I drank down the body I was touching. I drank his very “life” that made that sluggish blood pump, that body move. His skin began to run with fine lines as if he were drying out. I drained his energy, but he hadn’t fed for the night, and there wasn’t nearly the “life” to him that there was when I’d fed on lycanthropes, but I took what was there, and the energy filled my eyes until I knew they glowed with brown light, my eyes made blind with my own vampire power.
The Darkness crashed into me, and for a moment I thought I would drown in it. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t . . . I tasted jasmine and rain, and smelled the scent of a long-gone tropical night in a part of the world I’d never seen, in a city that no longer existed except as sand and a few wind-kissed stones.
One moment I was drowning and the next I could taste Jean-Claude’s lips on mine. He whispered through my mind, “Ma petite.” Down those long miles that separated us, he was there, and he offered me himself, his power to help me stand and remember that I was a vampire, too. The warm scent of wolf and Richard was there over the long miles. I could smell his skin and knew he was tucked in beside a woman’s body. I could feel the curve of her hip under his hand. I smelled vanilla and could feel the cloud of Nathaniel’s hair across my face, and a thousand mornings of waking up beside him. Damian’s green eyes above me as we made love, his hair the color of fresh blood, red hair when it hasn’t seen sunlight for nearly a thousand years. Neither of them was as powerful as Jean-Claude and Richard, but they were mine, and they added to who I was, what I was. Jean-Claude whispered, “We cannot drown if we drink the sea.”
It took me a breathless, terrifying moment to understand, and then I went back to drinking down the vampire in my arms. It didn’t matter that she was putting her energy into his; I would drink it all, and everything she offered. She wanted to put her energy into me, I’d let her.
She poured the deepest darkness into me, down my throat so that I choked on the taste of jasmine and rain, but I swallowed it down. I knew if I didn’t panic, if I just swallowed and breathed in between that shivering pour of energy down my throat, I could do this. She tried to drown me; I tried to drink the blackness between stars. It was like the immovable object and the unstoppable force—she wanted to pour into me, and I let the energy fill me, but I was eating her, and she wanted to eat me.
Distant as a dream I heard gunshots, but I had to trust to someone else for that. My battle was here in the dark, fighting not to drown in the jasmine sea. The world became darkness, and I was standing in an ancient night with the scent of jasmine thick on the air, and a distant smell of rain. “You are mine, necromancer,” she breathed.
I slid to my knees and it was her body, her first body, a dark-skinned woman who held me as we knelt in the sand, on the edge of palm trees and insects I’d never heard outside her memories. “You cannot drink the night, there is too much of it.”
And then there was a hand in the darkness, and Domino was in the vision, pressing himself against the back of my body, not trying to take me away from her, but adding his strength to mine.
She laughed, “White tiger and black is not enough, necromancer.”
And then there was another hand in the night, another figure that wrapped around me and Domino. Ethan, with one arm still broken from the fight, was there in the dream, and that was it, that was the key. He was all the other tiger colors that Domino wasn’t. I had my rainbow of tigers. What I’d never understood was why the Master of Tigers had been her nemesis, but in that moment I understood. It was the gold tigers, and all the colors were the powers of the day and the earth and all that was alive, and she was all that was dead, no matter that she’d begun life as a shapeshifting cave lion; she was cold now, dead for so long that she didn’t really understand what it meant to be alive. Maybe she never had.
I touched the men, and they touched me, warm flesh to warm flesh, and just the feel of their hands on me threw me back to making love to them both. I had images of the sheets wrapped around Ethan, his face looking up at me as he licked; Domino pinning me to the bed, me looking back over my shoulder to see his body bow backward with that one last thrust. She tried to remember sex, and there were memories, but it had been too long and she didn’t truly understand it. She was like a sex symbol who had been told what it is to be sexy and to have sex, but not believing in her own sex appeal, and not really liking sex; it was an empty shell, pretend. There was nothing pretend about me. It wasn’t about being the prettiest, or the best, it was about enjoying it. It was about loving the men who were with you, while they were with you, and valuing every last one of them. It was, in the end, about love. The love of a lover, of friends, and of partners, of people that I never wanted to lose, and wanted to wake up beside every damn day. It was about home. Home wasn’t a place, or a building, or a tropical night full of flowers and rain. Love made home not out of boards and walls and furniture, but of hands to hold, and smiles to share, and the warmth of that body cuddled around you in the dark. I swam in the darkness of the ocean on a raft of hands, and bodies, and giving a damn what happened to them all.