“I’ve talked to Marianne and her friends. They’re witches, Wiccan.”
“So we find, what, a local coven, and ask their guidance?” He sounded patronizing.
“I resent the tone, Jean-Claude, especially since I don’t hear you offering any better suggestions. Don’t criticize unless you can do better.”
“Very true, ma petite, and very wise. My deepest and most sincere apologies. You are quite right. I do not have a suggestion for whom we might turn to for advice, or guidance. I will think upon your suggestion to find a friendly witch to speak with.”
“I have a friendly one to speak to. She just might need to see the three of us together to see how things work.”
“You mean your Marianne?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought she was more psychic than witch.”
“There’s not all that much difference,” I said.
“I will take your word on that. I do not have much business with either.”
I realized I’d been planning to call Marianne since I woke up sandwiched between Caleb and Micah. Funny how it had slipped my mind.
“Is there anything you can say to Richard that will help smooth things on this end?”
“Do you wish me to lie?”
“Damn it, Jean-Claude . . .”
“I can point out to him that if he does not meet the ardeur’s appetite that someone else must.”
“I’ve already pointed that out to him.” I thought about that for a few heartbeats. “He accused me of having . . .” I found I couldn’t quite say it. “He accused me of doing worse with Nathaniel than I’ve done, and he was crude about it. I’m not sure I want to have sex with him right now.”
“You are angry with him,” Jean-Claude said.
“Oh, yeah.”
“So angry that if he asked, you would refuse his bed?”
I started to say yes, then stopped myself. I was tired. Tired of all of it, of both of them, if the truth be known. Couldn’t live with them, or without them. I wanted Richard’s body like an ache in my heart, but when he wanted to be, he could be ugly, and his mood tonight was ugly. I didn’t want to have sex with him when he was like this. Hell, I didn’t want to be around him when he was like this.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, that was honest, and does not bode well. If you refuse Richard, and Nathaniel, and your Nimir-Raj does not return tonight, what will you do in the morning, ma petite? Please, think carefully on this. I beg you to choose the lesser evil, whatever that may be, rather than wait until the hunger overrides your common sense, or even your need for survival.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying what I have said before—that to deny the ardeur is to worsen it. Deny it long enough and hard enough, and it will begin to erode all that you are, or thought yourself to be. I survived what I did to feed it in those first weeks, but my moral degradation had been accomplished years before I died. I say again, ma petite, that you will not take it as well as I did. I believe it will compromise your sense of who you are.”
“And fucking Nathaniel isn’t going to compromise me?”
He sighed. “Put that way, I do see your point. But how much more compromising would it be to seduce a stranger?”
“I would never do that.”
“Is that not exactly what you did with the Nimir-Raj?” His voice was very quiet as he said it, very careful not to be accusatory.
I would have loved to have argued the point, but I hate to lose, and I was going to lose this one. “Alright, you’ve made your point.”
“I hope so, Anita, I do hope so.” He never used my name unless something was very wrong. Damn.
“You know, just once it might be nice to have normal problems.”
“And what, exactly, is a normal problem, ma petite?”
Another point for Jean-Claude. “I don’t know anymore.”
“You sound tired, ma petite.”
“It’s only a few hours until dawn. I’ve been up all night, so yeah, I’m tired.” Just acknowledging it seemed to bring it on in a rush that left me rubbing my eyes, which smeared the eye shadow I’d put on onto my fingers and probably around my eyelids. I wore makeup so seldomly that I often forgot I was wearing it.
Richard came back into the kitchen with his bodyguards and the wererats in tow. He gave me a look, and it was not a friendly one.
“I’ve got to go,” I said to Jean-Claude.
“Do you wish me to speak to Richard?”
“No, I think you’ve done enough damage for one night.”
“I meant only to help.”
“Sure you did.”
“Ma petite.”
“Yes.”
“Be careful, and remember what I have said about the ardeur. There is no shame in it.”
“Even you don’t believe that,” I said.
“Ah, you have found me out. There is no shame in feeding, if you feed immediately on a person of your own choosing. If you fight, then you will find yourself feeding on someone not of your choosing, in a place not of your choosing. I do not think you would enjoy that, ma petite.”
He was right about that anyway. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow after you get up. I haven’t forgotten Damian, you know.”
“I did not think that you had, ma petite. I will look forward to your call.”
I hung up without saying good-bye, mainly because I was angry, and scared. Not only did I have Richard to deal with tonight and Gregory to save, but tomorrow morning when I woke up, the ardeur would be there, waiting. There was a chance that it wouldn’t be, that the one day was the only time I’d have it, but I couldn’t count on that. I had to plan for the worst-case scenario. Worst case was I would wake up tomorrow and need to feed just like I had this morning. The big question was, who would I feed on, and could I live with myself after I’d done it?
35
I HATE BEING awake at three in the morning. It is the godforsaken heart of darkness when the body runs slow, and the brain runs slower, and all you want to do is sleep. But I had promises to keep, and miles to go before I could sleep. Or at least a couple of miracles to perform before I could go to bed.
