Jean-Claude nodded, passing a hand over his face, as if he were still dizzy. I felt nothing, as if my necromancy protected me from whatever Belle had done to him. “The Council themselves tried to prove her at fault and failed,” Jean-Claude said.
“Did they hire a witch to look into the magic angle?” I asked. I stood on my own, just fine. Nathaniel and Jason got to their feet, again with no ill-effects, except for Jason’s stupid grin, which he often wore after a power rush.
The vampires looked at me. “Non,” Asher said, “no one thought of it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because, ma petite, she should not be able to do what she did to a Master of the City, even one of her own bloodline. That she could do this to a Master of the City that was not her bloodline would be unthinkable.”
“Impossible,” Asher added.
“I think it’s like real possible,” I said. “I caught her in the act.”
“Who’s Belle?” Micah asked in his growling leopard voice.
I turned to him, slowly, and something must have shown on my face, because Merle moved in front of him, and suddenly the two wererats were alert, starting to move up beside me. I don’t know what I was about to say, probably something really angry, because Micah beat me to it.
“He pierced my jugular vein, Anita. I’m allowed to defend myself when someone tries to eat my throat out.”
“Remember I’m his human servant. He dies, so might I.”
He stalked around Merle, gliding on bent legs and kitty-cat feet. “So I’m just supposed to let him kill me?”
“No,” I said, “no, but your wound wasn’t life-threatening. You proved that already. There’s not a scratch on you now.”
“I healed it, yes, but not every shapeshifter could have healed it. A vampire wound is a lot like silver, it can kill, and most of us heal from those wounds like we were human.” He was standing very close to me, those green-gold eyes sparkling with anger. “He meant to kill me, Anita, don’t think he didn’t.”
“He is right, ma petite, if he had not held me off more, I would have torn his throat out.”
I turned back to Jean-Claude. “What are you saying?”
“I saw him on top of you, and I was drowning in jealousy. I meant him harm, ma petite. He defended himself.”
“He didn’t have to do that last blow. The fight had stopped.”
Jean-Claude looked past me at Micah, and there was something on his face—respect, I think. “If he had done to me what I did to him, then I would have had no choice but to make my point,” he seemed to consider several words and settled for, “strongly.”
“Strongly? He damn near slit your throat.”
“After I had tried to do the same to him.”
I was shaking my head. “No, no, I don’t . . .”
“What, ma petite, are you truly saying that if someone had torn your throat out, tried for your life that you wouldn’t have shot them?”
I opened my mouth to argue, closed it, tried again, and stopped. I looked at him, then back at Micah, then back to Jean-Claude. “Well, damn.”
“The Nimir-Raj has made his point, ma petite. He is willing to be accommodating up to a point—beyond that point there is no compromise.”
Micah nodded, and the movement looked awkward in his furred body. “Yes.”
“You have the same rule, ma petite, as do I. The three of us merely have different places where the line is drawn. But the line is there for all of us.”
“How can you both be so reasonable about this? You both nearly just killed each other?”
They looked at each other, around me, again, and there was something in that look. It was something masculine and arcane, as if the fact that I was a girl meant I wouldn’t get it, and they couldn’t explain it to me. Which did explain it to me.
“Oh, great, great, you guys nearly kill each other, and that makes you buddies.”
Jean-Claude gave that wonderful Gallic shrug, his face still covered in Micah’s blood. “Let us say we have an understanding.”
Micah agreed.
“Jesus, only men could get a friendship out of something like this.”
“You are friends with Monsieur Edward. Did you not both begin by trying to kill each other?” Jean-Claude asked.
“That’s different,” I said.
“How?”
I tried to argue, but stopped because I would have looked silly. “Fine, fine, so what, the two of you kiss and make up?”
They looked at each other, and again there was weight to the gaze, but it was a different weight. “Shit,” I said.
“I think we begin by apologizing,” Jean-Claude said. “I am truly sorry for my lack of control.”
