Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter

  I found an explanation slipping out of my mouth. "You might say I went caving without you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I ended up going through a water-filled tunnel to escape the bad guys."

  "How water-filled?"

  "All the way to the top."

  "You could have drowned." He touched my hand with his fingertips.

  I sipped coffee and moved my hand away from his, but I could feel where he had touched me like a lingering smell. "But I didn't drown."

  "That's not the point," he said.

  "Yes," I said, "it is. If you're going to date me, you have to get used to the way I work."

  He nodded. "You're right, you're right." His voice was soft. "It just caught me off guard. You nearly died today and you're sitting there drinking coffee like it's ordinary."

  "For me, it is, Richard. If you can't deal with that, maybe we shouldn't even try." I caught Edward's expression. "What are you grinning at?"

  "Your suave and debonair way with men."

  "If you're not going to be helpful, then leave."

  He put his mug down on the counter. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone."

  "Edward," I said.

  "I'm going."

  I walked him to the door. "Thanks again for being there, even if you were following me."

  He pulled out a plain white business card with a phone number done in black on it. That was all, no name, no logo; but what would have been appropriate, a bloody dagger, or maybe a smoking gun? "If you need me, call this number."

  Edward had never given me a number before. He was like the phantom—there when he wanted to be, or not there, as he chose. A number could be traced. He was trusting me a lot with the number. Maybe he wouldn't kill me.

  "Thank you, Edward."

  "One bit of advice. People in our line of work don't make good significant others."

  "I know that."

  "What's he do for a living?"

  "He's a junior high science teacher," I said.

  Edward just shook his head. "Good luck." With that parting shot, he left.

  I slipped the business card into the robe pocket and went back to Richard. He was a science teacher, but he also hung out with the monsters. He'd seen it get messy, and it hadn't fazed him, much. Could he handle it? Could I? One date and I was already borrowing trouble that might never come up. We might dislike each other after only one evening together. I'd had it happen before.

  I stared at the back of Richard's head and wondered if the curls could be as soft as they looked. Instant lust; embarrassing, but not that uncommon. All right, it was uncommon for me.

  A sharp pain ran up my leg. The leg that the lamia-thing had bitten. Please, no. I leaned against the counter divider. Richard was watching me, puzzled.

  I swept the robe aside. The leg was swelling and turning purplish. How had I not noticed it? "Did I mention I got bitten by a lamia today?"

  "You're joking," he said.

  I shook my head. "I think you're going to have to take me to the hospital."

  He stood up and saw my leg. "God! Sit down."

  I was starting to sweat. It wasn't hot in the apartment.

  Richard helped me to the couch. "Anita, lamias have been extinct for two hundred years. No one's going to have any antivenom."

  I stared at him. "I guess we're not going to get that date."

  "No dammit, I won't sit here and watch you die. Lycanthropes can't be poisoned."

  "You mean you want to rush me to Stephen and let him bite me?"

  "Something like that."

  "I'd rather die."

  Something flickered through his eyes, something I couldn't read; pain, maybe. "You mean that?"

  "Yes." A rush of nausea flowed over me like a wave. "I'm going to be sick." I tried to get up and go for the bathroom but collapsed on the white carpet and vomited blood. Red and bright and fresh. I was bleeding to death inside.

  Richard's hand was cool on my forehead, his arm around my waist. I vomited until I was empty and exhausted. Richard lifted me to the couch. There was a narrow tunnel of light edged by darkness. The darkness was eating the light, and I couldn't stop it. I could feel myself begin to float away. It didn't hurt. I wasn't even scared.

  The last thing I heard was Richard's voice. "I won't let you die." It was a nice thought.

  42

  The dream began. I was sitting in the middle of a huge canopied bed. The drapes were heavy blue velvet, the color of midnight skies. The velvet bedspread was soft under my hands. I was wearing a long white gown with lace at the collar and sleeves. I'd never owned anything like it. No one had in this century.

