“Help me.”
“What’s wrong now?”
I squeezed Jason’s hand, and it was like that extra bit of contact took me closer to Richard. It was like I hovered just in front of him. He reached out, and his hand brushed through me.
My beast reacted to it, screaming and clawing, going wild. It didn’t want the wolf inside us, there wasn’t room for it. There certainly wasn’t room for both.
Richard drew his hand back, and said, “Anita, Anita can you hear me?”
I screamed his name, because screaming was all I could do. It felt like the leopard was cutting me up, trying to dig its way out, and it couldn’t get out.
“Give your beast to someone else, Anita. Someone who’s body can let it out.”
I didn’t understand what he meant. I started to tell him so, but he seemed to feel my puzzlement. Because he shared a memory with me. They say a picture is worth a thousand words; a memory with complete sensory surround sound is worth so much more. Saves so much time, shares the pain faster.
We were in the center ring of the Circus of the Damned. I reached out to Richard’s beast, his rage, because if we couldn’t control it, the council would kill him. I reached out to that rage. That power that he called his beast came at my touch. I smelled like home to it, somehow, and it poured into me, over me, through me, like a blinding storm of heat and power. It was similar to the times I’d raised power with Richard and Jean-Claude, but this time there was no spell to use the power on. Nowhere for the beast to run. It tried to crawl out of my skin, tried to expand inside my body, but there was no beast to call. I was empty for it, and it raged inside me. I felt it growing until I thought I would burst apart in bloody fragments. The pressure built and built and had nowhere to go.
Richard had crawled to me on hands and knees, bleeding. He’d laid his lips against mine in a trembling kiss. A sound came from low in his throat, and he was suddenly pressing his mouth against mine, until it either bruised or I opened my mouth to him. I opened, and his tongue plunged inside me, his lips feeding on mine. The cut inside his mouth filled my mouth with the taste of him, salty, sweet. I held his face in my hands, my mouth searching his, and it wasn’t enough.
We moved to our knees, mouths still pressed together. My hands slid over his chest, his back, and something deep inside me clicked and relaxed. His power tried to spill outward, but I held it back . . . Richard’s hands slid up my legs, finding the lace top of the black panties. His fingers traced my naked spine, and I was undone.
The power spilled upward, outward, filling us both. It flared over us in a rushing wave of heat and light, until my vision swam in pieces, and we both cried out with one voice. His beast slid inside of him. I felt it crawl out of me, pulled like a large, thick string, spilling inside of Richard, coiling into his body. I expected to feel the last bit of it spill between us, like draining the last drop of wine from a cup, but that drop remained.
The memory rolled back and left me gasping on the bed. Nathaniel was leaning over me. “Anita, Anita, are you alright?” His eyes had bled back to lavender.
Jason was nuzzling my hair. “You smell like pack.”
Richard was standing in his kitchen, one hand on the edge of the cabinets as if he were steadying himself. “Now, do you remember?”
“I remember,” I whispered.
“What do you remember?” Nathaniel asked.
“Can’t you smell it?” Jason asked. He was rubbing his lips against the side of my face.
Nathaniel leaned over me, his face very close to mine. “Wolf,” he sniffed my skin, “Richard,” he whispered the name against my skin.
The feel of their lips against me made me close my eyes for a moment. But once sight was gone, the scent of them covered me like a blanket. The sweet musk of wolf and the acrid sweetness of leopard were everywhere, like invisible water, and I was drowning in it. I expected my cat to complain, but it didn’t. It was strangely calmed by both scents.
“You’re still pack, Anita, as much as you’re pard. Give your beast to them.” Richard stared up at me, and I noticed for the first time that he had scratches low on his right cheek. Not usually a place you mark in the heat of passion.
I stopped seeing Richard’s scratched face in his sunny kitchen. I opened my eyes to a wisp of auburn hair across my eyes. Nathaniel was pressed against the side of my face, his mouth just under the line of my jaw. His body was back on top of mine, laying his weight along me. He was so warm.
Jason still had my hand, and his mouth was rubbing along the side of my neck on the side opposite from Nathaniel.
