Anita Blake 4 - Lunatic Cafe

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "Nice to know I look like I feel," I said.

  He touched my cheek, fingers sliding just over the skin, a ghost of a touch that made me shiver. He traced the edge of the scrape. It hurt and I jerked away. A spot of blood decorated his fingertips, gleaming in the dome light. I watched his eyes stare at the blood. I saw the thought trail behind his true brown eyes. He almost licked his fingers clean, as Rafael had done. He wiped his fingers on his coat, but I'd seen the hesitation. He knew I'd seen it.

  "Anita . . ."

  The back door opened, and I whirled, going for the last knife I had on me. The world swam in waves of blackness and nausea. The movement had been too abrupt. Stephen the Werewolf stood in the half-open door staring at me. He was sort of frozen there, blue eyes wide. He was looking at the silver knife in my hand. The fact that I'd been blind and too sick to use it seemed to have escaped him. It might have been that I was kneeling, moving towards him. I'd been willing to strike blind as a bat, not considering that whoever it was had a right to be there.

  "You didn't tell me you brought someone with you," I said.

  "I should have mentioned that," Richard said.

  I relaxed, easing back to kneel in the seat. "Yeah, you should have mentioned that." The knife gleamed in the dome light. It looked razor sharp and well tended. It was.

  "I was just going to check on Louie," Stephen said. He sounded a little shaky. He had a black leather jacket with silver studding snapped tight around his throat. His long, curling blond hair fell forward over the jacket. He looked like an effeminate biker.

  "Fine," I said.

  Stephen looked past me to Richard. I felt more than saw Richard nod. "It's okay, Stephen." There was something in his voice that made me turn slowly to look at him.

  He had a strange look on his face. "Maybe you are as dangerous as you pretend to be."

  "I don't pretend, Richard."

  He nodded. "Maybe you don't."

  "Is that a problem?"

  "As long as you don't shoot me, or my pack members, I guess not."

  "I can't promise about your pack."

  "They're mine to protect," he said.

  "Then make sure they leave me the hell alone."

  "Would you fight me over that?" he asked.

  "Would you fight me?"

  He smiled, but it wasn't happy. "I couldn't fight you, Anita. I could never hurt you."

  "That's where we're different, Richard."

  He leaned in as if to kiss me. Something on my face stopped him. "I believe you."

  "Good," I said. I slipped the knife back in its sheath. I stared at his face while I did it. I didn't need to look to put the knife away. "Never underestimate me, Richard, and what I'm willing to do to stay alive. To keep others alive. I never want us to fight, not like that, but if you don't control your pack, then I will."

  He moved away from me. His face looked almost angry. "Is that a threat?"

  "It's out of control, and you know it. I can't promise not to hurt them unless you can guarantee that they'll behave. And you can't do that."

  "No, I can't guarantee that." He didn't like saying it.

  "Then don't ask me to promise not to hurt them."

  "Can you at least try not to kill them, as a first option?"

  I thought about that. "I don't know. Maybe."

  "You can't just say, 'Yes, Richard, I won't kill your friends'?"

  "It would be a lie."

  He nodded. "I suppose so."

  I heard the rustle of leather from the backseat as Stephen moved around. "Louie's out of it, but he'll be okay."

  "How did you get him into the Jeep?" Richard asked.

  I just stared at him.

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. "You carried him. I knew that." He touched the cut on my forehead, gently. It still hurt. "Even with this, you carried him."

  "It was either that or let the cops have him. What would have happened if they'd piled him into an ambulance and he'd started healing like that?"

  "They'd have known what he was," Richard said.

  Stephen was leaning on the back of the seat, chin resting on his forearms. He seemed to have forgotten that I'd nearly stabbed him, or maybe he was used to being threatened. Maybe. Up close his eyes were the startled blue of cornflowers. With his blond hair spitting around his face he looked like one of those china dolls that you buy in exclusive shops, that you never let children play with.

  "I can take Louie to my place," he said.

  "No," I said.

