Danse Macabre ab-14 Page 13

  He nodded. "There is one other thing they both have in common, ma petite." "And that would be?"

  "They have both been with vampires who held the ardeur."

  "You said vampires, plural. You don't mean just Belle, do you?"

  "Requiem had a lover who meant as much to him as Julianna did to Asher and me. Her name was Ligeia."

  "He told me that Belle killed her out of jealousy."

  "Oui. Ligeia was the only woman of her line to acquire the ardeur. It wasn't the full ardeur that Belle, you, and I carry, but there is more: Requiem refused Belle's bed for her."

  "And she killed her for that."

  "You have been inside Belle Morte's head, ma petite, how can you sound surprised?"

  He had a point. "It still seems pretty petty for a vampire who's over two thousand years old," I said.

  He nodded. "Oui, but many of the old ones can be extremely petty." He held his hand out to me.

  I stared at that hand for a heartbeat, then I took it. I let him draw me

  through the water and in against his body. Let him press me to the front of his body, wrap his arms around me. "You're afraid," I said, my cheek pressed to the firmness of his chest.

  "Oui, I am afraid."

  "Why?"

  "There are others here who have tasted the ardeur and are masters. We need to test our theory, ma petite, but I fear we run the risk of having you tied permanently to someone, or they to you."

  "Auggie isn't tied to me."

  "He did not want to leave our side, ma petite. If he does not recover, then he will be as Belle made her victims, hungering for us forever, willing to do anything to be back between us."

  "You sound sad."

  "He was my friend; I did not mean to enslave him as Belle would. I saw her victims give up everything, betray every vow, every trust, for the sake of her body." He held me tight against him. "It is not a power I ever wished to possess."

  "You hold the ardeur"

  "Oui, but this is a level of the ardeur that only she possesses. We all be­lieved that only Belle Morte could wield it at such a level."

  "You don't want it."

  "I want to be so powerful that no one dares challenge me or our people. But I am afraid of this, and what it will mean."

  His heart was beating too fast against my ear. Had it been beating all along, or had it just started? "Mean, how?"

  "There are those in Europe who already fear my growing power. Knowl­edge that I wielded the ardeur at the same level as Belle Morte might tip the scales in the council's voting. They might vote to kill us all rather than risk me making a power base in America, as strong as Belle once possessed in Eu­rope. Or the other American masters might collude to kill us, for fear that we would become like the tyrants of the European council."

  "How likely is all this?" I asked.

  "Possible."

  "How possible?" I asked, suddenly realizing that an accidental pregnancy might not be the worst disaster we could have.

  "We must understand these new powers, and quickly, ma petite. We must experiment with a master we trust before I allow you to go to the party to­morrow. We must know what we are dealing with, if we can."

  Raised voices on the other side of the door. Claudia yelling, "You can't just go in there!"

  Richard's voice, angry. "Watch me."

  Jean-Claude sighed, and I settled lower in the water. I did not want to fight with Richard tonight. But from the feel of him through the door, we weren't going to have a choice.

  Jean-Claude called, "Let him in, Claudia."

  The door opened, but Claudia came first, as if she didn't trust Richard in there with us. His power rode through the door like the heat edge of a for­est fire, something that should have choked and killed anything in its path. We'd raised his power level along with ours, and we were about to find out how sorry that was going to make us.

  //

  CLAUDIA STOOD BETWEEN him and the tub, and because she was about five inches taller, she blocked our view of him. Of some of him. She was the more serious bodybuilder, but he had broader shoulders. His shoulders and what I could glimpse of his lower body let me know he was wearing blue jeans and a red shirt. There was a herd of black in the door, where the other guards waited to figure out what to do. Some of them were werewolves and he was their Ulfric; you don't stand in the way of your king, not and survive.

