Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10

by Laurell Hamilton

  The power burst over us all in a wave of skin-rushing, nerve-caressing contentment, as if we’d all walked into a strange room and suddenly realized that everything in it was familiar, every corner of the room was a key to our hearts, and the word that washed over me, was home.

  Micah drew back first, shaking. I was crying, and didn’t remember when it had started. I heard other people crying in the dark, and I looked beyond us and found that it wasn’t just our people. Some of the wererats were crying, faces turned towards us with something like awe—or fear—in their eyes.

  Something made me look past all of them to the wood’s edge. Richard stood shirtless, dressed in nothing but jeans and whatever shoes he was wearing. The sight of him there painted with starlight and shadows made me catch my breath, not because he was beautiful, or because I wanted him—that always went without saying with Richard—but because he was suddenly, for the first time, wild. It wasn’t his anger that made the difference. I saw him at the edge of the woods, the way you’d come unexpectedly upon a wild animal, like glimpsing deer in the twilight, or that flash as something large and furred raced in front of your headlights, and you knew it wasn’t a dog and it was too big to be a fox. Richard stood there, and when our eyes met, it sent a jolt through me from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and into the ground beyond. Whatever else Richard had been doing to screw up his pack’s structure, one thing he’d done right, he’d embraced his beast. You could see it on him like a coat that he’d finally grown into, something that fit him, tailor-made.

  Marcus, the old Ulfric, had always insisted on dressing up, so at a glance you’d know he was king. Richard stood there with no clothes to distinguish him, yet you knew he was king. Power makes you a monarch, and all the fancy robes in the world won’t do the job without it.

  We stared at each other across the clearing. Underneath that new veneer of comfortable power, the look on his face made my chest so tight it hurt. If I could have thought of anything to say that would have made things less painful, I’d have said it, but I couldn’t think of any words that would help.

  Jamil and Shang-Da came up on either side of him, and there was a look of anger on Shang-Da’s face. Anger at me, I think. Jamil looked at Richard, as if he wished there was some way for him to guard Richard from this, as well as from bullets and claws. But with some things, even a really good bodyguard can’t take the hit for you. This was one of those things.

  Richard’s voice came deep, loud, clear, untouched by the look on his face. “Welcome rat king of the Dark Crown Clan. Welcome Nimir-Ra and Nimir-Raj of the Blooddrinkers Clan. Welcome to the lands of the Thronnos Rokke Clan. The leopards have shown us this night what it truly means to be a clan, be they pard, lukoi, or rodere. They show us what we all strive for—a true melding of all our parts into a whole.” Bitterness crept in at the last, but on the whole, it was a lovely speech, and more heartfelt than pleasant.

  “Now join us at our lupanar, and we will see if you can win back your lost cat.” There was anger in his voice, and I wondered if Gregory was about to pay the price for Richard’s anger with me.

  Richard turned and melted into the trees with Shang-Da at his side. Jamil spared a glance back at me, then followed.

  Micah leaned close and whispered, “I owe you several apologies. I’m sorry your Ulfric had to see us this way.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “I said your cats were a mess, and I was wrong. You have made a home for your cats, and mine have nowhere to hide.”

  “What is wrong with all of you?” It wasn’t perhaps the most diplomatic question, but it covered things.

  “That is a very long story.”

  Merle leaned over us. He spoke so low that I almost couldn’t hear him. “Be very careful for all our sakes.”

  They had some very serious eye contact. I said, “What is going on?”

  Micah raised my hand and laid a brief kiss on the knuckles. “Let’s save your Gregory. That has to be priority tonight, right?”

  He smiled and tried to charm his way out of the stare I was giving him. I stared at him until the smile faded from his face and he dropped my hand. “Yeah, saving Gregory is priority for tonight, but I want to know what’s going on.”

  “One problem at a time,” Micah said.

  I was getting the very distinct feeling that if they all could have lied to me forever, they would have. It wasn’t lying, as much as hiding things from me. Things that had to do with blood and pain, and no matter how powerful they all were, Micah’s pard wasn’t a family, wasn’t whole. Strangely, as messed up as me and my leopards were, we were a family. More so than Richard and his wolves, even. Richard was so busy fighting his moral battles and his power structure problems that there wasn’t time for mending other things.

  “Give me the Reader’s Digest condensed version, Micah” I said.

  “Gregory is waiting for you to rescue him.”

  “So give me a couple of sentences, but make it the truth, Micah.”

  “Micah,” Merle said softly, but with force to his voice. It was a warning.

  I looked at the big man. “What are you guys hiding, Merle?”

  Micah touched my arm, brought my attention back to his face. “I told you that once we were taken over by a very bad man, who still wants us. I’m searching for someplace strong enough to keep us safe.”

  “Are you saying this guy will come looking for you here in St. Louis?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Most alphas can take a hint,” I said.

  Micah shook his head. “This one won’t. He will never give us up.” He gripped my arm. “If you take us on, you’ll have to deal with him eventually.”

  “Is he bulletproof?” I asked.

  The question seemed to confuse him, because he frowned. “No, I mean, no, I guess not.”

