Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, Book 14. Danse Macabre(52)
He sighed and leaned his back against the wall. «You know that Belle Morte tried to demand all her bloodline back, when their master was executed. How could I refuse to save them from her?»
«Yeah, but I'd think Belle's court would be right up London's alley. A nice dark alley.»
«He did not wish to go back to her. He spoke to me over the phone, he begged me not to let him go back to her court. You see, ma petite, Richard, London was traded to Belle for several years, then she exiled him. She tried to recall him, but he got his new master to intercede.»
«Why?» Richard asked. «Auggie would give anything to go back. I felt how much he misses her.» Richard shuddered. «It's like some sort of addiction.»
«Oui, mon ami, exactement, that is precisely why London does not wish to go back. He is like an alcoholic that has become a teetotaler. He knows he has another drunken binge in him, but he does not know whether he has the strength to stop again. How could I leave him to her?»
«That's awfully sentimental for you, isn't it?» Richard said.
Jean-Claude gave him an unfriendly look. «I try for kindness when I can, Richard.»
Richard sighed, and leaned his forehead on his knees. «God, this is a mess.»
«You said we had other master vamps who had tasted the ardeur but who weren't of Belle's line — who are they?» Our list of non-Belle masters was pretty damn slim.
«Wicked and Truth,» he said.
It was Richard who raised his face and said, «No, absolutely no.» Then he seemed to think about it. «Not Wicked.»
«Truth would be acceptable?» Jean-Claude asked.
Richard's shoulders hunched, and I thought he might break his own hands holding on so tight. «You're asking me to share her with another man. How can you ask me to help pick who it's going to be?»
«How many women have you lain with in the last month, Richard?»
Richard's power flared like a burst of fire through an innocent-looking wall. We were suddenly bathed in the biting heat of his power.
«You all right in there?» Claudia called through the door.
I looked at Richard. He gave the tiniest nod.
«We're fine,» I said.
«You sure?» she asked.
«Yes.»
Silence from the other side of the door.
Richard said, «Thank you,» then got back to the fight. I didn't have to see his face to know he was angry. «We all agreed that I'd keep dating. Anita will be my lupa and my Bolverk, but she doesn't want to marry, or have kids, or any of that. I do. We all agreed to this, don't throw it up in my face now.»
«You're going to hurt yourself, Richard,» I said, softly, staring at his hands, and all the not-so-pretty colors they were turning.
He let go of his hands with a breath that held pain in it. He finally let himself wrap his hand around my calf. His power ran over my skin like a thousand tiny insects biting.
«Ow,» I said.
He leaned his face on my towel-covered knee, and said, «Sorry, I'm sorry.» The energy calmed, still warm, raising sweat along my spine, but it stopped hurting. He spoke with his face still on my knee. «Your feeding on Auggie raised my power level — oh God, it did. The power rush felt so good, so incredibly good, even after I knew what you'd done to get it. It still felt wonderful.» His shoulders started to shake, and I realized he was crying.
I touched his hair, letting my fingers comb through those thick waves. «Richard, oh, Richard.»
He wrapped his arms around my legs, holding on, putting his face in my lap, letting me touch him. Jean-Claude laid a tentative hand on his back, and when Richard didn't say no, he stroked his back. That useless stroking that you'll do for good friends and loved ones. Those endless, useless circles, where you try to say with your hands that it will be all right. I stroked his hair and brushed the tears from his face. We comforted him as his friends, his very good friends. Whatever else we were to each other, we were at least that.
12
WE ENDED UP on the floor with Richard cradled in my lap, while I sat against Jean-Claude's bare upper body as if he were a warm, silken chair. Richard's shirt was gone, so the warm muscled smoothness of his chest and shoulders lay across the pooled towel in my lap. My upper body was as bare as his; the towel just couldn't hold on during that much cuddling. Richard lay on his back, eyes peaceful, his hair like a brown and gold halo around his face.
My hands stroked his bare chest, not for sex, but for comfort. All the lycanthropes were like that; touch was good, touch was even necessary to stay sane. It was as if they had the normal human skin hunger except more, orders of magnitude more. His arm was raised along the line of my body, his hand playing with my hair, which had begun to dry in tight, frizzy curls. Jean-Claude's hand played along Richard's raised arm, stroking up and down the muscled length of it.