I breathed in the scent of him, and down the long metaphysical cord, I smelled another wolf, several other wolves. I smelled my pack and they always smelled good to me, of pine trees and thick forest leaves.
He sniffed harder, hugged me tighter. “You smell of more than just your wolf. You smell like pack. How can that be?”
“I’m the lupa of my pack, the bitch queen.”
He snarled behind his mask, drawing back enough that he could see my face. “Liar!”
“If you’re powerful enough to shift just your claws, you’re powerful enough to smell a lie. I am the lupa of our pack; I swear it.”
“But you’re human,” he growled, and it was almost a yell.
My wolf broke into an easy lope, almost a run, as if to prove the truth of what I’d said. But there were shadows in the dark around her, not us, as if I had called the ghosts of our pack. Their scents came with me, not the sight, but then for a wolf, smell is more real than sight. It’s one of the reasons that wolves aren’t bothered by hauntings, unless there’s a scent to go with it. You can wail and moan all damn day, but if you don’t smell like something, a wolf won’t care.
I felt the loneliness in the man beside me. Not a loneliness of sex, or even love, but of not having another furry body to press side to side, tail to nose, as they slept. I’d been told that the ardeur was about lust, but my version was more about your heart’s desire. What is it that you want, you really want? That part of me that carried the ardeur could see all the way through you to the truth. The man holding me didn’t want sex, or even human love; he wanted a pack. He wanted to run in the moonlight with others of his kind, and hunt in a pack. No cat, not even a human one, would ever understand his loneliness.
“You’re the only wolf,” I whispered.
“We had one other, but he left us.” The regret in his voice was like weeping without the tears.
“I know where he is,” I said. Jake was one of the Harlequin on our side.
“He’s with you, we know that,” and this time his voice was a snarl, “but he left us long before that. He betrayed us.”
“He did what wolves do,” I said. “He took care of the pack, not just one wolf.”
“Tigers are not wolves!” He grabbed my arms, sat me up, shook me just a little; let me feel the strength in his hands.
“No,” I said, “but he has wolves in St. Louis. He has our pack. He’s not alone.”
His fingers dug into my arms. The strength in them vibrated against my skin, as if he were fighting not to dig in farther, or maybe he was fighting not to send claws slicing through my flesh. Some people are grateful when you offer them what they want most, but some people are terrified of it. Because to gain your heart’s desire you have to lose some part of your old life, your old self. To do that you have to have courage; without it, you can’t make the leap. And if you don’t make the leap, you have only three choices: You can hate yourself for not taking the chance, you can hate the person for whom you’ve sacrificed your happiness, or you can hate the one who offered you happiness, and blame them for your lack of courage, convince yourself it wasn’t real. That way, you don’t have to hate yourself. It’s always easier to blame someone else.
I looked into his green wolf eyes and watched the fight. He growled, “They said all you offered was sex.”
“They lied,” I said, softly. I let it be implied that maybe they’d lied about other things, too.
He let go of me as if I’d burned him, stood up, and went for the door in a swirl of black cape. He stopped at the door, and spoke without turning around. “You have defeated me twice, Anita Blake. There is more magic to you than just being a succubus.”
“I never said otherwise.”
He opened the door, went out, and I heard a bolt shoot behind him. I was locked in, and still tied up, but I was sitting up, drug free, and alone. Alone wasn’t bad.
