[Anita Blake 15] - The Harlequin

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “No, no.” He hid his face with his hands and made a frustrated noise. His energy level swirled back through the car, like hot water spilling across my skin. He swallowed the power back and looked at me. He looked pained. “I need this, Anita. I want to do it with you, but I need it with someone. It’s part of who I am sexually; it just is.”

  I tried to wrap my mind around letting Nathaniel play sex games with someone else, then come home to me. I couldn’t do it. He was right; I was forcing him to share me with other men, but sharing him with another woman…“So what, you’d have tie-up games with someone else, then come home to me?”

  “I can find a master who doesn’t do sexual contact. I can find someone who will just do the bondage.”

  “But bondage is sex for you.”

  He nodded. “Sometimes.”

  “I can’t do this tonight, Nathaniel.”

  “I’m not asking you to; just think about it. Decide what you want me to do.”

  “You’re giving me an ultimatum; I don’t deal well with ultimatums.”

  “It’s not an ultimatum, Anita, it’s just true. I love you, and I’m happier with you than I’ve ever been with anyone for this long. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d still be together this long. Seven months is the longest relationship I’ve ever had. When I thought it would be like all the rest—a few months, then over—it wasn’t a big deal. I could behave myself for a few months, until you got tired of me.”

  “I’m not tired of you.”

  “I know that. In fact, I think you’re going to keep me. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Keep you? You make yourself sound like a lost puppy that I picked up on the street. You don’t ‘keep’ people, Nathaniel.”

  “Fine, pick a different word, but we’re living together and it’s working, and it might last years. I can’t go years without having this need met, Anita.”

  “It might last years; you still talk about us like we won’t last.”

  “Years is lasting,” he said, “and everyone gets tired of me, eventually.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m not tired of you. Frustrated, puzzled as hell, but not tired.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know that, and if I didn’t feel secure enough, I wouldn’t make any demands. I’d just go on being unhappy about this, but if you love me, then I can ask for what I want.”

  If you love me, he’d said. Jesus. “It must be true love, Nathaniel, because I’m not booting your ass to the curb for this.”

  “For what, asking for my sexual needs to be met?”

  “Stop, just stop.” I rested my forehead against the steering wheel and tried to think. “Can we please drop this for now, while I think about it?”

  “Sure.” His voice sounded hurt.

  But his voice could sound hurt; I was out of my depth. “How long have you been saving this conversation up?” I asked, still resting against the wheel.

  “I kept waiting for there to be a quiet time, when you weren’t ass-deep in alligators, but…”

  “But I’m always ass-deep in alligators.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  I rose and nodded. That was fair. “I’ll think about what you said, and that’s all I’ve got tonight, okay?”

  “That’s wonderful. I mean it. I was afraid…”

  I frowned at him. “You really thought I’d dump you because of this?”

  He shrugged and wouldn’t look at me. “You don’t like demands, Anita, not from any of the men in your life.”

  I unbuckled my seat belt and slid over so I could turn him to look at me. “I can’t promise that this won’t eventually break me, but I can’t imagine not waking up beside you most mornings. I can’t imagine not having you puttering in our kitchen. Hell, it’s more your kitchen than mine. I don’t cook.”

  He kissed me and drew back with that smile that made his face shine with happiness. I loved that smile. “Our kitchen. I’ve never had an ‘our’ anything before.”

  I hugged him, partially because I wanted to, and partially to hide the expression on my face. On one hand, I loved him to pieces; on the other hand, I wished he had come with an instruction book. More than almost any other man in my life, he confused me. Richard hurt me more, but most of the time I understood why. I didn’t like it, but I understood his motivation. Nathaniel was so far outside my comfort zone sometimes that I had no clue. That I understood vampires that had been alive over five hundred years better than I understood the man in my arms said something. I wasn’t sure what it said, but something.

  “Let’s go inside before Jean-Claude wonders what happened to us.”