  His power swirled through the room like invisible fire, as if the water should have boiled with it. Then I realized, it wasn't just Richard's power. Claudia had been my bodyguard off and on for months, maybe a year, but until this moment I hadn't really understood how much power was in that tall, muscular body. It was her power, too, burning down the room. She wasn't just physical muscle. The air was hard to breathe, as if it were too hot to pass over my lips, like coffee that you want to blow on before you drink it. I don't know what Richard had done outside, but it had made Claudia drop all her pretenses and show her power, like a preview, or a warning.

  Her voice echoed in the room. "No farther, until you prove you've got your shit under control." Her legs bent, her body going into that partial crouch, legs moving in the space she had between the raised tub and him. It was a fighting stance. Jesus.

  "Move!" Richard shouted it, in a voice gone bass with growling. Not good.

  Jean-Claude and I exchanged looks. He gave a small shrug. I tried. "Richard." I had to raise my voice, and say his name three times, before he answered.

  "Tell her to move, Anita," he growled.

  "What will you do if she moves?" I asked.

  I felt some of that burning power hesitate, grow weaker. His voice was still growly, but less sure of itself. "I don't know." He said it as if he hadn't

  thought beyond getting to us. That wasn't like Richard, to have no idea what he planned to do.

  "Are you going to try to hurt us?" I asked, sitting up in the water enough to peer around Claudia's body. I caught a glimpse of his face. His hair was a foamy mass of waves, all brown and gold. In sunlight there would be more gold to his brown, and strands of coppery red. His hair was brown, but as if it could never quite decide if it might be blond, or auburn instead. It had fi­nally grown back to brush the tops of his broad shoulders. The bright crim­son T-shirt strained around his upper arms, because he was holding his hands in tight, tight fists. It looked as if the seams of the shirt weren't going to hold the muscles' strain. His summer tan was dark against the red of the shirt. He looked at me then, the full force of his eyes, and the shock of it thrilled down my spine. His eyes were wolf eyes: amber, gold, and no longer human. It was the beginning of the change. No wonder Claudia was on alert.

  The dimple in his chin usually softened the sharp perfection of his cheek­bones, and the utterly masculine beauty of his face. He, more than almost any other man in my life, was handsome, not pretty. Nothing would ever make you mistake Richard for a girl, not even from the back, not even with the hair. The body was too masculine to be anything else. Tonight the dim­ple didn't soften anything, because the anger in his face was too raw. Had the anger fed his power, or the other way around? Who knew; who cared? Dan­gerous either way.

  "Control yourself, Ulfric," Claudia said.

  He turned those golden-amber eyes to her. "If I don't, what then?" For the first time since I'd known him I realized he was spoiling for a fight. It wasn't like him. It was like me.

  Jean-Claude and I both started to climb out of the tub at the same mo­ment. He went for one of the huge fluffy white towels, wrapping it around his waist as he cleared the water. Shapeshifters aren't usually bothered by nu­dity, but tonight he might be, at least by Jean-Claude. Richard was a touch homophobic; what he'd felt us do tonight wouldn't help that.

  I left the knife and the gun on the edge of the tub. I wouldn't kill him, and he knew it. One, there was a chance that if one of us died, the vampire marks would kill us all; two, most of the time I loved him too much to want him dead. Right at that moment was not one of those times. That momen
t was one of those times when I wished he had fewer hang-ups, and had had more therapy. He was in therapy, but not enough therapy for what he'd felt Jean-Claude and me do tonight. He was the last third of our triumvirate. Of all the ones we'd shared power with, Richard would have gotten more sensa­tions, more real physical feedback of what we were doing. He was the one

  who would hate it the most and he got the most complete ride. Unfair, but true.

  Jean-Claude stayed near the back wall with its mirror. It was the largest place to stand. He handed me a towel but I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stood there, framed by the black marble, nude, water dripping down my body, glistening in the light. My hair plastered to my face, leaving my eyes huge and dark in the paleness of my face. I could almost never re­sist any of my men fresh from the tub or shower. There was something about water streaming down naked skin that was just yummy. Here was hoping that Richard felt the same way.

  "I won't ask you again, move!"

