Anita Blake 12 - Incubus Dreams

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  That thought made a tension go out of my shoulders, out of my body, that I hadn’t even realized was there. It was still Jason under all that fur and claws. It was still Nathaniel rubbing his cheek against me.

  Once upon a time I’d begged Richard to show me his beast. But when he did it, I hadn’t been able to deal. It took me a long time to realize that Richard had shown me his beast in the worst light possible, because part of him didn’t want me to be able to accept the beast, because he couldn’t. I’d run from him after seeing him eat Marcus. I’d run from him to Jean-Claude, because the vampire had seemed less the monster that night.

  Was I still the same person who hadn’t been able to deal? Was I still the person who could deal with the handsome prince, but not the beast? Was it beauty, more than love, that moved me?

  Nathaniel pushed gently against me. “If you don’t feed now, who will you feed from?”

  “Graham really is just down the hall,” Jason said. “He’ll be in human form because Meng Die won’t do him furry. She won’t even sleep with him furry.”

  I didn’t want Graham. Was it just the human form I was in love with? Was it some anthropomorphic idea that I loved? Shit. These were just not the kind of relationship questions that the magazines gave you answers to. Did Miss Manners have an answer for being freaked by your boyfriend’s animal form? I doubted it.

  Jason drew his claws delicately away from my wrists. “I’ll get Graham and send him down.”

  “No,” I said, and reached for his furred forearm. The fur was so soft, and his arm was so real. “No, I don’t want Graham.”

  Jason gave me another of those looks, that said, you’re joking. “You don’t do furry, Anita.”

  “But I do Nathaniel, and I do you, on occasion.”

  He grinned, though it wasn’t exactly the same coming from the wolf muzzle. “On occasion.” He sank back down in front of me. “You want me to be your puppy tonight?”

  “I was thinking more that we’d just fuck,” I said.

  His face was either more expressive than any wolfman I’d met, or it was still enough Jason that I could read his face. He was still under there, somewhere. I’d surprised him, not in a bad way, but I’d truly surprised him.

  Nathaniel pushed against me, and he whispered against my cheek. “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He made a sound that was half-growl, and half pure eagerness. He raised up just a little, and then plunged himself between my legs. I was screaming before he’d finished, and not in pain. He was bigger, thicker, more, and all those extra bits were plunging inside me.

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  He brought me with the size of his body, the rhythm of his hips, and the flash of white claws like small knives against the tenderest parts of my body. The thought of what those claws could do to me if they wanted to, brought me struggling under him. Everything that I’d fought not to do, I now let myself do. I struggled, I screamed, I fought, and he held me carefully, delicately, but with no doubt that he could have torn me to pieces if he’d wanted to. It was both the most delicate of lovemaking, and the most dangerous. Not because of what he did, but because of what he could have done.

  He raised me to my knees, cradling me against his body with his arms, and I caressed my hands over those arms, those muscles, that fur, so soft, and so different from the wolf. I pet him, not like you’d pet a dog, but like you’d pet a lover. I felt his rhythm change, knew he was close, felt his body strain not to claw me to pieces. Felt the dainty press of the tip of each of those claws, as he held them against my flesh. I came watching the pinpoints of those blades begin to crease my skin, almost, almost cutting, almost, almost piercing, almost, almost killing. At the last moment, he retracted the claws and held me hard and fast against his body, with the fur and padding of those hands lost somewhere between leopard and man.

  The ardeur fed. Fed on the strength of his body, the heat of his skin, and the spill of his seed, which spilled hotter inside me than anything I’d ever felt from a man.

  A thought cut through my mind, He isn’t a man. The words weren’t angry, but the emotion that came with them felt like it would burn a hole through my skin. Rage, such rage, and I knew who it was before the door opened.

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  Richard strode through the door, and his energy flung across the room like hot sparks from a fire. It hurt where it touched my skin, like small biting insects. What do you say when you find your ex-fiancée fucking a leopardman? Richard knew just what to say. “The last time I saw anything this sick was in one of Raina’s porno movies.”

