Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  It burned against my flesh as if the black tape held all the heat in. I half-screamed as I ripped the tape away and the cross spilled out into the light, white, hot, like a captive star on a chain.

  Micah stumbled back from Belle Morte. Jean-Claude spilled the black velvet coat over himself and Asher. The other vampires hid their faces and hissed at the light. I saw movement from the corner of my eye, a second before Angelito slammed into me. There was no one to stop him now. The cross was a two-edged sword.

  He grabbed me in one arm, completely off the ground, the other hand wrapping around the cross. I poked him in the throat with three fingers, stiffened to a spear point. He gagged and dropped me, but he held on to the cross, and as I fell, the chain broke, cutting into my neck as it came away. The moment the cross was his, the glow began to fade.

  Musette’s body turned to me, but her eyes were pools of dark gold fire, and it wasn’t a ghostly image superimposed over her body this time, it was as if I were seeing double. My eyes saw Musette with the wrong color of eyes. But inside my head it was Belle. Belle in the flesh, a little taller than Musette, long black hair falling to her knees in waves, the dark gold of her dressing gown showing a triangle of white flesh, her face like something sculpted from a pearl, her lips a perfect red pout. She wrapped white hands around my arms, long dark nails, playing along the velvet of the sleeves. She pressed me against her body and leaned in to lay a kiss with that mouth upon mine.

  A small voice in my head screamed, “Don’t let her touch you.” But I couldn’t move, couldn’t get away, wasn’t sure I wanted to get away.

  That red, red mouth hovered over mine. Her breath pushed against my lips. The world smelled of roses. Then, suddenly, I could taste Asher’s kiss upon my lips. Tasted it as if I had kissed him but a second before. That one taste opened my eyes, helped me draw back from Belle’s mouth. Helped me want to draw back.

  Her eyes stared down at me, pools of golden fire like brown water in sunlight. I realized that I had swooned, and she held me as if she’d dipped me in a dance. Her hand was behind my head, raising me up to meet her kiss.

  I felt movement and rolled my eyes back to see Richard. Belle saw him, too, “Interfere, and I will raise the ardeur in you again, wolf. You brought no women with you. Did you think that would save you? It won’t. The ardeur only wants to be fed, wolf, it doesn’t care how.”

  Richard hesitated. I could taste his fear in my mouth, but underneath that was still the taste of Asher’s kiss.

  Jean-Claude was suddenly beside Belle. “It is me you want.” He spread his arms in a wide dramatic gesture that spread the darkness of his coat, spilled his hair around him. “I am here.”

  I don’t know what would have happened, or what she would have said, because the next thing that overwhelmed me was the memory of Asher’s love making. It came on me like it had once with Jason, but this was more, worse, better. It bowed my back, convulsed me in Belle’s arms, surprised a scream from me, made my hands scratch at the air, and at Belle’s face. She dropped me then, and I saw, dimly, as if through a white window, her hands grab Jean-Claude.

  Richard caught me before I hit the ground, cradled me in his arms. He looked so worried. His hand touched my face. “Anita, are you hurt?”

  I managed to shake my head, but even with Richard this close, his face soft and worried about me, I turned my head to look towards Asher. I couldn’t help myself. Asher’s hair was like golden Christmas tree tinsel, lifeless, hanging around a face that was more skull than flesh. His lips were a thin hard line around teeth that were mostly fangs. Only his eyes were still Asher, pools of pale blue fire, as if a winter sky could burn.

  The moment I saw his eyes, I tried to crawl out of Richard’s arms, tried to crawl to Asher.

  “Anita, Anita, what’s wrong?” He held me, turned me to look at him.

  I found my voice, but all I could say was, “Asher.”

  He glanced at the fallen vampire, and the disgust was plain on his face. “I know, Anita, I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was apologizing about, and I didn’t care. There was something else I should have been more worried about, something I’d forgotten. But I couldn’t think of anything except Asher’s eyes and that I had to go to him. Had to.

