«So you do not want to visit us again?»
Auggie forced himself to stand very straight, shoulders back, an echo of military something. «You know that I do, but I won't trade my people and all my power for it. I won't crawl for you, Jean-Claude.»
«I don't want you to crawl, Augustine.»
«What do you want?»
«You to stop trying to manipulate us. Accept that we hold the ardeur and you want it. Supply and demand, dear Augustine.»
«You bastard.»
Jean-Claude was suddenly standing, so fast I hadn't seen it. Magic, again. «You abused my hospitality first. You manipulated my human servant so you could feed on the ardeur again. You opened the way for Belle Morte to possess ma petite. I am not the bastard here.»
«Fine, I'm the rat bastard. You're right; saying that I didn't understand I was inviting Belle in doesn't fix it. Yeah, I want to take back one of the women of Belle's line, but no one but Anita carries the ardeur. She and you, so yeah, I came with the idea that if I had a chance at it, I'd raise the ardeur.»
«You came here wanting the ardeur one more time; what do you want now, Augustine?»
«Don't make me say it, Jean-Claude.»
«Ma petite is not a subtle woman. Unless you say it, she will not understand it.»
Auggie looked at me, but his eyes flinched, like someone who was expecting to be hit. «I won't sell my people, or my power base, I won't humiliate myself, but short of that, I will do anything, anything, to have you and Jean-Claude feed on me again.» The flinching gave way to fear. «Want someone killed, I'll do it. Money, drugs, designer anything, whatever you want, whatever you need, just don't tell me that I'll never be in your arms again.» His face turned away, but not before I saw the shine of unshed tears.
«We do our own killing. We've got enough money. We are a drug-free zone; don't bring that shit here. If I want designer stuff, I'll buy it myself.»
Auggie stood there, face averted, shoulders hunched, waiting for the blow to fall. «I have nothing to offer you then.» His voice was thick when he said it.
«I am way past uncomfortable about what Jean-Claude and I did with you. It felt so fucking good to feed off you, and that terrifies me.»
Auggie looked back at me. His eyes held the tears back by sheer willpower.
«But for better or worse, I look at you and my heart aches. I want to comfort you, and that pisses me off. I've had people I loved, really loved, use vampire powers on me. I cut them off at the knees for it. I've run from them for months, not seeing them, not even talking to them.» I moved toward him as I spoke, a little closer with every sentence. «I just met you. You aren't my friend. You forced me to love you, but I don't know you.»
He tried to give me angry eyes, but the unshed tears that hovered there ruined the effect. «I underestimated you, Anita.»
«Most people do,» I said.
«I thought you were just Jean-Claude's human servant. I felt your power as a necromancer. It should have been a warning, but I went ahead with my plan. I wanted the ardeur. I wanted it so badly.» He smiled, but not like he was happy. «And I was arrogant. I am Master of the City of Chicago. I've been a mobster since the 1930s. I have been powerful, and a threat to anything in my path for centuries. The only thing that ever truly defeated me was Belle.» The tears trembled, but still he held them back.
I stood there, staring at him, needing to look up only a little, because he wasn't that tall. Normally I liked that in a man, but now I was just pissed. I was going to hold on to that anger, because rage was the only thing that kept me from running my hands over his bare chest. My hands itched with the desire to touch him. It wasn't just love, it was more and less than that. It was a sort of magical compulsion. It felt like love, but it held elements of almost addiction. I realized that Auggie had rolled me, well and truly. His power had rolled me. I had fought free of some of it, and Jean-Claude had helped, but I wasn't free of what he'd done to me. But staring into his face, those angry, teary eyes, I realized he wasn't angry at me. He was angry at himself.
«You rolled yourself,» I said.
He closed his eyes and turned away. He spoke with his face averted from me. «The blade cuts both ways,» he whispered.
«But if we've got better armor, then more of your power hits you than us, doesn't it?»
He nodded, still turned away.
I had a flash of satisfaction. Served him right. But on the heels of that petty pleasure came regret. Regret like bitter ashes. «Jesus,» I whispered.
He turned. He'd lost the battle with the tears. They ran in pale pinkish tracks down his face.