Blue Moon ab-8

by Laurell Hamilton

  He sat down on the side of the bed and plugged in the blow-dryer. "You're always short of money on a project like this, but it's not money we need. It's good press."

  I frowned at him. "Why do you need good press?"

  "Have you been reading the newspaper lately?" he asked. He removed the towel from his head. His hair was dark and brown with moisture, heavy, as if there was still water to be squeezed from it.

  "You know I don't read the newspaper."

  "You didn't own a television, either, but you do now."

  I leaned my butt against the edge of his desk, as far away from him as I could get and not leave the room. I'd bought the television so that he and I could watch old movies and videos.

  "I don't watch much television anymore."

  "Jean-Claude not a fan of musicals?" Richard asked, and there was that edge to his voice that I'd heard in the last few weeks: angry, jealous, hurt, cruel.

  It was almost a relief to hear it. His anger made everything easier. "Jean-Claude's not much of a watcher. He's more a doer."

  Richard's face thinned out, anger making his high, sculpted cheekbones stand out underneath his skin. "Lucy isn't much of a watcher, either," he said, voice low and careful.

  I laughed, and it wasn't a happy sound. "Thanks for making this easier, Richard."

  He stared down at the floor, his wet hair tucked to one side so his face was in full profile. "I don't want to fight, Anita. I really don't."

  "Could have fooled me," I said.

  He looked up, and his chocolate brown eyes were dark with more than just color. "If I'd wanted a fight, I could have just given in to Lucy. Let you find us in the bed together."

  "You're not mine, anymore, Richard. Why should it bother me what the hell you do?"

  "That is the question, isn't it?" He stood and started walking towards me.

  "Why did they frame you?" I asked. "Why did they want you in jail?"

  "That's you, Anita. All business."

  "And you let yourself get distracted, Richard. You don't keep your eye on the ball." Geez, a sports metaphor. Maybe it was contagious.

  "Fine," he said, and that one word was so angry that it almost hurt. "The troll band that we're studying has broken into two bands. Their birth rate is so low that they don't do that very often. It's the first recorded offshoot for a North American troll troop in this century."

  "This is all fascinating, but what does it have to do with anything?"

  "Just shut up and listen," he said.

  I did. That was a first.

  "The second smaller troop moved out of the park. They've been on private land for a little over a year. The farmer who owned the land was okay with that. In fact, he was sort of pleased. Carrie brought him up to see the first troll baby born on his land, and he carried the picture in his wallet."

  I looked at him. "Sounds great."

  "The farmer, Ivan Greene, died about six months ago. His son was not a nature lover."

  "Ah," I said.

  "But trolls are a severely endangered species. And they're not like the snail darter, or the velvet-back toad. They're a big, showy animal. The son tried to sell the land, and we got it stopped legally."

  "But the son wasn't happy with that," I said.

  Richard smiled. "Not hardly."

  "So he took you to court," I said.

  "Not exactly," Richard said. "We expected him to do that. In fact, we should have known something was wrong when he didn't keep us tied up in court."

  "What did he do?" I asked.

  The anger was leaking away as Richard talked. He always had to work really hard to stay angry. Me, it was one of my best things. He retrieved the towel from the bed and started drying his hair while he talked.

  "Goats started disappearing from a local farmer."

  "Goats?" I said.

  Richard peered at me through a curtain of wet hair. "Goats."

  "Somebody's been reading too much 'Billy Goat Gruff,' " I said.

  Richard wrapped the towel more firmly around his head and sat down on the bed. "Exactly," he said. "No one who really knew anything about trolls would have taken goats. Even the European Lesser Trolls that do hunt will take your dog before they'll take your goat."

  "So it was a setup," I said.

  "Yeah, but the newspapers got hold of it. We were still okay until the dogs and cats started disappearing."

  "They got smarter," I said.

  "They listened to Carrie's interviews where she discussed food preferences," he said.