  "She is doing her job, mon amir

  "Shut up," he screamed, "shut up, I don't want to hear you right now."

  Oh, boy. I moved around the narrow edge between tub and wall on the closest side to the door. I stopped on the raised platform so I was totally framed by the cool black marble with its white and silver streaks. My pulse was in my throat, because even a few inches closer made their power hotter, like moving closer to that open flame when your skin is crying out, Hot, hot, don't touch.

  "Richard." I whispered it, but he heard me.

  He looked at me with that rage-filled face, and the moment he saw me, his eyes filled with such pain, as if the sight of me like that was a knife blow straight through his heart. I was sorry for the pain, but happy about the re­action. Almost any emotion is better for a shapeshifter than anger. Anger feeds their beasts quicker. We needed to slow things down.

  "How could you do that? How could you do that with him?" I thought he meant Auggie, until he pointed a finger at Jean-Claude.

  "I'm not sure what you mean by 'that,' Richard."

  "Don't play me, Anita," and this was a yell. He covered his face with his hands, and staggered back a step. He screamed, wordless, and so full of pain. He dropped to his knees, and screamed again. His power filled the room as if we'd all been plunged into boiling water. It felt as if my skin were being cooked. I'd felt Richard's power before, but nothing like this. How much power had he gained from our feed on Auggie?

  Claudia stayed in a fighting stance, and I didn't blame her. Graham was just inside the door, rubbing his bare arms, looking conflicted. He owed Richard his allegiance, but he was paid to keep us safe. He also knew that Richard would never forgive any of the wolves that allowed him to hurt me. Jean-Claude I wasn't so sure about, but me, he'd regret it later, and his re-

  gret had a way of raining all over everybody. Lisandro was in the room too, near the sinks. There was no conflict on his dark face. He was tall, dark, and handsome, with the longest hair of any of the male wererats. If Claudia said jump, he'd do it.

  Clay was in the doorway, as tormented as Graham. We needed fewer wolves in here, and more wererats, or werehyenas, anything but people who would hesitate.

  Richard lowered his hands, and his eyes were pure chocolate brown. He'd swallowed some of that awful, burning power. "You helped him rape the Master of Chicago." He wasn't yelling now, and I almost wished he had. It would have been easier to hear than the anguish in his voice.

  But what he said made no sense to me. "It wasn't rape, Richard. You know that. You felt some of what Auggie was feeling. Hell, Richard, Auggie started the ball rolling. He raised my ardeur on purpose, picked a fight with me."

  Richard looked at me, and I watched him want to believe me, but be afraid to. "Do you really think I'd rape someone?"

  He shook his head. "No, but he would." He pointed toward Jean-Claude, who was standing very still behind me.

  His voice came neutral, as empty as he could make it. "I have done many things over the centuries, Richard, but rape has never been to my taste."

  I remembered Jean-Claude's memories with Auggie. Belle had wanted him to rape Auggie, and Jean-Claude had changed it to something gentler, or as gentle as he could make it with Belle watching. I opened my mouth to say something, but knew somehow that telling about the other two times that Jean-Claude and Auggie had had sex wouldn't help us.

  "See, Anita, you can't defend him either."

  "I do defend him. Jean-Claude has a lot of faults; rape isn't one of them."

  "That wasn't what you started to say a second ago." He was still kneeling on the floor, but he was calming, swallowing that choking power. He was showing the control that had helped make him Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan.

  Claudia moved to one side, so she could see him as she glanced at me. I gave her a small nod, but added, "I think Clay and Graham have something else they need to be doing."

  She nodded, and ordered them out, and replaced them with two guards who wouldn't feel conflicted. She'd understood what I'd meant. If Richard understood what I'd done, he didn't show it, not even by a flicker of his eyes.

  "I'm trying to decide what I can say that won't piss you off, Richard. That's all."

  He took in a breath so deep it made his shoulders shake. "Fair enough." His voice sounded like his own now, not all growling deep. "Did the other master really pick a fight with you?"

