Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10

by Laurell Hamilton

  Thomas touched my face, and I realized that I hadn’t been seeing his face. I was seeing Gideon’s strange eyes from inches away as my hands tried to crush his throat. But they weren’t my hands.

  “Help me,” I said.

  “Just open to his beast,” Thomas said. “Simply open and it will fill you. The beast is seeking a channel of escape. Give it one and it will flow into you.” I knew in that instant that Thomas and Gideon were part of a triumvirate just like we were.

  “I’m not a lycanthrope,” I said.

  “It does not matter. Do it, or we will have to kill him.”

  I screamed and did what he said. But it wasn’t just opening to it. I reached out to that rage. That power that he called his beast came at my touch. I smelled like home to it, somehow, and it poured into me, over me, through me, like a blinding storm of heat and power. It was similar to the times I’d raised power with Richard and Jean-Claude, but this time there was no spell to use the power on. Nowhere for the beast to run. It tried to crawl out my skin, tried to expand inside my body, but there was no beast to call. I was empty for it, and it raged inside me. I felt it growing until I thought I would burst apart in bloody fragments. The pressure built and built and had nowhere to go.

  I screamed, one long, ragged shriek after another, as fast as I could get breath. I felt Richard crawling towards me, felt his hands and legs move over the ground, felt the muscles in his body that turned crawling into a sensuous art, a stalking thing. He appeared above me, just his face, staring down. His long hair fell around his face like a shadowing curtain. Blood glistened at the corner of his mouth. I felt him want to lick the blood away but stop himself, and bound this closely, I knew why he stopped. For me. Fear that I would think he was monstrous.

  His power was still trying to find a way out of my body. It wanted the blood, too. It wanted to lick the blood off his face and taste at his mouth. Wanted to wrap the warmth of his body around itself and become one. His power cried out like a frustrated lover for him to open his arms, his body, his mind, to it, and embrace it. Richard gave it a name apart from himself, his beast, but it wasn’t separate. In that moment I realized why Richard ran so hard and so long from the power. It was him. Just as the furred shape of him was pulled from the matter of his own human body, so the rage, the destruction, was pulled from his very human psyche. His beast was formed of that part of our brains we bury, only dragging into our consciousness in the worst of our nightmares. Not the dreams where we are hunted by the monsters, but the dreams where we are the monsters. We raise bloody hands to the sky and scream, not from fear, but from joy. The pure joy of slaughter. The cathartic moment when we plunge our hands into the hot blood of our enemies and there is no civilized thought to stop us from dancing on their graves.

  The power flared inside me like a hand stroking from the inside out, reaching out towards him as he knelt over me. Fear filled his eyes, and it wasn’t fear for me or of me. It was the fear that the beast was the reality and that all the careful morals, everything he was or ever had been, was the lie.

  I stared up at him. “Richard,” I whispered, “we’re all creatures of light and darkness. Embracing your darkness won’t kill the light. Goodness is stronger than that.”

  He dropped from his knees, flat to the ground, only propping himself on his elbows. His hair brushed my face on either side, and I had to fight the urge to rub my face back and forth in it. This close I could smell his skin, aftershave, but underneath that was him. The warm scent that was his body. I wanted to touch that warmth, to wrap my mouth around it and try and hold it forever. I wanted him. The power flared at the thought, primitive thoughts excited it, made it harder to control.

  He whispered, blood still trickling from his mouth, “How can you say goodness is stronger? I want to lick the blood off my own body. I want to press my bleeding mouth onto yours. I want you to feed off my wound. That is evil.”

  I touched his face, the barest trace of fingertips, and even that made power jump between us. “It’s not evil, Richard. It just isn’t very civilized.” Blood was building into a single trembling drop on the edge of his face. It fell against my skin and it was burning hot. His power flared upward and took me with it. It wanted to—I wanted to—lick the blood off Richard’s face. Part of me was still saying no while I raised my head just enough to run lips, my tongue, and lightly my teeth along his face. I lay back down with the salty taste of him in my mouth and wanted more. The more scared me. I was just as scared of this part of him, of me, as he was. That was why I ran from him the night of the full moon. It wasn’t that he ate Marcus, though that hadn’t helped, or that he’d handled it all so badly. The memory that haunted was the moment I’d been carried away by the pack’s power, and for just an instant I’d wanted to drop to my knees and feed with them. I was afraid that Richard’s beast would take what was left of my humanity. I was afraid for the same reason Richard was afraid. But what I’d said was true. It wasn’t evil, just not very human.