  Richard stood up, suddenly, with me still in his arms. I heard scrabbling as if of a thousand tiny claws. Rats, thousands of rats, flowed in a furry, squeaking wave across the floor of the cave.

  Asher’s power receded, and I knew it had cost him dear to let me go. Knew in that instant that I was the only one who could feed him enough energy to keep him alive.

  Richard made a small sound of dismay and turned so that I could see what had paled him. The two vampires that had had the tops of their heads blown off were slowly rising to their feet. They were healed. Those strange cat-eyed faces were whole. There wasn’t even a scar to mark where the bullets had struck.

  “Fuck,” I said.

  One of the werehyena’s nerve broke, and he fired into the squirming mass of rats. The next sound was a second gunshot, and he fell with a hole in his back, fell into the mob of rats. They boiled over him, and his body vanished from sight. The sounds, though, nothing masked the sounds. I hadn’t been close enough to the gunshots to be deafened, and for the first time I was sorry about that. The sound of tiny teeth tearing flesh, squeaking voices squabbling over what used to be a man, seemed to drown us all.

  One of the wererats was staring at the gun in his hand as if it had suddenly appeared. He turned a white face back towards us. I think he mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before Bobby Lee’s scream, “Guns down, guns fucking down, now. No one fire.” He threw his own gun spinning across the room, and the other wererats followed suit.

  Some of the werehyenas lowered their guns, but only one threw his away. Bobby Lee went to his knees and clasped his hands on top of his head. Claudia did it next, then one by one all the wererats followed. I knew why, they were afraid Musette/Belle would use them against us. But I wouldn’t have wanted to be kneeling on the floor when the rats found me.

  I finally could think enough to remember that Jean-Claude might be fighting for his life. But he wasn’t. Belle held his beautiful face in her hands, but he was still standing. His own hands cupped hers, pressing her hands against his face. His face was still perfect, untouched. A soft smile played along his lips. It was Belle’s eyes that were wide, her face that was unhappy. He couldn’t eat her as she had Asher, but strangely, she seemed to be having trouble eating him.

  I knew that Belle/Musette had called the rats. I didn’t think she’d had a thing to do with the recuperative powers of the two children of the night. They were half crouched, one helping the other to stand, but they weren’t looking at Belle, or anyone else. I had a moment to wonder if they were going to hold a grudge, when the wave of rats jumped on the first werehyena, tiny teeth trying to tear through the black leather. People were screaming, and the werehyenas began to fire into the small rats, blasting their bodies into red ruin. But there were so many of them.

  The rats parted around the kneeling wererats like they were big rocks in a stream.

  “Can you stand?” Richard asked.

  “I think so.”

  He lowered me gently to the floor, then he glanced at the werewolves who were still standing in an unhappy group. Apparently Richard’s point to Sylvie had been violent enough that none of them had disobeyed. Well, Jason was struggling in a joint lock that Shang-Da had on his arm, but no one else had tried to help. What the hell had Richard done to Sylvie?

  The world suddenly smelled like the musk of wolf fur, the damp richness of leaf mold, the Christmas tree scent of evergreen, as if my furred shoulder had just brushed it with dew still on it, on a calm, still morning. I felt that piece of me that was Richard’s beast pour up through my body and ease across my skin like wind.

  Richard looked at me with amber wolf eyes. He’d opened the marks between us, opened them wide. He threw back his head and howled, and
a dozen throats answered him, then the werewolves moved forward like a black wave of destruction.

  Shang-Da and Jamil stayed at Richard’s back, and they showed claws where fingernails should have been, the half-change of the very alpha. For the rest, I felt them slip their skin, felt the rush of energy like small tugging explosions in my gut.

  I could feel now that Jean-Claude had shut his end of our triumvirate down as tight as he could. I could look at him, but for once I couldn’t feel him at all. He’d expected to die, and he hadn’t wanted to take us with him.

