"Yeah, I'm happy," I said.
"Glad to hear it." Underneath the sarcasm he was tired. I could hear it in his voice.
"What are you supposed to explain to me, Richard?" I glanced in the rearview mirror but couldn't see his face in the dark.
"Raina backs up Marcus's orders. She's his lupa. He uses her to do things he doesn't approve of, like torture."
"So I set myself up as your lupa."
"Yes, I'm the Fenrir. Normally, I'd already have a lupa picked out. The pack is divided, Anita. I've given my protection to my followers so that if Marcus tries to hurt them, I come after him, or my followers will act to protect each other with my blessing. Without a Fenrir or a pack leader to back you up, it's a sort of mutiny to go against the pack leader's orders."
"What's the penalty for mutiny?"
"Death or mutilation."
"I thought you guys could heal anything short of a death wound."
"Not if you shove burning metal into it. Fire purifies and stops the healing process, unless you reopen the wound."
"It works that way with vampires, too," I said.
"I didn't know that," he said, but not like he really cared.
"How have you risen to next in line to lead and not killed anyone? You had to fight a lot of duels to get to the top of the heap."
"Only the fight for Ulfric has to be to the death. All I had to do was beat them all."
"Which is why you take karate and lift weights, so you'll be good enough to beat them." We'd had this discussion before when I asked if lifting weights when you could bench press a small car was redundant. He'd replied, not if everyone you're fighting can lift a car, too. He had a point.
"Yes."
"But if you won't kill, then your threat doesn't have much bite, no pun intended."
"We're not animals, Anita. Just because this is the way it's always been in the pack doesn't mean things can't change. We are still people, and that means we can control ourselves. Dammit, there has to be a better way than slaughtering each other."
I shook my head. "Don't blame it on the animals. Real wolves don't kill each other for dominance."
"Only werewolves," he said. He sounded tired.
"I admire your goals, Richard."
"But you don't agree."
"No, I don't agree."
His voice came from the darkness out of the backseat. "Stephen doesn't have any wounds. Why was he screaming?"
My shoulders hunched, and I made myself sit up straight. I turned onto Old Highway 21, and tried to think of a delicate way to tell him, but there was nothing delicate about rape. I told him what I'd seen.
The silence from the backseat lasted a very long time. I was almost to the turnoff for his house when he said, "And you think if I'd killed a few people along the way, this wouldn't have happened?"
"I think they're more afraid of Raina and Marcus than they are of you, so yeah."
"If you back my threat with killing, it undermines everything I've tried to do."
"I love you, Richard, and I admire what you're trying to do. I don't want to undermine you, but if they touch Stephen again, I'll do what I said I'd do. I'll kill them."
"They're my people, Anita. I don't want them dead."
"They're not your people, Richard. They're just a bunch of strangers that happen to share your disease. Stephen is your people. Every shapeshifter who threw their support to you and risked Marcus's anger, they're your people. They've risked everything for you, Richard."
"When Stephen joined the pack, I was the one who told Raina she couldn't have him. I've always stood by him."
"Your intentions are good, Richard, but they didn't keep him safe tonight."
"If I let you kill for me, Anita, it's the same as doing it myself."
"I didn't ask your permission, Richard."
He leaned on the back of the seat, and I realized he wasn't wearing his seat belt. I started to tell him to put it on, but didn't. It was his car, and he could survive a trip through the windshield. "You mean if they take Stephen again, you'll kill them because you said you'd kill them, not for me."
"A threat's not worth anything if you aren't willing to back it up," I said.
"You'd kill for Stephen. Why? Because he saved your life?"
I shook my head. It was hard to explain. "Not just that. When I saw him tonight, what they were doing to him . . . He was crying, Richard. He was . . . Oh, hell, Richard, he's mine now. There are a handful of people that I'd kill for, kill to keep safe, kill to revenge. Stephen's name got added to the list tonight."
"Is my name on the list?" he asked. He rested his chin on my shoulder over the seat. He rubbed his cheek on my face and I could feel a faint beard stubble, scratchy and real.
