Danse Macabre ab-14 Read online

  He looked at me. "You really don't understand why she didn't like you from the moment you stepped into the room, do you?"

  Micah drew me in against his body, hugging me one-armed. I looked back and forth from one to the other of them. "What?"

  "No," Micah said, "she doesn't."

  "Don't what?" I asked.

  "You are a natural beauty," Auggie said. "Artifice gave Bunny her face, her figure; most of her best features were found under a surgeon's blade. In you walk, all natural equipment, wearing more clothes, and still get more atten­tion from the men in the room than she did. When you were with Thea and Thomas, every man in the room was riveted. We wanted you. Wanted to touch you, in a way that is rare."

  I felt myself blushing and tried to stop it, but, as usual, lost. "You're bab­bling, Auggie," I said.

  "Watching you and a siren, two if you count the boy. Watching two crea­tures formed of desire, and it was not the pale beauty most eyes watched, Anita. It was the dark."

  I frowned at him. "I don't need this much ego-boo, Auggie, just make your point. If you have a point?"

  Nathaniel came up. "I'll translate."

  "What do you mean, translate?" I said, turning to him.

  He took my hand, and shook his head. His face had that I-love-you-but-you-amuse-me look. "You outvamped the sirens, Anita."

  "How?"

  "I believe," Auggie said, "because your power is over the dead, and the undead. I was told your animal to call was only leopard."

  I nodded. "It is, but through Jean-Claude's marks, I also have ties to the wolves."

  "Yes, but my men are neither. They are lion, and yet they felt your call."

  I glanced behind him at the two men he'd brought along as both body­guards and food, and I was told as pomme de sang candidates, though Aug­gie, like Samuel, had a new twist on the whole pomme thing. Auggie was hoping to convince one of our new female vamps from London to come home with him and play house. He wanted another of Belle's line in his bed. Maybe that had predisposed Bunny to be pissy. He had come here to re­place her, after all.

  Auggie was offering to trade one of his werelions for a bedmate of Belle's line. I wondered how the men in question felt; did they want to stay in St. Louis? Did they want to leave Chicago? Had anyone asked them? I was bet­ting not.

  They were both tall, and muscular, and all they needed was a blinking sign over their heads that said "bodyguard." They both wore tailored suits that hid the guns I was almost one hundred percent sure were under there some­where. One was brunette, the other pale; other than that they looked as if an unimaginative baker had used the same cookie cutter for both of them. Only the icing was different. The pale one had short spiky, blue hair, which had actually been dyed well, so that it wasn't a solid blue color, but pale blue, dark blue, all mixed together like real hair is, and dyed hair seldom is. Ex­cept that nobody has hair the color of Cookie Monster and a spring sky on the top of their head. His eyes were a pale blue made deeper, richer, by the hair color. He was a little more slender through the shoulders, and maybe an inch taller, than the other guard.

  The brunette's hair looked like it might curl, but he'd cut it so short it didn't have the chance. His shoulders had a swell that I was familiar with; someone lifted weights as more than a casual hobby. Not a bodybuilder, but he worked at it. He was tall enough to carry the shoulders.

  Cookie Monster had a slight smile on his slender face. It reached the blue of his eyes, as if we just amused the hell out of him. Brunette watched me like I might do something bad, and he would be ready. The smile didn't fool me; they were both professional muscle. They were dangerous, and they were totally unacceptable as pomme de sang candidates. Too dominant, too

  unbending. Yeah, it was a quick judgment, but I'd have bet almost anything I was right.

  My eyes went to the other man who still stood behind the couch. I'd have said human, but the power that lurked just below that dark, elegant surface made me think, maybe not. I knew he was Octavius, Auggie's human servant. ['d have liked to just greet the two bodyguards, and let their power tell me I was right to think they were too dominant for what we wanted, but techni­cally since they weren't Auggie's special animal to call, Octavius outranked them.

  Almost as if he read my face, Octavius said, "Greet them first, Ms. Blake, let us see what you think of your choices. I, too, think the night is wasting away." His voice matched the smooth elegance of the rest of him.