  I found one of the guns that the wererats had discarded and felt instantly better. The weight of it in my hand was a very good thing.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only human servant that had found a gun. Angelito fired at a werehyena, sending him spinning round, falling into the mass of biting rats. He screamed and writhed, trying to beat them off him.

  I shot into the rats close to him, but there were too many. It was like trying to shoot water, you moved it, but didn’t hurt it.

  I knew one way to stop the rats. I sighted down the barrel at Musette/ Belle’s head. If I killed her, the rats would go back to whereever they came from.

  I let out my breath, stilled myself for a shot that was far too close to Jean-Claude for my comfort. A rat jumped on my hand, dug its teeth into me. The wave of them began to jump on my dress, their claws catching in the heavy fabric. I screamed, and suddenly Micah was there, half-crouched, hissing at the rats. Those on the floor scattered, squealing in terror. The ones already on my body seemed immune to the fear. He helped me pick them off and threw them into the scurrying mass. The rats poured over their injured comrades and ate them, too.

  The rats seemed more afraid of the wereleopards than of the wolves, and the wereleopards began to spread out from the wall, hissing, sending the small rodents back, gaining an ever-widening space.

  The two vampires that I thought I’d killed had grown claws and fangs that no vampire ever had. They were wading through the werewolves in a spray of blood and white bone.

  One great hand was raised at Shang-Da’s back, and without thinking I fired, able to aim because I stood in the circle the leopards had made. The vampire’s head exploded again. I knew now that if we wanted him to stay dead, we needed to take his heart and burn it all. Scattering the ashes over different bodies of running water wouldn’t have hurt either.

  Shang-Da had time for the barest of glances my way, then the other vampire launched himself and sent all three of them to the floor for the rats to engulf.

  Belle’s voice rose over the noise like a storm, a thunderclap that froze all of us in mid-action. Even the furred sea of rats froze. “Enough!”

  She stepped back from Jean-Claude, and he began to laugh. It wasn’t his magical laugh that slithered across the skin and made you think of sex, it was just laughter, pure unadulterated joy.

  “We will fight no more,” Belle said, and though her voice was still deep, it had lost its sexy purr. She sounded not angry, but put out, as if she’d gotten badly surprised.

  The rats pulled back like a furry ocean draining away. They squeaked and squealed, but they left. Most of the werewolves were covered in tiny crimson bite marks. The remains of the fallen werehyena looked like it had been mauled by something much bigger.

  Jean-Claude found his voice, and it was as joyous as his laughter had been. “You cannot feed from me. You cannot take back what you gave me, because I am no longer of your line. I am sourdre de sang of my own line now.”

  Belle stared at him, her face that blank emptiness that I knew so well. She was hiding how she really felt. “I know what it means, Jean-Claude.”

  “You can no longer treat me as a lesser member of your line, Belle. There are different niceties to be observed between two sourdres de sang.”

  She smoothed her hands down her full skirt, and I knew that gesture, it was one of Jean-Claude’s. Nervous, Belle Morte was nervous. “I was within my rights to do as I have done, for I did not know, nor did you.”

  “True enough, but now that we do know, you must take all your people and go. Leave our lands tonight, for if you are found in our territory come tomorrow night, your lives will be forfeit.”

  “You would not truly kill my Musette?” But her voice held the lightest thread of uncertainty.

  “To be able to kill Musette, legally, with no political repercussions.” He made a small tut-tut sound. “That has been the fondest wish of many a Master Vampire, and I will do it, Belle. You can taste the truth of my words.”

  She stiffened, just a little. “I will retain control of Musette until we are out of your lands. She has an unfortunate temper at times.”

  “It would be a bad thing if she lost her temper here in St. Louis,” Jean-Claude said, and his voice was empty, the joy seeping away.

  Cherry appeared at my elbow. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m not an expert on vampires, but I think Asher’s dying.”

  49

  ASHER LAY AGAINST the far wall. He was a skeleton with dried parchment skin. He lay on a bed of golden Christmas tree tinsel, the glorious remnant of his hair. His clothes had collapsed around his sunken body, like a deflated balloon. His eyes were closed, and only the roundness of his eyes underneath that thin skin was flesh and solid. Everything else seemed to have withered away.