  He nodded, still looking happy. He got out on his side with the box in hand. I got out, hit the button to make the Jeep beep, and eased between the cars onto the sidewalk. He’d put his hat back on. Nathaniel in disguise. I put my left arm through his, and we walked over the melting snow toward the club. He was still all glowing from the “our” comment I’d made. Me, I wasn’t glowing. I was worried. How far would I really go to keep him? Could I send him to a stranger for slap and tickle? Could I share him if I couldn’t meet his needs? I didn’t know. I really didn’t know.

  6

  I OPENED THAT metaphysical connection I had to Jean-Claude. Opened it and thought, Where are you? I felt him, or saw him, or some other word that they hadn’t invented yet for seeing and feeling what someone else was doing in another room. He was on stage, using that voice of his to announce an act.

  I drew back enough to be solidly on Nathaniel’s arm. Sometimes when I tried mind-to-mind stuff, I had trouble walking. “Jean-Claude is on stage, so we’ll go in the front.”

  “Whatever you say,” he said.

  Once, in our relationship, he’d meant that. He’d been my little submissive wereleopard. I’d worked long and hard to make him more, to force him to be more demanding. Try to do a good deed and it bites you on the ass.

  The bouncer at the door was tall, blond, and way too cheerful for the job. Clay was one of Richard’s werewolves, and when he wasn’t bodyguarding someone, he worked security here. Clay’s gift was avoiding fights. He was really good at calming things down. A much more useful ability for a bouncer than brute strength. Last week Clay had been helping guard my body. No pun intended. There’d been a metaphysical accident, and it had looked for a while like I’d be turning into a wereanimal for real, so I’d had different lycanthropes with me so that whatever I changed into, I was covered. But I had gotten some control over it all, and it looked like I still wasn’t going to turn furry. Clay had been one of my watch-wolves. He was happy to be off the duty. I scared Clay. He was afraid the ardeur would make him my sexual slave. Okay, he didn’t say that exactly. Maybe it was just me projecting my terrors on him. Maybe.

  His smile slipped a little when he saw me, his face going all serious. He gave me a hard look as he said, “How’s it going, Anita?” He wasn’t just being polite; as afraid as he was of some of my metaphysical abilities, he’d been convinced it wasn’t a good idea to take all my guards off duty. He thought it was too soon.

  “I’m fine, Clay.”

  He peered at me, leaning that six-foot frame down to my five foot three. He studied me as the crowd behind us grew to four. His gaze went to Nathaniel. “Has she really been fine?”

  “She’s been fine.”

  Clay stood up straight and motioned us through. He looked positively suspicious as he did it, though.

  “Honest,” Nathaniel whispered as we went by, “not a twinge of anything furry.”

  Clay nodded and turned to the next group. He was the gatekeeper tonight. We entered the permanent dimness of the club. The noise was soft, murmurous, like the sea. The music picked up, and the crowd noise both was drowned out and got louder. The murmur of it was drowned out with the rise of the music, but the screams and yells of encouragement were louder.

  The woman behind the coat area came out, smiling. “Crosses aren’t allowed in the club.”


  I’d forgotten I was wearing one outside my clothes; usually I just tucked it out of sight and got to avoid the holy-item check girl.

  I spilled the cross inside my sweater. “Sorry, forgot.”

  “I’m sorry, but just hiding it isn’t enough. I’ll give you a claim check just like for a coat.”

  Great, she was new and didn’t know me. “Call Jean-Claude over, or Buzz; I get a pass on this one.”

  Nathaniel took off his hat and gave her a grin. Even in the dim light I could see her blush. “Brandon,” she breathed, “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I’m in disguise,” he said, and gave her that look that was part mischief, part flirting.

  “Is she with you?”

  I was holding on to his arm—of course we were together. But I stood there and was quiet. Nathaniel would handle it. Me yelling at her wouldn’t help things. Honest.

  Nathaniel leaned over and whispered, “Joan thinks you’re a fan that just grabbed me at the door.”