Dr. Lillian had unhooked Gregory’s IV, but he was still bundled in the quilts. He sat on the picnic table on the deck, cradled between Zane and Cherry. Dr. Lillian kept touching Gregory, checking his pulse, how clammy his skin was. She was frowning and clearly not happy. Nathaniel stayed by them, keeping the picnic table between him and Richard. Richard hadn’t tried to hurt him again; in fact, he’d ignored him studiously. The other cats milled around near the sliding glass doors. The two wererat bodyguards, Claudia and Igor, were standing to one side of me as I leaned on the railing. They started following me around when Richard came out with his bandaged arm and Jamil and Shang-Da at his back.
Richard’s power crept on the summer darkness like close thunder, making the hot, sticky night even thicker and making it harder to breathe. I think it was the press of his power, the edge of his anger, that made the wererats start acting like bodyguards. I’d tried telling them that Richard wouldn’t hurt me, but Claudia had shrugged, and said, “Rafael told us to keep you safe, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“Even if I tell you that there is no threat?”
She shrugged again. “I’d say, you’re a little too close to this one to make a sound judgment call.”
I’d glanced at Igor. “You agree with her?”
“I never argue with a lady, especially one that can beat me at arm wrestling.”
Igor’s logic was hard to argue with, but it meant that I had acquired two tall, muscular shadows, and it irritated me. But neither of them gave a damn whether I was happy or not. They were following Rafael’s orders, and my wishes didn’t count.
So Richard and his bodyguards, and me, with mine, stood on the deck, facing Stephen, who had stripped off in preparation for the change. If you made the change with clothes on, you ruined them. Shapeshifters either h
aunted the thrift shops, looking for old clothes to wear on the night of the full moon, or went nude.
We all stood there in the circle of Richard’s power. The energy built around us like invisible lightning lashing around us. The power literally crackled, raising the hair on our arms, raising the hair on our heads, like the hackles on a dog.
Jamil said, “Richard . . .” But one glance from Richard stopped him in mid-sentence. The power rose another notch, squeezing around us like some kind of giant hand.
“What’s wrong, Richard? What’s with the power display?” I asked.
He turned to me, and the anger in his face made me want to step back, but I didn’t. I stood my ground, but it took effort.
“Do you want to save your cat?” he asked, voice thick with the emotion that showed on his face, that crackled in his power.
My voice was almost a whisper, “Yes.”
“Then watch,” he said.
He spread his hands in front of Stephen, keeping them about eight inches away from the smaller man’s shoulders. The energy squeezed tight, and tighter, until I had to swallow to try and clear my ears, as if there’d been a pressure change. But swallowing didn’t help. It wasn’t that kind of pressure.
Richard’s hands convulsed, as if his fingers were digging into something invisible just in front of Stephen. He staggered towards Richard, one step, and I was close enough to hear a small pained sound come from him. Richard balled his hands into fists, and something shimmered between them like heat caught in the close summer darkness. The bones in my face ached with the building power. The air was almost too thick to breathe, as if it had weight.
Richard made one abrupt movement with his hands and the pressure broke, like a storm finally bursting to life. For a second or two, I thought the heavy, clear liquid that burst around us was rain, but it was hot like blood, and it didn’t fall from the sky. It burst from Stephen’s body. I’d seen dozens of shapeshifters change, but nothing like this. It was as if Stephen’s body blew apart in a rain of hot, thick fluids and small bits of flesh. The beast usually pulls itself from the human body, like a butterfly from a chrysalis, but not this time. Stephen’s body folded over on itself, and his man-wolf shape was just suddenly standing there. It collapsed to its knees, panting, shivering.
I was left standing, not even breathing, covered in the rapidly cooling bits and pieces of Stephen’s body. When I could breathe again, I gasped. “Jesus Christ.”
Stephen’s fur was the color of dark, golden honey. He crouched, shivering at Richard’s feet. Again, the change may hurt while the person is going through it, but once it’s over, they usually stand up and start moving around. Stephen seemed disoriented, almost like he was in pain. What the hell was happening?
He crawled the last few steps to Richard, laying his long, teeth-filled snout against his wolf king’s jogging shoes. He was almost in a fetal position, great, muscular arms wrapped around golden fur, lying at his Ulfric’s feet. It was extreme submissive behavior, and I didn’t know why. Stephen hadn’t done anything wrong.
I looked up at Richard. His white shirt was plastered to his body with the thick fluids. He turned his face to look at me, and the faint light of stars glistened in the wetness on his face. A thick piece of something slid down his cheek as he glared at me. The look on his face was defiant, as if he expected me to be angry with him.
I raised a shaking hand and wiped the worst of the gunk off of my face, flinging it onto the deck where it hit with a wet splat. I looked at the bodyguards. They too were spattered with the thick stuff, but not nearly as messy as Richard and I. They hadn’t been standing as close. They all stared at Richard, stared at him with a mixture of horror and anger and astonishment on their faces, which let me know that something was very, very wrong.
I had to try twice before I could speak, and even then my voice was breathy. “I’ve seen a lot of shapeshifters change into their beasts, but I’ve never seen anything like that. Was it different because you called Stephen’s beast instead of him doing it on his own?”