I was warm and safe, and I realized that Richard had given me some of his control. He’d given me breathing space. I needed to use it before my beast shook free of this warm, comfortable lassitude.
I thought back over the memory of giving Richard’s beast back to him. How had it worked? A kiss, why did everything take a kiss, or a touch? Jean-Claude had answered that question last night. Because we could only use the tools we had available. Most of our tools came from Belle Morte’s line, and that meant that our tools, our skills, were going to have a certain theme. I waited to be tired of that theme, and part of me was, part of me thought we really needed some new skill sets, but most of me was warm and safe, and covered in the scent of pard and pack.
Their lips worked gently at each side of my neck, soft kisses. Nathaniel’s body was so warm pressed the length of mine, warmer than any blanket, better than simply being held in someone’s arms. Jason’s hand smoothed along the edge of my hip, and I couldn’t help but cuddle into the feel of his touch. That one small writhing movement seemed to affect Nathaniel’s body. He was suddenly heavier than he had been, heavy in the way Richard’s kiss had been in the memory. Nathaniel’s hips pressed in against me, and as with the remembered kiss, he pushed against me, and I had a choice of opening to him, or keeping him outside my body.
Richard’s beast had left through a kiss. I could only kiss one of them at a time. The thought came that I could do other things, and still kiss. But I’d had enough of threesomes and more. My battered morals had had about all the multiples they could handle for awhile. That little voice whispered, but it feels so good. And the voice that I’d learned at my grandmother’s hand yelled, Slut! You work so long and so hard to listen to your inner voice, but sometimes guilt or habit makes you listen to those other voices—the ones that beat you down. Sometimes you just can’t shake them.
“I need to give my beast to my cat,” I said, and my voice was thick, slow. I tried to draw my hand out of Jason’s, but he held on. He whispered into the bend of my neck, “I’ll be your cat.”
Nathaniel whispered against my other cheek, “I’m her cat.”
Jason’s voice against my skin, “I’ll be your doggy then.” He licked along my neck, and it made me writhe, but I shook my head, just a little, turning my head so I could see the side of his face.
“Not tonight, Jason.” This time when I pulled my hand, he let me go.
His blue eyes came into my vision, and he kissed me, long and deep, and my beast lay quiet. “You taste like blood and other men’s kisses,” he whispered, as he pulled away.
My beast woke inside me, as if it had only been napping. It woke and tried to spill upward. It filled my body like someone trying on a coat that was far too small. I could feel it stretching out inside me, feel it filling me, like hot water spilling up and up inside me until it filled every inch of me, and still there was more to come. It poured and poured, if water could have bones and muscle and anger. Because when it found that there were limits, that my skin did not burst, my bones did not bend, my body did not give, the beast began to rage inside me. It slashed with claws and fought with muscles that should have been metaphoric but felt all too real. It was trying to tear its way free of the cage, and the cage was my body.
I screamed, screamed and struggled, but you can’t fight something that you can’t touch. Nathaniel was still on top of me, eyes wide and frightened. He starte
d to slide off of me, but I grabbed his arms, and managed to say, “Kiss me.”
If it had been almost anyone else, they would have argued, but he didn’t. He put his mouth against mine, and the next scream was muffled into his mouth. I willed the thing inside me into him. I tried to force it, but it was panicked, and could not hear me. It was like a wild animal, cornered, it heard nothing, but its own fear.
I tore my mouth from Nathaniel’s and simply screamed. Jason was there, a hand on either side of my face, and the moment he touched me, the beast hesitated. The cat paused long enough to sniff the air, as if wondering what he was.
I looked up at Nathaniel with Jason’s hands still holding my head. “Try again, kiss me.”
He kissed me, and this time I was able to kiss him back, but the beast didn’t rise. It sat inside me, sniffing, puzzling, but it did not rise. I broke the kiss and screamed not from pain, but frustration. “Richard said to share my beast with someone who can give it release, but it won’t go. It won’t leave.”
“Are you still fighting for control of the ardeur?” Nathaniel asked.
I blinked at him and thought about it. Was I? Not consciously, but controlling it had become automatic. Now that I didn’t have to control it, but had to, instead, call it into being, was I still quashing it? Was I still shielding? The answer was, yes.