  The walls were blue and gold wallpaper. A huge fireplace blazed, sending shadows dancing around the room. Jean-Claude stood in the corner of the room, bathed in orange and black shadows. He was wearing the same shirt I'd last seen him in, the one with the peekaboo front.

  He walked towards me, fire-shadows shining in his hair, on his face, glittering in his eyes.

  "Why don't you ever dress me in anything normal in these dreams?"

  He hesitated. "You don't like the gown?"

  "Hell, no."

  He gave a slight smile. "You always did have a way with words, ma petite. "

  "Stop calling me that, dammit."

  "As you like, Anita." There was something in the way he said my name that I didn't like at all.

  "What are you up to, Jean-Claude?"

  He stood beside the bed and unbuttoned the first button of his shirt.

  "What are you doing?"

  Another button, and another, then he was pulling the shirt out of his pants and letting it slide to the floor. His bare chest was only a little less white than my gown. His nipples were pale and hard. The strand of dark hair that started low on his belly and disappeared into his pants fascinated me.

  He crawled up on the bed.

  I backed away, clutching the white gown to me like some heroine in a bad Victorian novel. "I don't seduce this easy."

  "I can taste your lust on the back of my tongue, Anita. You want to know what my skin feels like next to your naked body."

  I scrambled off the bed. "Leave me the fuck alone. I mean it."

  "It's just a dream. Can't you even let yourself lust in a dream?"

  "It's never just a dream with you."

  He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move. His arms locked behind my back, and we were on the floor in front of the fire. Fire-shadows danced on the naked skin of his shoulders. His skin was fragile, smooth, and unblemished—so soft I wanted to touch it forever. He was on top of me, his weight pressing against me, pushing me into the floor. I could feel the line of his body molded against mine.

  "One kiss and I'll let you up."

  I stared into his midnight-blue eyes from inches away. I couldn't talk. I turned my face away so I wouldn't have to look into the perfection of his face. "One kiss?"

  "My word," he whispered.

  I turned back to him. "Your word isn't worth shit."

  His face leaned over mine, lips almost touching. "One kiss."

  His lips were soft, gentle. He kissed my cheek, lips brushing down the line of my cheek, touching my neck. His hair brushed my face. I thought that all curly hair was coarse, but his was baby fine, silken soft. "One kiss," he whispered against the skin of my throat, tongue tasting the pulse in my neck.

  "Stop it."

  "You want it."

  "Stop it, now!"

  He grabbed a handful of hair, forcing my neck backwards. His lips had thinned back, exposing fangs. His eyes were drowning blue without any white at all.

  "NO!"

  "I will have you, ma petite, even if it is to save your life." His head came downward, striking like a snake. I woke up staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize.

  Black and white drapes were suspended from the ceiling in a soft fan. The bed was black satin with too many pillows thrown all over the place. The pillows were all black or white. I was wearin
g a black gown with spaghetti straps. It felt like a real silk and fit me perfectly.

  The floor was ankle-deep white carpet. A black lacquer vanity and chest of drawers were placed at far corners of the room. I sat up and could see myself in the mirror. My neck was smooth, no bite marks. Just a dream, just a dream, but I knew better. The bedroom had the unmistakable touch of Jean-Claude.

  I had been dying of poison. How had I gotten here? Was I underneath the Circus of the Damned, or somewhere else altogether? My right wrist hurt.

  There was a white swathe of bandages around my wrist. I didn't remember hurting it in the cave.

  I stared at myself in the vanity mirror. In the black negligee my skin was white, my hair long and black as the gown. I laughed. I matched the decor. I matched the damn decor.

  A door opened behind a white curtain. I got a glimpse of stone walls behind the drapes. He was wearing nothing but the silky bottoms of men's pajamas. He padded towards me on bare feet. His bare chest looked like it had in my dream, except for the cross-shaped scar; it hadn't been there in the dream. It marred the marble perfection of him, made him seem more real somehow.

