Richard turned back to stare at the bed and the rest of us. He even took a step toward the bed.
"No, Ulfric, you don't just go back to abusing them. We may not be able to shoot you without political problems, but we also will not stand by and let you abuse those we have contracted to protect."
He looked at her, and all that burning power seemed to draw away from the rest of the room, to concentrate like some great weapon. I wasn't close enough to feel it, but I was betting that all that power was now focused on Claudia.
She shook her head, like she'd been slapped. The two men with her moved back from Richard, as if they wanted more room to maneuver if things went wrong.
Claudia answered him, her voice warm with the beginnings of her own anger. "No one disputes your power, Ulfric, it is great. It is your self-control that I question."
Richard was mad, so mad, and he was looking for a fight. I'd rather it not be me, but I didn't think things would escalate as far with us as it would with the wererats. Someone could get seriously injured, or worse. Richard being in a pissy mood wasn't worth someone dying over. I know, I know, it probably wouldn't go that far, but the wererats were usually ex-mercenaries, or ex-military. They fought for keeps when they fought. Richard wasn't either of those things. He got mad, but he didn't really like going for the kill. It could all go so badly, so fast.
"Everybody ease down," I said. "It's not worth dying over."
Richard looked at me. "No one's talked about killing anyone, except you."
"Richard, all three of the guards that are looking at you wondered about killing you the moment they hit the door. Ask them, go ahead, ask them."
He glanced at the wererats, still with their guns pointed at the floor. "Is she right?"
The three of them exchanged glances, then Claudia answered, "Yes."
"You thought about killing me, just like that?"
"We didn't know it was you doing the damage, Ulfric. But we are allowed to use any means necessary to do our jobs. We cannot allow you to harm anyone under our care."
"You're not allowed to interfere with me disciplining one of my wolves, either."
She nodded. "You are right. It is not allowed for one animal to interfere in the internal disputes of another. If you can prove that this is pack business, and not personal, we can leave, and you can finish this, but you must prove it is business."
One of the other men, who was small and dark, and looked like he'd spent a little too much time in rat form, said, "Smells like jealousy to me."
"Roberto, you are not helping," Claudia said, her eyes still on Richard.
Jason rolled over and started to sit up. He moved like it hurt.
"He defied me," Richard said, pointing at Jason.
"How?" Claudia asked.
"He refused to get out of my way."
"What would you have done if I'd moved?" Jason said, and his voice held something thicker than normal, as if he was still bleeding inside his mouth. "If you didn't throw me around, who would it have been? Nathaniel, Anita? She doesn't heal like we do, Richard."
"I wouldn't..."
"When you hit the door, you were going to hurt someone," Jason said, and let blood trickle from his mouth, because he couldn't spit in wolfish form. "I thought it was better it was me."
Some of that burning power began to fade. Richard's shoulders slumped, and he screamed again. A full-throated, all-out scream, as long and as loud as he had breath for. He dropped to his knees and smashed his hands into the floor. Apparently, he liked doing it, because he kept smashing his hands into the carpeted floor, over and over. Only when the stone floor underneath began to buckle visibly, did he stop.
The sides of his hands were bloody where he'd scrapped them on the carpet, like really bad rug burns. He raised those bloody hands up and just knelt there staring at his hands. He didn't cry, didn't swear, didn't do anything.
We all froze, waiting for him to do or say something. At least a full minute passed, and he hadn't moved. Claudia looked across the room at me. I shrugged. I'd been engaged to him once, and I'd been his lover, but I had no clue what to do. That was one of the problems with Richard and me, we so often didn't know what to do with each other.
I started to walk around the bed, but Jason grabbed my wrist. "Close enough."
I didn't argue. I just stopped and looked down at him. He was still staring at his scraped-up hands. "Richard, Richard, are you in there?"
He laughed then, but it wasn't a good laugh. It was one of those laughs that held more bitterness than humor. Everyone in the room, except me, jumped when he laughed, as if they'd expected anything but that. I'd learned not to try to guess what he'd do.
"I want to lick the blood off my hands," he said in a strangled voice.
"Then do it," I said.
He looked up at me. "What?"
"It's your blood. It's your hands. If you want to lick your own wounds, then do it."
"Won't you be disgusted?"
I sighed. "Richard, it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think."
"You'd think it was disgusting," he said.
I sighed, again. "No, Richard, actually, no. The licking will make the scrapes feel better, and you'll enjoy the taste of blood."
He frowned up at me. "You wouldn't have said that a year ago." It was almost a whisper.
"I might not have said it six months ago, but I'm saying it now. Lick your wounds, Richard, just don't live in them."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, and his anger flared, like a small hot whip against my skin.
"Don't get pissy, Richard. I'm trying to live the life I've got, not some dream of a life that I'm never going to have."
"And you think I am."
"You're Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan, and you're afraid to lick your bloody hands because someone else might think it's not very human. So, yeah, I think you're still pretending that you're going to get another shot at a life. This is it, Richard. This is who and what we are. This is it. You need to embrace that."