“Yeah.”
“Stop fighting,” Nathaniel said, “just let everything go.”
“No,” I started, but he touched my lips with his fingers.
“Hush, Anita, you can feed off of both of us, and it won’t drain me that badly. It’s not a good idea, but it’s not a disaster. Stop fighting, and maybe the beast will stop fighting, too.”
I opened my mouth with his fingers still touching me. He slid his fingertips just inside my mouth, playing along the edge of my lips. The movement stopped me from talking more effectively than anything else could have done. I just lay there and let his fingers play around the edge of my mouth, delicate, sensual. “Let go, Anita, just let go. We’ll catch you.”
Jason leaned in against my face. “I’m here, Anita. I won’t let anything bad happen to Nathaniel. I promise.” He laid his face against my forehead. “We can do this, Anita, but you have to let go. You have to let us catch you.”
Let go. It sounded so simple. But letting go of anything was so not my best thing. I wasn’t even sure I knew how to do it. How do you let go? How do you open your hand and let yourself fall, and trust that other people will catch you? That they’ll catch you and not let you hurt them, or yourself. Did I trust Nathaniel and Jason that much? Sort of.
Did I trust anyone that much? Maybe. Okay, not really. I took a deep breath, let it out slow, and I let go. I let go, and trusted. Trusted, even as a small voice inside me whispered, stupid, stupid, stupid.
52
HELL IS CLAWS and teeth, and bodies fighting. I sank my teeth into someone’s chest, took in as much meat as my mouth would hold, and began to bite down. I wanted meat. I wanted to feed, and the leopard was screaming that if we didn’t kill them, they’d kill us. Let go, they’d said, I’d let go, and now instead of the beast being something struggling to get out, it was me that was small and trapped and couldn’t get out.
That part that wanted meat and blood and found struggling somewhere between sex and food was in the front of my head. I’d always thought being an animal must be peaceful, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was simpler, but it wasn’t peaceful.
I remembered only pieces. The taste of blood in my mouth. The feel of my teeth sinking into flesh. My nails cutting through someone’s body. I was on my stomach, and I couldn’t move. Couldn’t move. Someone was on my back, and someone had my hands, and I couldn’t move. Teeth on the back of my neck. A moment of mind-numbing panic, then it was peaceful. Like what had happened earlier in my office, when Nathaniel bit me there. Peaceful.
Jason was kneeling in front of me, off the edge of the bed, holding my wrists. The left side of his face was a bloody mess, and distantly, I knew that my nails had done that. His eye blinked out painfully from the bloody furrows. His arms were traced with bites and scratches, so it looked like he was wearing red gloves all the way up to his shoulders. His chest and stomach were bloody, too.
Nathaniel’s teeth on my neck bit down a little harder, and my eyes fluttered up, and when he growled against my skin, my body writhed under him, not struggling, but offering. Jason spoke, and a trickle of blood trailed from his mouth, as he did it. “Next time we do this, you get tied up.”
Nathaniel growled, but I didn’t think it was meant for me.
Jason looked past me, to meet the other man’s eyes, and said, “Okay, okay. Give me your beast, Anita. Let me swallow it down.” He leaned into me, and the blood that trembled on the edge of his mouth fascinated me. I tried to strain toward that trembling drop of red, and Nathaniel’s teeth made me stop, forced me to wait for Jason’s mouth to come to me.
His mouth stopped just out of reach. I tried to raise my hands and touch him, but his hands forced my wrists down tighter on the side of the bed. He laid his mouth against mine, and I didn’t kiss him, I licked the blood from the edge of his lip.
He drew back, laughing. “You’d rather eat me right now, than kiss me.” But he leaned in toward me, his mouth half-parted, and I could smell the blood inside his mouth. I’d bitten him. I remembered the feel of his lip between my teeth. I made a sound low in my throat, and he laughed again, a purely masculine sound with his lips so close to mine that my tongue could touch them. His voice held that masculine laughter, and an edge of growl, “God, she’s eager.”
