Crimson Death

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  I watched Domino struggle for breath, and knew no matter how much pain I was enduring, it wasn't as bad as what he was feeling. He looked at me with those fire-colored eyes, and what I saw in them was failure. Drowning in his own blood and all he was thinking was that he'd failed me. I did not want that to be his last thought. I tried to tell him with my eyes that he hadn't failed me. I couldn't speak and I didn't want to try to talk to him mind-to-mind; I was afraid it would make everything worse.

  The blond stood in front of him, wrapped one hand around the hilt, and braced the other against Domino's chest. He pushed as he pulled on the hilt, and just that extra pressure on his chest made us both start to choke, our bodies shaking and starting to convulse.

  The man sitting on me tried to hold me down and keep me from hurting myself, I think. "Get it out of him, now!"

  "It's stuck on a bone, or something," the other one growled.

  "If she dies . . ."

  The blond tore it out of Domino's chest, blood gushing around it as his body fell to the floor. It bowed my spine, made me try to breathe and not be able to, and then suddenly I could breathe. My chest still ached, but it wasn't a sharp pain anymore. I breathed and it hurt to do it, but I could do it. Shallow breaths hurt, but . . . I tried a deeper breath and it wasn't painful. Another one and it was better. Other things were better, too. I thought of Nathaniel and knew he was standing with Damian beside him, and Dev was there, too. I could feel them now, and they could feel me. They knew at least some of what was happening to me now. I was afraid to open up the link as completely as I could, because I didn't want the shapeshifter who was touching me to sense what I was doing.

  The shapeshifter in question said, "That's it, calm, even breaths. You'll be all right."

  I didn't want him to comfort me. I didn't want him being nice even when I knew it was a means to an end. For some reason they didn't want me dead, so he'd work to keep me alive, but that was the only reason I wasn't bleeding out on the floor with Domino. I turned to look at him. He wasn't moving at all now. He just lay there on his side, but he'd fallen at an odd angle, unable to cushion or direct it. His neck was hyperextended, which would make breathing even harder, or maybe easier. I didn't know anymore. But I could see his face, see his eyes too wide as he struggled to breathe, that awful wet sound coming from his chest, or his throat. Blood coated his chin and mouth. I could still taste his mouth on mine. He shook, or shivered; a gout of blood spilled out of his mouth and the horrible wet rattling breathing stopped. I saw his eyes go, watched him dying inches from me.

  I screamed. I screamed for help. I screamed, because there was nothing else I could do. The man on top of me popped me in the side of the face the way you hit a cat that was chewing something, not to hurt, just to startle. It made me look away from Domino to him.

  "No screaming," he said, and took a syringe out of his jacket pocket. He removed the plastic that covered the needle.

  "After the screaming she already did, they'll just think it's more sex," the other one said.

  I didn't look at him but kept my eyes on the man with the needle. I did not want to let him give me whatever was in the syringe. I didn't even have to know what it was, to know that much. I must have telegraphed something, because when I tried to hit him, he blocked me with his arm and settled his weight more solidly on my waist. He had to weigh over two hundred, maybe closer to three; I was pinned unless I moved him. All I could do was try to struggle enough to keep him from using the needle. I'd alerted Nathaniel and the others; they'd tell Edward and Nolan, and the other police. They knew what rooms we were in; if I could delay long enough, maybe help would come.

  I still didn't know what they'd done to Ethan, other than that he wasn't supposed to be dead. I wanted to look behind me and see for myself, but the man sitting heavy on my waist leaned down toward me with the needle. I put my arms up the way you did when you sparred except my arms were probably his target, so it was hard to know what part of me to protect.

  "I promise you the drugs will just knock you out, nothing else."

  "Your word of honor?" I asked.

  He looked a little surprised, and then said, "Yes."

  "For me to take your word, you'd have to be from a century where that really mattered, and this is not that century."

  "My original century was, Miss Blake. I give you my word of honor that this will only make you sleep."

  "I believe you," I said.

