory was crying and trying to hold on to his brother.

  “Pragmatic is saying that you’re making us look weak in front of a council member. Cruel is saying that I’m Bolverk because you don’t have the balls to be.”

  He stopped pulling on the twins, and Jamil took that one moment of hesitation to slide away. Of course, that left me facing Richard alone. And it was one of those moments when I realized how physically imposing he was. Richard was one of those big men who don’t seem big, until suddenly, they do, and you go, oh, God, and it’s usually too late.

  We stood, glaring at each other. I hadn’t been angry until he’d tried to hurt Stephen and Gregory. But once you get me angry I usually stay there. I enjoy my anger, it’s the only hobby I have.

  A dozen cruel remarks danced through my head, and I kept my mouth closed. I was afraid of what would fall out if I opened it. I walked forward, closing the remaining distance between us. I got to see something else in his eyes besides anger—panic. He didn’t want me this close. Great.

  I kept moving forward, and Richard actually moved back a step, then he seemed to realize what he’d done. When I took another step towards him, he stood his ground. I walked until the full skirt of my dress brushed his legs; the skirt swirled out and covered the toes of his polished shoes. I was close enough that it would have been more natural to touch each other than to simply stand there, as we did.

  I looked up the length of his body and met his eyes with the knowledge in my eyes that I knew what was under that conservative suit, every inch of it.

  Richard wasn’t looking at my face when I looked up; he was staring at my décolletage. I took a deep breath, making the mounds of my breasts rise and fall as if a hand were pushing them from underneath.

  He looked up from my chest, and met my eyes. The rage in his face was a nearly pure thing. An anger without purpose, without form. It was like one of those huge wildfires, that begins by eating the trees. Then somewhere along the way the fire takes on a life of its own, almost as if it doesn’t need fuel anymore, it doesn’t need anything to exist. It burns and grows and destroys, not because it needs fuel but because that’s what it does, what it is.

  I faced Richard’s rage with my own. His was new and fresh, it hadn’t had time to burn its way down to his soul, to hollow out a space that held nothing but the anger. Mine was old, almost as old as I could remember. If Richard wanted to fight, we could fight. If he wanted to fuck, we could fuck. At that moment either one would have been almost equally damaging. To both of us.

  His beast rose to his anger like a dog to its owner’s voice. Any strong emotion could bring on the change, and this was about as strong as emotions got for Richard.

  The energy of his beast flared like heat off a road on a summer’s day, a visible wave of power. It danced along the bare skin of my body. Once upon a time he’d brought me using nothing but his beast thrusting through my body. But tonight, we’d do other things. I doubted they’d be as fun.

  Musette glided close to us in her blood-spattered white dress. Her eyes were blue again. She wove her hands through the energy of Richard’s beast, playing between the two of us, not touching, literally playing with the energy. “Oh, you would be very good to eat, très bon, très très bon.” She laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that would make you look twice in a bar, a laugh made to get attention. The sound didn’t go with the blood drying like a mask on her face.

  Richard let the rage fill his eyes and directed it at her. It was a look that I think would have backed up anyone else in the room. Musette laughed again.

  Richard turned to face her. His anger really didn’t care who the target was, anyone would do. “This is none of your concern. When we’re done with pack business, then, and only then, we’ll talk to the vampires.”

  Musette threw her head back and chortled, there was no other word for it. She laughed until tears leaked down her face, carving runnels in the drying blood. The laughter died slowly, and when she opened her eyes again, they were honey-brown.

  Richard’s breath caught in his throat. I was close enough to him to know that he stopped breathing, just for a moment.

  The smell of roses was everywhere. “You remember me, wolf, I can feel it in your fear.” That purring contralto shivered down my skin, and I saw Richard shudder, too. “I will play with you later, wolf, but for now,” and she turned and looked at Asher, “for now I will play with him.”

  Asher was still pressed to the wall, doing that utter stillness that the old ones can do. He had sunk into the silence of eternity, trying to make this not happen, trying to hide in plain sight. It wasn’t going to work.