36
THE ROOM WAS about the size of an average bedroom, but the walls were all stone, and the floor was concrete that looked like it had been poured too thick and never smoothed, so it had dried in odd shapes. Water stains discolored the wall nearest to where I’d come to, and in one corner the water stains had become a shallow standing puddle. No wonder I’d woken up cold. Were we underground? There was only one dim, bare bulb in the center of the room. The only furniture in the room was a large wooden table that looked solid and heavy, which was probably why it was still in the room; too heavy to take out. I actually looked back at the door and realized that the table must have been put together inside the room; otherwise how had it fit? I stopped trying to do the math of furniture moving, and looked at the only other things in the room: a pile of wooden boxes against the far wall with a stained tarp thrown carelessly over them, as if someone had started to cover them, but never quite finished. There might be something else under the tarp, but I’d have to inchworm my way over there, and I had no way of knowing if it was worth it. Besides, they were watching me. I doubted they would let me get close to anything that could cut through the ropes. I still might try to get closer to the boxes. They were the only thing I could see in the room that had any promise to them. Everything else was useless for cutting through the ropes, as far as I could see. I realized that once I’d have thought the room was dark, but I’d spent the last year and change living in the underground at the Circus of the Damned. The rooms were actually part of the cave system that ran under St. Louis, so my idea of dim lighting had changed. My night vision had always been good, but I’d begun to wonder if all the animals I carried inside me had given me more than just superhuman strength and speed. My night vision was getting better.
I heard someone at the door. I hadn’t moved anything but my head and body to look around the room, so I just sat there and waited for the door to open. I actually didn’t have to scramble to hide anything, which was kind of disappointing.
It was another Harlequin in the black hooded cloak and white mask. He was taller than the werewolf, so someone new, or someone I’d seen briefly in the woods earlier with Edward. I wouldn’t let myself hope that he’d save me; I would save myself, but it made me feel better that he was out there. I knew he’d move heaven and earth to find me, because I’d have done the same for him.
“We will need you to drop your shields for the Mother of Us All to possess your body.” His voice was completely human, no growl for him, and he sounded very reasonable, if you didn’t listen to what he was saying.
“Then I don’t think I want to drop my shields,” I said, and I sounded reasonable, too.
“We thought you might say that.” He turned with a swirl of black cloak, so that it blocked my view of the doorway for a moment. They all had to practice with the cloaks for those effects. When he stepped out of the doorway, letting his cloak fall to one side, three more Harlequin were standing there, carrying a man between them. Two of them held his arms, where they were chained behind his back; the third held his chained legs. Long black hair fell forward in a thick mass to obscure his face. My first thought was, Bernardo, but the energy hit me like a hot wave dancing over my skin: shapeshifter.
My heart was in my throat this time, because nothing good was about to happen. Fuck.
“If you change form we will shoot you,” the tall, reasonably voiced Harlequin said.
Lisandro, because that was who it had to be, made a muffled sound, and I knew before he raised his head and glared at me through the loose mass of his hair that he was gagged. His eyes had already gone from dark brown to black, the beginning of his shifting form.
The reasonable one drew a gun from behind his back.
“Don’t!” I said.
“He was warned,” the Harlequin said, and put the gun barrel inches above Lisandro’s left knee.
Lisandro glared at me, all that anger, all that energy in his eyes. There was no fear in them.
The Harlequin pulled the trigger and the shot was thunderous in the stone room. The echoes of it hit the walls and bounced everywhere, drowning out most of t
he sounds that Lisandro made. He didn’t scream, but he couldn’t be silent while the bullet ripped his knee apart. He also couldn’t not struggle while the pain rode him, but the three Harlequin that held him acted as if his writhing were nothing, like they could have held him all night like that. When he quieted, and blood began to drip steadily from his leg onto the floor, the three holding him stared straight ahead like soldiers on parade. Their lack of reaction was almost as unnerving as the shooting.
The talkative Harlequin’s voice was tinny, distant with the reverberations of the shot, “That was a lead bullet; you’ll heal almost instantly.” He drew a second gun from behind his back. It made me wonder what kind of holster he was wearing. “This one has silver bullets in it; I’ll cripple you with it, and then I’ll kill you with it. We have other hostages, Lisandro. It is such a pretty name for so handsome a man.” The Harlequin looked at me. “Don’t you think he’s handsome, Anita?”
“You know our names, what’s yours?” I asked.
“We are the Harlequin, that is sufficient.”
“So I call you all Harlequin, like calling all dogs Rover? Come on, you’ve got to have names.”
“We are the Harlequin,” he repeated.
