Cerulean Sins ab-11

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I was dizzy, light-headed, and I couldn't tell if it was from the sex, or if Asher had truly taken too much blood. I tried to push him off of me, I should have been able to do that, and I couldn't. The first edge of nausea hit me, and I knew it was blood loss. I touched my neck and found that blood was still seeping from the puncture wounds. That shouldn't have been happening. Should it? I never donated blood voluntarily. I didn't know how long the wounds should bleed.

  I tried to lift with my arms, like doing a push-up, and the world swam in streams of colors, dizziness threatened to engulf the world. I did the only thing I could think of-I screamed.

  14

  The door opened and it was Jason. I don't think I'd ever been so happy to see him. I managed to say, "Help me." My voice sounded weak and scared, and I hated it, but I also was feeling nauseous and dizzy, and that wasn't post-coital languor, it was blood loss.

  Now that I could see again, I realized I was drenched in blood-and other things-but it was mainly the blood that was worrying me, because it was all mine.

  Jason rolled Asher off of me. He moved with that boneless ease that only a truly dead body has. I don't know what the difference between sleep and death is, but you know instantly when you move even an arm whether it's death, or whether it's sleep.

  Asher lay there on his back, his hair spilled around his face like a halo, crimson blood glittered on his chin, his neck, his upper chest. The scars didn't take away from the beauty of him nude. They weren't the first thing you noticed, or even the third. He lay, drenched in my blood, like some fallen god, come down to death at last.

  Even sick from loss of blood, I could not find him anything but beautiful. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  Jason had to help me slide off of Jean-Claude, catching me in his arms, holding me like you'd hold a child. I was nude, he'd just dragged me from a bed where I'd obviously had sex with two men, yet Jason hadn't made a single quip, or joke. When Jason had this much ammunition but didn't tease, things were bad.

  I laid my head against Jason's shoulder, and that helped the dizziness, made the world a little less shaky. He started to turn me away from the bed, but I said, "Wait, not yet."

  He stopped moving. "What?"

  "I want to remember this."

  "What?" he asked again.

  "The way they look together." They both lay on their backs, but whereas Asher looked like some fallen death god, Jean-Claude looked like a god of a different kind. His thick black hair lay in a heavy mass around his head, carelessly arranged like a dark frame for that pale, pale face. His lips were half-parted, his lashes thick as lace upon his cheeks. He lay as if he had fallen asleep after some great passion, one hand across his stomach, the other at his side, one knee bent, so that he seemed almost displayed. Only Jean-Claude could die and look this pretty while he did it.

  "Anita, Anita," I realized that Jason had been talking for awhile. "How much blood did they take?"

  My voice came out hoarse, my mouth was dry. "Not they, only Asher."

  He settled me closer in his arms, almost like he was hugging me. His leather jacket creaked as he moved. His bare chest was very warm against my naked skin. "He didn't just feed." Jason sounded disapproving, which you didn't hear much.

  "He got caught up in the moment, I think."

  He shifted me so that he could free up a hand to touch my forehead, which seemed silly since I was nude, but we often fall into habit when we're stressed. You check someone's temperature on their foreheads, even if they're naked.

  "You don't feel feverish. If anything you feel a little cool."

  That made me remember something, and the fact that I'd forgotten said I was feeling worse than I knew. "Is my neck still bleeding?"

  "A little."

  "Should it be?"

  He carried me towards the bathroom. "Have you never been bitten this badly before?" He opened the door with his knee and one hand, and carried me through.

  "Not without passing out afterwards, non." I frowned. "Did I just say, non, instead of no?"

  "Yep," he said.

  "Shit," I said.

  "Yeah," he said. He sat on the edge of the huge black marble tub, balancing me in his lap while he turned on the water. The water spilled out of a silver swan's mouth, which I'd always thought was ostentatious, but hey, it wasn't my bathroom.

  The nausea had passed, the dizziness was waning. "Down, put me down."

  "The marble is cold," he said.

  I sighed. "I need to find out how well my body's working."

