Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  They were sitting on the couch. I thought Nathaniel was asleep with his head in Micah’s lap, but he turned as I came through the door, and I caught the flash of his eyes in the light from the television. A look of such naked relief crossed Micah’s face before he managed to hide it behind a smile. He was back to his usual smiling neutrality, back to making as few demands on me as possible, but I’d seen that first look. That look that said more than any words, that he’d wondered if he’d ever see me again. I hadn’t kissed him good-bye. I had forgotten to call from the car, tell them the officer down-calls weren’t me. The thought cut deep like some guilty knife.

  Nathaniel got to me first, then slowed, before he actually touched me. The look on my face, maybe, or the fact that I just stood there halfway between the couch and the door. The look on his face was so disappointed. I got a flash of emotion from him. So sad. He thought I was drawing back, away, too scared to really be with him, with them. That wasn’t what I was scared of.

  You can’t shoot someone from less than three feet away with a sawed-off and not get blowback. I had blood in my hair, on my arms. I’d gotten some of it with the wet wipes I kept in the car, but not all of it. I wasn’t clean. If I’d been just a cop, and the dead woman just a human, then I’d have worried about blood-borne disease. She could have AIDS, or hepatitis, but she was a vampire, so she couldn’t carry anything, unless you counted vampirism. Yeah, I guess that counted, but Nathaniel and Micah couldn’t get that either. But maybe I could. If I killed humans, then I was in more danger from disease, but vamps were cleaner. It was too weird for me tonight, too much thinking.

  “Anita, are you alright?” Micah asked, and got off the couch to move up beside Nathaniel.

  I jerked out of reach. “I’ve got blood on me, other people’s blood.” I was shaking my head over and over. “God knows what I brought home with me.”

  “We can’t catch anything,” Nathaniel said, “not even a cold.” He didn’t look lost anymore, he looked worried.

  “Blood can’t hurt us,” Micah said.

  They were right. I was being silly about contagion, but . . . “Do you really want to touch me while I’ve still got the blood of my victims on me?”

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said, and moved to hug me.

  I moved back, just enough that he stopped. I was afraid if I let them hug me that I would lose it. I would just sink into their arms and sob.

  “Victims?” Micah said. “Anita, this doesn’t sound like you.” But he came with Nathaniel; he tried to hug me.

  I moved back until the door hit me, and I was shaking my head. “If I let you hold me, I’m going to cry. Damn it, I hate to cry.”

  Micah gave me a look. “That’s not it.”

  I closed my eyes and let the equipment bag fall to the floor. He was right, that wasn’t it, not completely. I tried to be honest. I tried to say what I felt. “If I get any sympathy, I’m going to fall apart.”

  “Maybe that’s what you need to do,” Micah said, and he moved just a little closer, “maybe just for a little while, let us take care of you.”

  I kept shaking my head. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?” he asked, voice soft.

  “Of letting go.”

  Micah touched my shoulder, gently. I didn’t pull away. He moved slowly, gently, easing me away from the door, and into his arms. I stayed stiff and unyielding for a moment, then my breath came out in a long wavering line, and I let myself fold around him. My hands grabbed at his shirt, handfuls of cloth, as if I couldn’t get close enough, or hold on hard enough. I wanted him naked, not for sex, though that would probably come, but because I just wanted as much of him pressed against as much of me as possible.

  “I’ll go run the bath,” Nathaniel said.

  I reached out for him, caught his shirt, and drew him into us. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “What about?” he asked, and he and Micah exchanged a look.

  The first tear squeezed out, traitorous bastard. My voice was almost steady when I said, “I didn’t kiss you good-bye, either of you. I just drove off. I’m sorry.”

  They both kissed me, soft, chaste, a mere touch of lips. Micah brushed the tear off my cheek. “We understood.” He looked at Nathaniel. “Run the bath.”

  “I’d rather have a shower and get to bed.”