  Oh. I gave her a real smile. “Sorry, I’m his girlfriend.”

  Nathaniel nodded to confirm it, as if women claimed to be his girlfriend all the time. It made me look at his smiling, peaceful face and wonder how many overzealous fans he had. How weird did it get?

  Joan leaned in to us to whisper over the rising music. “Sorry, but Jean-Claude’s orders are that just because you’re dating a dancer, the holy item still doesn’t get inside.”

  On one hand, it was good that she was good at her job. On the other hand, it was beginning to irritate me.

  Two of the black-shirted security people came over to us. I think the hat and coat fooled them, too. They didn’t act like they recognized either one of us. Lisandro was tall, dark, handsome, with shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail. He was a wererat, which meant somewhere on him was a gun. A quick glance didn’t show it under the black T-shirt and jeans, so it was probably at the small of his back. The wererats were mostly ex-military, ex-police, or had never been on the “right” side of the law. They always went armed.

  The other security guy was taller and way more muscled. The weight lifting meant he was probably a werehyena. Their leader had a thing for weight lifters.

  “Anita,” Lisandro said, “what’s the holdup?”

  “She wants my cross.”

  He looked at Joan. “She’s Jean-Claude’s human servant. She gets a pass.”

  The woman actually blushed and apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and you being with Brandon. I…”

  I held up a hand. “It’s okay, really, just let us get out of the doorway.” There was a crowd behind us that went out the door. Clay was peeking inside, wondering what was happening.

  Lisandro helped us ease through the room away from the door, but not quite to the tables, closer to the drink area. I would have said bar area, but they weren’t allowed to serve liquor. Yet another of the interesting zoning laws about strip clubs on this side of the river.

  The weight lifter stayed near the door to help sort the crowd with Joan.

  I could finally see who was dancing to the music. Byron was near the end of his act because he was down to a very small G-string. It left the pale, muscled body very bare. His short brown hair curled haphazardly, as if some of his customers had mussed it. A woman was stuffing money down the front of the G-string. I felt him use a small slap of power to capture her just enough to keep her hand out of his pants. It skirted the edge of legal, but the vamps had found that a tiny bit of control could keep them from getting hurt on stage. I’d seen bloody nail marks, and even a few bite marks, on Nathaniel and Jason. It was a lot more dangerous to strip for women than for men, apparently. All the dancers agreed that men behaved themselves better.

  Byron writhed around the eager circle of women who surrounded the front of the stage. He laughed and joked. They ran hands over his body and rained money down on his skin. I’d had sex with him once, to feed the ardeur. We’d both enjoyed it, but Byron and I both agreed that it wasn’t our cup of tea. That each other wasn’t our cup of tea. Besides, the weight lifting helped him pass for eighteen, but he’d died at fifteen. Yeah, he was several hundred years old, but his body wasn’t. His body was still that of an athletic teenager. I was still disturbed by the fact that I’d had sex with him. Also, Byron preferred men to women. He’d do bisexual, if it came his way, but he was one of the few men who spent more time ogling my boyfriends than me. I found that disturbing, too.

  Jean-Claude was standing near the back of the stage, lost in shadow, letting Byron have his limelight. Jean-Claude turned to look at me, his pale face lost in the darkness of his hair and clothes. He breathed through my mind, “Await me in my office, ma petite.”

  Lisandro leaned over and whisper-shouted over the music, “Jean-Claude said to take you through to the office.”

  “Just now?” I asked, puzzled, because to my knowledge no one but me should have heard it.

  Lisandro gave me a puzzled look back, and shook his head. “No, after you called. He said to take you back to the office when you got here.”

  I nodded and let him lead us to the door. Nathaniel had kept his hat and coat on. He didn’t want to be recognized, for several reasons. It was rude to distract the audience from Byron’s show, and “Brandon” wasn’t working tonight. Lisandro unlocked the door and ushered us through.