  "Hell," I said. "Definitely Hell."

  'What, ma petite?"

  "I was wondering where I was. If you're here, it has to be Hell."

  He smiled. He looked entirely too satisfied, like a snake that had been well-fed.

  "How did I get here?"

  "Richard brought you."

  "So I really was poisoned. That wasn't part of the dream?"

  He sat on the far edge of the bed, as far away from me as he could get and still sit down. There were no other places to sit. "I'm afraid the poison was very real."

  "Not that I'm complaining, but why aren't I dead?"

  He hugged his knees to his chest, a strangely vulnerable gesture. "I saved you."

  "Explain that."

  "You know."

  I shook my head. "Say it."

  "The third mark."

  "I don't have any bite marks."

  "But your wrist is cut and bandaged."

  "You bastard."

  "I saved your life."

  "You drank my blood while I was unconscious."

  He gave the slightest nod.

  "You son of a bitch."

  The door opened again, and it was Richard. "You bastard, how could you give me to him?"

  "She doesn't seem very grateful to us, Richard."

  "You said you'd rather die than be a lycanthrope."

  "I'd rather die than be a vampire."

  "He didn't bite you. You're not going to be a vampire."

  "I'll be his slave for eternity; great choice."

  "It's only the third mark, Anita. You aren't his servant yet."

  "That's not the point." I stared at him. "Don't you understand? I'd rather you let me die than have done this."

  "It is hardly a fate worse than death," Jean-Claude said.

  "You were bleeding from your nose and eyes. You were bleeding to death in my arms." Richard took a few steps towards the bed, then stopped. "I couldn't just let you die." His hands reached outward in a helpless gesture.

  I stood up in the silky gown and stared at them both. "Maybe Richard didn't know any better, but you knew how I felt, Jean-Claude. You don't have any excuses."

  "Perhaps I could not stand to watch you die, either. Have you thought of that?"

  I shook my head. "What does the third mark mean? What extra powers does it give you over me?"

  "I can whisper in your mind outside of dreams now. And you have gained power as well, ma petite. You are very hard to kill now. Poison won't work at all."

  I kept shaking my head. "I don't want to hear it. I won't forgive you for this, Jean-Claude."

  "I did not think you would," he said. He seemed wistful.

  "I need clothes and a ride home. I've got to work tonight."

  "Anita, you've almost died twice today. How can you . . ."

  "Can it, Richard. I need to go to work tonight. I need something that's mine and not his. You invasive bastard."

  "Find her some clothes and take her home, Richard. She needs time to adjust to this new change."

  I stared at Jean-Claude still huddled on the corner of the bed. He looked adorable, and if I'd had a gun, I'd have shot him on the spot. Fear was a hard, cold lump in my gut. He meant to make me his servant, whether I liked it or not. I could scream and protest, and he'd ignore it.

  "Come near me again, Jean-Claude, for any reason, and I'll kill you."

  "Three marks bind us now. It would harm you, too."

  I laughed, and it was bitter. "Do you really think I give a damn?"

  He stared at me, face calm, unreadable, lovely. "No." He turned his back on us both and said, "Take her home, Richard. Though I do not envy you the ride there." He glanced back with a smile. "She can be quite vocal when she's angry."

  I wanted to spit at him, but that wouldn't have been enough. I couldn't kill him, not right then and there, so I let it go. Grace under pressure. I followed Richard out the door and didn't look back. I didn't want to see his perfect profile in the vanity mirror.

  Vampires weren't supposed to have reflections, or souls. He had one. Did he have the other? Did it matter? No, I decided, it didn't matter at all. I was going to give Jean-Claude to Oliver. I was going to give the city to Mr. Oliver. I was going to set the Master of the City up for assassination. One more mark and I'd be his forever. No way. I'd see him dead first, even if it meant I died with him. No one forced me into anything, not even eternity.