  They exchanged another look, but with a nod from Micah, Nathaniel went for the bathroom. I looked at Micah’s face. The only man in my life I didn’t have to look up to to meet his eyes. “What’s happened? What have I missed?”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was the smile he’d had when I first met him. A smile that held sadness, self-deprecation, mocking, and something else, something that sadness was too light a word for. I’d almost broken him from that smile.

  I grabbed his arms, almost shook him. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, I swear, everything’s fine, but Jean-Claude warned us not to let you get in the shower. He said, and I quote, ‘not between glass walls.’ ”

  I frowned at him. “What are you talking about? Why should Jean-Claude care about how I clean up?”

  The phone rang. I jumped like I’d been stabbed. I said what I was thinking. “If it’s another murder scene tonight, I can’t do it.” Even saying it, I knew I’d do it. If they needed me, I’d go. But what I’d said was true, I’d go, but I wasn’t sure I could handle it tonight. Admitting that even to myself scared me. It was my job. I had to be able to do it.

  Micah went for the phone, while I stood in the darkened living room and prayed for it not to be the police. He called, “It’s Jean-Claude.”

  “Why is he calling on the phone?”

  “Come and find out,” Micah said.

  I walked to the lights of the kitchen. It was only the lights over the sink, not that much light, but I blinked like a deer in headlights. I took the receiver from Micah, while he tried not to give me worried eyes. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Ma petite, how do you feel?”

  His voice was the joy for me it usually was, but tonight even that voice left me flat and empty. “Like shit, why?”

  “How long has it been since you fed?”

  I leaned my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. “I ate some peanuts and chips in the last day, why?” Nathaniel had put some munchies in my glove compartment.

  “I am not referring to food, ma petite.”

  Suddenly the emptiness spilled away, replaced by panic. “Jesus, Damian.”

  “He is well. I have seen to it.”

  “How can he be well, he started to die if I went just a few hours over six. I’ve gone almost twenty-four hours. God, I cannot believe this, so stupid.”

  “And when in the last twenty-four hours could you have fed the ardeur, and who on?”

  The question stopped the self-recriminations and helped me think. I guess there were worse things than forgetting about the ardeur during a police investigation. Like maybe, not forgetting the ardeur during a police investigation. Several horrible scenarios went through my head, like the ardeur rising in the van with Mobile Reserve, or Zerbrowski in his car. I was suddenly cold, and it had nothing to do with my earlier pangs of conscience.

  “Ma petite, I can hear your sweet breath, but I need to hear your sweet voice.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how did you keep it from getting me?”

  “By shielding in every way between us, and Richard, and helping the others do so, as well.”

  “That’s why you’re calling me on the phone, not mind-to-mind.”

  “Oui.”

  “How did you keep me from draining Damian and Nathaniel?”

  “I fed the ardeur at the club, as we discussed, and I shared with Damian. It is only when he is drained that your triumverate would begin to pull upon our bad kitty.”

  “One feeding through you took care of it, for this long?”

  He sighed, and he sounded tired, because he was still shielding too hard for me to feel it. “Non, no
n, ma petite. We have done your six-hour feedings for you.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Richard and Damian, and myself. Nathaniel had fed you last, and I was not a hundred-percent certain that I could control the feeding, so I did not use him.”

  “Richard got a taste of the ardeur from the other side?”

  “He did.”

  “What’d he think of it?”

  “He has new respect for our ability to not go mad.”

  I wanted to ask who Richard had fed on, but it was none of my business. I wasn’t monogamous, and neither was he. I was still leaning against the wall, but my eyes were open. “Damian fed the ardeur not as the eatee, but as the eater?”

  “It was not hard to raise it in him.”

  “Is this permanent? I mean do Richard and Damian need to feed now, too?”

  “Non, ma petite. Desperate measures, but not permanent ones.”

  “How can you be sure?” I asked.

  “Because I can feel it growing in me again, not just my need, but yours. I parceled it out, shared it among those I could, but it is time again, ma petite.”