He shook his head, and his eyes glittered in the lights, as if there might be tears in those perfectly brown eyes. His voice when it came was even, no hint of those glittering eyes. "I tried."
I was shielding as hard as I could. I didn't want any more peeks into his and Clair's love life, but I could guess. "With Clair?"
He looked up, and the anger was winning over the tears. I'd never seen him this out of control of his emotions. I'd seen him angry, bitter, sad, but never this see-saw. It was like angry and sad were the only emotions he had left. "You saw it, then."
"I'm shielding like a son of a bitch right now. I saw that you had a fight, a bad one. But that's about all I saw."
He opened his mouth, then glanced behind him. "I won't hurt anyone, but this isn't a conversation for a crowd."
The wererats looked at me. I sighed and wondered if I was being stupid. Maybe, but I was going to do it anyway. "You guys can go."
Claudia gave me a look. "I don't think it's a good idea, Anita."
"Neither do I," I said, "but do it anyway."
She shook her head but motioned the two men through the door. She turned with the door halfway closed. She looked at me, and said, "We'll be right outside. You yell, if you need us."
I nodded. "I will, I promise."
She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me, but she went and closed the door behind her.
"Get out, Jason," Richard said.
"It's his room, Richard," I said.
"He doesn't get to hear this," Richard said.
Jason got off the bed, slowly, like he still hurt. "If I leave and you hurt her, neither you nor I will ever forgive you."
Richard stared up at the tall wolfman. They had a moment of simply staring at each other, and whatever they saw in each other's faces seemed to satisfy them both. Richard said, "You're right. I won't hurt her."
"What about Nathaniel?"
Richard looked past him to the tall, dark form of
Nathaniel. "He needs to leave, too."
"Only Anita can order me to leave," Nathaniel said.
Richard looked at me, then down. "Two requests, clothes for you, and everyone leaves. Please."
The clothes were hard, because I was still covered in goop. What few clothes I had, I didn't want to get messy. What I needed was a robe, but I didn't have one in this room. I hesitated too long for Richard's mood, because he said, "Don't make me have this talk with you naked, Anita. Please." He said the please like he had the first time, like it was its own sentence, not an afterthought, but as if the please was more important than normal, and needed to be set apart.
"I'd love to get dressed, Richard, but I'm still covered in that clear goop. I'd rather not get it all over my clothes."
"I've got a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door," Jason said, "it should fit."
"Since when do you wear a robe?" I asked.
"It was a present."
I looked at him.
"Jean-Claude thought I looked cold." I think he tried to grin at me, but the wolf muzzle just wasn't made for it.
"Let me guess, black silk?"
"Blue, to match my eyes." He started toward the bathroom, not exactly limping, but close.
"I'll get it. Everybody stay put, and be nice, until I get back." I went for the bathroom, though search me if I could remember a robe on the back of the bathroom door. But it was there, hanging exactly where Jason had said. It was a lovely blue, sort of soft and bright all at the same time. I'd been more tired than I'd known to miss it last night.
I put the robe on and caught sight of myself in the mirror. The remnants of yesterday's makeup still outlined my eyes, though it had smeared a little so it looked a little more Goth than my usual. The lipstick was gone. The clear goop had dried one side of my hair into a case of bed head that only a shower would cure. My body was covered in more of the drying goop, so that it was beginning to flake as I moved. If you have sex with condoms, you forget that what goes in eventually comes out, and I took the time to clean up just a little, because it was too embarrassing not to.
The blue was too pale for my coloring, and too big through the shoulders. It was one of those moments that I wondered why anyone wanted me. I just didn't see it. Of course, feeling this bad about myself might have had something to do with dreading Richard's little talk. Maybe.
I took in a lot of air, let it out slowly, and opened the door. It was one of the braver things I'd done in awhile. I'd much rather have dealt with bad guys than with Richard. Bad guys were simple, kill them before they kill you. Richard was a lot of things, but simple was so not one of them.
55
Jason left without a word, but Nathaniel said he'd wait outside with the wererats. No one liked leaving us alone, not even me. Hell, I wasn't sure Richard liked being left alone with me, but he'd asked for it, and I hadn't.
Richard stayed on the floor, as if he'd never move again. Since there was no chair, I stripped the stained sheets from the bed and sat on the edge of it. I sat sort of half-cross-legged, with one leg dangling off the bed, but I made sure the robe covered as much of me as it could.
We sat that way in total silence for at least a minute, though it felt like longer. I broke first, because just watching him kneel there, head bowed, made me want to comfort him, and that would go badly. Richard didn't take comfort from me anymore, or at least he didn't without making me pay for it later. That was a game I was no longer willing to play.
"What's up, Richard? You wanted privacy for a talk. We've got the privacy, now talk."
He moved just his eyes up at me, and that one look was enough. Angry. It didn't spill out into his power, or fill the room, but I think that was because he was shielding, probably as hard as I was. "You make it sound easy."
"I didn't say it was easy. I just said, you wanted to talk, so talk."
"Just like that."
"Hell, Richard, you're the one who asked for this talk. I didn't invite you into a private conversation."
