Anita Blake 12 - Incubus Dreams Page 9

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Car accident. A man ran a red light. We’ve got other victims in the emergency room that are still ranting at the man. If Gil had been human, he’d have been killed.”

  “Okay, so he called the answering service and got your cell phone number, and…”

  “A policeman at the accident site noticed that Gil was healing much faster than he should have been.”

  “Okay, why do I think this is going somewhere bad?”

  “Gil was unconscious, so someone called the number in his wallet marked in case of emergencies. He has no family, so it was the answering service number. By the time I got to the hospital, Gil was handcuffed to a bed rail.”

  “Why?”

  “The policeman, who is still by his side, says he’s afraid Gil will be dangerous when he wakes up.”

  “Shit. That is illegal,” I said.

  “Technically, yes, but the officer can, at his discretion, prevent harm from coming to the citizenry.”

  “That’s not what the cop said.”

  “Actually, he said, ’until I know what the fuck he is, I’m just playing it safe.’”

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “That sounds more like it. So you’re there to make sure he doesn’t put Gil in a safe house.” Safe houses were really prisons for lycanthropes. They’d been designed originally for new lycanthropes, so you had someplace safe to go during your first few full moons. It was a good idea, since the first few moons could turn into a killing spree, unless you had other shapeshifters to watch over you. The newly furry spent a few full moons with no memory of what they’d done, and very little human in them while they were in animal form. The safe houses were a good idea in theory, but in practice, once you went in, they never let you out. You never had enough control to pass their tests and get out. You were dangerous and would always be dangerous. The ACLU had begun the legal battles on grounds of illegal imprisonment without due process, but so far they were still bad places to be sent.

  “The hospital seems worried that Gil is dangerous and have mentioned that.”

  “Do you need a lawyer down there?”

  “I have taken the liberty of calling the law firm that the coalition has on retainer.”

  “I’m surprised it’s gone this bad, this soon. Usually, you need an attack to get them handcuffing people and talking safe house. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He hesitated.

  “Teddy?” I said his name the way my father used to say mine when he suspected I was doing something I shouldn’t have been.

  “The emergency room staff are wearing full hazardous material gear.”

  “You’re joking,” I said.

  “I wish I were.”

  “Is everyone just panicking?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Is Gil still unconscious?”

  “In and out.”

  “Well, stay with him, wait for the lawyer. I can’t come down tonight, Teddy. I’m sorry.”

  “That is not why I called.”

  I had one of those uh-oh moments. “Okay, then why did you call?”

  “There is another emergency that needs someone right now.”

  “Shit, what?”

  “One of the pack called. He is at a bar. He has had far too much to drink, and he is fairly new.”

  “Are you saying he’s going to lose control in the bar?”

  “I fear so.”

  “Shit.”

  “You keep saying that,” he said.

  “I know, I know, profanity doesn’t solve anything.”

  Teddy had started commenting on how much cussing I did. Him and my stepmother.

  “I can’t come down, Teddy.”

  “Someone must. The lawyer is not here, and you know there is that little law on the books that they can sign an unconscious shapeshifter into a safe house if they deem him a danger. I do not understand why everyone is panicking this badly, but if I leave Gil alone, I think we will be trying to get him out of a place that has no bail.”

  “I know, I know.” I was really happy that Richard had allowed the wolves to join the coalition. They were the largest shifter population in town, so the wolves came in handy to help man the phones and the emergencies. The downside was that Richard felt that if the pack were going to help, then the pack could take advantage of the emergency service. It sounded fair, but since there were nearly six hundred werewolves in the area, it had quadrupled our emergencies. The wolves gave us enough person power to meet the demands. It was a blessing and a problem all in one.

  “Did the wolf call his brother?” Brother was slang for the older more experienced werewolf that all the new wolves got. They carried their number for emergencies.

  “He says he did and got no answer. He sounded very fragile, Anita. I fear that if he changes in the bar, they’ll call the police…”

  “And they’ll shoot him,” I finished it for him.

  “Yes.”

  I sighed into the phone.

  “I take it you can’t make this one, either,” Teddy said.

  “I can’t, but Micah can.”

  Micah came into the kitchen about that time. He looked a question at me. He’d already changed out of the suit, and knowing him, hung it up. He was wearing a pair of sweat pants and nothing else. Just the sight of him shirtless and padding barefoot across the floor made my heart go pit-a-pat. He’d tied his hair back in a loose ponytail, but I could forgive that, when I could see the fine muscle of his chest and stomach. His arms and shoulders looked like some weight lifting had gone into them, but truthfully, most of it was natural. Not all, but most. He was just shaped nicely.

  “Anita, are you still there?” I realized that Teddy had been saying something and I hadn’t heard him.

  “Sorry, Teddy, can you repeat that?”

  “Do you want me to give you the address of the bar, or wait to talk to Micah?”

  “Micah is right here.” I handed him the phone, and he took it with raised eyebrows.

  I explained as briefly as I could.

  Micah put his hand over the phone. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  I shook my head. “Almost sure it’s not, but I can’t take the run. Not with the ardeur about to surface sometime in the next minute or the next two hours. I’m stuck here until it’s fed.”