  I turned around and stared blindly out into the kitchen. “Are you saying you borrowed my ardeur for the last few hours?”

  He seemed to think about that. “That will do for an explanation. Oui.”

  “So I could hunt bad guys and not lose control in the middle of it all.”

  “Yes.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said what I could, “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome, ma petite, put dawn is near, and when I sleep, the ardeur will return home. I would prefer to give it back to you before then, so I might feel how tempestuous that return will be.”

  “You’re worried.”

  “Oui.”

  “You asked me how I felt, why?”

  “The ardeur comes with a price, as all the hungers do, but they have their rewards, as well. I do not speak of the pleasure, but of the strengths that they give us. In effect, by stealing away your ardeur, I weakened you tonight. If I hadn’t feared contacting you mind-to-mind, I would have asked your permission first, or warned you.”

  “I didn’t feel weak.” Then I thought about it. “I’m really bugged by the vampires I killed tonight. I mean, more than normal. I’m sort of shaky, and wondering if I’m the good guy after all.”

  “Such self-doubt is not like you.”

  “I do have some self-doubt,” I said.

  “But not too much, you could not be who you are if you doubted too much.”

  “Are you saying that I draw some of my bravery, or my coldness, from the ardeur?”

  “I am saying that the ardeur may feed that part of you that keeps you safe in your own mind, your own heart.”

  I shook my head. “This is too complicated for me, Jean-Claude. Just let me have it back, and we’ll see if I feel any better.”

  “I would rather you be alone with Micah when that happens. We have very carefully left him untouched while we sought to feed, so that you might feed on him yourself.”

  I didn’t feel the least bit sexy. I just wanted a quick shower and to sleep. “I’m too tired for sex, Jean-Claude. Too tired for much of anything.”

  “As I feared, I took too much, or the ardeur has become attached to your own natural drives.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Long before the ardeur found you, ma petite, I found that you were seldom too tired for sex.”

  I thought about blushing, but found that even that seemed like too much effort. “What do you want me to do?” What little excitement had crept back into my voice had vanished. Nothing seemed quite real, as if I was already asleep. Asleep on my feet.

  “If you intend to clean up . . .”

  “I’ve got other people’s blood in my hair, so yeah.”

  “Fine, go to the bathroom then, but take Micah with you. Hang up the phone, go to the bathroom, take Micah with you, and sometime before you have filled the bathtub with water, I will give back to you that which is yours.”

  “Nathaniel is filling the tub now. Micah said you warned us not to use the shower. Something about glass.”

  “The return may be more violent than I would like, ma petite. I would feel better if you and Micah were not surrounded by glass walls.”

  “Do you know this is going to be bad, or are you just worried?”

  “Let us say, that I have not lived so long, or courted you successfully, without thinking worst-case scenarios.”

  “Courting, is that what you call it nowadays?”

  “I am hanging up now, ma petite. I suggest you do as I have bid.” He hung up.

  I put the receiver back in its cradle and started walking out of the kitchen. Micah was standing by the table, watching with careful kitty-cat eyes. I understood now how much he held back behind that careful face. But tonight I didn’t pry. I had enough horrors of my own without borrowing. “You know about what Jean-Claude’s been doing with the ardeur?” I asked.

  “Yes, Jean-Claude had me keep an eye on Nathaniel, so that if he started to get weak, I could call for help.”

  I shook my head. “I endangered him, all of you.” I felt numb again, even the self-recrimination felt like just words. Later, when there was more of me, I’d feel bad, but right now, I’d felt about as bad as I was able. There just wasn’t enough of me left to worry about it.

  “Anita.” Micah was in front of me and I hadn’t seen him move. “Anita, are you alright?”

  I shook my head. The answer was no, but out loud I said, “I want to be cleaned up before the ardeur comes back. I want to get this shit off of me.” I started for the bathroom. Micah trailed after me.