  "Just try sitting up in my lap without me holding you. If you're okay, I'll fetch towels and you can sit on them, but trust me you don't want to sit naked on this marble."

  "Practical," I said.

  "Don't tell anyone I actually made sense, it'll ruin my image."

  I smiled. "Secret's safe with me." I tried sitting up, while Jason fidgeted with the water, trying to get the right temperature. I could sit up. Great. I tried to stand, and only Jason's arm around my waist kept me from falling on the marble steps leading down from the tub.

  He tucked me safely back in his lap. "Don't try and do so much so fast, Anita."

  I leaned back against him, his arm like a safety belt around my waist. "Why I am so weak?"

  "How can you have been around vampires this long and ask me that?"

  "I don't let them feed," I said.

  "I do, and trust me, when you've donated this much, it takes a little while to recover." He seemed satisfied with the water temperature at last. He turned the faucets on harder and had to talk louder over the sound of the water. "We'll get you cleaned up and see how you feel."

  I could feel myself frowning, and I wasn't sure why. I felt like I should be angry. I should be something, and I wasn't. Now that I wasn't trapped between Jean-Claude and Asher anymore, I was strangely calm. No, not just calm, I felt good, and I shouldn't have.

  I frowned harder, trying to chase this wonderful lassitude away. It was like trying to wake from a bad dream when it didn't want to let you go. Except instead of fighting to wake from a nightmare, I was fighting to destroy a good dream. That seemed wrong, too. Everything seemed wrong. I felt, vaguely, like I'd missed something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't place it.

  I felt out of sorts and wonderful at the same time. It was as if my natural grumpiness was fighting some warm happy thought. The warm happy thought was winning, but I wasn't sure that that was necessarily a good thing.

  "What's wrong with me?" I asked.

  "What do you mean?" Jason asked.

  "I feel good, and I shouldn't. I feel wonderful. A few minutes ago I was terrified, dizzy, sick, and scared. But once you got me out of the bed, it all seemed better."

  "Just better?" he asked. He was slipping out of his leather jacket, one arm at a time, while he took turns holding me with the other arm.

  "You're right, not just better. Once I wasn't scared, it was wonderful again." I frowned and tried to think, and was still having trouble doing it. "Why can't I think through this?"

  He rearranged me in his lap so he could unzip his boots, and push them off with his feet. It finally hit me that he was undressing himself, while still holding me in his lap. Who says that the skills you learn at work don't come in useful in your everyday life?

  "Why are you undressing?"

  "You can't move around without falling down, I'd hate for you to drown in the tub."

  I tried pushing this wonderful feeling farther away, but it was like trying to fight a warm, comforting mist. You could strike out, but there was nothing solid to hit. The mist just moved and reformed, and stayed.

  "Stop," I said, the one word was firm enough, though I didn't feel very firm inside.

  "What?" he asked, as he moved me enough forward so that he could unfasten the tops of his jeans.

  "This should bother me, you trying to get naked, while I'm naked, in a tub, that should bother me, right?"

  "But it doesn't, does it," he said. He was unbuttoning hi
s button fly jeans with one hand. That took talent.

  "No, it doesn't," I said, frowning again, "why doesn't it bother me?"

  "You really don't know, do you?" he asked.

  "No," I said, not even sure what I was saying no to.

  He'd gotten his jeans unbuttoned. "I can either lay you down on the very cold tile, or I can throw you over my shoulder for a few seconds while I take the pants off, lady's choice."

  The decision seemed too hard for me. "I don't know."

  He didn't ask a second time, just tossed me, as gently as he could over his shoulder, sort of half a fireman's carry. Being upside down made the world spin again, and I wondered if I was going to be sick all over his back. He balanced me there while he wormed out of his jeans.

  I was now staring down his bare back as the jeans slid down the top of his butt. The nausea had passed, and I giggled-I never giggle-"Nice ass."

  He choked, or laughed. "I never knew you noticed."

  "Underwear," I said.

  "What?"