  As Musette’s body glided towards him, Belle began to spill out of her. The dark gold gown overlaying the white like a ghost. The black hair spreading like phantom flames around her, moved by a wind that trickled through the room, the wind of Belle’s power.

  “What’s happening?” Richard whispered, and I don’t even know if he meant to have an answer, but I replied anyway.

  “Musette is Belle Morte’s surrogate.”

  His eyes were all for Belle’s ghostly form overriding the other body, when he said, “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means we are in a shit load of trouble.”

  He looked at me then. “I am Ulfric, Anita, that doesn’t change just because some high-ranking vampire comes to town.”

  “Be Ulfric, Richard, great, knock yourself out, but don’t destroy us all while you do it.”

  Some of the anger had leaked away on the tide of fear. It was impossible to be up close and personal with Belle’s power and not fear it.

  “I am either Ulfric, or I’m not, Anita. I am either master or slave, I can’t be both.”

  I raised eyebrows at him. “Yeah, actually, you can.” I held up a hand. “I don’t have time for this tonight, Richard. Tomorrow if we’re all still alive, then we can discuss it, okay?”

  He frowned. “She’s not here in flesh, Anita, it’s only metaphysical games. How bad could it be?”

  I realized in that moment that Richard was still living in that other world. The world where people played fair and horrible things never really happened. It must have been a peaceful place to live, the planet that people like Richard called home. I’d always admired the view, but I’d never lived there. The trouble was that Richard didn’t live there either.

  The first scream cut through the silence. The wereleopards had all backed away, crouching at Belle Morte’s feet. Only Micah stayed standing. He’d put himself in front of Asher, but he was small like me, and he couldn’t hide Asher completely.

  I looked at Richard, and he had a look of such hurt in his eyes. He was never going to wake up and smell the blood. He wasn’t going to truly change.

  I turned away from him and started walking
towards Asher and Micah. Jean-Claude moved up beside me, offered me his hand, and I took it. No one else moved with us. The wererats couldn’t attack Musette. The wereleopards were doing their best, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Only the wolves could have helped us, and Richard wouldn’t let them.

  In that moment I wondered how long it would be before I started hating Richard.

  48

  I COULDN’T FIGURE out why Asher was screaming. There was no blood, no rending of flesh, but he screamed all the same. Then as we got closer I watched the flesh of his face begin to seep away. It was as if his skin collapsed around the bones of his skull, as if Belle’s touch were draining him dry, not of blood, but of everything.

  I risked a glance at Jean-Claude, and he looked stricken, a second before his face showed nothing. I felt him pull away into that emptiness where he hid. “She could drain him to death this way.” His voice was remarkably empty.

  “But you’re immune to it, right? She didn’t make you.”

  “She is our sourdre de sang, none of us are immune to her touch.”

  I stopped and pushed him back. “Then you stay. I don’t need two of you to worry about.”

  He didn’t argue, but his gaze went past me to Asher. I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me, and there wasn’t time to check. I was half-running, when Micah pushed Belle back, pushed her back, using his whole body, broke her touch on Asher’s face.

  Asher collapsed slowly down the wall, and Belle’s glowing face kissed Micah. The moment their lips touched, I felt the ardeur fill the room like hot water, spilled in stinging drops across my skin. It froze me in mid-step, made me stumble. I stood there, caught between Asher against the wall and Micah lost in that glowing embrace. I knew that I could have drained Micah to death with the ardeur over a matter of days, but part of me knew that Belle could do it faster.

  Asher’s hand reached out to me, skeletal thin, like sticks in paper. Micah was trying to push himself back from Musette/Belle’s body, but she rode him, arms at his back, glowing crimson lips like a red fog across his face. I had a moment of feeling Asher dying, fading, for lack of a better word. Jean-Claude went to him, but I knew that Jean-Claude had no life to share. Then the cross taped to my chest blazed to life.