  I'd come to stand at the foot of the bed. "Why are the local cops interested in some land squabble?"

  "Wait, it gets worse," he said.

  I picked up the spilled comforter and sat on the edge of the bed with it bundled in my lap. "How worse?"

  "A man's body was found two weeks ago. It was just one of those horrible hiking accidents at first. He fell off the mountain. It happens," Richard said.

  "Having seen some of the mountains, I'm not surprised," I said.

  "But somehow the body was listed as a troll kill."

  I frowned at him. "It's not like a shark kill, Richard. How did they tell a troll did it?"

  "A troll didn't do it," Richard said.

  I nodded. "Of course not, but what was their proof, false or otherwise?"

  "Carrie tried to get the coroner's report. But it was leaked to the newspapers first. The man had been beaten to death and had bites out of his body from animals. Troll bites."

  I shook my head. "Anybody who dies in these mountains is going to have animal bites on the body. Trolls are known scavengers."

  "Not according to Sheriff Wilkes," Richard said.

  "What does the sheriff get out of this?"

  "Money," Richard said.

  "Do you know that for sure?" I asked.

  "You mean, can I prove it?"

  I nodded.

  "No. Carrie's been trying to see if there's a paper trail, but so far, nothing. She's been chasing around, trying to get me out of jail for the last few days."

  "Is she the same Carrie you mentioned as a girlfriend in jail?" I asked.

  Richard nodded.

  "Aha," I said.

  "Did you just say, aha?" he asked.

  "Yes, and I apologize for it, but what better way to keep Carrie from working on the mystery than to put her boyfriend in jail."

  "I'm not her boyfriend anymore," he said.

  I hurried past that little bit of knowledge. "Is it common knowledge that you're not an item anymore?"

  "Not really."

  "Then that may explain why they wanted you in jail. They framed you for rape because so far, Wilkes isn't willing to kill."

  "You think that will change?" Richard asked.

  I touched my swollen lip. "He's already started upping the violence level."

  Richard leaned across the bed until his fingertips touched the bruises on my face. It was a tentative touch like a butterfly's wing. "Did Wilkes do this?"

  My heart was suddenly beating faster. "No," I said, "Wilkes was very careful to only show up after all the bad guys needed an ambulance."

  Richard smiled, fingers tracing the edge of my face, just beyond the bruises. "How many of them did you hurt?"

  My pulse was beating so hard, I was afraid he could see it jumping in my throat. "Just one."

  Richard scooted just a little closer to me, hand still trailing up and down my cheek. "What did you do to him?"

  I didn't know whether to move away or cuddle my aching face against the cool warmth of his hand. "I broke his arm and leg at the joint."

  "Why did you do that?" Richard asked.

  "He was threatening Shang-Da, and he pulled a knife on me." My voice sounded breathy.

  Richard leaned in close, then closer. He pulled the ridiculous towel from his head, and his thick hair fell in chilled, wet strands around his face, against my skin. His lips were so close to my mouth, I could feel his breath.

  I stood, stepping back from him, the comforter
still bundled in my arms. I let it fall to the floor, and we stared at each other.

  "Why not, Anita? You want me. I can feel it, smell it, taste your pulse on my tongue."

  "Thanks for that visual, Richard."

  "You still want me after months in his bed. You still want me."

  "That doesn't make it right." I said.

  "Loyal to Jean-Claude now?" he asked.

  "Just trying not to fuck up any worse than I already have, Richard. That's all."

  "Regretting your choice?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "No comment."

  He stood and started towards me. I put a hand out, and he stopped. The weight of his gaze was almost touchable, as if I could feel what he was thinking, and it was personal and intimate, and things we'd never done before.

  "Sheriff Wilkes says get out of Dodge by dark tomorrow, take our bodyguards with us, and he'll just forget everything. The rape charges will vanish, and you can go back to your normal life."

  "I can't do that, Anita. They're talking about hunting the trolls down with guns and dogs. I'm not leaving until I know the trolls are safe."