“No,” Richard said.
I waited for more, but that was all he said, and it looked like all he intended to say. But no just didn’t cover it. I looked at the others. “Okay, someone tell me what just happened here.”
Jamil started to speak, then stopped and looked at Richard. “With my Ulfric’s permission.” The words were polite, but the tone was angry, almost defiant.
Richard looked at him. I couldn’t see his face, but whatever look he gave Jamil, it was something that made the other man flinch. Jamil dropped to one knee in the spreading pool of thick liquid. He bowed his head. “I mean no offense, Ulfric.”
“That’s a lie,” Richard said, and his voice was lower than normal, just a tone or two above a growl.
Jamil darted a glance upward, then bowed his head again. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ulfric. Tell me, and I will say it.”
Richard turned back to me, leaving Jamil kneeling. “I didn’t just call Stephen’s beast, I tore it from his body.”
I glanced down at Stephen, who was still crouched at Richard’s feet. “Why?” I asked.
“It’s usually punishment to do it this way.”
“What did Stephen do?”
“Nothing.” Richard’s voice was harsh, almost as harsh as the look on his face.
“Then why punish him?”
“Because I could.” His chin lifted when he said it, and that arrogance was back.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Richard?”
He laughed, and the sound was so inappropriate that it made me jump. He laughed, but it was too loud, too harsh. “Didn’t this teach you how to call Gregory’s beast?”
“I didn’t learn a damn thing except that you’re in a foul mood and taking it out on other people.”
“You want to know what’s wrong? You really want to know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Get out of the way, Stephen,” he said, and Stephen didn’t even ask why, he just crawled out from between us.
We were left staring at each other, not quite two feet apart. What he’d done to Stephen seemed to have taken the edge off his power, but it was still there like some great slumbering thing pressing against the surface.
“Open the marks, Anita, feel what I’m feeling.”
“I opened the marks already. I figured I had to, to learn how to do this.”
“So it’s just my shielding?” He made it a question.
I nodded. “I can feel your rage, Richard, I just don’t know why.”
“Just my shields between us and . . .” He shook his head, almost smiling, then he dropped his shields. It hit me like a physical force, drove me back a step. Anger so raw it filled my throat with bile; a self-loathing so deep that it drew tears down my cheeks in two hot lines. I stood there for a minute feeling Richard’s pain, and it was suffocating.
I stared up at him, the tears still wet on my cheeks. “Richard, oh my God.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, don’t you dare feel pity for me!” He grabbed my arms when he said it, and the moment we touched, our beasts poured up from inside us and spread across our skins in a hot dance of power. His beast crashed through me, invisible, metaphysical claws ripping through my body. It was as if Richard’s beast was trying to eat his way through my body. I screamed, and thrust my beast into his, and I felt claws ripping into meat. There was nothing to see with the eye, but I could feel it, feel fur and muscle and meat under claws and teeth. I screamed not just from the pain, but from the sensations of cutting Richard up. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back. There was no more reasoning, no more thinking, just reacting.
Our beasts tore through each other, rolling, clawing, tearing. We collapsed on the deck, screaming. Dimly I could still feel Richard’s hands locked on my arms as if he couldn’t let go.
There was movement all around us. People hovering, but no one interfered, no one touched us. When we fell, they scattered, as if afraid to t
ouch us. Voices shouting above our screams, “What’s wrong? What’s happening? Anita, Anita! Richard, control it!”
His beast was suddenly like a weight inside me, but it didn’t hurt. The two energies lay quiet, leaning against each other, not mingling, just leaning. I could almost feel the solid push of his beast against something inside of me that had bones and fur, and wasn’t me. I couldn’t hear anything but the thundering of the blood in my own head. I felt Richard’s weight on top of me, before I looked down to find him collapsed over me. His head rested on my chest. I could feel the pulse of the blood in his body, his heart racing against the skin of my stomach. I was covered in the cool slime from Stephen’s body. One, I was lying in a pool of it; two, Richard had been covered in it, and he’d slid down my body. I was going to have to shower before I could go to bed, even if it was dawn. And I ached, ached as if I’d been beaten. I knew I’d be stiff when I moved.
Everyone was standing in a ring above us, staring down. I found my voice, hoarse, almost raspy, but clear. “Get off of me.”
Richard raised his head, slowly, as if he hurt, too. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry, Richard, now get off of me.”
He didn’t move, in fact he settled heavier, hands curving at the edges of my waist. “Do you still want to help Gregory?”
“That’s what this whole show is about, so yeah.”
“Then let’s try again.”
I tensed, and started trying to wriggle out from under him. His hands tightened at my waist. “Easy, Anita, it won’t hurt. I don’t think.”
“Says you. It hurt like a son of a bitch. Let me go, Richard.” My voice held the beginnings of anger, and fear. I liked the anger, could have done without the fear.
“You fought me to a standoff. It’s over,” he said.
I stopped struggling and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re not the same kind of animal, Anita. They had to find out who’s . . . tougher.”
Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Collection 6-10 Page 238
