Anita Blake 12 - Incubus Dreams

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I heard the soft sounds of movement before I felt a hand brush mine. It seemed to take a lot of effort to look to my right, down my body, and see Nathaniel lying on the floor, more nude than I was. I still had the remnants of my tuxedo clinging to my legs. The tuxedo made me remember the wedding. I remembered talking to Micah after we got home. I remembered Micah had had to go out and save one of Richard’s wolves. I remembered the ardeur rising and that something had gone wrong. I remembered that Damian had been there. He must have woken before we did and dragged himself down to his coffin. Trust the undead to recover quickest.

  Someone groaned, and it wasn’t Nathaniel, and it wasn’t me.

  I suddenly found I could turn my head, a lot quicker than I had before. Adrenaline will do that to you.

  Damian lay on the floor, his upper body bathed in golden morning light, as if his white skin had been dipped in honey. Part of my mind registered the beauty of him, lying there in a pool of bloodred hair and golden light, but most of me was terrified. I was on my knees and grabbing for his leg before my body could argue. Nathaniel was beside me, and we jerked Damian out of the sunlight.

  He was awake now; awake and screaming. He was out of the direct sunlight, but the kitchen faced east and north, and the room was bright with early morning light. Damian had backed into the cabinets, pressing his body into them as if he thought he could melt into them, and hide in the dark. I tried to take his arm, to get him to his feet, to get him out of the light, but he fought me. His hands were beating at his skin like someone covered in spiders, trying to bat away their darkest fears, when those fears are crawling on their body. But sunlight isn’t spiders, and you can’t brush it off of you.

  I grabbed a flailing wrist and held on. I yelled above the screaming, “Nathaniel, help me!”

  Nathaniel fought for a grip on the other arm, and we pulled the vampire out of the light and into the curtained dimness of the living room. He didn’t stop screaming. Even when we put him up against the wall, in the cool near-dark, he still shrieked. The moment we let go of his hands, he started beating at his skin again, as if he were putting out invisible fire.

  But it shouldn’t have been invisible flame. I’d seen a vampire burn in sunlight, and they flash burned, hot white flames, like magnesium. There was nothing invisible about it. They burned, and if they didn’t get out of the light, they melted, even bone. It takes a hot fire to melt bone, but vamps in sunlight burn good.

  Nathaniel was kneeling, trying to comfort Damian, to hold him, to just get him to stop swatting at things we couldn’t see. I stared down at Damian and tried to think past the fear that was choking me. I was choking on Damian’s terror. I couldn’t think past it. I could barely breathe past it. I threw up shields, put metal in my mind against his fear, and tried to think. I looked down at Damian’s white skin, and there was not a blister, not even a red spot. He wasn’t burned. He wasn’t burning. I didn’t know why not. He should have burst into flames the moment the sunlight touched him, but he hadn’t, and if he hadn’t burned with the sunlight drowning him, then he wasn’t going to burn here, in the dark.

  I could hear the phone ringing in the other room, but it was dim over the sound of Damian’s screams. For once I let it ring. If it was the police, they’d call back. If it was a friend, they’d call back. If it was another emergency, it could wait. One disaster at a time.

  I knelt in front of him and tried to talk over the awful screaming. “Damian, Damian, you’re safe. You’re okay. You’re not burning.” I put my hands on either side of his face and screamed back at him, “Safe, you’re safe!”

  His eyes stayed wide, the pupils like pinpoints. He wasn’t hearing anything. It was like shock, but worse. If it had been an old movie, I’d have slapped him, but I wasn’t sure that would help. What do you do with a hysterical vampire? What do you do with a hysterical anybody?

  The front door burst open behind us. My eyes were dazzled by the sunlight that spilled over us. Gregory, one of my leopards, stepped out of that blaze of light. I don’t know what I would have said, because Damian let out a sound that was beyond a scream. It was a sound that should never have come from a human throat. He was up and moving like a white and red blur, darting farther into the house, out of the warm blaze of light.