“Me, too,” Micah said, then added, “and I’m sorry that I had to try and kill you.” It was interesting phrasing, not I’m sorry I nearly killed you, but sorry I had to try and kill you. I was seeing Micah’s ruthless streak. It wasn’t really any bigger than my own, but it bothered me anyway. Wasn’t sure why, but it did.
I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to move on, we had other business. “Are you well enough to help get Damian out of his coffin?”
“I have used up all my reserves, ma petite. I will need to feed again.” He raised a hand. “But not the ardeur, merely blood.”
Merely, he says.
“I offered to let you feed on me earlier. The offer still stands,” Micah said.
“No, Micah,” Merle said.
Micah touched the taller man’s arm. “It’s alright.”
“Are you not afraid I will try and tear your throat out again? I would listen to your bodyguard.”
“You said we had an understanding.”
“That is true.”
They were watching each other, and I could almost feel the testosterone rise.
Micah smiled, or tried to. In the half-leopard form it was a snarl of white fangs in black fur. “Besides, the next time you bite me like that, it better be foreplay, or I will kill you.”
“If it pleases you, my pleasure,” Jean-Claude said. He laughed then, that touchable sound that caressed my skin, made me shiver. Micah reacted to it, eyes wide. He’d never heard Jean-Claude’s laugh before. If he thought the laugh was something special, well, the best truly was yet to come.
“I thank you for your most generous offer,” Jean-Claude said, “but I prefer my food without fur.”
“No problem,” Micah said. Micah released Merle’s arm, and did that magically quick change. His tanned skin seemed to absorb the fur like rocks sinking into water. He stood naked and perfect, no mark of the fight on that smooth skin. Neither his clothing nor the tie in his hair had survived the change. But strangely the hair fell straight around his face, as if it were affected by the fact that he’d pulled it back tight while it was still wet. The hair was still thick, but it framed his face better, was less overwhelming, so that you could still see the delicate bone structure, those wondrous eyes.
I heard someone catch their breath, and it wasn’t me. I don’t think it was Jean-Claude, but I wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter, didn’t want to know.
“You are not even dizzy, are you?” Jean-Claude asked.
Micah shook his head.
Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows, lowered his eyes, fought to control his face, until he could give a perfect blank expression, but it took him a few seconds. “I will clean this,” he made a vague motion at his gore-soaked clothes, “before taking such a bounty, if that is alright?”
Micah gave a small nod.
“You are not taking a bath,” I said.
“I will be quick, ma petite.”
“You have never taken a quick bath in your entire life.”
Asher laughed, then tried to smother it, but was only partially successful. He spread his hands. “Mon cheri, she is right.”
“Would I touch that for the first time covered in this?”
Asher’s face sobered instantly, like someone had thrown a switch. He turned th
at serious, blank face to stare at Micah, who stared back. If he was uncomfortable under the scrutiny, it didn’t show.
Asher sighed. “I suppose not.”
“And what are we supposed to do for the hour that it takes you to soak in the tub?” I asked.
“I will be quick, ma petite, my word on it.”
I crossed my arms over my stomach. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Ma petite, I have given my word.”
“On important stuff, your word is great, but when it comes to primping, you have no sense of time.”
“I thought that was the man’s line,” Bobby Lee said.
I glanced at him then back to the vampire. “Couldn’t prove it by me.”
Bobby Lee laughed, but no one else did.
52
I SAT ON the white couch with its brand-new bullet hole. Micah sat down beside me, and since he was naked, that was . . . interesting. Uncomfortable, and sort of titillating all at the same time. He kept insisting on trying to talk to me, and I found it hard to keep eye contact, and that was embarrassing.
Bobby Lee and Cris stayed near me, hovering behind and to one side, because I made them move from right behind me. I just don’t like armed people at my back, not unless I know them really well. The wererats were there to protect me. I believed they’d do the job, because Rafael told them to, but I still didn’t want them standing armed at my back. Merle lounged near the fireplace, keeping an eye on Micah and the other bodyguards. Gil was actually hiding in the corner, or nearly—not a stable guy—the others milled around the room. Except for Asher.