  "You had underwear, I caught a glimpse of it." I had this horrible urge to run my hands over his butt, just because it was there, and I could. It was like I was drunk or high.

  "Yeah, I had underwear on, what about it?"

  "Can you put it back on?"

  "You don't really care if I have underwear on, or not, do you?" and there was something in his voice that was almost teasing.

  "Nope." I shook my head, which made the world spin again. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick."

  "Stop moving, it'll pass. You wouldn't be sick at all if you hadn't fought to get out from between the two of them. Too much physical exertion right afterwards will make you sick as a dog. Sink into the feeling, just ride it, and it feels wonderful."

  I felt a little silly talking to his ass, but it didn't seem nearly as silly as it should have. "What feels wonderful?"

  "Guess," he said.

  That made me frown. "Don't want to guess." God, what was wrong with me? "Tell me."

  "Let's get you in the tub, a bath will help clear your head."

  He moved me back to his arms, and stepped over the edge of the tub. "You're naked," I said.

  "So are you," he said.

  That had a certain logic to it that I couldn't quite argue with, though I felt I should have argued with it. "Weren't you going to put something back on?"

  "The underwear is silk, I'm not going to ruin it by wearing it in the tub, because you think I should put it on. Besides, you don't really care if I'm naked or not. Remember?"

  A headache was beginning just behind one eye. "No," I said, "but I should care, shouldn't I? I mean..."

  Jason lowered us both into the water. It felt wonderful, so warm, so smooth, so good against my skin. Jason moved me gently in the water until I was sitting in front of him, cradled against his body.

  The water was so warm, so warm, and I was so tired. It would feel so good to just sleep.

  Jason's arm on my waist jerked me back. "Anita, you can't sleep in the bathtub, you'll drown."

  "You won't let me drown," I said, and my voice was thick with warmth and sleep.

  "No, I won't let you drown," he said.

  I frowned, as I half-floated in the water. "What is wrong with me, Jason? I feel drunk."

  "You have been well and truly rolled by a vampire, Anita."

  "Jean-Claude can't, his own marks protect me," my voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.

  "I never said it was Jean-Claude."

  "Asher," I whispered the name.

  "I've shared blood with him before, and it is the most amazing thing. Jean-Claude says he always holds back, because he knows I'm not his pomme de sang, I'm just a loaner."

  "Loaner," I said.

  "I don't think Asher held back with you tonight."

  "The ardeur, we... were doing... the ardeur." Each word was thick with effort.

  "The ardeur could have made him careless," Jason said. His hands were very solid on me, cradling me in the water more than against his body.

  "Careless?" I said.

  "Go ahead and pass out, Anita. When you wake up, we'll talk."

  "'bout what?"

  "Things," he said, and his voice was sinking away into the candlelit dark. I didn't remember him lighting the candles that Jean-Claude usually kept around the tub.

  I started to ask, what things? but the words never made it out loud. I fell into a warm, soft darkness, where there was no fear, no pain. So warm, so safe, so loved.

  15

  I woke to the phone ringing. I huddled in the sheets, trying not to hear it. God, I was tired. The bed moved, someone else rumbling for it. It wasn't until Jason's voice said, "Hello," softly, as if he were afraid of waking me, that I woke completely. Why was Jason in my bedroom?

  That question was answered as soon as I opened my eyes. I wasn't in my bedroom, in fact, I didn't know where the hell I was. The bed was a king-size, but it was only pillows and a bed, no headboard, no footboard, only a bed, very modern, very normal. The only light was from a small door directly across from the foot of the bed, I could catch a glimpse of a bathtub, or shower. I followed the dim light out and found bare stone walls and knew I was still inside the Circus of the Damned, somewhere.

  "She's sick," Jason said. He was quiet for a second. "She's asleep. I'd rather not wake her."

  I tried to remember why I was here and came up with nothing, just a blank. I started to roll over, I think to ask who it was, when I realized I was naked. I pulled the sheets up over my breasts and turned over to see Jason.