  I sighed. "School starts in less than two weeks. Are you going to stay here and lose your job?"

  "Do you really think Wilkes will let it go that long?" Richard asked.

  "No," I said. "I think he or some of his men will start killing people first. We need to find out why this land is so valuable."

  "If it's minerals, Greene hasn't filed the report, which means he doesn't need government permission and doesn't need partners."

  "What do you mean permission and partners?"

  "If he'd found, say, emeralds on land that bordered the national park, then he'd have to file the claim and try to get permission to place a mine next to the park. If he'd found something that needed blasting and hard mining like maybe lead or something, then he might need partners to help him finance it. Then he'd need to file a claim to show the prospective partners."

  "When did you start studying geology?" I asked.

  He smiled. "We've been trying to figure out what is on the land that is worth this much trouble. Minerals seemed the logical choice."

  I nodded. "Agreed, but either it's not minerals or it's something private, and he doesn't have to share that info, right?"

  "Exactly."

  "I need to speak with Carrie and the other biologists," I said.

  "Tomorrow," he said.

  "Why not tonight?"

  "You said it outside: arcane werewolf shit."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

  "It means that we're four nights from the full moon, and you're my lupa."

  "I heard you've been taking applicants for the job," I said.

  He smiled, and it wasn't nearly embarrassed enough. "You may find it strange, but a lot of women find me attractive."

  "You know I don't find that strange," I said.

  "But you're still with Jean-Claude," he said.

  I shook my head. "I'm out of here, Richard. I'll stay around and try to keep you from being killed or getting any of our pack killed, but let's drop the personal stuff."

  He closed the distance between us, and I put my hands up to keep him from touching me. My hands ended up pressed to his bare chest. His heart thudded against my hands like a trapped animal.

  "Don't do this, Richard."

  "I tried hating you, and I can't." He put his hands over mine, holding them against the hard smoothness of his chest.

  "Try harder." But it was a whisper.

  He leaned over me, and I drew back. "If you don't dry your hair, you're going to have to wet it down again."

  "I'll risk it." He kept moving towards me, lips half parted.

  I stepped back, pulling my hands out of his, and he let me. He was strong enough that he didn't have to let me, and that still bothered me.

  I backed towards the door. "Stop trying to love me, Richard."

  "I have tried."

  "Then stop trying and just do it." The door was pressed against my back. I grabbed the doorknob without turning around.

  "You ran from me that night. You ran from me to Jean-Claude. You pulled his body around you like a shield to keep me away."

  I opened the door, but he was just suddenly there, holding it half-closed. I started tugging on the door, and it was like pulling against a wall, immobile. His one hand pressed flat on the door, against the pull of my entire body, and I couldn't budge him. I hated that a lot.

  "Damn it, Richard, let me go."

  "I think you're more afraid of how much you love me than you are of Jean-Claude. At least with him you know you're not in love."

  That was it. I wedged my body in the door enough so he couldn't close it on me, but I stopped tugging on it. I looked up at him, at every gorgeous inch of him. "I may not love Jean-Claude in the same way I love you."

  He smiled.

  "Don't get cocky," I said. "I do love Jean-Claude. But love isn't enough, Richard. If love were enough, I wouldn't be with Jean-Claude now. I'd be with you." I looked into his big, brown eyes and said, "But I'm not with you, and love isn't enough. Now, get away from this damned door."

  He stepped back, hands at his side. "Love can be enough, Anita."

  I shook my head and stepped out on the steps. The darkness was thick and touchable but not yet solid. "The last time you listened to me, you killed for the first time, and you haven't recovered from it. I should have just shot Marcus for you."

  "I'd have never forgiven you for that," he said.

  I gave a harsh sound that was almost a laugh. "But at least you wouldn't be hating yourself. I'd be the monster, not you."

  His handsome face was suddenly very solemn; all the light fled from it. "Whatever I do, wherever I go, Anita, I am the monster. You left me because of what I am."

