“Anita,” Richard said, “Anita, hear me.”
I had to blink the image of Caleb’s quivering flesh away, and I was suddenly seeing Richard’s image more clearly than what actually lay in front of me. “What?” I knew that one word wasn’t said out loud, only in my head.
“You can turn the hunger to sex, Anita.”
I shook my head. “I think I’d rather eat Caleb than fuck him.”
“You’ve never eaten anyone, or you wouldn’t say that,” Richard said.
I couldn’t really argue with that. “Are you seriously saying you’d be okay with me fucking Caleb?”
He hesitated, the water flickering in the flame light, as his body moved restlessly. I caught a glimpse of knee, and thigh. “If it’s a choice between eating him, or screwing him, yes.”
“You didn’t even like sharing me with Jean-Claude.”
“We’re not dating, Anita.”
Ouch. “Sorry, forgot that for a moment,” I said. The momentary flare of pain like a half-healed wound helped me think a little more clearly. “Jason is in wolf form Richard. I don’t do furry.”
“That I can do something about.” I saw his beast like some golden shadow leap out of him and into me. It was like being on the receiving end of a metaphysical knife, until that power stabbed through me and into Jason, and I was suddenly in the middle of all that power, all that pain, all that rage. The beast feeds on pain and rage, sort of the ultimate id. I was left kneeling, gasping, too breathless to scream.
Jason screamed for me, and I felt his beast slide away from him, no, into him, like stuffing something impossibly huge into a suitcase that was already full. But this suitcase was Jason’s body, and it hurt. I felt the bones twist, the muscles pop and reattach. Fuck, it hurt. I caught a distant thought from Richard that it was hurting so much because it was forced. When you fight the change it hurts more.
It was as if the fur was absorbed back into the pale flesh that rose through it, like something caught in ice, melting back to the surface. Jason’s body melted back, and the fur sank into him, the longer bones, the muscles. It just all sank into him until he lay pale and shivering on a bed of clear liquid. The fluid had soaked my jeans from the knees down. Jason had changed, but not fed, now he’d been forced to change again less than a half-hour later. Maybe if he’d been allowed to feed he’d have been alright, but now, he lay, shivering, curling into a ball to hold himself and to keep in what warmth he had left and to take up as little space as possible. I think Jason, like Caleb, knew touching me would be bad.
Jason wasn’t a danger to Caleb anymore. Until he rested, he wasn’t a danger to anyone. In fact . . . I stared down at the curve of his butt, so smooth, so firm, so tender. I gazed on him nude, and didn’t think about sex at all. All Richard had done was give me a choice of meals.
I looked at Richard down that vision that held him crystalline, and everything else hazy. “All I can think about is sinking teeth into his flesh. You’ve made him helpless, and I still need to feed, because you still need to feed.”
“I’ll find something here to eat. I will feed, but you don’t have anything safe to hunt, Anita. You don’t want to hurt either of them.”
I screamed, loud and long, letting the frustration fill the Jeep, pour out of my mouth, scald up my throat, ball my hands into fists, and lash out, smashing the side of the Jeep. I heard the metal groan, and that made me blink, look at what I’d done. I’d dented the metal. A rounded dimple the size of my fist. Fuck.
Caleb made a small sound, and I looked down at him, and all I could see was the soft flesh of his stomach, I could almost feel it under my teeth. I was crouched over Caleb, my face sniffing along his stomach. I didn’t remember getting this close.
Richard called to me, “Anita!”
I looked up, as if he were really in front of me. He pushed Jamil’s arm away and leaned back against the side of the tub. He ran his hands over his chest, fingers tracing his nipples, one hand trailing lower, as he pushed himself out of the water. It cascaded down his body in silver flame shot lines, and that hand traced lower, lower. Over his stomach, down the line of hair, and finally to cup himself, play with himself. I watched him grow larger, and the hunger changed like turning a switch. But the moment the hunger became sex, the ardeur flared to life. It came from the center of my being like a flame, spreading, spreading, and Richard’s hand, Richard’s body fanned the heat, brought it in a roaring sheet over my skin.