  I nodded, and said, "Thank you." But I didn't like that Octavius had read me that easily. I moved around the couch, with Micah and Nathaniel at my back, and Graham and Claudia flanking all of us. I don't think any of our guards liked the two werelions any better than I did. • "You guys have names?" I asked.

  Cookie Monster grinned at me, eyes sparkling. Why did I think he'd grin just like that while he gutted someone? "Haven, I'm Haven."

  I nodded acknowledgment, then turned to Brunette. "And you would be?"

  "Pierce."

  "You guys only have one name apiece? Like Madonna?"

  Pierce frowned at me. Haven laughed, and it was a good laugh. Head back, full-throated; if he hadn't made the hairs at the back of my neck crawl, I'd have smiled.

  Auggie glided up to the two men, putting a hand on each of them. Their eyes tightened, not a flinch, but noticable. What had he done when he touched their backs, oh-so-lightly?

  Auggie smiled, that happy, happy smile that filled his gray eyes with light. "My lions are like vampires, Anita; they can, if they choose, have only one name among us. Pierce and Haven do have first names, but I think they will keep them until they know if they're staying."

  "What, you think I can't run them through a computer and a record check because you don't give me their real names?"

  "If their criminal record worries you, then let me allay your fears. They both have one." He was still smiling when he said it.

  It was all getting too weird. These were our friends, and I was already feeling like I'd been thrown into the deep end of the pool. Jean-Claude, where are you? I thought.

  I got a confused glimpse of fighting. He and Asher were struggling to hold Meng Die down. It reminded me of watching the men carrying Bunny out. If they want to hurt you, and you don't want to hurt them, you are at a disadvantage. They were inside the building that housed the car­nival's freak show upstairs. Though most of the "freaks" were rare super-naturals. I saw people looking in at them from the outer areas. They had an audience.

  I thought, Ask for help, get some guards in there and get her out of sight.

  I felt more than heard him think that asking for help with the other vamps maybe sensing it would make him look weak. I thought back, Taking advan­tage of your resources is not weakness, its good management.

  I felt him reach out to the wolves upstairs. I felt them moving toward him. Soon there'd be too many men for her to fight back. What they'd do with her once they subdued her, that was a different question. I had one more awful thought. I turned to Claudia. "Can you contact the wererat guards up­stairs via mind?"

  She pulled a small cell phone from one pocket. "How about phone?"

  "Meng Die's animal to call is wolf; I'd like a few wererats to join everyone in the freak show."

  Claudia didn't ask, she just made the call. So nice not to be questioned.

  "And what does Jean-Claude need that much help with?" Auggie said.

  "She's a female of Belle's line. You want her?"

  He laughed. "Not if she's this wild, no."

  "Auggie wouldn't need help to subdue one of his vamps," Pierce said.

  "Jean-Claude could subdue her, or even kill her, but she's chosen a place where there's an audience. Committing murder in front of civilians is a no-no," I said.

  "But once behind the scenes, will he kill her?" Haven asked.

  I sighed. "Probably not."

  "Weakness," Pierce said.

  Auggie patted them both on the back, and again there was that tighten­ing around their eyes. "Now,
now, boys, some masters would have killed Bunny for her disrespect. Everyone runs his territory a little differently." He was still cheerful, and charming, but there was an edge to it.

  "What are you thinking, Auggie?" I asked. I didn't really expect an an­swer, but I got one.

  "That Jean-Claude is too sentimental for his own good sometimes."

  I smiled, and knew it left my eyes cold. "You know, sentimental is not a word I would have used for him."

  "Then he has changed."

  "Don't we all," I said.

  Auggie nodded, the smile melting around the edges. "Taste them, Anita. taste your new toys."

  I shook my head, and said, "Can you stop touching them while I do it? I'd hate to confuse your tie to them with their power."

  He gave a small bow and stepped back. He even went to sit on the couch, where Octavius joined him. I stepped away from my own people. I fought not to look at one particular guard of ours. Our local lions were ruled by Joseph, and he was in the corner dressed as a bodyguard. He was ready to help if needed, but he and I both knew that he was mostly here to check out the new werelions. I was betting he liked them even less than

  I did.