  They both looked at me, surprised. I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew that Richard could not come with me to Guilty Pleasures. If I had any hope of keeping us all alive, Richard could not be on the spot when I broke the news.

  "I thought I'd drive you home," Richard said, "or to the nearest hospital, whichever you need."

  It would have been my preference to, but not tonight. "Louie's your best friend. I thought you might want to take care of him."

  He was staring at me, lovely brown eyes narrowed into suspicious squints. "You're trying to get rid of me. Why?"

  My head hurt. I couldn't think of a good lie. I didn't think he'd buy a bad one. "How much do you trust Stephen?"

  The question seemed to throw him off balance. "I trust him."

  His first reaction was to say yes, I trust him, but he hadn't thought about it first. "No, Richard, I mean do you trust him not to talk to Jean-Claude or Marcus ?"

  "I wouldn't tell Marcus anything you didn't want me to," Stephen said.

  "And Jean-Claude?" I asked.

  Stephen looked uncomfortable, but said, "If he asked a direct question, I'd have to give a direct answer."

  "How can you owe more allegiance to the Master of the City than to your own pack leader?"

  "I follow Richard, not Marcus."

  I glanced at Richard. "A little palace revolt?"

  "Raina wanted him in the movies. I stepped in and stopped it."

  "Marcus must really hate you," I said.

  "He fears me," Richard said.

  "Even worse," I said.

  Richard didn't say anything. He knew the situation better than I did, even if he wasn't willing to do the ultimate deeds.

  "Fine, I'd planned to tell Jean-Claude that you proposed."

  "You proposed," Stephen said. His voice held a lilt of surprise. "Did she say yes?"

  Richard nodded.

  A look of delight swept over Stephen's face. "Way to go," His face fell into sadness. It was like watching wind over a grassy field, everything visible on the surface. "Jean-Claude is going to go ape-shit."

  "I couldn't have said it better myself."

  "Then why tell him tonight?" Richard asked. "Why not wait? You're not sure about marrying me anymore. Are you?"

  "No," I said. I hated saying it, but it was the truth. I loved him already, but if it went much further it would be too late. If I had any doubts I needed to work them out now. Staring into his face, smelling the warm scent of his aftershave, I wished I could have thrown caution to the wind. Falling into his arms. But I couldn't. I just couldn't, not unless I was sure.

  "Then why tell him at all? Unless you're planning to elope and didn't tell me, we have some time."

  I sighed. I told him why it had to be tonight. "You can't go with me."

  "I won't let you go alone," he said.

  "Richard, if you are Johnny-on-the-spot when he finds out, he'll try to kill you, and I'll try to kill him to protect you." I shook my head. "If the shit hits the fan, this could end up like Hamlet."

  "How like Hamlet?" Stephen asked.

  "Everybody dead," I said.

  "Oh," he said.

  "You'd kill Jean-Claude to protect me, even after what you saw last night?"

  I stared at him. I tried to read behind his eyeballs to know if there was anybody home I could really talk to. He was still Richard. With his love of the outdoors, any activity that would get you messy, and a smile that warmed me to my toes. I wasn't sure I could marry him, but I w
as positive I couldn't let anybody kill him.

  "Yes."

  "You won't marry me, but you'll kill for me. I don't understand that."

  "Ask me if I still love you, Richard. That answer's still yes."

  "How can I let you face him alone?"

  "I've been doing just fine without you."

  He touched my forehead, and I winced. "You don't look fine."

  "Jean-Claude won't hurt me."

  "You don't know that for sure," he said.

  He had a point there. "You can't protect me, Richard. Your being there will get us both killed."

  "I can't let you go alone."

  "Don't go all manly on me, Richard. It's a luxury that we can't afford. If saying yes to marriage is going to make you behave like an idiot, it can be changed."

  "You took back your yes."

  "It's not a definite no, either," I said.

  "Just trying to protect you would make you say no?"

  "I don't need your protection, Richard. I don't even want it."

  He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. "If I play the white knight, you'll leave me."