"You know it is."
"I don't understand how you can talk about killing so casually."
"I know."
"My bid for Ulfric would be stronger if I were willing to kill, but I'm not sure it would be worth it."
"If you want to martyr yourself for high ideals, fine. I don't like it, but fine. But don't martyr the people who trust you. They're worth more than any set of ideals. You nearly got yourself killed tonight."
"You don't just believe in something when it's easy, Anita. Killing is wrong."
"Fine," I said, "but you also nearly got me killed tonight. Do you understand that? If they had rushed us, I wouldn't have made it out. I will not go down in flames because you want to play Gandhi."
"You can stay home next time."
"Dammit, that isn't what I'm saying, and you know it. You're trying to live in some Ozzie and Harriet world, Richard. Maybe life used to work like that, but it doesn't anymore. If you don't give up on this, you're going to get killed."
"If I really thought I had to become a murderer to survive, I think I'd rather not survive."
I glanced at him. His expression was peaceful, like a saint. But you only got to be a saint if you died. I looked back at the road. I could give Richard up, but if I left him, he was going to end up dead. He'd have gone in there tonight without anyone, and he wouldn't have made it out.
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. "I don't know if I'd survive it if you died on me, Richard. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
He kissed my cheek, and something warm and liquid seeped down my neck. "I love you, too."
They were only words. He was going to get killed on me. He was going to do everything short of suicide. "You're bleeding on me," I said.
He sighed and leaned back into the darkness. "I'm bleeding a lot. Too bad Jean-Claude isn't here to lick it up." He made a bitter sound low in his throat.
"Do you need a doctor?"
"Get me home, Anita. If I need a doctor, I know a wererat that makes house calls." He sounded tired, weary, as if he didn't want to talk anymore. Not about the wounds, or the pack, or his high ideals. I let the silence grow and didn't know how to break it. A soft sound filled the quiet dark, and I realized that Richard was crying. He whispered, "I'm sorry, Stephen. I am so sorry."
I didn't say anything because I didn't have anything good to say. Just lately I had noticed that I could kill people and not blink. No attack of conscience, no nightmares, nothing. It was like some part of me had turned off. It didn't bother me that I was able to kill so easily. It did bother me that it didn't bother me. But it had its uses, like tonight. I think every last furry one of them had believed I'd do it. Sometimes, it was good to be scary.
9
It was 4:40 in the morning when Richard carried the still unconscious Stephen into his bedroom. Blood had dried the back of Richard's shirt to his skin. "Go to bed, Anita. I'll take care of Stephen."
"I need to look at your wounds," I said.
"I'm all right."
"Richard . . ."
He looked at me, half of his face covered in dried blood, his eyes almost wild. "No, Anita, I don't want your help. I don't need it."
I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out. "Okay, have it your way."<
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I expected him to apologize for snapping at me, but he didn't. He just walked into the other room and closed the door. I stood there in the living room for a minute, not sure what to do. I'd hurt his feelings, maybe even offended his sense of male honor. Fuck it. If he couldn't take the truth, fuck him. People's lives were at stake. I couldn't give Richard comforting lies when it could get people killed.
I went into the guest room, locked the door, and went to bed. I put on an oversized T-shirt with a caricature of Arthur Conan Doyle on it. I'd packed something a little sexier. Yes, I admit it. I could have saved myself the trouble. The Firestar was lumpy under the pillow. The machine gun went under the bed within reach. I laid an extra clip beside it. Never thought I'd need that much firepower, but between assassination attempts and packs of werewolves, I was beginning to feel a little insecure.
When I shoved the silver knives half under the mattress so I could get to them if I had to, I realized just how insecure I was feeling. But I left the knives out. Better insecure and paranoid than dead.