  I stepped down onto the ground, staring up at him. There was no light inside the cabin, and Richard stood in a darker shadow than the coming night. "I thought you said I left you because I was afraid of how much I loved you."

  He looked confused for a second, not knowing how to deal with his own logic thrown back into his face. He finally looked at me. "Do you know why you left me?"

  I wanted to say, "Because you ate Marcus," but I didn't. I couldn't say it staring into his face, so ready to believe the worst of himself. He wasn't my problem anymore, so why did I care how hurt his ego was? Good question. I was out of good answers. Besides, maybe there was some truth to what Richard was saying. I didn't know anymore.

  "I'm going to go to my cabin, now, Richard. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

  "Afraid?" he asked.

  I shook my head and answered without turning around. "Tired." I kept walking, knowing he was watching me. The parking area was empty. I didn't know where Jamil and the others had gone, and I didn't care. I needed some alone time.

  I walked through the soft, summer darkness. There was a spill of stars overhead, glittering and edged by the dark shapes of leaves. It was going to be a beautiful evening. Somewhere off in the distance, a high, clear howl rode the coming dark. Richard had said something about arcane werewolf shit. We were going to have a moonlight jamboree. God, I hated parties.

  10

  I leaned against the door of my cabin, eyes closed, breathing in the cool air. I'd turned the air-conditioning on for my two guests. The coffins sat in the middle of the floor between the desk and the bed. Under the Circus of the Damned, deep underground, neither Damian nor Asher slept until full dark. I hadn't been sure if they would aboveground or not. So the air. Though, actually, it had been partly selfish. Vampires in a closed, hot space tended to smell, well, like vampires. They didn't smell like dead bodies. It was like the smell of snakes, and yet that wasn't it, either. It was a neck-ruffling smell. Thick, musky, more reptile than mammal. The smell of vampires.

  How could I be sleeping with one of them? I opened my eyes. It was dark in the cabin, but there was still a faint push of illumination through the two windows. A faint t
ouch of light against the gleaming feet of the coffins. Had that small touch of natural light been enough to keep both vampires comatose, dead in their coffins, waiting for true dark? Something had, because I knew that they were still and waiting inside the coffins. A small amount of concentration, and I knew they were still dead to the world.

  I strode between the coffins into the bathroom, closed and locked the door. The darkness seemed too solid. I turned on the light. It was white and harsh after the darkness. I was left blinking in the brightness.

  Getting a good look at myself in the mirror was almost startling. I hadn't really seen the bruises yet. The corner of my left eye was a wonderful shade of purple black, swollen, puffy. Seeing it made it hurt worse, like seeing blood from a cut that doesn't sting until you notice it.

  My left cheek was a wonderful shade of greenish brown. It was that sickly green that usually takes days to accomplish. My lower lip was puffy. You could still see the edge of darkened skin where it had bled. I ran my tongue inside my mouth and could feel the ridge where my cheek had been forced against my teeth, but it was healed. I stared into the mirror and realized as sore and awful as it looked, it wasn't as bad as it should have been.

  It took me a few moments of staring to figure it out. When I did finally realize what was happening, a rush of fear ran through my body from my toes to the top of my head. I felt almost faint.

  I was healing. I was healing days worth of injury in only hours. At this rate, the bruises would be almost gone by tomorrow. I should have been wearing the fight marks for days, a week at least. What the hell was happening to me?

  I felt Damian wake in his coffin. I felt it like a stab through my body. It staggered me against the sink. I knew he was hungry, and I knew that he sensed me near at hand. I was Jean-Claude's human servant, bound by marks that only death would break. But Damian was mine. I'd raised him and another vampire, Willie McCoy, more than once. I'd called them from their coffins during daylight hours, safely underground, but the sun had been burning bright when I did it. One necromancer had said it made perfect sense. We could only raise zombies after the souls had fled the bodies, so I could only raise vamps when their souls had fled for the day.