“Fine, Harley, what do you want?”
“You know Harley is not my name.”
“Tell me your name and I’ll use it.”
“The Mother of Us All told us to give you no names.”
“Can’t fuck me, can’t give me your name, what else has she forbidden you to do with me?”
“I asked if you thought Lisandro was handsome; you ignored the question.”
“Yeah, he’s cute. His wife thinks so, too.”
“Does that mean he’s not one of your lovers? How disappointing.”
I swallowed hard, and when I looked at Lisandro his brown, human eyes met mine. I think he was thinking the same thing I was: Which answer would help us most? Would they hurt him more if they knew he was a lover, or less? If he wasn’t a lover, would they just kill him? They had other hostages; who? Who, for the love of God?
Harley, for lack of a better name, stepped between us so we couldn’t make eye contact. “It is a simple question, Anita. Is he one of your lovers?”
“Honestly, I’m trying to decide what answer will make you the happiest.”
“The truth will make me happiest, Anita.”
I didn’t like the way he kept using our first names, as if he knew us. I had never heard the voice, I’d have bet money on it. “Would you believe yes, and no?”
He moved so I could see Lisandro again, and he put the barrel of one of his guns against his head. “Perhaps I will simply kill him. I think you would be more cooperative after one of them dies.”
“Don’t do it,” I said.
Lisandro told me with his eyes, Don’t do it. Whatever they want, don’t do it. I knew why they’d gagged him, because he’d have said all that out loud.
Harley spoke each word slowly, carefully. “Is-he-one-of-yourlovers?” There was anger in each word now, the reasonable tone vanishing in the heat. “If I smell a lie on you I will kill him, Anita.”
“We had sex once, but out of respect for his wife’s wishes we’ve behaved since then. See, yes, and no, I wasn’t lying.” I tried to quiet my pulse, but couldn’t quite do it. I was telling the truth, but Harley seemed to want to hurt Lisandro, or maybe he just liked hurting people.
“His wife’s wishes, what does that mean?” He still had the gun barrel pressed to the back of Lisandro’s head. I did not want to have to watch his brains get blown out. I did not want to tell his wife and kids that I’d watched him die.
“It means that she told him that if he ever cheated on her again she’d leave him, and take the kids, or kill him, and me.”
He rubbed Lisandro’s hair with the tip of the gun, almost like he was petting him with it. “Do you think she meant that?”
“That she’d leave him and take their two kids? Yes.”
“No, Anita, the part about killing him and you. Did she mean that?”
I shrugged as far as I could with my hands bound behind my back. “I don’t know.”
He slid the barrel along the side of Lisandro’s face. “Oh, come, you must have an opinion of the woman.”
“I haven’t met her,” I said.
“Interesting,” he said, and slid the gun barrel underneath Lisandro’s chin. Lisandro jerked away, but Harley put the barrel more firmly under his chin, and forced his face up, until they could meet each other’s gaze. “Would your wife truly kill you both?”
Lisandro just glared at him.
“Oh, the gag, how silly of me, just nod. If you had sex with Anita again, would your wife kill you both?”
Lisandro just looked at him.
“Answer me, Lisandro.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know either,” I said.
Harley looked at me. “Don’t help him.”
“I’m just saying that most married couples I know say things in anger they don’t exactly mean, but I know she’ll take his kids. He coaches their soccer teams. He wouldn’t risk losing his kids.”
Harley used the gun barrel to force Lisandro’s head back farther so that the angle of his neck was painful. “Is that true, Lisandro? Do you value your family?”
This time Lisandro gave a tiny nod, as much as the angle of his neck would allow.
Harley moved the gun and let him put his head down. “And do you value your bodyguard, Anita?”
Lisandro flashed me his dark, angry eyes again. Again, we were both wondering which answer would help us, and which one would hurt the most.
“He’s my bodyguard; he’s good at his job. I value anyone who’s good at their job.” My words were calm, reasonable; the pulse in my neck didn’t agree, but I was afraid of what was going to happen next. I couldn’t find my calm on this one.