  He laid his lips against mine in a trembling kiss. A sound came from low in his throat, and he was suddenly pressing his mouth against mine, until it either bruised or I opened my mouth to him. I opened, and his tongue plunged inside me, his lips feeding on mine. The cut inside his mouth filled my mouth with the taste of him, salty, sweet. I held his face in my hands, my mouth searching his, and it wasn’t enough. A small high keening sound crawled out of my mouth into his. The sound was made up of need, frustration, a desire that wasn’t civilized and never had been. We’d been playing Ozzie and Harriet, but what we wanted from each other was more Hustler and Penthouse.

  We moved to our knees, mouths still pressed together. My hands slid over his chest, his back, and something deep inside me clicked and relaxed. How could I ever be this close to him and not touch him?

  His power tried to spill outward, but I held it back. I held it like I could hold my own magic, letting it build until I couldn’t hold any longer.

  Richard’s hands slid up my legs finding the lace top of the black panties. His fingers traced my naked spine and I was undone.

  The power spilled upward, outward, filling us both. It flared over us in a rushing wave of heat and light, until my vision swam in pieces, and we both cried out with one voice. His beast slid inside of him. I felt it crawl out of me, pulled like a large, thick string, spilling inside of Richard, coiling into his body. I expected to feel the last bit of it spill between us, like draining the last drop of wine from a cup, but that drop remained.

  Somewhere in that rush of power, I’d felt Richard take control of his beast and send that pulsing warmth outward into Jamil. I wouldn’t have known how to do it, but Richard did. I’d felt Jamil heal under the thundering rush of power.

  Richard knelt with me in his arms, my face pressed to his chest. His heart beat against my cheek like a living thing. Sweat had broken over his body in a light dew. I licked the sweat from his chest and stared up at him.

  His eyes were heavy-lidded, dazed. You’d almost have mistaken the look for sleep, but not quite. He cupped his hands on both sides of my face. The wound on his mouth was healed. The rush of power, his beast, had healed it. He lowered his soft lips to mine and just barely brushed my mouth. “What are we going to do?”

  I held his hands against my face. “We’re going to do what we came to do.”

  “Then what?” he asked.

  I shook my head, rubbing my face against his hands. “Survive first, Richard. Worry about the niceties later.”

  Something filled his eyes with a sudden rush of panic. “Jamil, I could have killed him.”

  “You also healed him.”

  He let that take some of the panic from his face, but he still got to his feet and went to his fallen enforcer. An apology at the very least was needed. I couldn’t really argue with that.

  I stayed kneeling, not sure I could walk yet, for a variety of reasons.

  “Not the way Gideon and I would have done it,” Thomas said, “but in a pinch it will
do.”

  I felt heat rush up my face. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Gideon growled. “It was a lovely show.” He crawled towards us, one arm cradled against his body. Blood dripped down the arm and shoulder. The red showed brilliantly against the white shirt. I had absolutely no desire to lick the blood off his body. I was grateful for that.

  “Richard did that?” I asked.

  “He was beginning to change form when you called him. You drank his beast and he calmed.” He sat leaning to one side, bleeding a little puddle on the floor, but he never asked for help, not by word or expression. But Thomas reached out to him. Touched his shoulder in a neutral, almost brotherly gesture. Their power strengthened in a skin-prickling rush that oozed over me like a cold wind, but if I hadn’t been able to sense it, I’d have never known.

  “Is this just European reserve,” I asked, “or are Richard and I doing something terribly wrong?”

  Thomas smiled, but it was Gideon who answered. “You do nothing wrong. In fact, I feel quite cheated.” He patted Thomas’s hand and smiled flashing fangs. “There are ways to share power that are quieter, and less…showy. But for today you did what needed to be done. It was a desperate thing and called for desperate measures.”