  I looked up at the two men in question. "Do you guys want this trade?"

  That surprised them both, though Haven hid it sooner. He smiled. "I'm tool with it, if it works out." His eyes were cooler when he said it, as if the smile were beginning to melt down his face. If I asked the right question I might even see the real Haven behind the smiling, hip exterior. Pierce glanced behind them at Auggie. I said what I'd said to the twins. "Don't look at your master, look at me, and give me an honest answer. Do you want to be traded to St. Louis?"

  He started to look at the couch again. I touched his arm. A jolt of power ran through me, made me drop his arm. It stopped him midmotion, turned him back to me with his pulse pushing at the side of his throat. "What was that?"

  I fought the urge to rub my hand along the side of my skirt. "I'm not sure. Power, some kind of power."

  "You're not sure?" He sounded as suspicious as he looked.

  "I honestly don't know why there was a power jump when we touched. I didn't like it either."

  "I want to go home," he said. "I don't like being traded away, and I really don't like being offered up for sex like some kind of whore." He let the anger fill his voice, and the anger raised his power like heat across my skin.

  Octavius said, "Be careful, cat."

  "No," I said, "I want honesty. I've seen what happens if someone is forced to be in a group that they don't want to be in. The local lion pride works well; I don't want to queer their deal."

  "So you won't taste Pierce now, will you?" Auggie asked from the couch.

  I shook my head. "Take him back home, Auggie. I'm surprised you brought him, him not wanting to come."

  "Bunny said Pierce was one of the best lovers she'd ever had. I thought you'd enjoy that."

  I couldn't control my face fast enough.

  "What's wrong with that?" Auggie asked.

  "The idea of Bunny, just—" I made a push-away gesture. "I'm fighting off a visual."

  "She could be crude, but she was very good at her job."

  I looked at Auggie. "And her job would be?"

  "Sex."

  "She's your mistress, not your whore. Mistress means more than just sex."

  "Now that is Jean-Claude talking."

  "Maybe, but it's still true."

  He shrugged those massive shoulders. "You've met her, Anita, do you really think I sat around and had stimulating conversations with Bunny?"

  I laughed, I couldn't help it. "No, I guess not." Then another thought oc­curred to me. "Why would you date anyone that you couldn't talk to?"

  He just stared at me, a look on his face that I couldn't read. "You mean that, don't you?" He smiled, almost sadly, shook his head, and wouldn't meet my gaze. "Oh, Anita, you make me feel jaded, and very old."

  "Do I apologize for that?" I asked.

  He looked up, smiling still. "No, but that you meant that question makes me wonder about my choices for your pomme de sang. I looked for good sex, dominants, because everyone needs more muscle. I did not look for good conversation, or someone with interests like yours. I wasn't looking for a date. I was looking for food and fucking."

  "You need a woman in your organization, Auggie. Being all guys lim­its you."

  "Are you saying I need a woman's touch?"

  "Yeah, and there isn't a woman of Belle's line that will go with you just to be your whore. We promised them that they'd have choices when they came here."

  "Are you saying I have to court them?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, I am."

  "And Jean-Claude agrees to this?" Octavius said.

  I nodded. "He gave his word that no one would be forced to have sex against their will."

  "Ah," Auggie said, then he laughed. "Dating. I haven't dated in decades. I wonder if I remember how."

  "The Master of the City does not have to date," Octavius said, "he com­mands."

  "You're in the wrong town for that attitude," I said.

  "You are so certain of that?" he said.

  "Absolutely."

  "Taste Haven," Auggie said. "If you don't like him, then I'm going to have to send home for some less dominant take-out."

  I looked up at the tail man in front of me. He looked down with that soft, laughing face, and I just didn't buy it. It was like the smile and sparkly eyes was his version of a cop face. A way to hide everything.

  He dropped gracefully to his knees. Which made him not that much

  shorter than me. I added at least another inch to his height. He laughed, that

  joyous laugh that seemed so sincere. "You should see your face, so suspi-

  cious. I just thought that this way you have your choice of wrist or neck.

  With me standing, you can't reach my neck."

