Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10

by Laurell Hamilton

  Abuta screamed, hand reaching back towards where Chimera was cutting up my people. He said something in a language I didn’t understand. As his body collapsed, I kept twisting the blade trying to find his damn heart, but the blade was stuck on his ribs and wider than my usual knives. It wouldn’t move where I wanted it to go. I got a glimpse of a golden-colored blur moments before Chimera smashed a hand into me and sent me flying back into the hanging men. I hit solid, and they cried out, then I was on the ground trying to relearn how to breathe. His arm had taken me across one shoulder, and it was numb from the impact.

  Chimera knelt over the snake man, cradling him in his arms. Movement turned my gaze towards Micah and Cherry. The front of Cherry’s body was bloody ribbons, as if he’d racked claws down either side of her as deep as he could go, as much damage as he could do in as little time as possible. Her ruined chest rose and fell frantically; she was alive.

  Micah’s body was spilled open like something ripe that had been thrown against a wall. His intestines glittered like something separate and alive. I could see things inside his body that were never meant to see the light of day. He convulsed, jerking against the chains.

  I screamed, and something about my panic opened me to Richard again. He was lying on the floor downstairs, and he was dying, and more than that I felt that his giving up had hurt the wolves. He was their Ulfric, their heart and their head, and his will was weak, and it made them weak. The hyenas and the halfmen that fought for Chimera were fighting for what they believed in, or fighting for the ones they loved. The wolves had nothing but Richard’s willingness to die.

  And I knew in that moment that if he died like that it wouldn’t just be Jean-Claude and me who would join him, it would be all the wolves. Something had gone terribly wrong with Bacchus and Zeke’s plan. The hyenas and the halfmen would slaughter our pack. All of them, all of them would die.

  I screamed again, and Chimera was in front of me, one hand balled in my shirt, his claws ripping shallow wounds in my upper chest. He drew the other hand back, and time seemed to slow. I had all the time in the world to decide what to do, and yet, I had no time left. I felt Richard’s breath rattling in his chest, felt him begin to die. Micah’s body gave one last shudder, then he went very still.

  I screamed, wordless, reaching for something, anything to save them. My power came, my power, and the one thing I could do to save us all. It was one of the worst things I’d ever seen done and I didn’t hesitate.

  I didn’t call my power—there was no time. I became my power. It flowed up, through me, instantly, spilled into my hands. I touched one hand to the furred arm that held me, then blocked his other arm as it swept down towards me in a blur of motion. Blocked the blow and swept my free hand up over Chimera’s arm, so that both my hands touched his arms. The moment enough of me touched enough of him, I called the power I’d learned in New Mexico. When I raised a zombie I put energy into the corpse, helped what lay in the grave to be solid and real. This was the reverse of that. I took energy out, sucked it away, made the lion man less real, less alive.

  The fur flowed under my hands until I touched human skin. It was Orlando King’s body that collapsed to its knees in front of me. Orlando’s eyes that raised horrified gray to search my face, to beseech me, maybe. But he never asked me to stop, and truthfully I wasn’t sure I knew how to stop.

  He started to scream just before his skin began to run with fine lines, like watching decades catch up with him in one fell swoop. I fed on him, fed on his essence, fed on what he was. It rushed through my body, thrilling along my skin, singing through my bones, cascading in a rush of joy through every fiber of my being, and beyond. I felt the energy flow outward to Micah, down that link that made me want to touch him every time we were close. The power found Richard and made him breathe. It spilled outward to all the wolves, and they were no longer dependent on Richard’s broken will, they had mine, and I wanted to live. I wanted us all to live. We would live. We would live, and our enemies would die. I willed it so. I made it so. I used Orlando King’s life to fill my leopards, my wolves, and distantly, my vampires, with will. Will to live, to fight, to survive.

  And through all of it, Orlando King shrieked. He screamed as his body drained away into my hands. His skin was like dirty tissue paper on skeleton sticks when I finally let him go. He collapsed on his side, that large body turned to something light as air, but still he screamed. One ragged horror of a sound after another, and I felt no pity. I felt only the rush of power like a flight of bird wings inside my head.

  Micah was beside me in black, furred leopard man form. The center of his body was whole, healed, only partially due to his shifting. A huge spotted leopard the size of a pony stalked around us, hissing at what was left of Orlando. Cherry was whole in her furred coat, not even bloody.

  I must have stood there longer than I knew, draining Orlando King’s life away. Long enough for them to tear the chains off, long enough for them to shapeshift and heal. The hanging men were changing form, too. And with the change, they broke their chains, healed most of the damage that had been done to them, and dropped to the ground in spotted fur and claws. They sniffed around what was left of Orlando. They gave strange barking sounds as the thing continued to scream.

  Micah’s voice came furry, rough with his new shape. “Your eyes are like a night-filled sky with stars in it.”

  I didn’t need to see a mirror to know what he meant. My eyes were black, swimming and dark with the distant glow of stars in that darkness. Obsidian Butterfly’s eyes had been like that, and my eyes had mirrored hers after she touched me with her power.

  The far door opened and the wolves poured in. Shang-Da and Jamil were holding Richard between them. He was still in human form, still refusing to shift and help the power heal him.

  The wolves, some in human form, some not, came to touch me, lick me, abase themselves before me. They growled and snapped at the dried thing that still screamed on the floor.

  Jamil and Shang-Da helped Richard around the room until he stood facing me and Micah. It was only when he was that close that I realized his eyes were black with the play of cold stars in them, too. I wondered if Jean-Claude’s eyes looked the same, and a thought let me know that it was so. Jean-Claude was basking in the rush of power. Richard stared at me like I’d run over his mother. The pain on his face had nothing to do with the healing wounds. I’d taken just a little bit more of his humanity, or so he felt.