  Nathaniel followed him in that faster-than-the-eye-can-see speed that shapeshifters have, and they’d both turned the corner before I got to it. I expected to see the basement door open, but it wasn’t. Movement up the stairs caught my eye, and I saw Nathaniel clear the last step and vanish down the hall. In his panic, Damian had run up, not down, up into the part of the house where the vampires rarely went. Up into the part of the house where the drapes were open and the morning light streamed in. Shit.

  15

  « ^ »

  I was nearly to the top of the stairs when I heard Gregory behind me. He called up after me, “What’s going on?”

  I didn’t know how to answer the question, so I ignored it. The upper hallway was a blaze of light, the big window at the end open to the risen sun. The hallway was empty. I thought, where are they? and I knew. I could feel them, both of them in the smallest room to the left, our guest room. I had made one step toward the doorway when Damian came running out as if all the demons of hell were chasing him. He ran screaming into the room across the hall, which was the bathroom. Unfortunately, it had a window, too. All the rooms up here had windows. If we could get him into a closet, maybe.

  He came running out of the bathroom and fell, and scrambled on all fours like an animal toward the next open door. He vanished inside, only his piteous screaming coming back out to tell us he’d found another open window, another wash of sunlight.

  “Was that Damian?” Gregory asked.

  I nodded.

  Nathaniel came to the first door Damian had run out of, blood ran down his shoulder, and he was cradling his arm. He looked at me, and his eyes held all the sorrow in the world. “He’s gone crazy again.”

  The last time Damian had gone mad, he’d killed several people, butchered them, not just fed. But that had been because I was his master, and I’d left town. I hadn’t known I was his master then. I hadn’t known that leaving him alone without the touch of my magic, or whatever you want to call it, would make him a revenant, a mindless killing thing.

  If it had been my fault before, somehow it was my fault again. I was his master now more than ever; I had to be able to fix this.

  “Gregory, close the drapes. Start with the ones at the end of the hall.” His blue eyes were wide, and his face held a dozen questions, but Gregory could follow orders when he wanted to, or you made him. He didn’t argue, just started down toward the end of the hallway.

  I went for the room that Damian had gone into, but I never made it, because he came tearing back out of it and nearly ran me down. I grabbed him, but my touch didn’t calm him, and his didn’t calm me, not today. He slammed me into the wall, and if I’d let go of his arm, he’d have run again, but I didn’t let go. I hung on and got slammed into the wall on the other side of the hallway. Shit.

  I yelled, “Damian, stop it!” But either he couldn’t hear me, or I’d lost the power to make him obey me. Either way, it wasn’t good. When he tried to slam me into the wall again, I braced my legs and used his own momentum, turning him into the wall, so that his own strength drove him into it so hard, the plaster gave under the impact.

  He came off the wall snarling, fangs bared, his face thinning down, his humanity folding away, until what pinned me to the floor wasn’t Damian. The only thing that saved me from having my throat torn out was that little extra bit of speed I’d gained from all the metaphysical shit. It gave me the time to throw one hand across his throat and one hand into his chest. I held him off of me by an arm’s length, my fingers curled around his throat. Normally, I’d have thrown an arm into his throat and not trusted that I could get a hand there in time, but the last two times I tried that maneuver with a vampire, they’d torn up my arm. So I set my fingers
in his throat and my palm against his chest, and tried to hold him off me.

  His teeth snapped and snarled at me, like a dog on the end of its chain. Saliva splattered my face, trailed from his mouth as if he were a rabid animal. He struggled mindlessly to reach me, to sink those teeth into my flesh. If he’d been thinking like a person he’d have used his hands, his arms to overwhelm me, but he wasn’t thinking like a person. So he fought my hands, pressing his body against the force of my hands, as if that were all that mattered. He pressed the strength of his madness against the push of my hands, and he began to press my arm inward. I don’t know if he’d been sane whether my new metaphysics would have helped more, but he wasn’t sane, and crazy anything is stronger than sane. It was like trying to bench-press pure muscle, a snarling, breathing force of nature. My arms began to bend, and I knew that if he got close enough, he’d tear me apart. His eyes had bled to green, and there was nothing in them but a mindless ferocity.

