The Killing Dance abvh-6

by Laurell Hamilton

  "Shall we go then, ma petite? The party awaits us." He made a sweeping motion with his arms, directing me towards the door but not taking my hand. He glanced at Richard, then at me. He was behaving himself terribly well. Jean-Claude was a world-class pain in the ass. It wasn't like him to be a good boy.

  I glanced at Richard. "Go on. If we kiss good-bye, it'll smear your lipstick again."

  "You are wearing quite enough of her lipstick already, Richard," Jean-Claude said. For the first time tonight, I heard that warm edge of jealousy.

  Richard took two steps forward, and the tension level in the room soared. "I could kiss her good night again, if that would make you happy."

  "Stop it, both of you," I said.

  "By all means," Jean-Claude said. "She is mine for the rest of the evening. I can afford to be generous."

  Richard's hands balled into fists. The first trickle of power oozed through the room.

  "I'm leaving now." I made for the door and didn't look back. Jean-Claude caught up with me before I reached the door. He reached for the doorknob first. and then released it, letting me get it.

  "I do forget your penchant for doors," he said.

  "I don't," Richard said softly.

  I turned and looked at him standing there in his jeans, his T-shirt molded to the muscles of his arms and chest. He was still barefoot, his hair a wavy mass around his face. If I'd been staying here, we could have cuddled on the couch in front of one of his favorite movies. We were beginning to have our favorite movies, songs, sayings that were ours. Maybe a moonlight walk. His night vision was almost as good as my own. Maybe later we could finish what we'd started before the meeting.

  Jean-Claude slid his fingers through mine, drawing my attention to him. I stared up into those blue, blue eyes like a sky before a storm, or seawater where the rocks lie deep and cold. I could touch those three black buttons and see if they were really antique beads. My gaze traveled downward to the pale glimpse of his chest. I knew that the cross-shaped burn scar was a rough slickness to the touch. Looking at him made my chest tight. He was so beautiful. Would my body always feel the pull of him, like a sunflower turning towards the light? Maybe. But standing there holding his hand, I realized it wasn't enough.

  Jean-Claude and I could have had a glorious affair, but I could see spending my life with Richard. Was love enough? Even if Richard killed for self-preservation, could he really accept my body count? Could I accept his beast, or would I be as horrified by it as he was himself? Jean-Claude accepted me lock, stock, and gun. But I didn't accept him. Just because we both looked at the world through dark glasses, didn't mean I liked it.

  I sighed, and it wasn't a happy sound. If this was the last time I ever saw Richard, I should have jumped his body and given him a kiss he would never forget, but I couldn't do it. Holding Jean-Claude's hand, I couldn't do it. It would have been cruel to all of us.

  "Bye, Richard," I said.

  "Be careful," he said. He sounded so alone.

  "Louie and you are going to the movies tonight, right?" I asked.

  He nodded. "He should be here soon."

  "Good." I opened my mouth to say more, but didn't. There was nothing to say. I was going with Jean-Claude. Nothing I said would change that.

  "I'll wait up for you," Richard said.

  "I wish you wouldn't."

  "I know."

  I left, walking a little too fast out to the waiting limo. It was white. "Well, isn't this shiny and bright," I said.

  "I thought black looked too much like a hearse," Jean-Claude said.

  Edward had come out also. He closed the door behind us. "I'll be there when you need me, Anita."

  I met his eyes. "I know you will."

  He gave the briefest of smiles. "But just in case, watch your back like a son of a bitch."

  I smiled. "Don't I always?"

  He glanced at the vampire standing by the open limo door. "Not as well as I thought you did." Edward walked into the darkness towards his waiting car before I could think of a reply. It was just as well. He was right. The monsters had finally gotten me. Seducing me was almost as good as killing me, and nearly as crippling.