  I shrugged. “Not a problem then.”

  He looked at me. “What do you mean? That you’ll just kill him?”

  It was my turn to look at him. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  He almost smiled, stopped, then frowned again. “Just kill him, just like that.” It was almost as if he were thinking it over, as if it had never occurred to him.

  Merle said, “He’s a hard man to kill.”

  “Unless he’s faster than a silver bullet, Merle, nobody’s that hard to kill.”

  Rafael came slowly through the leopards, Claudia and Igor trailing him. “We’ve all been thinking of your leopards as lesser than us. What I just saw makes me envious.”

  “I know how the wolves work,” I said. “And I know that they don’t have a sense of home. First Raina and Marcus made them afraid of each other, now Richard’s morals have him struggling to be safe. But you and yours seem pretty secure. How different is what I’ve done with my leopards from what everyone else is doing?”

  “I’ve benefited from your loyalty, your sheer stubbornness. What I didn’t realize until tonight is that you didn’t save me just because I was your friend, or just because it was the right thing to do. You didn’t risk yourself and your people to save me from torture because of the kind of moral rightness that Richard is fond of. You saved me because you could not bear the thought of leaving me behind.” He touched my face, very gently. “Not from a sense of right and wrong, but because you are just that tenderhearted.”

  I looked at him. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that.”

  He chucked me under the chin like you would a child. “Don’t make light of one of your better qualities. You love your people like a mother is supposed to love her children. You want what’s best for them, even if that makes you uncomfortable, even if you don’t like their choices.”

  I had to look away from the wonderment on his face, like he was looking at somebody else that couldn’t be me. “You have never been their leopard queen in body, but you shamed us all tonight. It’s not seeing your closeness to Micah that will torment Richard, though that will burn. It’s that you gave us
a glimpse of what we are all striving for, for our clans. Richard believes his moral rightness will get him where your leopards already are.”

  I looked up at him. “My pard is not a democracy, and I have a hell of a lot more than just presidential veto when it comes to decisions.”

  “Richard knows that, better probably than anyone, and that will gall him, Anita. It will make him doubt himself.”

  I shook my head. “Richard always doubts himself when it comes to the lukoi. He’ll never have surety about them until he has surety about who and what he is.”

  “First I have to accept the fact that you’re kindhearted, now I have to accept the fact that you’re insightful as well. I knew you were powerful, ruthless, and pretty, but that you have a mind and a heart besides is going to take some getting used to.”

  “Does everyone pretty much think I’m just a sociopath who happens to have magical abilities?”

  “It’s all you let people see,” he said, “until now.” He gazed out towards the circle of faces still turned to us. I saw a kind of hunger in their faces, and I knew that they had felt what I’d felt, a sense of true belonging, of being home within the circle—not of bricks or mortar—but of flesh, of hands to grasp, arms to hold, smiles to share. So simple, so rare.

  All these months I’d been worried I’d fail the wereleopards. I thought failure meant them dying, or getting hurt. What I realized suddenly was that the true failure would have been if I hadn’t given a damn. You can bandage a wound, set a broken bone, but not caring . . . you can’t cure that, and you can’t recover from it.

  23

  THE LUPANAR WAS a large clearing 100 yards by 150 yards. The clearing appeared to be flat, but actually it sat in a large smooth valley between hills. You couldn’t notice it at night, but I knew that just beyond the trees that ringed the far side of the lupanar were steep hills. It had taken me more than one visit to find what lay beyond the trees.

  Now all vision stopped at the far edge of the clearing. Torches that rose man-high were stuck into the ground on either side of the stone throne. The throne was a huge chair carved of rock, so old that there were places on the arms where countless generations of Ulfrics had touched it and worn away the stone. Probably the back and seat of the chair were worn as well, but they were covered by a spill of purple silk, suitably royal. There was something very primitive about the huge stone chair and its spill of cloth caught between the wavering golden light of the torches. It looked like a throne for some ancient barbaric king, someone who should wear animal skins and a crown of iron.

  Werewolves, most—but not all—in human form, stood or crouched in a huge circle. There was one opening in the circle, which we walked through. The werewolves flowed behind us, like a door of flesh closing. The wererats spread around behind us and to either side, but we all knew if it came to a fight, we were outmatched, and outflanked.

  Rafael and two very large wererats stood to one side of me. Donovan Reece, the swan king, was on the other side. Rafael had kindly given him a quartet of bodyguards. Micah stood just a little behind me, and my newly acquired bodyguards were just behind him. Our leopards had spilled out in a rough knot behind us, like a line of defense, before the main show of wererats.

  Someone had hung cloth in the trees to one side of the throne. Black cloth, like a curtain, and it took a movement of the wind to draw my attention to it. It was held aside, and Sylvie came through, followed by a tall man I didn’t know. Her face was less refined with no makeup, less soft. Her short hair curled neatly, but carelessly. She was dressed in the first pair of jeans I’d ever seen her in, with a pale blue tanktop and white jogging shoes.