  I had no weapons on me. I might have been able to tear his throat out. I didn’t know if I was that strong now, or not. But he wasn’t a master vamp, and I didn’t know for certain that he’d heal if I pulled his throat apart. If he’d just been a bad guy, I’d have torn into him and done my best to take him out before he took me out, but Damian wasn’t a bad guy, and whatever was wrong was somehow my fault. I couldn’t kill him, because I wasn’t master enough to handle him.

  He pressed himself into me, and I put everything I had into keeping him away from my face and throat. My arms started to shake with the effort, and my elbows were bending. His face filled my vision, and his saliva dripped on my face. I did the only thing I could think of, I yelled for help.

  Gregory was there, his hands on Damian’s arm and shoulder, trying to use supernatural strength against supernatural strength. He slowed Damian’s push toward my face, but only slowed it. Damian was like a human on angel dust, stronger even than he’d been, because there was no one home to help him regulate his force. He was all about that force, and his goal in life seemed to be my face.

  Nathaniel grabbed Damian’s other shoulder. Blood was still dripping down his arm, but it had slowed. Which meant Damian had found a way to injure him that didn’t include teeth or nails, those wouldn’t have started healing, yet. I think with the two of them pulling and me pushing, we might have made it, but Nathaniel’s bloody arm was next to Damian’s face. He was enraged, but all vampires, even revenants, react to fresh blood.

  His neck turned in my hand, and I’d been so intent on pushing him away, that it surprised me. He would have sunk fangs into Nathaniel’s arm, except Gregory was a fraction too quick, and a fraction too slow. He managed to get his arm halfway around Damian’s neck, which put his wrist almost in the vampire’s mouth. Damian did what any animal would do, he bit him.

  Gregory screamed and tried to pull away. It worked, and it didn’t. He pulled away from us, but the vampire went with him. They moved so fast, that Nathaniel fell against me, smearing blood down my skin. He was on his feet and moving toward the sounds of fighting farther down the hallway, before I’d gotten to my knees.

  Damian had Gregory pinned on the floor, worrying at his arm like a dog with a bone. Even over Gregory’s screams I heard the bone crack. Nathaniel was there, wrapping his arms around Damian’s waist. He lifted him into the air, but the teeth stayed in Gregory’s broken arm, so that Gregory was pulled to his knees by the pain and the fangs locked into his arm.

  I was almost to them, when Damian remembered he could fly. He pushed off from the floor and smashed Nathaniel against the ceiling hard enough that plaster dust rained down on them, and when Damian touched ground he rolled out of Nathaniel’s loosened grip. Damian had been a warrior once, and though Nathaniel and Gregory had the strength, they didn’t know how to fight. Strength without training was no match.

  I was suddenly the only one standing in the hallway, except for Damian. He came for me in a blur of movement. I got one foot planted and had a heartbeat to see him, think what I’d do, and do it. Years of practice in judo, and my body remembered, before my mind had caught up. I used his own momentum against him, one arm and his hip as the pivot points, and I threw him, as far and as hard as his own motion would let me.

  He ended at the top of the stairs, crouched, and turned toward me, before I had time to marvel at how far I’d thrown him. Let’s hear it for not being human anymore.

  But a figure rose above him, coming up the stairs. It was Richard Zeeman, local Ulfric, Wolf-King, ex-fiancé, and in the wrong place at the worst time. I had a few seconds to see that his hair had grown out just enough to give some curl to his woefully short locks, that the white T-shirt made his fading tan summer-dark with contrast, that he was still one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. Then the vampire turned, noticed him, and launched himself at Richard. He balanced them both for a second, then the other man’s weight took them both, and Richard fell backward down the stairs, with the vampire riding him. They vanished from sight, and over the sound of their bodies falling down the stairs, I heard a woman start to scream.