  14

  The name of the club, Danse Macabre, blazed in red neon letters nearly eight feet high. The letters were curved and flowed at an angle like some giant hand had just finished writing them. The club was housed in an old brewery warehouse. The place had stood on the Riverfront, boarded up and abandoned for years. It had been the only eyesore in a line of chic restaurants, dance clubs, and bars. Most of them were owned by vampires. The Riverfront was also known as The District, or Blood Square, though not in polite vampire company. For some reason, the nickname bugged them. Who knew why?

  The crowd had spilled out from the sidewalk into the street, until the limo was stopped by the sheer weight of people. It was so bad that I spotted a uniformed cop trying to ease the people back enough for the cars to get through. I looked through the dark tinted windows at the press of people. Was the assassin out there? Was one of those well-dressed, smiling people waiting to kill me? I opened my purse and slipped the Seecamp out.

  Jean-Claude eyed the little gun. "Nervous, ma petite?"

  "Yes," I said.

  He looked at me, head to one side. "Yes, you are nervous. Why does one human assassin unnerve you so much more than all the preternatural creatures you have faced?"

  "Everyone else who's wanted to kill me, it was personal. I understand personal. Whoever this is wants to kill me because it's business. Just business."

  "But why is that more frightening to you? You will be just as dead, regardless of your assailant's motives."

  "Thanks a lot," I said.

  He touched my hand, as it gripped the gun. "I am trying to understand, ma petite, that is all."

  "I don't know exactly why it bothers me. It just does," I said. "I like to put a face on my enemies. If someone kills you, it shouldn't be only for money."

  "So killing for hire offends your moral sensibilities?" he asked. His voice was very bland, too bland, as if he were laughing silently to himself.

  "Yes, dammit, it does."

  "Yet you are friends with Edward."

  "I never said I was consistent, Jean-Claude."

  "You are one of the most consistent people I have ever known, ma petite."

  "How consistent can I be if I'm dating two men?"

  "Do you think being unable to choose between us makes you frivolous?" He leaned towards me as he said it, hand smoothing up the sleeve of my jacket.

  The trouble was I had almost chosen. I almost told him, but I didn't. First. I wasn't a hundred percent sure. Second, Jean-Claude had blackmailed me into dating him. Date him or he'd kill Richard. He wanted a chance to woo me away from Richard. Which meant really dating him. As he put it, "If you allow Richard to kiss you, but not me, it is not fair." Supposedly, if I chose Richard, Jean-Claude would merely step aside. I think he was egotist enough to mean it. The Master of the City couldn't imagine anyone not being won over, eventually. Not if you had access to his lovely body. He kept offering it. I kept refusing. If I chose Richard over him, would he really bow out gracefully, or would he take us all down in a bloodbath?

  I stared into his deep blue eyes and didn't know. I'd known him for years. Dated him for months. But he was still a mystery to me. I just didn't know what he would do. I wasn't willing to push that button, not yet.

  "What are you thinking about so seriously, ma petite? Do not say it is the assassin. I would not believe you."

  I didn't know what to say, so I just shook my head.

  His hand slid over my shoulders until I was resting in the curve of his arm. The feel of his body that close to mine made my stomach flutter. He bent forward as if to kiss me, and I stopped him, the back of my left hand against his chest. Since I was now touching bare skin, I wasn't sure this helped.

  "You behaved yourself the entire drive up here. What gives now?" I asked.

  "I am trying to comfort you
, ma petite."

  "Yeah, right," I said.

  He wrapped his other arm around my waist, turning my upper body against him. The gun was still in my hand, but it began to seem awkward. I wasn't going to use it on Jean-Claude, and the assassin wasn't coming through the locked doors. That much violence in a crowd this large with cops directing traffic seemed a little bold even for a professional.

  I slid my arm across his back, the gun still in my hand. "If you kiss me, I'll have to redo my lipstick."

  He leaned his face close enough to kiss, lips so close to mine he could have breathed me in. He whispered just above my mouth. "We mustn't have that." He kissed my cheek, running his lips down the edge of my jaw.

  I touched his face with the edge of the gun, moving his face where I could see it. His eyes had gone drowning blue. "No necking," I said. I meant that. I'd only volunteered once for blood donation and that was when he was dying. I did not share bodily fluids with the Master of the City.