  I fell to my knees beside him, because suddenly I couldn’t stand.

  “He’s not dead,” Valentina’s child voice came, but she stayed out of reach. She offered comfort, but she wasn’t stupid.

  I looked down at what was left of all that beauty and didn’t believe her.

  “See with something other than your eyes, ma petite,” Jean-Claude said. He didn’t kneel, but stayed standing, facing Belle Morte, almost as if he didn’t dare turn his back on her.

  I did what Jean-Claude told me to do; I looked with power instead of my physical eyes. I could feel a spark inside Asher, some small part of him still burned. He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been. I looked up at Jean-Claude. “He’s too weak to take blood.”

  “And he has no human servant,” Belle Morte said, “no animal to call. He is without,” and she paused, seemed to think upon her next word. Finally, she said, “resources.”

  Resources, that was a nice word for it. But whatever word you used, she was right. Asher had nothing to feed on but blood, and if he was too weak to feed on that . . . I couldn’t finish the thought even in my head.

  “Belle Morte could save him,” Jean-Claude’s voice was neutral, empty.

  I looked up at him, then past him to her. “What do you mean?”

  “She made him, and she is a sourdre de sang. She could simply give him back some of the energy that she stole from him.”

  “I stole nothing,” Belle said, and her own neutral voice held a hint of anger. “You cannot steal what is yours by right, and Asher is mine, all of him, Jean-Claude, every piece of his skin, every drop of his blood. He lives only through my sufferance, and without that he dies.”

  Jean-Claude made a small gesture. “Perhaps stole is not the correct term, but you can restore some of his life energy. You could bring him back enough to be able to feed on blood.”

  “I could, but I will not.” Her anger was like a scalding wind, biting along my skin where it touched.

  “Why not?” I asked it, because no one else seemed willing to, and I had to know.

  “I do not have to explain myself to you, Anita.”

  I still had the gun in my hand. Suddenly it was heavy, as if it had reminded me it was there, or maybe the shock of lifting it was enough for me to feel again. I stood up and aimed the gun at Musette’s chest. “If Asher dies, so does Musette.”

  “You have not had much luck killing vampires with your little gun,” Belle said, and she sounded confident. Of course it wasn’t her body that I was about to riddle with bullets.

  “I think the Mother’s children are special cases. They probably can survive pretty much everything but fire. I don’
t think that’s true of Musette.” I had let out the breath in my body, so that I was as still as I could get. My free hand was resting at my lower back, half cradled on my buttocks. It was my favorite position for target shooting.

  “Angelito will stop you,” she said simply.

  I looked back to find Angelito held on his knees by three werewolves, but hey . . . “If he makes a nuisance of himself he can die, too. He probably won’t survive me killing Musette anyway.”

  Belle Morte’s brown eyes widened just a bit. “You would not dare.”

  “Sure I would,” and I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes, because I had them on Musette’s body. I was ignoring Belle’s shape over Musette, concentrating on seeing that white dress with its dried blood. The more I concentrated, the more of Musette I could see, like a double image, Musette’s chest in my physical eyes, and Belle’s ghostly overlay in my head. It made me wonder how much of Belle everyone else had been seeing, or if I’d had a better show because of my necromancy. I’d ask someone later. Much later.

  “Jean-Claude, you cannot allow this.”

  “Ma petite has her moments of rashness, but in this moment she has reminded me that the rules are not the same now. I am within my rights as sourdre de sang to punish one of your people for harming my second in command. It is perfectly within our laws.”

  “I did not know that Asher was the second in command to a sourdre de sang when I drank from him.”

  My arm was still steady, but it wouldn’t last. You can’t hold a one-armed shooting stance forever. Hell, you can’t hold any shooting stance forever. “You know now,” I said, “and he’s not dead yet, so you’re killing the second in command of another sourdre de sang with foreknowledge.”