  He was laying on his side, his back to me, the sheet pulled down enough that I could see the top of his buttocks. What the fuck was I doing naked in a bed with Jason? Where was Jean-Claude? Okay, probably in his coffin, or his bed. I never shared the bed when he was stone cold. But why hadn't I gone home?

  "I don't think she's going to be well enough to come out today."

  I tried to sit up and found that the world wasn't quite steady. Maybe sitting up wasn't such a good idea. I stayed on my back, sheet clutched to my chest, and had to try twice to say, "I'm awake." My mouth was incredibly dry.

  Jason turned towards me. The movement pooled the sheet into his lap and left the backside of his body bare. He covered the receiver with his hand. "How do you feel?"

  "How did I get here? Why am I here?" I asked in a voice so hoarse it barely sounded like me.

  "Do you remember anything?"

  I frowned, and that hurt. My throat hurt. I raised a hand and found a large bandage on the right side of my neck. There was a vampire bite under the bandages, I knew that, and with that knowledge, I remembered.

  I remembered everything, and it wasn't just my mind that remembered it. My body convulsed against the bed, my spine bowing, hands clawing at the sheets, a moan tore from my throat, before my body stole all the breath from me, and I bucked against the bed, caught in a sensory memory. It wasn't as good as the original, but damn it was close.

  I dug my fists into the sheets, balling the cloth up, trying to find something to hold on to. Jason was suddenly beside me, he grabbed my upper arms, tried to hold me still. "Anita, what's wrong?"

  My hands came up, automatically, grabbing his forearms, holding on. My eyes rolled back into my head, my body convulsed, and my hands tore down his forearms. I felt my nails sink into his flesh, felt his skin give under me.

  Jason cried out, somewhere between a scream and a moan.

  I lay back against the bed, panting, eyes unable to focus. I held onto Jason's arms, because it was the only solid thing I had.

  "Anita," he said, his voice, strained, "are you alright?"

  I tried to say yes, but finally was reduced to nodding. He pried my fingers from his arms, gently, folding my hands across the sheet and my stomach. I felt the bed move as he moved. I realized my eyes were shut. I didn't remember shutting them.

  "What the hell was that?" he asked.

  I started to say, I didn't know, but I did know. I
remembered Asher sitting at a long banquet table with his hair in golden ringlets, dressed in gold and crimson. The wife of our host crushed her wine glass in her gloved hand, her mouth half-parted, her breath making the white mounds of her breasts rise and fall. A small sound escaped her, and when she could speak, she asked for her maid and to be helped to her room, for she was ill. She wasn't ill. Asher had seduced her the night before, on Belle's orders. He had complained to Jean-Claude that the woman simply lay there, eyes rolled back in her head, true, but with almost no other reaction. It had been most disappointing.

  She'd experienced a flashback of the orgasm the night before at the dinner table, but she was a quiet sex partner, which meant that her flashbacks could be explained away in public. Sort of.

  I lay there staring up at Jason, seeing him now instead of candlelit rooms long deserted and people long gone to dust. I found my voice, and it was more hoarse than before, as if the screaming had taken the rest of my voice.

  "It was a flashback." I coughed.

  "To what?" he asked.

  "Water, please?"

  He hopped off the bed and knelt by a small refrigerator next to the bed. He got out a small bottle of some athletic juicer. "It helps replace the electrolytes better than water."

  "I don't like this shit."

  "Trust me, you'll feel better if you drink it than if you drink water. Water can make you nauseous."

  Suddenly the neon blue drink looked a whole lot better. He opened it and handed it to me. Blood had filled the scratches on his forearms and was slowly seeping down his skin in red rivulets.

  "Jesus, Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cut you up." I took a sip of the neon bright liquid. The taste was as bad as I remembered, but a few small sips, and I did feel a little better. When I talked, my voice didn't sound like I'd been in the desert for a month.

  He held his arms up. "It's okay, though normally when I get this cut up it's because I did a wonderful job entertaining a friend." He smiled.