  The door closed behind us, and it was blessedly quiet. The rear area wasn’t soundproof, but it was sound-muffled. I hadn’t realized how loud the music was until it stopped. Or maybe that was just how bad my nerves were tonight.

  Lisandro led us down the hallway to the door on the left-hand side. Jean-Claude’s office was its usual elegant black-and-white self. There was even an Oriental screen in one corner that hid an emergency coffin. Sort of a vampire’s version of a rollaway. Only the couch against the wall and the carpet were new. Asher and I had ruined the old stuff with sex that got so out of hand, I’d ended up in the hospital.

  Lisandro closed the door and leaned against it, on this side. “You staying?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Jean-Claude’s orders. He wants you to have bodyguards again.”

  “When did he order that?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  “Shit.”

  “Did your beast try to rise again?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  Nathaniel had set the box on Jean-Claude’s black lacquer desk. He took off the hat and coat and laid them on one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “I’ve got to get a lighter-weight hat if I’m going to keep using it for a disguise. The leather is just too warm.” He wiped a thin bead of sweat off his forehead.

  “If your beast didn’t try to rise again, then why are you back to needing bodyguards?” Lisandro asked.

  I opened my mouth, closed it. “I don’t know how much Jean-Claude will want you to know. I’m not even sure how much anyone is allowed to know.”

  “About what?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll tell you if I can.”

  “If you’re going to get me killed, can I at least know why?”

  “I’ve never gotten you hurt before.”

  “No, but we’ve lost two of our rats guarding you, Anita. Let’s just say that if my wife ends up a widow, I’d like to know why.”

  I glanced at his hand. “You don’t wear a ring.”

  “Not at work, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t want people knowing you have people that you care about, Anita. It can give them ideas.” His gaze flicked to Nathaniel, just for a moment, then back to me. But Nathaniel had seen it.

  “Lisandro thinks I’m a victim. That you need stronger men in your life.”

  I went to sit beside Nathaniel on the new white couch. He put his arm across my shoulders, and I settled in against him. Yeah, we’d been fighting, but that wasn’t Lisandro’s business, and it certainly wasn’t his business who I dated.

  “You can date who you want, that’s not my beef.”


  “What is your beef?” I asked, and let my words take on that slight hostile edge that was almost always just below the surface for me.

  “You’re a vampire now, right?”

  My, my, news travels fast. “Not exactly,” I said, out loud.

  “I know you’re not like a bloodsucker. You’re still alive and everything, but you gained Jean-Claude’s ability to feed off sex.”

  “Yeah,” I said, still hostile.

  “Human servants gain some of their master’s abilities, that’s normal. You should have gained the ability to help Jean-Claude feed his hungers, but your feeding on lust isn’t an extra for his energy, it’s a necessity for you. I heard what happened the night you tried to stop feeding it. You almost killed Damian, and Nathaniel, and yourself. Remus thinks you would have died if you hadn’t fed the ardeur. If you hadn’t fucked someone, he really thinks you might have died.”

  “Isn’t it nice that he shared with everybody,” I said.

  “You can be all defensive about it if you want, but it’s weird as hell. Rafael can’t find anyone who’s ever heard of a human servant gaining a hunger or thirst like this.”

  “And how weird my life has become is your business, why?”

  “Because you’re asking me and my people to risk our lives to keep you safe, that’s why.”

  I gave him unfriendly face because I couldn’t argue with his logic. I had gotten two of the wererats killed in the last couple of years. Killed guarding me. I guess he had a right to be pissy.

  “It’s your job,” Nathaniel said. “If you don’t like it, ask your king to change your job description.”

  “Rafael would take me off duty if I asked, you’re right on that.”

  “Then ask,” Nathaniel said.

  Lisandro shook his head. “That’s not my point.”

  “If you have a point, make it,” I said, and let him hear the impatience in my voice.

  “Fine, you’re some sort of living vampire. A master vampire, because you gained a vampire servant in Damian, and an animal to call in Nathaniel.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Lisandro.”