But Jean-Claude wasn’t here to help us, this time, and Richard couldn’t shield today. The ardeur ran down that metaphysical cord and hit Richard like a truck at full speed. It bowed his back, convulsed his hand where it gripped his body, made him fall back on the edge of the tub, his legs trailing into the water.
I looked into those big brown eyes, that face so empty without its mane of hair, and watched terror fight with desire. I don’t think he’d ever felt the full force of the ardeur before. It overwhelmed him, left him breathless, immobile, but that wouldn’t last. I knew it wouldn’t last.
I told him what he’d told me, “You can turn the ardeur to hunger, but we’re going to have to feed on something, or someone, Richard. It’s too late for anything else.”
Even his voice in my head seemed strangled, “I feel better and worse. I think I can hunt now. I couldn’t have moved that much before.”
“Everything has its upside, Richard, and it’s down.” I was angry with Richard, a fine hot rage that helped keep me treading the water of the ardeur that was trying so hard to engulf me, drown me in desire. But I held my anger to my chest and treaded water for all I was worth.
I felt his hunger change, felt his belly tighten with need for flesh and blood and tearing, and only distant, very distant was the thrill of sex. “I’ll hunt an animal, and I’ll be fine, I think.”
“That won’t help me much, Richard,” and I let the anger trail down the binding between us.
“I am sorry, Anita, I didn’t understand.”
I knew in that moment that I could force his hunger back into the ardeur. That just as he forced Jason to change form, I could force Richard’s hunger to be the form of my choosing. I knew I could run magic down his skin and force him to feed the way I was going to have to feed. But I didn’t. He’d done what he’d done in innocence; I couldn’t return the favor, not deliberately.
“Go hunt your animal, Richard.”
“Anita . . . I am sorry.”
“You’re always sorry, Richard. Now get out of my head before I do something we’ll both regret.”
He pulled away, but it wasn’t a clean break. Normally, his shields were solid like metal doors clanging down. Today, it was like taffy pulling apart, clinging to each other, huge tendrils of sticky, melting candy that even when pulled apart was still two halves of a whole. I wanted to pull us together, to melt into the heat until we were one big hot sticky mess, and today Richard couldn’t stop me. He didn’t have the control to keep me out of him.
Jean-Claude woke. I felt his eyes flash wide, felt him take that first gasping breath, felt life fill him. He was awake.
Jason was gazing at me with his sky blue eyes. “He’s awake.”
I nodded. “I know.”
Nathaniel spoke as if he’d understood way more of the unheard conversation than he should have, “We’re almost to the Circus, Anita.”
“How long?”
“Five minutes, less.”
“Make it less,” I said.
The Jeep leapt forward, accelerating. I crawled into the backseat and fastened the seat belt tight across me. It wasn’t to keep me safe in case we had an accident. It was to remind me not to let myself loose until we got to the Circus, and Jean-Claude.
31
I FOUGHT THE ardeur on the drive to the Circus. I fought the ardeur when I ran through the parking lot and banged on the door. I ran past Bobby Lee’s surprised face and managed to say, “Ask Nathaniel about the Jeep.” Then I was past him and running for the stairs that led down, down to
the underground.
Richard was running, too. He was running through the trees, limbs and leaves slashing at him, but he was never quite there, dodging, moving, like water made flesh, flesh made speed. He ran through the trees, and I heard something large crashing ahead of him. His head came up, and the chase was on.
I hit Jean-Claude’s bedroom door, as Richard was catching glimpses of the deer that darted just ahead of him, sprinting for its life. There were other wolves in the forest, most of them in true wolf form, but not all.
I flung the door open and the guards on the door, closed it firmly behind me. I don’t know what they sensed, or what they saw, and that was probably just as well.
There were still blue silk sheets on the bed, and Asher was still framed in them, motionless, dead. Only the Master of the City was awake, only he moved. I sent a questioning thought and felt all the vampires asnooze in their coffins, tucked in their beds. I touched Angelito for a moment, and found him restless and pacing, confused, wondering why his mistress hadn’t succeeded in her diabolical plan.