  16

  « ^ »

  I went to the stairs, expecting to see them struggling on the steps, but the stairs stretched empty. I ran down the stairs toward the sound of fighting. Richard had taken the fight out into the living room, so he had room to use his long legs and arms.

  He kicked Damian in the face hard enough that the vampire staggered backward. I got a profile glimpse of Damian’s face; blood ran from his mouth and the right side of his face. Richard took the extra seconds that the vampire gave him to do a beautiful roundhouse kick to the other side of Damian’s face. This one was hard enough that blood flew in a thin arc. Damian staggered, and I think would have gone down, but he bumped into the wall. He hesitated long enough for Richard to get set up for another kick. Back foot set, front foot, set but loose, body partially turned to give that pivoting strength, the way when you land a fist you turn the fist into the skin for that extra little bit of harm.

  Looking at Richard with all his attention on the vampire, his body tensed and ready, hands held in loose fists, even though he was setting up for a kick, I was reminded that here was someone with preternatural strength that did know how to fight. There was blood on his left hand, and I couldn’t tell if it was Damian’s blood or his own.

  A small sound jerked my attention to the far side of the living room. A woman I didn’t know was standing near the television set. She was pale, dark-haired, and scared. I didn’t have time to notice more. I was standing too close to the fighting to sightsee.

  If Damian had just been a big bad vamp in my house, I’d have gotten my gun and finished him, but he wasn’t a villain. It was Damian, and somehow it was all my fault. I couldn’t get a gun and just shoot him. For one of the few times in my life I was frozen, overwhelmed by my choices, or the lack of them.

  Damian had been against the wall for so long—fifteen, thirty seconds—that I thought the fight might be over, that Richard might have actually kicked some sense into him; I was wrong. The vampire came off the wall in a white and red blur. Richard met the charge with a kick to Damian’s chest. It wasn’t a pretty kick, not like the roundhouse, but the sound of its impact was thick and meaty. If he’d been human it would have dropped him, but he wasn’t human, and it didn’t.

  He staggered backward, and I could have almost reached out a hand and touched his back. Damian went very still, like the old vamps can, as if he were some beautiful statue. Then I knew, knew that he was about to move and not toward Richard.

  I had an extra few seconds to react, when he turned in a whirl of white skin and red hair, turned so fast that the colors blurred so he looked like a whirlwind of snow and blood.

  I threw myself to one side, rolling over the back of the couch. I ended up on the other side of it, on the area rug. I had a heartbeat to stand, and Damian was on me.

  I braced for it, but it was like trying to brace for a freight train. There was no stopping it, or fighting
it. I was just suddenly falling backward with Damian on top of me. I didn’t fight the fall, I used it. When my body met the floor I had one foot in Damian’s stomach and two hands on his arms. A tome nage throw is the only throw in judo where you commit your whole body to it. Most throws have variations you can do at the last minute if they don’t work, but the tome nage either works or it doesn’t. You fail, and your opponent is on top of you in a perfect position to pin you. But I hadn’t chosen the throw, it had been the only move Damian’s attack left me. I had seconds to do it right or have him eat my face. So when I kicked up with my feet, I gave it all I had. I’d forgotten that all I had was more than it used to be.

  Damian flew through the air again, but it wasn’t his supernatural powers this time. I rolled over in time to see Damian hit the wall yards away. He hit hard enough to crack the paint and leave a partial imprint of his body on the wall, when he slid to the floor.

  I heard someone behind me say, “wow,” and it wasn’t Richard, because he was nearly up beside me, rounding the couch. I didn’t have time to glance behind me to see if it was Nathaniel or Gregory, because two bad things were happening at once.

  The first bad thing was that Damian was getting slowly to his feet. Slowly enough that I think I’d hurt him, but he was still getting up, still not unconscious. The second bad thing was the woman had started screaming again, and thanks to me throwing Damian across the room, she was the closest person to him. She’d backed up when he sailed through the air, otherwise she’d have been almost where he landed, but when he turned around, she’d be a yard away. Not good.