“Your words are those of an employer, but your fear is that for a friend. He is your lover, and your friend; yes?”
“I make friends easily,” I said.
Harley laughed then, and it was a good, full-chested deep chuckle. Under other circumstances it would have made me smile, at least, but with a gun in each hand, and Lisandro’s blood still fresh on the floor, the laugh was unnerving. It didn’t match what was happening. It’s never good when the bad guy’s reactions don’t match normal human emotions. It means there’s something wrong with them, and that they won’t react like you expect. They become a sociopathic wild card. The kind of wild card that can get people hurt, or dead.
“You make friends easily, so we’ve heard.” His voice still held that edge of humor. “Put Lisandro on the table.”
The three Harlequin carried him to the table. There was no blood trail from his wounded knee; it had already healed. They lifted him like a piece of luggage and laid him facedown on the table.
“Face up, please,” Harley said.
They flipped him over without a word or a hesitation. They never even exchanged a glance between them. What the hell was wrong with them? The Harlequin in the woods hadn’t been like this; they’d been like Harley, like the red tiger Harlequin. Why were these three different?
Harley holstered his guns and came to loom over me. He had to be around six feet tall and from the ground he looked bigger, but they always did. I could see that his eyes were a soft gray. He knelt and picked me up in his arms, gently. He cradled me against his chest. It made me tense, for no reason other than that the gentleness was like the laughter; it didn’t match.
But this close to him, I could smell the sweet pungent scent of leopard. My leopard rose like a darker shadow, to begin to pad up that long path inside me.
Harley stumbled in midstep, and I heard him sniff the air behind his mask. “You smelled like wolf for your first captor, now you smell like leopard for me. I do not believe either is real. I think it is part of your sweet poisoned bait that lures the shapeshifters to you.” He was back to sounding oh so reasonable, but he leaned his face down towar
d me. I felt his chest rise in a long, deep breath, as if he wanted to catch the perfume of my leopard while he could.
My fear had made it good odds that one or more of my beasts would rise; the scent of his leopard had chosen who it would be. My leopard began to jog up the path.
Harley laid me, gently, on the table beside Lisandro. It had been a long time since I’d been laid flat on my back with my hands bound behind me; it wasn’t any more comfortable than the last time I remembered it.
Harley whispered, “If you shapeshift we will kill him.”
“I can’t change form,” I said.
He rose up enough to study my face. “You smell of the truth, but I smell your leopard. You can’t be a wereleopard and not shapeshift.”
“I promise you that so far I haven’t chosen an animal form.”
He stroked his black gloved hand through my hair. “Is your hair as soft as all those curls look?”
“No,” I said.
He laughed again. “You should have said yes; then I would have been tempted to take off a glove and discover the truth for myself.”
Touch increases all vampire powers. I wasn’t sure this was a vampire power, but the fascination I seemed to have over them once they touched me was interesting. “If you want to touch my hair, I can’t stop you.”
His face was close enough that I could see the skin around his eyes crinkle upward, and knew he was smiling. “Why do I want to take off my glove and touch your hair?”
I told him the truth. “I don’t know.”
“The compulsion is quite strong,” he said.
My leopard had stopped running, and seemed to be waiting for something, but I could feel her just below the surface of me like a diver waiting and counting the minutes before he can surface without getting the bends. You hold yourself suspended in the water, watching your bubbles rise, and waiting. The leopard had that feel to her, but there were no bubbles for her to watch, and leopards don’t keep time, not like that.
“Touch me.” I whispered it.
He undid a snap on his sleeve and rolled the glove backward over his hand. The glove was a part of the shirt. He touched my hair, kneading his fingers through the curl. My leopard purred, stretching against his hand as if he touched her domed head, instead of my curls. I saw her in my mind’s eye pushing her head against his hand like a big house-cat, but then she slid herself down his arm, against his body. I had a moment of lying there on the table and feeling that other energy rub along the front of his body at the same time, like being in two places at one time.
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