He looked up as if he saw me, or felt something, then I was back at the bathroom door. Richard had his deer down and struggling. A hoof caught him across the stomach, tore the skin, but there were other wolves there now, and the doe had no chance. A black furred wolf tore into her throat, and I felt Richard riding the deer in human form, holding her as the struggles grew slower, spasmodic, involuntary. The deer’s fear faded, like champagne opened and left to go flat.
The bathroom door flung open, hitting the wall, and I didn’t remember touching it. I was through the door before it slammed shut behind me, and again, I didn’t remember touching it.
Jean-Claude was in the black marble tub. He was kneeling, his long black hair clinging to his shoulders. He’d cleaned up. Feeling me coming towards him like a storm of need, he’d run a bath. Of course, he’d felt me like a storm of desire before, it didn’t always mean the storm would fall on him.
I could smell the fresh, hot blood, as Richard leaned down towards the deer’s throat. The wolf that had actually made the kill had backed off, so the Ulfric could feed. The deer’s skin smelled acrid, almost bitter, as if the fear had bled out of the skin. I did not want to be in Richard’s head when he put his mouth to that flesh.
I climbed into the bathtub in my clothes, the hot water soaking my jeans almost to the tops of my thighs. “Help me,” it came out in a whisper that I’d meant to be a scream.
Jean-Claude stood up, water streaming down the perfect whiteness of his skin, drawing my eyes down the length of his body, finding him soft and not ready for me. I screamed, and Richard sank teeth into skin that was covered in hair.
Jean-Claude caught me, or I would have fallen into the water. I suddenly couldn’t feel Richard anymore. It was as if a door had slammed in my face and there was a second of blessed silence, a quietness that went all the way to my soul.
Jean-Claude spoke into that silence. “I can shield you from our Richard, ma petite, and he from you, but I cannot shield us both from the ardeur.”
I stared up at him, where I’d half-swooned in his arms, his hands at my back, my body bowed down towards the water, my legs soaked with the hot liquid.
I opened my mouth to say something, then he was as good as his word, and the ardeur came roaring back. I convulsed in his arms, and he nearly dropped me, trailing my hair in the water, pulling me upwards, pressing our bodies against one another. My hands, my mouth, my body swarmed over him, traced that slick, perfect skin, caressed the faint tracery of whip scars on his back, which were just another part of his perfection.
He drew back from my mouth enough to gasp, “Ma petite, I have not fed, there is no blood to fill my body.”
I gazed up at him and found his eyes as normal as they ever got, midnight blue, lashed with black lace. But there was no power in them. Usually, by the time we’ve gotten this much foreplay in, his eyes had bled to pure pupilless blue.
I had to swim up through the ardeur, through the need to finally understand what he meant. I pushed my hair to one side, and said, “Feed, feed, then fuck me.”
“I cannot roll your mind, ma petite, it will only be pain.”
I shook my head, eyes closed, my hands tracing over the skin of his shoulders and arms. “Please, Jean-Claude, please, feed, feed on me.”
“If you were in your right mind, you would not offer this.”
I pulled the red T-shirt out of my pants, but had trouble pushing the straps of my shoulder holster down, as if I couldn’t remember how. I screamed my frustration, wordless. Maybe because of that, or because Jean-Claude was trying to fight off too many things at once, I suddenly felt Richard feeding, hot flesh going in great gulps down his throat.
I choked, stumbled, collapsed against the edge of the tub, letting the hot water come up to my waist. I was going to be sick.
Jean-Claude touched my back, and I couldn’t sense Richard anymore. “I cannot shield us from our wolf, fight both your ardeur and mine, and fight my own bloodlust. It is too much.”
I sat on the edge of the tub, hands flat, trying to keep myself steady on the marble. “Then don’t fight it all. Pick your battles.”
“What battle should I choose?” he asked, voice soft.
The ardeur rose like a gentle wave, chasing back the nausea, cleansing me of the sensation of meat and flesh going down my throat. I hadn’t realized the ardeur had any gentleness to it.