"You asked about the fight with Clair. I don't want to share that with everyone."
"You don't have to share it with me."
"I think I need to."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it, then shook his head. "Let's start over. I'll try not to be mad, if you try not to pick at me."
"I'm not picking at you, Richard. I'm trying to get you to talk to me."
He looked up at me, full face, not so much angry anymore, but not happy. "If a friend had something hard to tell you, would you say, 'so talk'?"
I took a deep breath and let it out. "No, no I wouldn't. Okay, how's this. I'm sorry, you feel like you have to tell me something that is so obviously painful for you. But what I said before is still true, you don't owe me an explanation about a fight you had with your girlfriend, Richard. You really don't."
"I know that, but it's the quickest way I can think to explain everything."
I wanted to say, "explain what?" but fought the urge. He was obviously hurting, and I tried not to rub salt into anyone's wounds. But the call for privacy, and the big buildup was making me nervous. As far as I knew, Richard and I didn't have anything this important to say to each other. The fact that he thought differently made me downright uneasy.
I sat on the corner of the bed, one hand going to the top of the robe, because even with it belted tight it was gaping. Too big through the shoulders, so it just didn't fit quite right. I kept one hand on the top and the other hand in my lap, so I didn't accidentally flash him. I'd been buck naked in front of him for minutes, but suddenly I was all worried about him catching a glimpse. I think it was his comment, that he couldn't have this talk with me naked. Would I find it hard to talk seriously if he was naked in front of me? I wanted to answer no, but truthfully in my own head, the answer was yes. Shit, I did not need this.
He was back to staring at the floor. I couldn't stand it. I had to prompt him, but I tried to prompt him more kindly than before. I tried to think of him as my friend and not as the ex who always seemed to rain all over my parade.
"What do you want to tell me about the fight with Clair?" I even managed to keep my voice neutral. Points for me.
He took in a lot of air and let it out, then raised a pair of sad brown eyes to me. "Maybe that's not where to start."
"Okay," I said, voice careful, "start somewhere else then."
He shook his head. "I don't know how to do this."
I wanted to yell, "do what?" but I resisted. But my patience had never been limitless, and I knew that if he continued to be obtuse, I'd blow it. Or my temper would. That gave me an idea: Maybe if I started talking, he'd just jump in.
"It's been a while since I felt your rage," I said.
"I'm sorry about that. I lost control, I don't..."
"It's not a complaint, Richard. What I meant to say was that it felt different than the first time I touched it."
He looked at me. "What do you mean?"
"It felt, no, it tasted like my anger, like me, almost more than you."
I had his attention now. "I don't understand."
"I'm not sure I do either, but follow my thought. Asher once told me that Jean-Claude had become more ruthless because I was his human servant. But with Damian being my vampire servant, I gained some of his emotional control. You can only gain what your partner has to share."
He was looking at me, and the sadness was fading under him thinking. There was a good mind in there somewhere, he just didn't always seem to use it. "Alright, I understand that."
"If Jean-Claude gained some of my practicality, making him more ruthless, then what did you gain? I mean I got some of your beast and your hunger for flesh. I got Jean-Claude's blood lust and the ar deur. What did you gain from us?"
He seemed to think about that. "I gained some of Jean-Claude's blood lust. Blood is as attractive as flesh to me, almost. It wasn't before." He moved so he was sitting Indian fashion on the floor. "It's eas
ier to talk mind-to-mind with you lately, and last night, I interfered with you controlling that zombie." He shivered just a little, like something about that scared him. Guess I couldn't blame him.
"But the mind-to-mind thing being this easy and the zombie stuff is recent, Richard. What did you gain the first time?"
He frowned at the floor. "I don't see..."
"What if you gained some of my anger?"
He looked up then. "Your anger can't be worse than the rage of the beast."
I laughed, and it was closer to humor than his earlier laugh had been, but not by much. "Oh, Richard, you haven't spent enough time in my head if you believe that."
He shook his head, stubbornly. "A human isn't capable of the kind of mindless rage that the beast is."
"You haven't researched many human serial killers, have you?"
"You know I haven't," he said, and he sounded grumpy.
"Don't go all grumpy on me, Richard, I'm trying to make a point here."
"Then make it," he said.
"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. That sounds more like me, than you. You've been quicker to anger for the last bit, and I've been less quick to anger, why? What if you got some of my anger, and I got some of your calmness?"
He shook his head again. "You're saying that your human anger is worse than my beast's rage. That's not possible."
It was my turn to shake my head. "Richard, you seem to think that human is better than lycanthrope. I don't know where you get that idea."
"Humans don't eat each other."
"Shit, Richard, yes, they do."
"I don't mean cultures that have ritual cannibalism."
"Neither do I."
"Comparing lycanthropes to serial killers isn't going to make me feel better about being a lycanthrope."
"My point is that humans can be just as rage filled, just as destructive. The difference is that a werewolf is better equipped for mayhem than a mere human. If human beings had the fangs and the claws that you guys do, then we'd, they'd, be just as destructive. It isn't lack of wanting to do it, it's lack of the right tools that make humans less scary."
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