  "If you think you need to play the white knight, then you don't know me at all."

  He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. "Maybe I want to be your white knight."

  "That's your problem."

  He smiled. "I guess so."

  "If you can drive the Jeep back to my apartment, I'll take a cab."

  "Stephen can drive you," he said. He volunteered him without even wondering what Stephen would say about it. It was arrogant.

  "No, I'll take a cab."

  "I don't mind," Stephen said. "I'm due back at Guilty Pleasures tonight anyway."

  I glanced at him. "What do you do for a living, Stephen?"

  He laid his cheek on his forearm and smiled at me. He managed to look winsome and sexy at the same time. "I'm a stripper," he said.

  Of course he was. I wanted to point out that he'd refused to be in a pornographic movie, but he still stripped. But taking your clothes off down to tasteful undies was not the same thing as having sex on screen. Not even close.

  Chapter 23

  Lillian was a small woman in her mid-fifties. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and neat in a no-nonsense style. Her fingers were as quick and sure as the rest of her. The last time she'd treated my wounds, she'd had claws and greying fur.

  I was sitting on an examining table in the basement of an apartment building. A building that housed lycanthropes and was owned by a shapeshifter. The basement was the makeshift clinic for the lycanthropes in the area. I was the first human they'd ever allowed to see the place. I should have been flattered, but managed not to be.

  "Well, according to X rays you don't have a skull fracture."

  "Glad to hear it," I said.

  "You may have a mild concussion, but a mild one won't show up on tests, at least nothing we have the equipment for here."

  "So I can go?" I started to hop down.

  She stopped me with a hand on my arm. "I didn't say that."

  I eased back on the table. "I'm listening."

  "Grudgingly," she said, smiling.

  "If you want grace under pressure, Lillian, I'm not your girl."

  "Oh, I don't know about that," she said. "I've cleaned the scrapes and taped up your forehead. You were very lucky not to need stitches."

  I didn't like stitches, so I agreed with her.

  "I want you to wake up every hour for twenty-four hours." I must not have looked happy, because she said, "I know it's awkward, and probably unnecessary, but humor me. If you go to sleep and are injured more severely than I think you are, you might not wake up. So humor an old rat lady. Set the alarm or have someone wake you every hour for twenty-four hours."

  "Twenty-four hours from the injury?" I asked hopefully.

  She laughed. "Normally I'd say from now, but you can do it from the time of the injury. We're just being cautious."

  "I like being cautious." Richard pushed away from the wall. He came to stand with us under the lights. "I volunteer to wake you every hour."

  "You can't go with me," I said.

  "I'll wait for you at your apartment."

  "Oh, no driving for the night," Lillian said. "Just as a precaution."

  Richard's fingertips touched the back of my hand. He didn't try to hold my hand, just that touch. Comforting. I didn't know what to do. If I was going to say no, eventually, it didn't seem fair to flirt. Just the weight of his fingers was a line of warmth all the way up my arm. Lust, just lust. Don't I wish.

  "I'll drive your Jeep to your apartment, if you agree. Stephen can drive you to Guilty Pleasures."

  "I can take a cab."

  "I'd feel better if Stephen took you. Please," he said.

  The "please" made me smile. "All right, Stephen can drive me."

  "Thank you," Richard said.

  "You're welcome."

  "I would recommend you go straight home and rest," Lillian said.

  "I can't," I said.

  She frowned at me. "Very well, but rest as soon as you can. If this is a mild concussion and you abuse yourself, it could worsen. And even if it isn't a concussion, rest will do you more good than gallivanting around."

  I smiled. "Yes, Doctor."

  She made a small umph sound. "I know how much attention you're going to pay to my orders. But go along with you, both of you. If you won't listen to good sense, then be gone."

  I slid off the table, and Richard did not offer to help me. There were reasons why we had been dating this long. A moment of dizziness and I was fine.

  Lillian didn't look happy. "You promise me that this dizziness is less than it was."

  "Scout's honor."