  He rubbed his cheek against the gun. "I had something a bit lower in mind."

  He ducked his head to my collarbone, licking down my skin. For a second I wondered how low he was planning on going, then I pushed him off of me.

  "I don't think so," I said, half-laughing.

  "Do you feel better now, ma petite?"

  I stared at him for a heartbeat, then laughed. I did. "You are a devious son of a bitch, did you know that?"

  "I've been told that before," he said, smiling.

  The police had pushed the crowd back, and the limo moved forward. "You did that just to cheer me up." I sounded almost accusatory.

  He widened his eyes. "Would I do such a thing?"

  I stared at him and felt the smile slide from my face. I really looked at him for a moment, not just as the world's greatest lust object, but as him, Jean-Claude. The Master of the City was worried about my feelings. I shook my head. Was he becoming nicer, or was I just fooling myself?

  "Why so solemn, ma petite?"

  I shook my head. "The usual, trying to figure out how sincere you are."

  His smile widened. "I am always sincere, ma petite, even when I lie."

  "Which is what makes you so good at it," I said.

  He nodded his head once, almost a bow. "Exactly."

  He glanced ahead of us. "We are about to embark on a sea of media, ma petite. If you could put the gun up? I think the press would find it a bit much."

  "Press?" I said. "You mean local media?"

  "Local, yes."

  "What aren't you telling me?"

  "When the door opens, take my arm and smile, please, ma petite."

  I frowned at him. "What is about to happen?"

  "You are about to be introduced to the world."

  "Jean-Claude, what are you up to?"

  "This is not my doing, ma petite. I do not like the limelight quite this much. The vampire council has chosen me to be their representative to the media."

  "I know you had to come out of the casket to the local vampires after you won your last challenge, but isn't it dangerous? I mean you've been pretending to be some mysterious master's number-one flunkie. It's kept you safe from outside challengers."

  "Most masters use a stalking horse, ma petite. It cuts down on challenges and human assassins."

  "I know all that, so why are you going public?"

  "The council believes that skulking in the shadows gives ammunition to our detractors. Those of us who would make good media fodder have been ordered into the light, as it were."

  I stared at him. "How into the light?"

  "Put the gun away, ma petite. The doorman will open the door and there will be cameras." I glared at him, but I slid the Seecamp into my purse.

  "What have you gotten me into, Jean-Claude?"

  "Smile, ma petite, or at least do not frown." The door opened before I could say anything else. A man in a tux held the door. The flash of lightbulbs was blinding, and I knew it had to bother his eyes more than mine. He was smiling as he held a hand back for me. If he could stare that much light in the face without blinking, I could be gracious. We could always fight later.

  I stepped out of the limo and was glad I was holding his hand. Flashbulbs were everywhere like tiny suns blasting off. The crowd surged forward, microphones shoved at us like knives. If he hadn't been holding my hand tight, I'd have crawled back into the limo. I moved closer to him, just to be able to keep my feet. Where the hell was crowd control?

  A microphone nearly touched my face. A woman's voice yelled from far too close, "Is he good in bed? Or would that be coffin?"

  "What?" I said.

  "Is he good in bed?" There was a moment of near silence, while everyone waited for my answer. Before I could open my mouth and say something scathing, Jean-Claude moved in, graceful as always.

  "We do not kiss and tell, do we, ma petite?" His French accent was the thickest I'd ever heard it.

  "Ma petite–is that your pet name for her?" a man's voice.

  "Oui," he said.

  I looked up at him, and he leaned down as if to kiss my cheek. He whispered, "Glare at me later, ma petite. There are cameras everywhere."

  I wanted to say that I didn't give a damn, but I did. I mean, I think I did. I felt like a rabbit caught in headlights. If the assassin had jumped out with a gun at that moment, I'd have stood there and let him shoot me. That thought, more than anything else, brought me back to myself, helped me to think again. I started trying to see past the lights, the microphones, a few tape recorders, and video cameras. I caught at least two major network emblems on the cameras. Shit.