  “I know, but maybe Nathaniel could go?”

  “What? Go down to a bar in maybe a bad section of town and arm wrestle a werewolf so new he can’t drink safely?” I shook my head. “Nathaniel has many fine skills, but this isn’t one of them.”

  “You’re not really good at it either,” he said, with a smile to soften the harsh truth.

  I smiled back, because he was sooo right. “No, I could have done the hospital run and kept Gil out of a safe house, but I couldn’t talk down the werewolf. I could shoot him, but not talk him down. Not if I don’t know him.”

  Micah got on the phone long enough to take the address and name of the bar down, then hung up. He looked at me, face careful, neutral with an edge of concern. “I’m okay with you and Nathaniel being here alone for the ardeur. The question is, are you okay with it?”

  I shrugged.

  He shook his head. “No, Anita, I need an answer before I leave.”

  I sighed. “You need to get there before the wolf loses it. Go, we’ll be alright.”

  He looked like he didn’t believe me.

  “Go,” I said.

  “It’s not just you I’m worried about, Anita.”

  “I will do my best for Nathaniel, Micah.”

  He frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means what it says.”

  He didn’t look happy with the answer.

  “If you wait around for me to say, Oh, yes, it’s fine that I’m going to feed the ardeur and fuck Nathaniel, the wolf in question will have shapeshifted, been shot by the cops, and maybe taken some civilians with him before you even leave the house.”

/>   “You’re both important to me, Anita. Our pard is important to me. What happens here tonight could change… everything.”

  I swallowed hard, because I suddenly didn’t want to meet his eyes.

  He touched my chin, raised my face up to meet his gaze. “Anita.”

  “I’ll be good,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll do my best, and that is the best I can offer. I won’t really know what I’m going to do until the ardeur rises. Sorry, but that’s the truth. To say anything else would be a lie.”

  He took a deep breath that made his chest rise and fall nicely. “I guess I’ll have to settle for that.”

  “What exactly do you want me to say?” I asked.

  He leaned in and laid a gentle kiss against my lips. We rarely kissed so chaste, but this close to the ardeur, he was being careful. “I want you to say you’ll take care of this.”

  “Define take care of it?”

  He sighed again, shook his head, and stepped back. “I’ve got to get dressed.”

  “Are you taking your car or the Jeep?”

  “I’ll take my car. You might get a call from the police for another body, and your gear is all in the back of the Jeep.” He smiled at me, almost sadly, and left to go get dressed. He made a soft exclamation as he went around the corner. He spoke in low voices with another man. The cadence was wrong for Nathaniel.

  Damian glided around the corner. “You must be very distracted not to have sensed me sooner.” He was right, I was good at sensing the undead. No vamp should have been able to get this close without me knowing, especially not Damian.

  Damian was my vampire servant, as I was Jean-Claude’s human servant. The ardeur was Jean-Claude and Belle Morte’s fault, something about their line had contaminated me. But Damian as my servant, that was my fault. I was a necromancer, and apparently mixing necromancy with being a human servant had some unforeseen side effects. One of them was standing across the kitchen staring at me with eyes the color of green grass. Humans didn’t have eyes like that, but apparently Damian had, because becoming a vamp doesn’t change your original physical description. It may pale you out, lengthen some of the teeth, but your hair and eye and skin color remain the same. The only thing that was probably more vibrant was his hair. Red hair that hadn’t seen the sun for hundreds of years, so that it was almost the color of fresh blood, a bright, fresh scarlet. All vamps are pale, but Damian started life with that milk and honey complexion that some redheads have, so he was even paler than the norm. Or maybe it was the quality of his paleness, like his skin had been formed of white marble, and some demon or god had breathed life into that paleness. Oh, wait, I was that demon.

  Technically, my power, my necromancy made Damian’s heart beat. He was over a thousand years old, and he would never be a master vampire. If you aren’t a master, then you need a master to give you enough power to rise from the grave, not just the first night, but every night. Sometimes people rise by accident with no master near, and that is how you get revenants. Walking corpses little better than zombies, but they take blood instead of meat, and they don’t rot. Little problems like that is why there are vampire laws about how you attack humans and how you don’t. Break the laws, and the vamps will kill you for it. And that’s in countries where vampires are still illegal. In the United States where they have rights, the vamps are more civilized, if the police find out about the crime. If they can keep it secret they take care of their own. Even if it means killing their own.

  Damian must have come straight from work, because though he, like most of the vamps fresh over from Europe, almost never wore jeans and tennis shoes, he also didn’t like dressing up as much as Jean-Claude insisted on.

  He was wearing a coat I’d seen before. It was a deep pine green, a frock coat like something out of the 1700s, but it was new, designed to gape open to expose the pale gleam of his chest and stomach. Embroidery nearly covered the sleeves and lapels of the coat, putting a little glitter of color near all that white skin. The pants were black satin, poofy, like there was way more cloth there than was needed for Damian’s slender legs. He wore a wide green sash for a belt and a pair of black leather boots that folded over just above the knee, so that the outfit was very pirate-y.