  Nathaniel was bending over the bath tub, his pony tail trailing around his naked upper body. He’d stripped down to silk boxers.

  The sight of him like that should have moved me, but it didn’t. Cold, I felt so cold inside.

  He gave me worried eyes as he moved toward me. “What can I do to help?”

  I flung myself on him hard enough he staggered. He held me against the warmth of his body. He held me tight and hard, responding to my desperation. I wanted to bury myself in his flesh, wrap him up around me, but I couldn’t. I’d endangered him, risked his life, by simply not paying attention to the ardeur. If Jean-Claude had not helped out . . .

  I tried to push the thought away, but Jonah Cooper’s body flashed in my head. His body on the ground, my foot on his shoulder and grass showing through his chest. “You feel the draw of them, I know you do,” he’d said.

  I was on my knees and only Nathaniel’s hands had kept me from hurting myself on the edge of the tub. “Anita . . .”

  I pulled away from Nathaniel and reached for Micah. He took my hand and said, “Go, Nathaniel, go, before the ardeur comes.”

  “I don’t think . . .” he started to say.

  I screamed, “Go, please go! God, go!”

  Ididn’t see Nathaniel go, or stay, because Jean-Claude dropped his shielding. I don’t know what I’d expected. He’d made it sound like he borrowed my favorite coat, or book, and now he’d give it back, but a coat doesn’t want to come back to you, a book doesn’t care who reads it. He didn’t hand it back to me, his shields dropped, and it roared home like a train that he had fought to hold back, to keep still, but it had strained against his hold. It had hungered to come home. It was like being caught on the tracks at night, and the first hint you have that disaster is here, is a bright light, and the tracks vibrating under your feet, then the world becomes noise, light, as if thunder and lightning could be forged into metal, and it’s all coming straight through you, and you can’t get off the tracks. You can’t run. You can’t hide, because your body is the tracks, and the train is a piece of yourself that wants to come home.

  81

  THE ARDEUR FELL on us, and we fell into the water. It took us almost a minute to remember we couldn’t breathe under water. We came up, gasping for air, laughing almost as soon as we co
uld breathe enough for it. Clothes had vanished in the first rush. We were naked in the water. How had we managed to get out of the jeans that fast? A piece of jean cloth floated by me. Oh, that’s how.

  “No missionary position, we’ll both drown,” I said.

  His curls were plastered to his head, and his hair looked black in the candlelight. The laughter died from his face, his eyes, and left something darker, more basic, behind. A look that made me shiver. All he said was, “Okay.” He moved us to the edge of the tub, pressing my back against the smooth side of it. He pressed himself up against me, pinning me between the tub and his body. The feel of him hard and firm against the front of my naked body made me close my eyes for a moment. I had some vague memory of clothes being ripped away, but I wasn’t sure when, or even which of us had done it. I was getting better at thinking when the ardeur rose, but there were moments when thinking was not what I did.

  He moved back from my body so he could caress the front of himself. Just watching his hand play over that thick, firm flesh made me shiver. He angled himself downward so he could push between my thighs. He felt incredibly large sliding between my legs. He didn’t try to angle upward, or enter me. He simply pushed himself between my thighs, so that the thickness of him brushed against all of me. He rubbed himself back and forth, using his body like another hand, to caress and play between my legs. But it was a thick, hard rubbing, with none of the delicacy of fingers. You’d think water would help everything be slippery, but water makes some parts less wet, less slick, so that though it felt good, it also was rougher than it would have been if I’d been wet with something other than water.

  “Not wet enough,” he said, and his voice was thick and strangely hoarse, strangled with desire.

  I would have liked to argue, because the ardeur wanted to argue, wanted to say, take me, take me now. If I’d been with almost any other man in my life, we could have done just that without hurting me, or him, but Micah was the exception to a lot of rules in my life. It wasn’t the length that was the problem, it was the width. We’d found this out the hard way, and had had the rubby spots to prove it.