I got my stuffed toy penguin, Sigmund, out of the suitcase and cuddled under the covers. I'd had some vague idea that spending the night at Richard's house might be romantic. Shows how much I knew. We'd had three fights in one night, a record even for me. It probably wasn't a good sign for the longevity of the relationship. That last thought made my chest tight, but what was I supposed to do? Go into the other room and apologize? Tell him he was right when he wasn't? Tell him it was okay to get himself killed and take the rest of us down with him? It wasn't okay. It wasn't even close to okay. I hugged Sigmund until he was nearly squeezed in two. I refused to cry. Question: Why was I more worried about losing Richard than about the assassins? Answer: Killing didn't bother me; losing Richard did. I fell asleep holding my penguin and wondering if Richard and I were still dating. Who would keep him alive if I wasn't around?
Something woke me. I blinked up into the dark and reached under my pillow for the Firestar. When it was secure in my hand, I listened. A knock, someone was knocking at the locked bedroom door. Soft, hesitant. Was it Richard come to apologize? That would be too convenient.
I threw back the covers, spilling Sigmund to the floor. I put him back in the suitcase, lowering the lid without closing it, and padded barefoot to the door. I stood to one side of it, and said, "Who is it?"
"It's Stephen."
I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. I crossed to the other side of the door, gun still ready, and unlocked the door. I opened it slowly, looking, listening, trying to make sure it was just Stephen.
He stood outside the door wearing a pair of Richard's cut-off sweat pants. The shorts hung nearly to his ankles. A borrowed T-shirt covered his knees. His long yellow hair was tousled, like he'd been asleep.
"What's wrong?" I lowered the gun to my side, and he watched me do it.
"Richard went out, and I'm afraid to be alone." His eyes wouldn't quite meet mine when he said the last, flinching like he was afraid of what he'd see on my face.
"What do you mean he went out? Where to?"
"The woods. He said he'd keep watch for assassins. Does he mean Raina?" He did look up then, amazing blue eyes wide, the beginnings of panic sliding across his face.
I touched his arm, not sure it was the right thing to do. Some people don't want to be touched after a sexual molestation. It seemed to comfort Stephen. But he glanced behind him at the empty living room, rubbing his hands along his bare arms.
"Richard told me to stay in the house. He said I needed to rest." He wouldn't meet my eyes again. "I'm afraid to be alone, Anita. I . . ." He hung his head, long yellow hair spilling like a curtain to hide his face. "I can't get to sleep. I keep hearing noises."
I put a finger under his chin and lifted his face gently. "Are you asking to sleep in here with me?"
His eyes stared at me, wide and pain-filled. "Richard said I could."
"Run that by me again," I said.
"I told him I couldn't stand to be alone. He said, Anita's here, she'll protect you. Go sleep with her." He looked at me, his face awkward. Something must have shown on my face. "You're mad now. I don't blame you. I'm sorry . . . I'll . . ." He started to turn away, and I caught his arm.
"It's okay, Stephen. I'm not mad at you. Richard and I had a . . . disagreement, that's all." I didn't want him to sleep in here with me. The bed was too small for two people, and if I was going to share it with anyone, I'd have preferred Richard, but that wasn't going to happen. Maybe not ever at the rate we were going.
"You can stay in here." I didn't add, keep your hands to yourself. His face was raw with a need that had nothing to do with sex. He needed to be held, to be told the monster under the bed wasn't really there. I couldn't help him on the last. The monsters were real. But the first, I might manage that. Cold-blooded killer that I am, maybe I could share my toy penguin with him.
"Could you get an extra pillow from Richard's room?" I asked.
He nodded and fetched it. He clutched it to his chest like he'd have rather slept with it than on it. Maybe the penguin wasn't such a bad idea.
I locked the door behind us. I could have moved into Richard's room. It was a bigger bed, but it also had a picture window with a deck and bird feeders. The guest room only had one small window. Easier to defend. Unless I wanted to go out a window, they were both traps, so we stayed in the more secure room. Besides, I'd have had to move all the weapons and it would have been dawn before I finished.
I pulled the covers back and said, "You first." If something came through the door, I wanted to be the first to greet it, but I didn't say that out loud. Stephen was jumpy enough.