  Jean-Claude was fielding questions like a pro, smiling, gracious, the perfect vampire cover boy. I smiled and leaned into him, standing on tiptoe, putting my lips so close to his ear that I could have licked it, but I was hoping the microphones wouldn't pick up what I was saying. I was sure it looked coy and girlish as hell, but hey, nothing was perfect. I whispered, "Get me out of here now, or I pull the gun and clear a path for myself."

  He laughed, and it flowed down my skin like fur, warm, and ticklish, and vaguely obscene. The reporters ooohed and aahed. I wondered if Jean-Claude's laugh worked off a recorder, or on video. That was a frightening thought.

  "Oh, ma petite, you naughty girl."

  I whispered, "Don't ever call me that again."

  "My apologies." He smiled, waved, and began escorting me through the press of reporters. Two vampire doormen had come out to help clear our path. They were both large and muscular, and neither of them had been dead long. They looked rosy-cheeked and almost alive. They'd fed on someone tonight. But then, so had Jean-Claude. It was getting harder and harder for me to throw stones at the monsters.

  The door opened, and we slipped inside. The silence was wonderful. I turned on him. "How dare you drag me into that kind of media coverage."

  "It does not endanger you, ma petite."

  "Had it occurred to you that if I chose Richard over you, that I might not want everybody in the world to know I was dating a vampire?"

  He gave a slight smile. "Good enough to date, but not good enough to go public with?"

  "We've gone to everything from the symphony to the ballet together. I'm not ashamed of you."

  "Really?" The smile was gone, replaced by something else, not anger exactly, but close. "Then why are you angry, ma petite?"

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. Truth was that I would rather not have gone quite this public, because I guess I didn't really believe I could choose Jean-Claude. He was a vampire, a dead man. In that one moment I realized how prejudiced I still was. He was good enough to date. Good enough to hold hands with, and maybe a bit more. But there was a limit. Always a point where I knew I'd say stop because he was a corpse. A beautiful corpse, but a vampire is a vampire. You couldn't really fall in love with one. You couldn't have sex with one. No way. I'd broken Jean-Claude's one rule for dating both of the boys. I'd never really given Jean-Claude the same chance that I'd given Richard. And now, with national televi
sion coverage, the bat was out of the bag. It embarrassed me that anyone would think I might actually date him. That I might actually care for a walking dead man.

  The anger washed away in the knowledge that I was a hypocrite. I don't know how much of it showed on my face, but Jean-Claude cocked his head to one side. "Thoughts are flying across your face, ma petite, but what thoughts?"

  I stared up at him. "I think I owe you an apology."

  His eyes widened. "Then this is a truly historic occasion. What are you apologizing for?"

  I wasn't sure how to put it into words. "You're right; I'm wrong."

  He put his fingers to his chest, face wide with mock surprise. "You admit that you have treated me like some guilty secret, hidden away. Exiled from your true feelings while you cuddle with Richard and his living flesh."

  I frowned at him. "Enough already. See if I ever give you another apology for anything."

  "A dance would suffice," he said.

  "I don't dance. You know that."

  "This is the grand opening of my dance club, ma petite. You are my date. Are you truly going to deny me even one dance?"

  Put that way it sounded petty. "One dance."

  He smiled, wicked, enticing. The smile that the serpent must have given Eve. "I think we will dance well together, ma petite."

  "I doubt it."

  "I think we would do many things well together."

  "Give you one dance and you want the whole package. Pushy bastard."

  He gave a small bow, smiling, eyes shining.

  A female vamp strode towards us. She was inches taller than Jean-Claude, which made her at least six feet tall. She was blond and blue-eyed, and if she'd looked any more Nordic, she'd have been a poster girl for the master race. She was wearing a violet blue body suit with strategic holes cut out. The body that showed through was broad-shouldered, muscular, and still managed to be full-breasted. Leather boots in the exact same color rode her long, muscular legs all the way up to her thighs.

  "Anita Blake, this is Liv."

  "Let me guess," I said. "Jean-Claude chose the outfit."