He sat in the chair opposite the couch and watched us. He had shaken that glorious hair over his face so that only the perfect side was visible, and only one pale blue eye looked at us. His face showed nothing, but I could still feel the weight of his gaze, like a hand pushing. His face may have shown nothing, but he was giving us way too much attention.
I might have asked why, but Jean-Claude walked back through the gap in the drapes. I had to check my watch. Only twenty minutes had passed. I’d dated him off and on for nearly three years; a twenty-minute cleanup was nothing short of miraculous. Of course, his black hair was still wet and heavy; he hadn’t taken time to blow-dry it. He was wearing one of my favorite robes, the black one with the black furred edging. The fur outlined a wonderful expanse of pale perfect chest. The robe was open enough that the cross-shaped burn scar showed, and as he glided into the room you caught glimpses of his upper stomach through the fur. The robe was very loosely tied, not at all the way he usually wore it.
He had that smile on his face that said he knew he looked wonderful, and he knew just what effect he had on me, then his gaze slid to Micah. I was close enough to see Micah’s pulse speed up, jumping under the skin of his neck. He tried to meet Jean-Claude’s eyes, but finally had to look down, and he blushed.
His reaction made my pulse speed up. I looked back at Jean-Claude gliding towards us, catching a glimpse of his pale feet under the black robe, against the white carpet. The look on his face was all for Micah. It made me go up on one knee, my butt against the arm of the couch. I felt oddly possessive, almost jealous, as if I should be defending Micah’s honor. I’d never felt like this with Richard and Jean-Claude, but then, Jean-Claude had never looked at Richard in quite that way. Because Richard would have hurt him.
Micah had nearly killed Jean-Claude over an insult that Richard would not have fought back over, yet here he sat blushing, uncomfortable, but not angry.
Jean-Claude was standing in front of us, so close that the furred hem of the robe brushed Micah’s bare leg. “Have you changed your mind, mon minet?”
Micah shook his head, then raised his face up to look at the vampire. There was both vulnerability and warning in that look. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Bon.” Jean-Claude went to his knees in front of him. “You are powerful in your own right, and you are not my animal to call. I may not be able to cloud your mind and make this tasting a pleasure. You may be able to keep me out of your mind.”
Micah nodded, thick hair falling around his face. “I understand.”
“Do you have a preference on where the blood is taken from?”
“The neck hurts less,” Micah said.
Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done this before?”
Micah gave a smile that managed not to be happy. “I’ve done a lot of things before.”
Jean-Claude raised both eyebrows at that and looked at me. I shrugged.
“Very well, mon minet.” He stood in one graceful movement, swinging the robe around him like a dress, giving the slightest glimpse of bare legs as he stalked behind the couch. He stopped just behind Micah, putting a hand on either of his shoulders. He didn’t caress, or squeeze, just rested his hands on that smooth, warm flesh for a moment.
“Get on with it,” Merle said.
Micah turned his head to look at the other wereleopard. “Merle.” One word, but it made the big man lean back harder on the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest, face sullen, a very unhappy bodyguard. But he did what he was told.
Jean-Claude slid one arm around the front of Micah’s shoulders, across his very upper chest. He used his free hand to smooth Micah’s hair back, exposing the side of his face and the long clean line of his throat. Micah moved his head a little to the side, giving Jean-Claude a better angle. The small movement was like a woman coming to her tiptoes for a kiss, a helpful movement.
“Maybe we could have a little privacy,” I said, and it made both men look at me.
“As you like, ma petite.” Everyone left except Merle, Bobby Lee, and Asher. They were the minimum that might be needed to keep us from killing each other. After what had just happened, I really couldn’t work up a good argument for leaving us completely alone. When everyone had settled down, Jean-Claude turned back to Micah.