He climbed into bed with his pillow, pressing it against the wall, because there really wasn't room for two full-sized pillows. He lay on his back, staring up at me, his curling yellow hair falling around his face and bare shoulders like Sleeping Beauty. You didn't see many men with hair longer than mine. He was one of those men who was pretty rather than handsome, lovely as a doll. Staring up at me with his blue eyes, he looked about twelve. The look on his face was what did it, like he was expecting me to kick him, and he'd let me because he couldn't stop me. I understood in that moment what Raina had meant about him being anyone's meat. There was nothing dominant about Stephen, and it made me wonder about his background. Abused children will sometimes have that raw look to their eyes. And they'll take abuse, because it's normal.
"What's wrong?" Stephen said.
I'd been staring. "Nothing, just thinking." Tonight was not the night to ask if his father had beat him. I thought about throwing on a pair of jeans, but it would have been uncomfortable, not to mention hot. It was late spring, the heat hadn't set in. It was only seventy degrees, but it wasn't cool enough to wear jeans, especially if you had someone else in bed with you. Besides, I wasn't sure how Stephen would take me getting dressed to lie down beside him. Maybe he'd be insulted. It was too complicated for me. I turned off the light and climbed into bed beside him. If either of us had been much bigger, we'd have never fit. Stephen had to roll onto his side as it was.
He curled against my back, spooning his body against mine, one arm flung across my waist, like I was the stuffed toy. I stiffened, but Stephen didn't seem to notice. He buried his face into my back, and let his breath out in a sigh. I lay there in the dark and couldn't sleep. Two months ago after I'd nearly ended up a vampire, I'd had trouble sleeping. Close brushes with death, I could handle. Close brushes with becoming the undead, that scared me. But I got over it. I was sleeping just fine, thank you very much, until now. I pushed the button on my watch that made it glow. It was only 5:30. I'd had about an hour's sleep. Great.
Stephen's breathing deepened, and his body relaxed against me a muscle at a time. He whimpered softly in his sleep, arm convulsing around me, then the dream passed and he lay still and warm.
I drifted off to sleep, cuddling Stephen's arm around my body. He was almost as good as a stuffed toy, though he did have a tendency to mov
e at the odd moment.
Daylight spilled through the thin white drapes, and at first I thought the light had awakened me. I woke stiff, in the same position that I'd fallen asleep in, as if I hadn't moved at all during the night. Stephen was still curled around me, a leg over my legs along with one arm like he was trying to get as close to me as he could, even in his sleep.
I lay there for a moment with his body wrapped around me and realized I'd never awakened with a man before. I'd had a fiance in college and I'd had sex with him, but I'd never spent the night. I'd never actually slept in the same bed with a man. It was kind of odd. I lay in the circle of warmth of Stephen's body and wished it was Richard.
I had a vague feeling that something had awakened me, but what? I eased out from the covers and Stephen's clinging body. He rolled over on his other side, sighing, making small protesting noises. I tucked the covers around him and took the Firestar out from under my pillow.
According to my watch, it was nearly 10:30. I'd had about five hours of sleep. I slipped on a pair of jeans, got my toothbrush and some clean undies and socks out of the suitcase. I folded everything in a clean polo shirt and unlocked the door. I kept the Firestar in my hand. I'd put it on the top of the toilet while I cleaned up. I'd have done the same thing at home.
Someone passed in front of the door, talking. Two voices, one of them female. I laid the clothes on the floor, unclicked the safety on the gun, and put my left hand on the doorknob.
"Was that the safety on a gun I heard?" a man's voice said from the other side of the door. I recognized the voice.
I clicked the safety back in place, put the gun down the front of my pants, and slipped the T-shirt over it. Armed, but not visibly, I opened the door. Jason stood there, grinning at me. He was about my height. His blond hair was straight and baby fine, and cut just above his shoulders. His eyes were the innocent blue of spring skies, but the look in them wasn't innocent. He peered around me at Stephen still curled up in the bed.
"Is it my turn next?" he asked.
I sighed, picked up my clothes, tucked them under my arm, and closed the door behind me. "What are you doing here, Jason?"
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