  43

  I ended up wearing one of those dresses with the waist that hit you about at the hips. The fact that the dress was about three sizes too big didn't help matters. The shoes fit even if they were high heels. It was better than going barefoot. Richard turned up the heat in the car because I'd refused his coat.

  We were fighting, and we hadn't even had one date. That was a record even for me.

  "You're alive," he said for the seventieth time.

  "But at what price?"

  "I believe that all life is precious. Don't you?"

  "Don't go all philosophical on me, Richard. You handed me over to the monsters, and they used me. Don't you understand that Jean-Claude has been looking for an excuse to do this to me?"

  "He saved your life."

  That seemed to be the extent of his argument. "But he didn't do it to save my life. He did it because he wants me as his slave."

  "A human servant isn't a slave. It's almost the opposite. He'll have almost no power over you."

  "But he'll be able to talk inside my head, invade my dreams." I shook my head. "Don't let him sucker you."

  "You're being unreasonable," he said.

  That was it. "I'm the one with my wrist slit open where the Master of the City fed. He drank my blood, Richard."

  "I know."

  There was something about the way he said it. "You watched, you sick son of a bitch."

  "No, it wasn't like that."

  "How was it?" I sat with my arms crossed over my stomach, glaring at him. So that was the hold Jean-Claude had on him. Richard was a voyeur.

  "I wanted to make sure he only did enough to save your life."

  "What else could he have done? He drank my blood, dammit."

  Richard concentrated on the road suddenly, not looking at me. "He could have raped you."

  "I was bleeding from my eyes and nose, you said. Doesn't sound very romantic to me."

  "All the blood, it seemed to excite him."

  I stared at him. "You're serious?"

  He nodded.

  I sat there feeling cold down to my toes. "What made you think he was going to rape me?"

  "You woke up on a black bedspread. The first one was white. He laid you on it and started to strip down. He took your robe off. There was blood everywhere. He smeared his face in it, tasted it. Another vampire handed him a small gold knife."

  "There were more vamps there?"

  "It was like a rit
ual. The audience seemed to be important. He slit your wrist and drank at it, but his hands . . . he was touching your breasts. I told him that I had brought you so you could live, not so he could rape you."

  "That must have gone over real big."

  Richard was very quiet all of a sudden.

  "What?"

  He shook his head.

  "Tell me, Richard. I mean it."

  "Jean-Claude looked up with blood all over his face and said, 'I have not waited this long to take what I want her to give freely. It is a temptation.' Then he looked down at you, and there was something in his face, Anita. It was scary as hell. He really believes you'll come around. That you'll . . . love him."

  "Vampires don't love."

  "Are you sure?"

  I glanced at him, then away. I stared at the window at the daylight that was just now beginning to fade. "Vampires don't love. They can't."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Jean-Claude does not love me."

  "Maybe he does, as much as he can."

  I shook my head. "He bathed in my blood. He slit my wrist. That isn't my idea of love."

  "Maybe it's his."

  "Then it's too damn weird for me."

  "Fine, but admit that he may love you, as much as he's able."

  "No."

  "It scares you to think that he loves you, doesn't it?"

  I stared out the window as hard as I could. I didn't want to be talking about this. I wanted to undo this whole damn day.

  "Or is it something else that you're afraid of?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Yes, you do." He sounded so sure of himself. He didn't know me well enough to be that certain.

  "Say it out loud, Anita. Say it just once and it won't seem so scary."

  "I don't have anything to say."

  "You're telling me that no part of you wants him. Not a piece of you might love him back."

  "I don't love him; that much I'm sure of."

  "But?"

  "You are persistent," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "All right, I'm attracted to him. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

  "How attracted?"

  "That's none of your damn business."

  "Jean-Claude warned me to stay away from you. I just want to know if I'm really interfering. If you're attracted to him, maybe I should stay out of it."