  "Then put down your arms and let me give you the shot."

  "Nope, I don't want to be unconscious."

  "We can hit you until you're unconscious," the younger one said.

  "You don't want to kill me, and hitting someone repeatedly in the head until they're unconscious is a good way to do that by accident."

  "But I do want to kill you. I want to kill you so very much," he said, as he walked closer to us so I could look up at both of them.

  "But you won't, at least not here and now."

  "And why won't I?"

  "Because someone else wants me alive, and that someone else has enough power over you to make your friend afraid of me dying here and now."

  "You gave away too much," he said to his friend.

  "You shouldn't have used the weapon on one of her moitie betes. It could have killed her."

  "He was better than I thought he would be, and the other one was coming through the door."

  "So you admit that you couldn't take him without resorting to a magical weapon," the one sitting on me said, and there was derision in his voice. I'd thought they were partners but was beginning to think they didn't really like each other. It didn't mean that they weren't work partners, but it did mean that they weren't a completely united front. Division in the ranks always gave opportunity to find people you could turn; traitor was only a bad word if they were betraying you. If they were helping you betray the other side, traitor could be a very good word.

  The young-looking one snarled at his friend, an edge of growl in it that sounded too deep to come from his thinner chest. He looked in shape, but it was the shape of someone who hadn't hit all their secondary growth spurts yet, and now he never would.

  He raised the weapon he'd taken out of Domino's chest, and it didn't look magical. It looked like a short sword, but the blade was almost pyramid shaped and the blade wasn't . . . It seemed heavier and oddly shaped. I tried to look at the blade coldly, trying to see the magic in it and not Domino's blood all over it. If I looked at it clinically I wouldn't start screaming again--maybe.

  The one who was sitting on me moved, and I was there to sweep at his hand with the needle in it. "Come help me hold her."

  There was a noise behind me. The younger one looked at the source of the noise. "If you don't want me to kill that one, too, we need to get out of here before he comes to."

  "Then help me with her."

  I wanted to look back for Ethan, but he was only unconscious; they'd said so, and there was no reason for them to lie about it after what they'd just done to Domino. I kept my attention on the two men in the room who could hurt me; the rest would have to wait. I prayed for Ethan and for myself and for Domino, though I knew dead when I saw it. The dead don't need prayers; that's for the living.

  "You're not going to win this one, Anita Blake." It was the young guy, standing over me now. There were no extra lines on his face; he still looked about seventeen, but his eyes . . . It was like looking into two dark caves.

  There was another small sound behind me. It sounded like a knife moving in flesh, but that couldn't be it. Our attackers were in front of me, and Ethan was alone. Calm, I had to be calm, had to think. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

  He smiled. "I am Rodrigo, and this is Hamish."

  "Do not give her our names."

  "Why not? She's not going to tell anyone."

  That let me know they meant to kill me, not here and now, but I wasn't getting away to share any information. So why not kill me here, and could I reach my gun before they kille
d me, or knocked me out? The big man settled more solidly against my waist.

  "Forget the gun. You can't get to it," he said.

  He was right. I hated that he was right, but he was. "What do you want?"

  "Aren't you going to ask why?" Rodrigo asked.

  "Why what?" I asked.

  "Why we're doing this? Why we killed them? Why we haven't killed you?"

  "No, I'm not going to ask any of that."

  "Why not?" he asked, and smiled, as if he realized the irony.

  "Because it won't help."

  He looked at me with those cave-dark eyes. I realized the only other person I'd ever seen with eyes like that was a serial killer, and one of the most frightening people I'd ever met. It let me know what I was dealing with, but I bet he hid behind that youthful face and slaughtered people, joyously.

  "My, how very practical of you."

  "You have no idea how practical I can be, Rodrigo."

  Rodrigo laughed, head back and delighted. "Was that a veiled threat? Do you think you will ever be in a position to harm me? Oh, that is optimism such as I have not heard in centuries."

  "Don't tease her," Hamish said.

  "What does it matter?"