Jean-Claude’s fingers stroked Micah’s hair so that it fell behind his ear, exposing the entire side of his face, the shape of his ear. He pressed the back of Micah’s head gently against his chest, drawing the exposed neck in an even longer line. Micah was utterly passive, eyes closed, face peaceful; only the pulse in his neck beating like a trapped thing gave lie to all that calmness.
Jean-Claude bent over him, mouth open, lips going back, but even this close I got only the barest glimpse of teeth. He bit down, sharp, sudden. Micah gasped, breath catching in his throat. Jean-Claude’s grip tightened at Micah’s head, his shoulders, pressing him in against his body. I could see the muscles in Jean-Claude’s jaws working, his throat swallowing convulsively. One of them was making small noises low in his throat, and I wasn’t sure who it was.
Jean-Claude reared back, bringing Micah with him, drawing him half over the couch. Micah cried out, his hands going to Jean-Claude’s arm, holding on, as the vampire rocked his body backwards. Jean-Claude moved his hand from Micah’s face to his waist, as if he knew the other man wouldn’t move away now. He held Micah, arms across his chest and waist, Micah’s hands on Jean-Claude’s arm. He stretched Micah’s body backwards as he’d lengthened the man’s neck earlier, so that Micah’s body showed in a long, clean line, back curved against Jean-Claude’s body, so that both of them were bowed backwards.
I was left kneeling on the couch, staring up the line of Micah’s nude body, seeing without doubt that what was happening was making his body happy. His face was slack with need, pleasure. His hands convulsed over Jean-Claude’s arm, and he half-screamed, half-shouted, “God!”
Jean-Claude’s body began to straighten up, slowly. He eased Micah back over the couch. He raised his mouth from Micah’s neck; his eyes were drowning blue, sightless, inhuman. His lips were full, red, but not with spilled blood, red like someone who’s been kissing too much. He released Micah slowly, letting his body slide against the back of the couch, until the wereleopard half-collapsed on his side. His head spilled into my lap, and I jumped. Micah raised his head, slowly, heavy. He propped himself up on one ar
m and turned unfocused eyes to me. His pupils were enormous, drowning black in the circle of his green-yellow eyes. I watched his pupils spiral downward to small dots so that the color almost overwhelmed them, like a vampire’s eyes. I could feel him staring at me, the weight of his gaze like something pushing against me. He leaned in towards me, slowly, lips half-parted.
I stayed where I was, frozen, unsure what to do. It wasn’t that he was any less lovely than he had been. It was just . . . oh, hell, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do.
“Didn’t you need to get Damian out of his coffin?” Asher’s voice came dry, making me draw back from Micah.
Jean-Claude snarled at him, looking more inhuman than the entire time he was feeding.
Asher stood in one smooth motion, like a puppet pulled up by strings. “Fine, but if you are going to have sex, then I don’t have to watch.”
I stood, Micah’s hands sliding down my body as I moved away from the couch. I faced Asher. “Look, I am so far over my comfort zone right now that I can’t think, but I’ll tell you one thing. I am not going to salve your male ego while the little voice in my brain is still screaming, run away, run away. So, put the attitude on ice, Asher, I can’t deal with it right now.”
He was suddenly vibrating with anger, his eyes like icy blue pools. “So sorry that my discomfort annoys you.”
“Fuck you, Asher.”
He was suddenly moving forward in a blur of speed. I backed up so fast that I fell against the couch. Micah caught me, or I’d have fallen to the floor. I had time to draw a gun, or a knife, but I didn’t even try. Asher wasn’t trying to hurt my body, just my feelings. He bent at the waist, looming over me and Micah, though I think that part was accidental. He put a hand on either side of us and leaned into my face, so close that I had to pull back to focus on those chilling blue eyes. “Don’t offer things you’re not willing to do, ma cherie, because that is annoying.”
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