As if he’d read my thoughts, Jean-Claude said, “If you do not struggle against the ardeur, it is not so terrible.”
“Like the beast, if you accept it, it doesn’t beat the hell out of you.”
He gave a small smile. “Oui, ma petite.”
The ardeur drew me to my feet, and I wasn’t shaky anymore. I was steady in my desire. I moved through the hot, thigh-deep water, my jeans clinging to me like a second skin, my jogging shoes sliding through the thickness of the water. I stood touching him only with my gaze. The strength of his thighs, the loose swelling of his groin, skin there slightly darker in color than the rest of him, the line of black hair that traced upward, around his belly button, to the smooth lines of his chest with the pale circles of his nipples, and the flat whiteness of the cross-shaped burn scar. I came to the grace of his shoulders, the line of his neck, and finally the face. I was never sure how to look upon his face and not be overwhelmed. If it had just been the dark glory of his hair, I could have borne it, but his eyes, his eyes, the darkest blue they could be and not be black. They were the richest blue I’d ever seen. His eyelashes were so thick they were like black lace. The bones in his face were delicate, small and finely chiseled, as if whoever had made him had paid attention to every curve of his cheek, every turn of his chin, every sweep of brow, and finally the mouth. His mouth was simply beautiful. So red against the whiteness of his skin.
I touched his face, traced the edge of it from temple to chin, and my fingers clung to the beads of water on his skin, sticking, so that touching him wasn’t smooth, or easy. The ardeur was still inside me like a great warm weight, but I’d welcomed it this time, welcomed it chasing back Richard’s beast, and I could think, though only about the man in front of me.
I stared up into that face and said what I was thinking, “Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?” I slipped my hand behind his neck and began gently to bring him closer as if for a kiss, “And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?” I turned my face and swept my hair aside, exposing my neck, “Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!”
He spoke, “Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it: Thinkest thou that I who saw the face of God, and tasted the eternal joys of heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of everlasting bliss!”
The quote made me turn and look at him. “That’s from Dr. Faustus, too, isn’t it?”
“Oui.”
“I only know the one quote,” I said.
“Let me give you another. ‘I kissed thee ere I killed thee, no way but this, ki
lling myself to die upon a kiss.’ ”
“That’s not Marlowe,” I said.
“One of his contemporaries,” Jean-Claude said.
“Shakespeare,” I said.
“You surprise me, ma petite.”
“You gave me too big a clue,” I said, “Marlowe and Shakespeare are about the only contemporaries that people still quote.” I frowned up at him. “Why are you fighting me on this?”
“Today with the ardeur riding you, you say feed. When your mind has cleared, you will call foul, and I will be punished by your regret.” A look of such longing and frustration crossed his face. “I want more than almost anything to share blood with you, ma petite, but if I take it now when you are intoxicated, you will refuse me later more adamantly than ever.”
I would have liked to argue with him. I would have liked to find another quote from someone to help persuade him, but my control over the ardeur wasn’t as good as his, yet. Just staring up at all that beauty was making me forget. Forget what little poetry I knew. Forget logic, reason, restraint. Forget everything but his beauty, forget everything but my own need.
I didn’t so much kneel as fall down his body. The hot water soaked through my shirt, my bra, my body, holding me in the heat of it, as I gazed up the length of Jean-Claude. He looked down at me, and still his eyes were human, normal, lovely to look at, but I wanted more.
I leaned my face in towards him, slowly, for a kiss on the mouth.
“Ma petite, there is nothing you can do until I have fed.”
I laid a gentle kiss on his groin.
He closed his eyes, and his breath came out in a careful sigh. “I am not saying it is not pleasurable, but I will be of no use to you.”
I took him in my mouth, and he was small and soft, so I didn’t have to fight to get all of him inside. I loved the sensation of him when he was small, not just because I wasn’t fighting the erection to breath and swallow, but the difference in texture. There was nothing on a woman’s body that had this feel to it. I rolled him gently around in my mouth, and he shuddered. I sucked gently, pulling with my lips, rolling my eyes upward to watch him throw back his head, his hands convulse, grabbing at empty air.
Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15 Page 27