  "The look she's giving you matters."

  Rodrigo knelt beside us; his knee brushed my arm and I moved away. He tried to pin my arm, but I kept moving it away. He frowned at me like I was a misbehaving child. "Now, Anita, you know you can't possibly elude us. We will pin you and Hamish will give you the shot."

  "I know," I said.

  "Then it's not very practical for you to struggle against the inevitable, is it?"

  "I suppose not."

  "But you're going to struggle anyway, aren't you?"

  I lay there, looking up at both of them. The big guy was getting sort of heavy on my waist and stomach. Funny how if I was having good sex the man never seemed that heavy, but in other circumstances I realized just how much smaller I was than most men. I wasn't going anywhere with him sitting like that, but I didn't have to move him. I just had to keep him from sticking whatever was in the syringe into me. If I could delay everything long enough I was still hoping that the cavalry would ride to the rescue; I just needed to give them as much time as I could. "Yes, I'm going to struggle anyway."

  "We aren't supposed to kill you, but we can hurt you. If you make us hold you down like this, I will use it as an excuse to cause you pain."

  "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," I said.

  "He will enjoy hurting you," Hamish said.

  "I believe that."

  "Do not put yourself at his mercy, Anita Blake."

  "I'm not at his mercy. You're here, Hamish."

  "Do not look to me for protection from Rodrigo. That would be a grave mistake." He said it and he meant it, but he wasn't happy about it. Again, I smelled division in the ranks.

  "Duly noted," I said.

  "I like hurting people," Rodrigo said.

  "You like killing people," I said.

  "That, too, but I really do enjoy a slower death; otherwise I'd have stabbed your lover through the heart, instead of the lungs."

  I couldn't keep my eyes neutral. It made him smile wider. "Oh, you didn't like that at all. Let's do this, Hamish. I know what sweet nothings I want to whisper in her ear."

  "Then grab her arms and stop talking us both to death."

  "Oh, when I do anything involving you, it won't be talk, old friend." I had seldom heard the phrase old friend sound so hostile.

  "He just threatened you," I said.

  "He does that," Hamish said.

  "Roddy, I don't think he's afraid of you. Are you, Hamish?"

  "I fear no one," he said.

  "Not even Roddy, or especially not him?"

  "Why are we letting her talk like this?" Hamish asked.

  Rodrigo frowned; he looked like a petulant middle schooler, as if he should stamp his foot and complain to his mommy. "I don't know."

  "Hold her," Hamish said, and this time he meant it, and so did I. I used my feet and legs and every bit of lower body I had to try to throw him off me. I didn't expect to really move him off me, but it kept him from using the needle on me, and that was my goal. Not to let them put whatever that was in me, and to stay in this room until help came.

  "Hold her!" Hamish yelled.

  Rodrigo got one of my wrists pinned, but I got a palm strike under his chin that rocked him. He tried to hit me back, and I somehow managed to block him with my one free arm, which pissed him off even more. "Stop squirming!"

  "Squirming is one of my best things," I said.

  "This is going to happen. Stop fighting it!"

  "Fuck you!"

  "Only if it would cause you pain."

  "I doubt you're that well endowed."

  He snarled at me, sending his beast's energy playing along my skin. I breathed it in like a familiar cologne, but he shut down too fast. I couldn't tell what scent it was; it was a level of control of his energy that was really rare, but then, he was one of the Harlequin. One of the ones who had fled across the world and the ones with us hadn't found yet, or had given up on finding. We'd told them to stay home with us and leave the world alone. If I lived through this we'd be changing that policy.

  He pinned one wrist under his knee, making sure to grind it to hurt, but I'd been hurt worse before, even recently, and I knew for a fact that once they got me out of this room unconscious, I'd eventually be hurt a hell of a lot worse. He got a hand on my other arm, and my wrists were pinned under his knee and hand. I knew it was over, but I still moved the rest of me as much as I could. Hamish put his hand on my chest and leaned, and that pretty much ended my upper-body moving, and if he'd pressed long enough, my breathing. He shoved the needle in my arm, and I couldn't stop them. I screamed and Rodrigo slapped me hard enough that I saw stars for a second. When my vision cleared I was already starting to feel warm.