  “How was work?” I asked.

  “Danse Macabre is the hottest dance club in St. Louis.” He kept walking toward me, gliding rather. There was something about the way he looked at me that I didn’t care for.

  “It’s the only place where people can go and dance with vampires. Of course it’s hot.” I looked at him, concentrated, and I knew he had fed tonight, on some willing woman. Willing blood feeding was considered the same as willing sex. Just be of age, and you could feed the undead and have bite marks to show your friends. I’d ordered Damian to only feed from willing victims, and because of our bond together, he could not disobey me. Necromancers of legend could boss around all types of undead, and they had to do your bidding. The only undead I could boss around were zombies and Damian, and frankly, I found even that unsettling. I didn’t like to have that kind of control over anyone.

  Of course, there was one kind of control that Damian had over me. I wanted to touch him. When he entered a room, I had an almost overwhelming urge to touch his skin. It was part of what it meant to be master and servant. This attraction to your servants, this need to touch and tend to them was one of the reasons that most servants were treasured possessions. I think it also kept even the craziest, most evil of vamps from killing their servants out of hand. For often a vamp didn’t survive the death of his servant, the bond was that close.

  He walked around the table, fingers trailing on the backs of the chairs. “And I am one of the vampires that they have been pressing their bodies up against all night.”

  “Hannah is still managing the club, right?”

  “Oh, yes, I am merely a cold body to send into the crowd.” He was around the table now, to the island that separated the working area of the kitchen from the rest of the room. “I am merely color, like a statue, or a drape.”

  “That’s not fair. I’ve seen you work the crowd, Damian. You enjoy the flirting.”

  He nodded, as he came around the end of the island. Nothing separated us now but the fact that I was still leaning against the far cabinets and he had stopped at the end of the island. The urge to close that distance, to wrap my hands around his body, was almost overwhelming. It made my hands ache with the need, and I ended with them pressed behind me, pinned by my body the way Nathaniel had leaned against the Jeep earlier.

  “I enjoy the flirting very much.” He traced pale fingers along the edge of the island, slowly, tenderly, as if he were touching something else. “But we are not allowed to have sex while we work, though some of them beg for it.” The emerald of his eyes spread and swallowed his pupils, so that he looked at me with eyes like green fire. His power danced along my skin, caught my breath in my throat.

  My voice started out a little shaky, but I gained firmness as I talked, until the last was said in an almost normal voice. “You’ve got my permission to date, or fuck, or whatever. You can have lovers, Damian.”

  “And where would I take them?” He leaned against the island, arms crossing over that expanse of pale chest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a coffin in your basement. It is adequate but hardly romantic.”

  He could have said a lot of things that I’d expected, but that wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry, Damian, it never occurred to me. You need a room, don’t you?”

  He gave a small smile. “A room to use for my lovers, yes.”

  Then I realized something. “You mean like bring strangers here. People you’ve just picked up, and have them like sleep over, be at the breakfast table in the morning?”

  “Yes,” he said, and I understood the look on his face now; it was a challenge. He knew I wouldn’t like the thought of strangers coming into the house, much less facing
a strange woman that he’d simply brought home to fuck, first thing in the morning.

  I had a tiny spurt of anger, and that helped me think. Helped push back that need to touch him that had nothing to do with the ardeur, and everything to do with power. “I know you had a room at the Circus. Maybe we could arrange something with Jean-Claude, so you could take lovers back there.”

  “My home is here, with you. You are my master now.”

  I cringed a little at the master part. “I know that, Damian.”

  “Do you?” He pushed away from the island and came to stand just in front of me. This close the power shivered between us. It made him close his eyes, and when he opened them, they were still drowning emerald pools. “If you are my master, then touch me.”

  My pulse was jumping in my throat like a trapped thing. I didn’t want to touch him, because I wanted to touch him so badly. In a way, this was part of the attraction between Jean-Claude and me, as well. What I’d taken for lust and new love was also partly vampire trickery. A trick to bind the servant to the master, and the master to the servant, so that both served the other willingly, joyfully. It had bothered me when I first realized that part of what I felt for Jean-Claude was somehow tainted with vampire mind games, though it wasn’t on purpose from Jean-Claude’s point of view. He couldn’t help how it worked on me any more than I could help how it worked on Damian.

  He was standing so close I had to crane my neck backward to see his face clearly. “I want to touch you, Damian, but you’re acting awfully funny tonight.”

  “Funny,” he said. He moved in so close that the edges of his coat, the poofy satin of his pants brushed the thick cloth of my tuxedo pants. “Funny, I don’t feel funny, Anita.” He leaned his face close to mine, and whispered his next words, “I feel half-crazed. All those women touching me, rubbing themselves against me, pressing their warm,” he leaned in so that his hair brushed my cheek, “soft,” his breath felt hot against my skin, “wet,” his lips touched my cheek, and I shuddered, “bodies, against me.”

  My breath shook on its way out, and my pulse was suddenly loud in my ears. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of his lips against my cheek, though all his lips were doing was resting lightly against my skin. I swallowed hard enough that it hurt, and said, “You could have gone with any one of them.”