  Jason rolled off the bed and faced him. I think he was trying to give Nathaniel time to stand up without me attached to him. Or maybe he was trying to give me time. Whatever his motive, he stood between me and his Ulfric, and that wasn’t the wisest thing he’d ever done. Brave, even gallant, but not wise.

  Richard’s power filled the room like scalding water. Nathaniel rolled off the bed, and I wondered if the air was as heavy and hard for him to breathe as it was for me. The thought was enough. I knew that he felt Richard’s power like something you had to fight to walk through, like Richard’s power was some sort of storm, a blizzard, or a sandstorm. Something that would blind you and take your life, unless you found shelter.

  My shelter was crouching between the bed and the door. The wolfman was tall and broad and dangerous. Richard in his human form should have looked frail, but he didn’t. He could have been a foot shorter, and with that much power rolling off of him, he would have seemed huge.

  “Get out of my way, Jason. I won’t ask again.”

  “Tell me you’re not going to hurt her, or Nathaniel, and I’ll move,” he said it in a deep growling voice that would have given any red-blooded human pause, but Richard wasn’t human.

  Nathaniel was off the bed and moving toward them. Richard would hurt Jason enough to get him out of the way, but he’d hurt Nathaniel for other reasons. Reasons he might never admit out loud, but I didn’t want to see it. I called Nathaniel back to me.

  I had a gun under my pillow, but I didn’t want to shoot Richard, and unless you’re willing to shoot, a gun is just a rock made of metal. I was still trying to think of something to do that would make this less awful, when Richard backhanded Jason.

  Blood flew in a little arc, sparkling in the lights, but Jason stood his ground. He didn’t offer to fight back, but he didn’t get out of the way, either.

  I yelled, “Richard, no!”

  He picked Jason up like he was a dumbbell. Clean, jerk, Richard’s arms bulged with effort as he lifted the werewolf over his head and held him there for a heartbeat.

  We had one of those frozen moments, where everything slows down and you know bad stuff is about to happen, and you can’t stop it. You can make choices and change what gets damaged, but you can’t save it all. I was drowning in Richard’s rage, his power boiling like a sea. I’d touched his rage before, his beast, and this wasn’t it, not exactly. I had a second to realize that his rage tasted like an old friend. It was my rage, or tasted more like mine. I only had time for my aha moment, then he threw Jason, not across the room, but at the bed. Maybe he meant to hit me, but I rolled off the bed, and when Jason landed hard enough in the middle of it to collapse the frame, no one was on the bed but him.

  I was on the far side of the broken bed, and Nathaniel was with me. He’d put himself a little in front of me. He hadn’t pushed me behind him like I was a damsel in distress, but it was close. I was his Nimir-Ra, and supposedly his dominant. Shouldn’t I be in front?

  Jason lay on the collapsed bed, stunned. He’d been thrown from less than eight feet onto a bed, and he was breathless, frozen while he recovered. I didn’t have the recovery power that Jason and Nathaniel had. Maybe me being in front wasn’t bright, but shit. I didn’t know what to do. Like so often with Richard, I didn’t know what to do.

  “Why don’t you all get back on the bed? I’m sure it’s a h
ell of a show. Raina and Gabriel would have loved it.” Since I’d had to kill both of them so they wouldn’t star me in a rape/snuff film, it was a truly vicious cut. But the time when that kind of shit from Richard could make me angry was passed. I was afraid to add my anger to his.

  His power was everywhere, as if the very air stung and burned. But it wasn’t just his rage I could feel. Disgust, horror, and under that the thing that fueled the rage… envy. Why envy? And he was too wide open, he was hardly shielding at all. I got my answer.

  It was as if someone threw a puzzle into the air, and I saw pieces. Clair and Richard in bed. Richard doing his usual vigorous job of it. Clair shifting in the middle of it. Her claws cutting up his back and shoulders. Clair in human form, screaming.