  "What did you give me?" My words were clear, but my tongue was starting to feel thick; all of me began to feel like it was getting wrapped in cotton like some breakable object to be wrapped up for shipping. Whatever the stuff was, it was fast acting.

  Rodrigo leaned over me, petting my hair, and I couldn't stop him. They still had my arms pinned, but it wouldn't matter for much longer. My body was starting to feel heavy, thick, and distant. "It doesn't matter what we gave you; it's working." He leaned his dark eyes over mine, and it was too close to the intimate eye contact that Domino and I had just shared. It helped me fight clear for a moment. I dropped every metaphysical shield I had and silently broadcast to anyone and everyone, everything, that could hear me, feel me. I needed help and I needed it now!

  "What are you doing?" Rodrigo asked, leaning so close that I smelled the soap he'd showered with, and underneath that was heat and fur and . . . leopard.

  "Get back, Roddy. Don't touch her now!" I couldn't focus on the man sitting on top of me now, couldn't make my eyes work the way I wanted. I kept watching the blond.

  "Why can you touch her and I can't?" he asked.

  "Because I'm not one of her animals to call, and you are."

  I stared into the wereleopard's cave-dark eyes, and thought, Mine. He said, "No."

  The drugs hit a new level and my beast quieted. Everything quieted. I couldn't move, almost didn't want to move.

  Rodrigo petted my hair again. "That's better." He moved to one side and used my hair to lean my head back so I could see Ethan. I couldn't have moved enough to do it myself now. Ethan dangled from the door, a knife through his shoulder pinning him in place while the rest of his body hung there. He was deeply unconscious or the pain would have revived him.

  "I did that," Rodrigo whispered near me, and then rolled my head to look at Domino, "and that, and if we get to kill you, I'll beg to help. I am not your leopard to call. I am something you cannot tame."

  It took almost all the effort I had to make my lips move and whisper, "Harlequin."

  It startled him, as if he didn't think I'd know w
hat they both were, but what else could they be? Nothing else could have taken out two of my tigers, with all their training, and me this fast. He reached toward Domino and came back with his hand scarlet with fresh blood. He wiped the blood across my lips and I couldn't stop him.

  "When she is done with you, I will make you choke on your own blood." He shoved his fingers down my throat, but I didn't choke for him. "Swallow the blood of your tiger, Anita. Swallow him down for the very last time!"

  I tried not to, but I couldn't do anything but swallow. All blood tastes the same, like sweet copper pennies. Darkness was starting to eat my vision. My tongue was almost too thick to use, but I fought to say it, while I stared up into Rodrigo's black eyes: "All the . . . Harlequin . . . belong . . . to me." Then the darkness came and I wasn't sure if it ate me, or I became it, but Rodrigo's black eyes were the last thing I saw.

  77

  I KNEW I was dreaming, but I knew it wasn't my dream. I was wearing a dress from a century that I'd never lived through. The skirt was heavy with one of those odd hoops, if that's what you call it, that made the dress go out to either side of your hips like you should be able to set plates on the stiff satin cloth. The cloth was red and gold, and the tight cinched waist pushed my breasts up too much so that even I was distracted when I saw myself in the mirror that was leaning up against the stone wall. It was a very realistic dream. I could feel the long skirts brushing against the rough stone floor. I had enough of Jean-Claude's memories to know that there should have been sweet rushes or something on the floor, but it was rough-hewn rock, almost cavelike, except there were windows, long, thin, and reaching almost to the high vaulted ceiling. I could hear the ocean, feel the wind of it. I thought, But where is the smell of the ocean? And that was when I knew it was a dream. There's no scent in a dream; that part doesn't work when we sleep, which is why most people don't smell smoke from fire in time. Noises wake us, but not smells.