  I let it go. No need to explain how often being around Richard ended in such “desperate measures.” Across the ring Jamil sat up with Richard’s help. Zane had untied both the wereleopards. He’d led Vivian over to Gregory. They both knelt by him, Vivian hugging Zane and crying.

  I got my feet under me and found that I could walk. Great. Richard got there before I did. He stroked Gregory’s tangled hair out of his face until the wereleopard looked up at him. “We have to set these legs.”

  Gregory nodded, lips in a thin tight line that reminded me of Cherry.

  “We need a hospital for this,” I said.

  Richard looked up at me. “The legs have already begun to reknit like this, Anita. Every minute the bones are out of alignment is another minute that they heal, badly.”

  I stared down at Gregory’s legs. He was totally nude, but the wounds were so fearful that it wasn’t embarrassing; it was just piteous. His legs from the knees down bent the wrong way. I had to close my eyes and look away. If it had been a corpse, I could have looked at it, but Gregory was still bleeding, still hurting. Made it worse somehow.

  I looked back. “You mean the legs would heal like that?”

  “Yes,” Richard said.

  I stared down into Gregory’s frightened eyes. They were still the surprised cornflower-blue of Stephen’s. They looked even bluer from the mask of blood that covered his face. I tried to think of something to say, but he spoke first.

  His voice was thin, scratchy, as if he’d screamed until he was hoarse. “When you left without me the first time, I thought you were going to let them keep me.”

  I knelt beside him. “You’re not something to keep. You’re a person. You deserve to be treated…” To say, “better than this” seemed too obvious. I tried to hold his hand the way you’d comfort a child, but two of the fingers were broken so badly, I didn’t even know how to touch him.

  Vivian spoke for the first time. “Is he dead?” Her voice was breathy, husky, somewhere between that of a little girl and a seductress. She would be great on the phone. The look in her eyes was neither childish nor seductive; it was frightening. She stared past us to where Fernando lay, and her hatred was a hot, scalding thing.

  Not that I blamed her. I went to check on our little rapist. Gideon and Thomas got to him first. I noticed that they hadn’t gone near him until I did. Why did I think that they didn’t like him much better than we did? Fernando just had a way of pissing people off. It seemed to be his only talent.

  His bare stomach was a bloody mess where Richard had tried to dig his intestines out, but the wound was healing. Filling itself in like a fast-forward motion picture. You could actually see his body rebuild itself.

  “He’ll live,” I said. Even to me, I sounded disappointed.

  “Yes,” Thomas said, and that one word sounded as disappointed as I felt. He visibly shook himself, and turned sad brown eyes to me. “If he had died, then Padma would have destroyed the city, seeking you. Make no mistake, Anita, Padma loves his son, but more than that, he is his only son. The only chance he has of having an heir.”

  “I wouldn’t think a vampire would sweat that,” I said.

  “He comes from a time and a culture where a son is an incredibly important thing. No matter how long we live or what we are in the end, we start out as people. We never quite lose all that we were during life. It haunts us over the centuries, our humanity.”

  “You’re human.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Once, perhaps.”

  I opened my mouth to ask something, but he held his hand up. “If there is time, Gideon and I would enjoy speaking with you and Richard at length on what a triumvirate can be, but now, you must leave before Fernando awakes. During daylight hours he is in charge of us.”

  My eyes widened, and I looked at Gideon. “But he’s not alpha enough to take on Gideon.”

  “Padma is a harsh master, Anita. We obey or we suffer.”

  “Which is why,” Gideon said, “you must all leave as soon as possible. What the petit bâtard would order us to do to you if he awoke now is best left unsaid.”

  He had a point. Gregory screamed, a high shrieking, that ended in whimpering. Richard had said the legs had begun to heal, bent backwards. I suddenly realized what that meant. “If the legs had healed broken, Gregory would have been crippled,” I said.

  “Yes,” Gideon said. “It was Padma’s idea of punishment.”

  Fernando groaned, eyes still shut. We had to get out of here. “I need my guns back,” I said.

  They didn’t even argue. They just gave them all back. Either they trusted me or they figured I wouldn’t shoot Fernando while he was unconscious. They were right, though he’d earned it. I’d killed people for a lot less than what the rat-boy had done, a lot less.