  Richard shoved his anger at me, and I stumbled as if he’d actually pushed me. “Stay out of my head.”

  “Then stop projecting so hard that I can’t help but hear it.”

  He screamed, a full-throated cry of rage. It echoed in the big room, and I heard running out in the hallway. I knew who this was, too, or at least what.

  Three people spilled into the room. One woman, two men, all with guns. They pointed them at Richard. Claudia, who was almost as tall as Dolph, and had broader, more muscular shoulders than most of the men in my life, did quick eye flicks around the room, taking in everything. Her tight ponytail flicked as she moved, because it was high on her head. A girl ponytail to offset the lack of makeup and those amazing arms. I didn’t recognize the men with her, except that they held guns like they knew how, but I’d come to expect nothing less than professionalism from Raphael’s people. The wererats didn’t recruit amateurs.

  “What is happening here, Anita?” Claudia asked. Her voice was even, just a little tight, as if she were gearing up to do her job, and she’d have less qualms than I would about that job.

  “A difference of opinion,” I said.

  She laughed, not like it was funny. “A difference of opinion, well, hell.”

  “This is not Rodere business,” Richard said, “it concerns the pack and the pard, not the rats.”

  Claudia’s gaze went around the room again, took in the bleeding werewolf and the collapsed bed, my hand on Nathaniel’s arm to keep him with me and away from Richard. She came back to Richard and smiled, again not like it made her happy. “This doesn’t smell like pack or pard business, it smells personal.”

  “That’s not your call,” he said, and his voice was lower, not growling, but lower.

  She smiled again, and this time it was just a baring of teeth. “It is when we we’re being paid to guard the Circus and everyone in it. You’ve already bloodied one of the people in our care, Ulfric, we really can’t let you harm anyone else.”

  “He defied me. No one gets to defy the king. Raphael would agree with that.” He’d turned to face her, and I realized that he was one of the men in my life that didn’t look frail next to Claudia.

  “What our king would agree with and what he wouldn’t is not in question.” She sighed and lowered the gun to point at the floor. The two men followed her lead.

  Richard turned back to stare at the bed and the rest of us. He even took a step toward the bed.

  “No, Ulfric, you don’t just go back to abusing them. We may not be able to shoot you without political problems, but we also will not stand by and let you abuse those we have contracted to protect.”

  He looked at her, and all that burning power seemed to draw away from the rest of the room, to concentrate like some great weapon. I wasn’t close enough to feel it, but I was betting that all that power was now focused on Claudia.

  She shook her head, like she’d been slapped. The two men with her moved back from Richard, as if they wanted more room to maneuver if things went wrong.

  Claudia answered him, her voice warm with the beginnings of her own anger. “No one disputes your power, Ulfric, it is great. It is your self-control that I question.”

  Richard was mad, so mad, and he was looking for a fight. I’d rather it not be me, but I didn’t think things would escalate as far with us as it would with the wererats. Someone could get seriously injured, or worse. Richard being in a pissy mood wasn’t worth someone dying over. I know, I know, it probably wouldn’t go that far, but the wererats were usually ex-mercenaries, or ex-military. They fought for keeps when they fought. Richard wasn’t either of those things. He got mad, but he didn’t really like going for the kill. It could all go so badly, so fast.

  “Everybody ease down,” I said. “It’s not worth dying over.”

  Richard looked at me. “No one’s talked about killing anyone, except you.”

  “Richard, all three of the guards that are looking at you wondered about killing you the moment they hit the door. Ask them, go ahead, ask them.”

  He glanced at the wererats, still with their guns pointed at the floor. “Is she right?”

  The three of them exchanged glances, then Claudia answered, “Yes.”

  “You thought about killing me, just like that?”

  “We didn’t know it was you doing the damage, Ulfric. But we are allowed to use any means necessary to do our jobs. We cannot allow you to harm anyone under our care.”

  “You’re not allowed to interfere with me disciplining one of my wolves, either.”