  I nodded. We'd leave the whole theory as to why he might have picked it until we were alone. "You felt his power, Richard—if it had come down to a fight, a true fight, vampire on vampire, would we have won?"

  He looked down at his hands where they lay still and open on his thighs. "I don't think so."

  "He raised the ardeur. If I feed off him, then he loses."

  Richard nodded. "Food can't be dominant. I know." He looked past me to Jean-Claude. "Why would he raise the ardeur} Why would he pick the one way that he could lose?"

  "I do not believe he wished to win," Jean-Claude said.

  "That makes no sense," Richard said.

  "He is already master of one territory. It is against our laws to rule a sec­ond that does not touch your own. There are lands in between our territo­ries, so defeating me would win him nothing. But losing to the ardeur would give him ..."

  "Anita."

  "A woman of Belle Morte's line who holds the ardeur, oui."

  "I thought you said he was your friend," Richard said.

  "I believe he is." Jean-Claude sighed and said, "We need privacy for this discussion, Claudia, if you would leave us?"

  She looked at me, not at the men. I liked Claudia. "It's okay."

  She sighed. "We'll be right outside the door, but if the power level rises again, we are back in here."

  "No arguments," I said.

  "I'll control myself," Richard said.

  "Sure," she said, and went for the door. Lisandro stared back at us as the door closed, and it wasn't a bodyguard look. It was a man's look at a naked woman that he'd never seen naked before. Until that moment I hadn't even thought about any of the other men in the room. Richard had been all I thought of; the rest of them might as well have been eunuchs as far as I'd been concerned. But with that one look Lisandro broke two rules. First, shapeshifters didn't notice nudity; they did it too much. It would be like your cat thinking about not wearing pants. Second, it was against the bodyguard code to let clients see that you thought about them in any way other than as a target to keep safe. You did not let a female client see that you lusted after her, even if she paraded naked. That was her problem, not yours. You do not fuck those you guard, because you can't guard them while you're fucking. I

  guess there are exceptions to the above rules, but Lisandro hadn't earned those exceptions.

  I gave him a look that let him know I'd seen his look. He just smiled, not a smidge of regret. Great, just great.

  The door closed behind the guard, and we were alone. None of us moved, as if now that it was just us, we weren't certain what to do.

&
nbsp; Richard spoke into the sudden heavy silence. "I need you to put on a towel, at least, Anita, please." He added the please like it hurt him to ask po­litely. I guess he was still angry. But he had swallowed all that rage the way he'd learned to swallow his beast. Part of me was beginning to wonder if there would come a day when he couldn't swallow all the rage, and what would happen when that day came. Once I'd thought Richard would never hurt me; now I knew better. He wouldn't hurt me on purpose, but purpose wasn't always what drove him.

  Jean-Claude handed me a towel. His face was empty as he did it, nothing to help me, or give me a hint, but nothing on his face for Richard to take of­fense at either. I guess we were both being as careful of him as we could.

  It was a big towel. I ended up covered from armpits to nearly my ankles. I tucked the end of the towel securely under and over, and voila, I was dressed.

  "Thank you," Richard said.

  "You're welcome," I said, and sat down on the edge of die marble, smoothing the towel under me. Marble can be very cold to sit on bare.

  Jean-Claude handed me another slightly smaller towel. I took it, and watched as he began to wrap an identical towel around his wet hair. He was right; if I didn't dry my hair well, it would be a mess tomorrow.

  "How can the two of you do that?" he asked.

  I looked at him from underneath the towel, while I wrapped it around my head. "What are we doing now?"

  "Taking care of your hair like nothing's wrong."

  I got die towel fixed in place and turned to meet Jean-Claude's look. He took the hint. "If we let our hair dry badly, it will not change what has hap­pened, Richard. The practicalities of life do not cease needing to be done just because other things are going wrong."

  Richard moved so he was sitting on the floor, rather than kneeling. He hugged his knees to him, and it was something that Nathaniel might have done, not my dominant Richard. Whatever he had experienced with us tonight, it had shaken him.