  The tall man was thin the way basketball players are thin—all arms and legs and lanky muscle. Most of that lanky muscle showed because all he wore was a pair of cutoff jean shorts. But he, like Richard, didn’t need finery. He moved in a circle of his own grace and power, like a tiger stalking into view. Except there were no bars to hide behind, and I’d had to leave my gun at home.

  He had short, dark hair that curled a little thicker than Sylvie’s. His face was one of those that you couldn’t decide was attractive or plain. It was made up of strong bones, long lines, thin lips on a wide mouth. I’d just about decided he was plain when he looked at me, and the moment I saw those dark eyes I knew I was wrong. Intelligence burned in there, intelligence and some dark emotion. He let anger flow over his face, and I realized the very force of his personality made him so striking that he was handsome, though it was the kind of handsome that would never come across in a still photo, because it needed movement, his vibrating energy to make it work.

  I knew without being told that this was Jacob, and I knew something else. We were in trouble.

  Richard came next, and he moved in his own vibrating spill of power. He glided as gracefully, filled with as much anger as Jacob, but he still lacked something, some edge that the other man had. An edge of darkness, maybe. All I knew for sure was that Jacob was ruthless. I could almost smell it on him. And Richard, for better, or worse, still was not.

  I sighed. I’d thought if he could just once embrace his beast he’d be alright. He sat on the throne with the firelight playing in the loose waves of his hair, turning it to spun copper and burnished gold, the fire shadows playing on the muscles of his chest, shoulders, arms. He looked the part of the barbarian king, but there was still something in him, something . . . soft. And if I could taste it, then so could Jacob.

  I had one of those moments of clarity that comes sometimes. There was nothing that any of us could do to Richard to make him truly harsh. He might act in anger, like he’d taken Gregory, but no matter what the world did to him, there would still be something in him that flinched. His only hope for survival was to surround himself with loyal people who wouldn’t flinch.

  Jamil and Shang-Da stood together to one side of the throne, not too close, but not too far either. Shang-Da was back in his usual monochrome black business dress: black slacks, black shirt, black suit jacket, and the polished black shoes. He always looked very GQ, even in the woods.

  Jamil could dress up with the best of them, but he tried to be appropriate to the situation. He had on jeans that looked freshly pressed and a red muscle tank top that looked splendid against the darkness of his skin. He’d changed the beads in his waist-length cornrowed hair to red and black. The beads gleamed softly in the torchlight, as if they might be made of semiprecious stones.

  Jamil caught my glance. He didn’t exactly nod, but he acknowledged me with his eyes. Shang-Da avoided my gaze, searching the crowd, but never quite looking at me. I think if Richard would have allowed it the two of them would have done whatever was necessary to secure his throne. But they were ham-strung by Richard, and the best they could do was work within his honorable trap.

  Sylvie and I stared at each other for a few heartbeats. I’d seen her collection of bones of her enemies. She got them out periodically and handled them. She said it was comforting to run her hands over them. I personally liked a good stuffed toy and some really fine coffee, but, hey, whatever makes you feel better. Sylvie would do whatever needed doing, if Richard would only let her.

  And if I’d still been lupa, hell, we had enough ruthless people to get the job done, if Richard would just get out of our way. We were so close, and at the same time we weren’t even in the ballpark. It was more than frustrating. It was like watching a train race towards Richard, and we were all yelling, “Get off the tracks, get off the tracks!” Hell, we were trying to drag him off the tracks, and he was fighting us.

  If Jacob was the train, then I could kill him and Richard would be safe. But Rafael was right. If it wasn’t Jacob, it’d be someone else. Jacob wasn’t the train hurtling to destroy Richard. Richard was.

  His voice filled the clearing. “We gather here tonight to say good-bye to our lupa and to choose another.”

  There was a rash of howls and applause from about half of the pack. But dozens of the werewolves stood silent, watching
. It didn’t mean they were on my side. Maybe they were neutral, but it was good to notice who wasn’t a rousing supporter of my being kicked out of the pack.

  “We are here to stand in final judgment for one who has wronged our pack by taking our lupa from us.”

  There was less applause, fewer howls. It looked like the vote to condemn Gregory had been a close one. That made me feel better, not much, but a little. Though if Gregory died, I guess it really didn’t matter.

  “We are also here to give the leopards’ Nimir-Ra a last chance to win back her cat.”

  The howls and applause stayed at about fifty–fifty, but the general atmosphere was definitely cooler. The pack wasn’t lost, and it certainly wasn’t wholeheartedly on Jacob’s side. I said a little prayer for guidance, because this was more a political problem, and that wasn’t one of my best things.

  “It is business between the lukoi and the pard. Why are the rodere here, Rafael?” Richard asked. He talked like he didn’t know us, very political, very distant.

  “The Nimir-Ra saved my life once. The rodere owe her a great debt.”

  “Does this mean that your treaty with us is null and void?”

  “I formed a treaty with you, Richard, and I will hold to that, because I know you are a man that honors his obligations and remembers his duty to his allies, but I owe Anita a personal debt, and I am honor-bound to uphold that as well.”

  “If it comes to fighting, who will you fight with, us or the leopards?”