Nathaniel growled again, with his teeth still tight on the back of my neck. The growl was low and deep and vibrated down my spine like my body was a tuning fork. It made me push my body against his. My mouth reached for Jason, but my body was offering itself to the hard weight against the back of my body.
“Alright, but if she bites my tongue off, I’m going to be pissed.” And he pressed his lips against mine, but I didn’t try to bite him, because his mouth was full of blood and tasted of meat. I’d already started this meal, all I wanted to do was finish it.
My beast was right there, under my skin, only Nathaniel’s hold kept it peaceful. The taste of fresh blood, of meat, and the feel of Jason’s mouth on mine, brought the beast like heat against my skin. I could feel my body cooking with the heat of it, as if my skin was a container for something so much hotter than human flesh. Something that was almost there, almost ready, almost . . .
Nathaniel raised his mouth, and only his weight and Jason’s hands held me down. He whispered something against the wound in my neck, I think he said, “Now.” But I would never be sure, because in that moment my beast rose.
It rose up the line of my spine like heat. It spilled out my mouth and into Jason’s, in a scalding, burning wave of power. It tore his mouth off of mine, forced his head back in a scream, and Nathaniel’s body bowed on top of mine, and he screamed, too. My beast was like a sword thrust through both of them. I poured my energy into their bodies, until their bodies burst with it.
I saw Jason’s skin split, and I felt Nathaniel tremble above me. One moment they were there, and the next I was drenched in liquid, warm, so warm, like being dipped in fresh blood, but it wasn’t blood. It was clear and viscous—that fluid that the shapeshifters leave behind when they pull their bodies from one shape to another.
I was covered in it, dripping with it, and because Jason’s claws were still pinning my wrists, I couldn’t wipe it away from my face. I blinked at the wolfman kneeling in front of me. His fur was dry, like it always is, like magic. I stared into wolf eyes the color of early spring grass. His fur was thick and shades of pale gray. He opened a jaw that was longer than a human’s, and full of teeth that any wolf would envy. He ran an impossibly long tongue over those teeth and stared at me with eyes that held things that I’d only begun to guess at.
A claw curled into the wet sheets on one side, and that claw was a black-
furred hand. I turned back and did that slow, horror-movie take, where you know what’s behind you, but you just can’t keep from looking. You have to look, even with the feel and press of fur against your naked body. I knew what I’d see, and still I turned and looked.
Nathaniel’s face was a strangely graceful mix of human and leopard. The face shape was closer to human than the werewolf’s, but when I met those gray-blue eyes, there was no one home to talk to.
I’d gotten rid of my beast by bringing theirs, and now I was suddenly covered in warm liquid that mimicked blood, with two freshly turned lycanthropes holding me down. Nathaniel put his furred hands against the bed on either side of me, and he flexed those hands, and claws like white knives sprang out from his fingertips. Just seeing them, lying there, unused, made my pulse speed just a little.
I knew they wouldn’t hurt me. I trusted them. But part of me trusted Jason and Nathaniel more than I trusted their beasts. I tried not to be afraid, because fear is like spice for their meat. Fear excites a lycanthrope, it just does. So I lay very still and tried to calm my heartbeat, tried to think how to ask them to let me go, without sounding like a victim.
Nathaniel moved his hands so that they lay on either side of my body, with the fur of his thumbs caressing my skin. My heartbeat didn’t like it. Neither did I. He flexed his hands again, and the claws vanished into the fur. He caressed that fur down the sides of my body, and that brush of warm, warm fur brought my breath in a shuddering line.
His voice was more growl than anything else, when he said, “I’ve never had hands before when I shifted.” He put those “hands” back on either side of my body, so close that the edge of the fur touched the sides of my breasts. He pointed the claws downward, and I felt his muscles flex against the side of my body. His hands were right next to my breasts, and I felt his claws grip into the bed. He began to pull those claws downward. The sheet ripped, but it was the sound of the mattress tearing that brought a sound like a whimper from my throat. The mattress made a meaty sound, as his claws tore through it, easily. He moved his body so that he could trace the outline of my body against the mattress and sheets. He carved the outline of me with his claws. And I couldn’t not be afraid.
Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter collection 11-15 Page 106