  She nodded. “You are right. It is not allowed for one animal to interfere in the internal disputes of another. If you can prove that this is pack business, and not personal, we can leave, and you can finish this, but you must prove it is business.”

  One of the other men, who was small and dark, and looked like he’d spent a little too much time in rat form, said, “Smells like jealousy to me.”

  “Roberto, you are not helping,” Claudia said, her eyes still on Richard.

  Jason rolled over and started to sit up. He moved like it hurt.

  “He defied me,” Richard said, pointing at Jason.

  “How?” Claudia asked.

  “He refused to get out of my way.”

  “What would you have done if I’d moved?” Jason said, and his voice held something thicker than normal, as if he was still bleeding inside his mouth. “If you didn’t throw me around, who would it have been? Nathaniel, Anita? She doesn’t heal like we do, Richard.”

  “I wouldn’t…”

  “When you hit the door, you were going to hurt someone,” Jason said, and let blood trickle from his mouth, because he couldn’t spit in wolfish form. “I thought it was better it was me.”

  Some of that burning power began to fade. Richard’s shoulders slumped, and he screamed again. A full-throated, all-out scream, as long and as loud as he had breath for. He dropped to his knees and smashed his hands into the floor. Apparently, he liked doing it, because he kept smashing his hands into the carpeted floor, over and over. Only when the stone floor underneath began to buckle visibly, did he stop.

  The sides of his hands were bloody where he’d scrapped them on the carpet, like really bad rug burns. He raised those bloody hands up and just knelt there staring at his hands. He didn’t cry, didn’t swear, didn’t do anything.

  We all froze, waiting for him to do or say something. At least a full minute passed, and he hadn’t moved. Claudia looked across the room at me. I shrugged. I’d been engaged to him once, and I’d been his lover, but I had no clue what to do. That was one of the problems with Richard and me, we so often didn’t know what to do with each other.

  I started to walk around the bed, but Jason grabbed my wrist. “Close enough.”

  I didn’t argue. I just stopped and looked down at him. He was still staring at his scraped-up hands. “Richard, Richard, are you in there?”

  He laughed then, but it wasn’t a good laugh. It was one of those laughs that held more bitterness than humor. Everyone in the room, except me, jumped when he laughed, as if they’d expected anything but that. I’d learned not to try to guess what he’d do.

  “I want to lick the blood off my hands,” he said in a strangled voic
e.

  “Then do it,” I said.

  He looked up at me. “What?”

  “It’s your blood. It’s your hands. If you want to lick your own wounds, then do it.”

  “Won’t you be disgusted?”

  I sighed. “Richard, it doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what you think.”

  “You’d think it was disgusting,” he said.

  I sighed, again. “No, Richard, actually, no. The licking will make the scrapes feel better, and you’ll enjoy the taste of blood.”

  He frowned up at me. “You wouldn’t have said that a year ago.” It was almost a whisper.

  “I might not have said it six months ago, but I’m saying it now. Lick your wounds, Richard, just don’t live in them.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and his anger flared, like a small hot whip against my skin.

  “Don’t get pissy, Richard. I’m trying to live the life I’ve got, not some dream of a life that I’m never going to have.”

  “And you think I am.”

  “You’re Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan, and you’re afraid to lick your bloody hands because someone else might think it’s not very human. So, yeah, I think you’re still pretending that you’re going to get another shot at a life. This is it, Richard. This is who and what we are. This is it. You need to embrace that.”

  He shook his head, and his eyes glittered in the lights, as if there might be tears in those perfectly brown eyes. His voice when it came was even, no hint of those glittering eyes. “I tried.”

  I was shielding as hard as I could. I didn’t want any more peeks into his and Clair’s love life, but I could guess. “With Clair?”

  He looked up, and the anger was winning over the tears. I’d never seen him this out of control of his emotions. I’d seen him angry, bitter, sad, but never this see-saw. It was like angry and sad were the only emotions he had left. “You saw it, then.”