  She nodded. "I'll take your word for it." She didn't look really pleased about it, but she patted my shoulder and walked out. She had made no notes. There was no chart to check. Nothing to prove I'd ever been here, except for some bloody cotton swabs. It was a nice setup.

  I had gotten to lie back and relax in the car on the way here. Just not having to tote around naked men or drive helped a lot. I really was feeling better, which was great since I had to see Jean-Claude tonight regardless of how I felt. I wondered whether Gretchen would have given me a night of grace if she had put me in the hospital. Probably not.

  I couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to go. "I've got to go, Richard."

  He put his hands on my shoulders. I didn't pull away. He turned me to look at him, and I let him. His face was very solemn. "I wish I could go with you."

  "We've been over this," I said.

  He looked away from my eyes. "I know."

  I touched his chin and raised his eyes to mine. "No heroics, Richard, promise me."

  His eyes were too innocent. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Bullshit. You can't be waiting outside. You have to stay here. Promise me that."

  He dropped his arms and stalked away from me. He leaned against the other examining table, palms flat, all his weight on his arms. "I hate you doing this alone."

  "Promise me you will wait here, or wait at my apartment. Those are the only choices, Richard."

  He wouldn't look at me. I walked over to him, and touched his arm. Tension sang through it. There was none of that otherworldly energy, yet, but it was there below the surface, waiting.

  "Richard, look at me."

  He stayed with his head bent, hair falling like a curtain between us. I ran my hand through that wavy hair, grabbing a handful close to the warmth of his skull. I used the hair like a handle and turned his face to me. His eyes were dark with more than just their color. Something was home in his eyes that I'd seen only last night. The beast was rising through his eyes like a sea monster swimming upward through dark water.

  I tightened my grip on his hair, not to hurt, but to get his attention. A small sound escaped his throat. "If you fuck this up through some misguided male ego thing, you're going to get me killed."
I drew his face towards me, hand tangled in his hair. When his face was only inches from mine, almost close enough to kiss, I said, "If you interfere, you will get me killed. Do you understand?"

  The darkness in his eyes wanted to say no. I watched the struggle on his face. Finally he said, "I understand."

  "You'll be waiting for me at home?"

  He nodded, pulling his hair against my grip. I wanted to pull his face to me. To kiss him. We stood there frozen, hesitating. He moved to me. Our lips touched. It was a soft, gentle brush of lips. We stared at each other from an inch away. His eyes were drowning deep, and I could suddenly feel his body like an electric shock through my gut.

  I jerked away from him. "No, not yet. I don't know how I feel about you anymore."

  "Your body knows," he said.

  "If lust was everything, I'd be with Jean-Claude."

  His face crumbled as if I'd slapped him. "If you really aren't going to date me anymore, then don't tell Jean-Claude. It's not worth it."

  He looked so hurt. That was one thing I'd never meant to do. I laid my hand on his arm. The skin was smooth, warm, real. "If I can get out of telling him, I will, but I don't think Gretchen will make that one of my choices. Besides, Jean-Claude can smell a lie. You did propose, and I said yes."

  "Tell him you changed your mind, Anita. Tell him why. He'll love it. That I'm not human enough for you." He pulled away from my hand. "Jean-Claude will just eat that up." His voice was bitter, angry. The bitterness was strong enough to walk on. I'd never heard him like that.

  I couldn't stand it. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I buried my face in the line of his spine. Cheek cradled between the swell of his shoulders. He started to turn, but I held tighter. He stood very still in my arms. His hands touched my arms tentatively at first, then he hugged them to him. A shudder ran through his back. His breath came in a long gasp.

  I turned him around to face me. Tears glistened on his cheeks. Jesus. I'd never been good around tears. My first instinct was to promise them anything if they would only stop crying.

  "Don't," I said. I touched a fingertip to one tear. It clung to my skin, trembling. "Don't let this tear you up, Richard. Please."

  "I can't be human again, Anita." His voice sounded very normal. If I hadn't seen the tears, I wouldn't have known he was crying. "I'd be human for you if I could."