  It made sense, so why didn't I like it? No answer other than the one I'd had since I saw him. Being close to him reacted with that primitive part of the brain that keeps you alive if you don't argue with it. Touching him was dangerous in some way, but in what way? The trouble with the primitive brain is that it doesn't reason, or explain, it just feels. I could just touch him, then turn him down. He'd be on his way back to Chicago, no harm, no foul.

  I reached for his hand, and he gave it. I wondered if I'd get that jolt of en- ergy like I had from Pierce, but his hand was simply warm. His hand was very passive in mine, but when I pushed back the sleeve of his jacket, he had on a French-cuffed shirt, with real cuff links. "Shit."

  "You don't like French cuffs?"

  I frowned down at him. "It'll take a while to unhook your wrists."

  He gave me that smile again, but the blue eyes weren't quite as neutrally cheerful. I got to glimpse the coldness under that smile. For some reason it made me feel better. I liked truth, most of the time.

  "Why are you smiling?" he asked, and his voice held just a hint of uncer­tainty. Good.

  I shook my head. "Nothing." I smoothed my hand up the side of his face, turned him so the line of his neck stretched above the collar of his dress shirt. I bent over him, one hand on his shoulder for balance, the other cradling the side of his face. The neck was always so much more intimate than the wrist.

  I meant to simply lay my lips against his neck. But when I was close enough to smell his skin, all my good intentions vanished. He smelled so warm, so incredibly warm. I wanted to put my mouth against that warmth, but not to kiss. I put my face so close to the warm, smooth line of his neck

  that a hard thought would have made my lips touch his skin. But I kept just above his neck, and breathed in the scent of him. Warm, a faint hint of some powdery sweet cologne, barely there, soap, and underneath just the scent of his body. Human, and deeper still, where my breath blew back hot from his skin, the musky hint of cat. Cleaner, less sharp than leopard. But definitely cat, not wolf, not dog. I breathed in the scent of lion as it rose from his skin
, as if my breath called it forth.

  My arms slid down his back, across his shoulders, folding my body around his. He'd behaved himself until then, hands at his sides, but now he reached for me, wrapped me in the strength of his arms, the force of his fingers, kneading at my body through my clothes.

  I heard him whisper, "Oh, God."

  I laid the gentlest of kisses against that hot, smooth skin, a feather's touch of a kiss, and it wasn't enough. I could smell what I wanted just below the surface. I could smell his blood like something sweet and metallic. I licked along his neck, licked over the warm, jumping life of his pulse. He shud­dered in my arms.

  I heard a voice. "Anita, Anita, don't do this." I didn't know who it was, and didn't understand what they were talking about. I needed to taste his pulse, feel it quiver between my teeth until it burst hot and scalding in my mouth.

  A wrist appeared near my face. I smelled leopard. Micah called me back from that quivering edge. "Anita, what are you doing?"

  I didn't unwind from Haven's body. I raised my face only enough to see Micah. "Tasting him," and my voice sounded hoarse and not mine.

  "Let him go, Anita."

  I shook my head, and felt Haven's fingers hard and firm, as if he had claws to sink into my body, and I wanted him to do it.

  Graham came next, putting his wrist between me and that pulsing candy. But the musk of wolf was not what I wanted.

  Nathaniel was next, putting the sweetness of his wrist between me and Haven's neck. He still smelled of vanilla, but tliat wasn't the scent I was after tonight. I shook my head. "No."

  "Something's wrong, Anita, you need to stop."

  I shook my head again, sending my hair flying over the kneeling man's face. He made a sound low in his throat from the sensation of it. The sound made me push Nathaniel away and lay my mouth over the shivering of Haven's pulse, not a kiss, no, my mouth was too wide for a kiss. My jaw tensed to bite him, and two things happened simultaneously. Someone grabbed a handful of my hair, and a wrist I didn't know well was suddenly in my face.

  A voice that had already gone growling deep said, "If it is lion you want, then here I am."

  I followed that scent upward, as he pulled my head backward with my hair. Joseph stood above me, his hair golden, his eyes already the deep, per- feet amber of lion.