  He gazed down at the screaming thing on the floor with those black star-filled eyes and said, “How could you do it?”

  “I did what I had to do,” I said.

  He was shaking his head. “I didn’t want to live this badly.”

  “I did,” Micah said.

  The two men looked at each other; yellow-green eyes to black. Something seemed to pass between them, then Richard looked back at me. “Is he dying?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He closed his eyes, and I got a glimpse inside him before he threw up his shields. It wasn’t the horror that made him blanch, it was the fact that the power rush had felt better than almost anything else he’d ever experienced. Then the shields tightened, but his eyes stayed a swimming blackness.

  “Get me out of here,” he said.

  “Change shape, Richard, heal yourself,” I said.

  He just shook his head. “No.”

  “Damn it, Richard.”

  He just said, “No,” then Jamil and Shang-Da helped him towards the door. I watched him go but didn’t try and call him back. I did my best to ignore him as I knelt by the skeletal thing that I’d made out of Orlando King. I knew how to give him back his energy, and that too would have been a rush in it’s own way, but Orlando wanted to die, and Chimera was too dangerous to be kept alive. I did what Orlando wanted, and I passed judgment on Chimera. I called my magic one more time and spilled it into that struggling, screaming thing, and I released the soul. It fluttered past me like an invisible bird, and the body gave that long ha
rsh breath that is often the very last sound. Orlando King died unrecognizable, unless you had dental records.

  Micah helped me to my feet. He was back in human form. Before I’d seen Chimera, I would have said that Micah’s change was smoother than anyone’s I’d ever seen. He pulled me into the circle of his arms, and I pressed my face against the bare skin of his neck, caught the scent of his skin, and the ardeur welled up inside me, as if it had been waiting. Goosebumps ran up his bare arms, and he gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t know if I’m up to it. I’ve had a hard day.”

  I wrapped my arms around his back, pressed my face against his chest, to hear the beating of his heart strong and steady. And for no reason that I could figure out, I started to cry, and the ardeur flowed away on a wash of tears, and hands. Hands not just Micah’s, but hands of wolves, hyenas, and the leopards that had disobeyed me and come for the fight. And finally Zeke and the halfmen who had joined him. They all touched me, marked me with their scent, their tears, their laughter. We laughed and cried, howled and roared, made every noise you could make. Richard missed a hell of a victory party.

  Epilogue

  RICHARD DID MAKE me his Bolverk. But I was no longer his girlfriend. I’m not even sure I’m upset about that. He’s free to find another lupa, though I’m not sure the pack will agree with him; they seem to like me just fine. As Bolverk of the Thronnos Rokke Clan, my first order of business was to execute Jacob. Paris is still alive at Richard’s insistence. I think it’s a mistake, but he is Ulfric. Oh, well.

  I did not turn furry with the full moon. Apparently, Jean-Claude was right about the leopards being my animal to call, just as Damian is my vampire servant. I’m gaining powers like a master vampire. Go figure.

  The snake men and Marco died during the fighting. The remainder of Chimera’s people have joined their appropriate animal groups. We have a shapeshifter coalition to promote better understanding among the groups. I’m chairman, though I tried not to be. Micah and his pard stayed in town.

  Micah and I are still dating, if you can call sharing a bed and my house dating. But I haven’t left Jean-Claude. I’m dating them both. I am Jean-Claude’s human servant, and I can’t hide from that anymore. Jean-Claude wasn’t horrified by what I did to Orlando King, either. He was pleased. Pleased we won, pleased we all survived. He and Micah seem to be getting along, so far. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and all hell to break loose between them, but so far, so good.

  We rescued Joseph, the lions’ Rex, and his wife is still pregnant, four months and counting—a record. Narcissus turned out to be a hermaphrodite, and he’s pregnant, too. I’m not sure Narcissus should be breeding, especially knowing who the father is, but it’s not my choice.

  The cobras’ king and son were both dead. Killed after Chimera had broken them.

  I wake up pressed between Micah and Nathaniel. You can’t feed the ardeur off of the same person every day, not even a lycanthrope. That’s why they used to say that succubi and incubuses killed their victims. You can literally love someone to death. So, I feed on Micah and Nathaniel. Micah as my Nimir-Raj, and Nathaniel as my pomme de sang. No, I’m not having intercourse with Nathaniel. Both of them seem peaceful with the arrangement, though I’m still a little weirded out by it. I’m still hoping the ardeur is temporary.

  Belle Morte’s people contacted Jean-Claude. They’re negotiating for Musette, one of Belle’s lieutenants, to come for a visit. The mention of Musette’s name made Asher and Jean-Claude go pale.

  Ronnie is horrified that I came so close to getting killed, but it hasn’t made her any more reasonable on the subject of my love life. We’re back to not seeing a whole lot of each other. Maybe Micah can be my new workout partner, no pun intended.

  I still love Richard, but it doesn’t matter. It won’t work. He can’t accept what he is, or what I am. Neither of us can change our nature, and I don’t even want to anymore. Micah accepts me for what I am, all of me. He loves me, from my toy penguin collection to my cold-blooded practicality. He doesn’t mind bodies on the ground, and neither does Jean-Claude. I hope Richard makes peace with himself someday, but it’s not really my problem anymore. I’ll keep the pack safe with or without him.

  As for the rest, if I wake up to silk sheets I know I’m at Jean-Claude’s place. If I wake up on pure cotton sheets, I’m at home. But wherever I am, Micah is beside me. I go to sleep against the smooth warmth of him, breathing in the honeyed sweetness of his skin. Sometimes the sheets smell of Jean-Claude’s cologne, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes Micah’s body bears two neat fang marks, and I feel Jean-Claude in his coffin, settling down for the day, content and well-fed, full of my sex and Micah’s blood. Life really is good, even if you are dead.