  Gregory had mercifully passed out. Richard held him as carefully as he could in his arms. They’d found wood from somewhere and used Richard’s shirt to tie the makeshift splints to Gregory’s legs. Vivian leaned heavily on Zane as if her legs weren’t quite working. She was also trying to cover her lower extremities. So hurt she could barely walk and she was embarrassed about her nudity. We were sort of out of clothes to offer her. The coat I’d brought was in the outer area.

  Thomas saved the day by giving her his spiffy red jacket. It was large on her and covered enough. Just making it outside the tent to the midway made my shoulders relax a notch. I picked up the coat and put a gun in each pocket. The machine gun was already across my chest.

  Thomas held the door for us. I went through last. “Thank you,” I said. We both knew I didn’t mean the door.

  “You are most welcome.” He closed the door behind us, and I heard it lock.

  I stood in the hot summer sunlight and felt my body sink into the heat. It was good to be outside in the daylight. But night was coming, and I still didn’t know what price Jean-Claude had bargained away to get Vivian and Gregory out of there. But the thought of Gregory’s lovely body deliberately crippled forever, and Vivian passed around like so much meat, made me glad we’d bargained. I wouldn’t say that whatever the price, it would be worth it, but close. Jean-Claude had said no rape, no actual intercourse, no maiming, no skinning alive. The list had seemed safer and more complete an hour ago.

  30

  WE PULLED INTO the driveway of my rented house with two wounded wereleopards, two unwounded wereleopards, two very silent werewolves, a partridge in a pear tree, and enough equipment for Richard to rig up a pair of traction splints in my bedroom. Gregory needed to be in traction splints for twenty-four hours according to Dr. Lillian. The hospital was being evacuated. If Fernando was in charge for the day, the evacuation wasn’t just a precaution, it was a necessity. The rat-boy hadn’t wanted to free Raf
ael, and he’d certainly want revenge on Richard for beating him, so both the wererats and the werewolves were in danger. The thought of what he’d do if he got his paws back on Gregory and Vivian was too scary to think about. The best we could do was keep them with us and try not to be anywhere Fernando would think to go.

  I was half-trusting Thomas and Gideon to keep the rat-boy from searching too hard. I don’t usually trust people that easily, but Gideon had called him the petite bâtard. The little bastard. They didn’t like him any better than we did. Hard to believe, but maybe true.

  Besides, where could we go where we’d be safe? We couldn’t go to a hotel. That would endanger everyone in the place. Same thing with most houses. One of the main things I’d been looking for in a rental was isolation. Frankly, I liked a little city around me, but my life had turned into a free-fire zone lately. No apartments, no condos, no neighborhoods; something with lots of ground and no neighbors to get shot up was what I’d wanted. I got it. Though the isolation was about all I’d gotten that I wanted.

  The house was too big for just me. It was a house that cried out for a family with walks in the woods and a dog running circles around the kiddies. Richard had never seen the house. I would have been more comfortable with him seeing it before we’d had our little make-out, oh, umh, makeup session. Before Jean-Claude had interfered, Richard and I had been engaged. We’d been planning the kind of future that went with this kind of house. I don’t know if Richard had woken up and smelled the blood-soaked coffee, but I had. The future that included a picket fence and 2.5 children just wasn’t in the cards for me. I didn’t think it was in the cards for him either, but I wasn’t going to burst his bubble. Not as long as his bubble didn’t include me. If it did…we had a problem.

  The house had a medium-sized rectangular flower bed that got full sun almost all day. It had been a rose garden, but the last owners had dug up the plants and tried to take them with them. It looked like the far side of the moon, complete with craters. It had looked so barren that I’d spent a weekend planting the damn thing. Rose moss for the border just because I loved the bright little flowers. Zinnias behind that because the flower colors echoed each other. It was a riot of color, nothing subtle. Butterflies and hummingbirds were attracted to the zinnias. I’d planted cosmos behind the zinnias, towering, feathery and tangled at the same time, with lovely pale open flowers that the butterflies loved and the hummingbirds weren’t so fond of. The colors of the cosmos were a little too pastel compared with the other colors, but hey, it still worked. In the fall the cosmos would have seed heads for the goldfinches.