eVersion 4.0 - see revision notes at end of text
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Blue Moon
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by
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Laurell K. Hamilton
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Book 8 of the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter Series
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1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

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Chapter 1
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I was dreaming of cool flesh and sheets the color of fresh blood. The
phone shattered the dream, leaving only fragments, a glimpse of midnight
blue eyes, hands gliding down my body, his hair flung across my face in
a sweet, scented cloud. I woke in my own house, miles from Jean-Claude
with the feel of his body clinging to me. I fumbled the phone from the
bedside table and mumbled, "Hello."

"Anita, is that you?" It was Daniel Zeeman, Richard's baby brother.
Daniel was twenty-four and cute as a bug's ear. Baby didn't really cover
it. Richard had been my fianc once upon a time--until I chose
Jean-Claude over him. Sleeping with the other man put a real crimp in
our social plans. Not that I blamed Richard. No, I blamed myself. It was
one of the few things Richard and I still shared.

I squinted at the glowing dial of the bedside clock. 3:10 A.M. "Daniel,
what's wrong?" No one calls at ten after the witching hour with good
news.

He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for the next line.
"Richard's in jail."

I sat up, sheets sliding in a bundle to my lap. "What did you say?" I
was suddenly wide awake, heart thudding, adrenaline pumping.

"Richard is in jail," he repeated.

I didn't make him say it again, though I wanted to. "What for?" I asked.

"Attempted rape," he said.

"What?" I said.

Daniel repeated it. It didn't make any more sense the second time I
heard it. "Richard is like the ultimate Boy Scout," I said. "I'd believe
murder before I'd believe rape."

"I guess that's a compliment," he said.

"You know what I meant, Daniel. Richard wouldn't do something like
that."

"I agree," he said.

"Is he in Saint Louis?" I asked.

"No, he's still in Tennessee. He finished up his requirements for his
master's degree and got arrested that night."

"Tell me what happened."

"I don't exactly know," he said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They won't let me see him," Daniel said.

"Why not?"

"Mom got in to see him, but they wouldn't let all of us in."

"Has he got a lawyer?" I asked.

"He says he doesn't need one. He says he didn't do it."

"Prison is full of people who didn't do it, Daniel. He needs a lawyer.
It's his word against the woman's. If she's local and he isn't, he's in
trouble."

"He's in trouble," Daniel said.

"Shit," I said.

"There's more bad news," he said.

I threw the covers back and stood, clutching the phone. "Tell me."

"There's going to be a blue moon this month." He said it very quietly,
no explanation, but I understood.

Richard was an alpha werewolf. He was head of the local pack. It was his
only serious flaw. We'd broken up after I'd seen him eat somebody. What
I'd seen had sent me running to Jean-Claude's arms. I'd run from the
werewolf to the vampire. Jean-Claude was Master of the City of Saint
Louis. He was definitely not the more human of the two. I know there
isn't a lot to choose from between a bloodsucker and a flesh-eater, but
at least after Jean-Claude finished feeding, there weren't chunks
between his fangs. A small distinction but a real one.

A blue moon meant a second full moon this month. The moon doesn't
actually turn blue most of the time, but it is where the old saying
comes from--once in a blue moon. It happens about every three years or
so. It was August, and the second full moon was only five days away.
Richard's control was very good, but I'd never heard of any werewolf,
even an Ulfric, a pack leader, who could fight the change on the night
of the full moon. No matter what flavor of animal you changed into, a
lycanthrope was a lycanthrope. The full moon ruled them.

"We have to get him out of jail before the full moon," Daniel said.

"Yeah," I said. Richard was hiding what he was. He taught junior high
science. If they found out he was a werewolf, he'd lose his job. It was
illegal to discriminate on the basis of a disease, especially one as
difficult to catch as lycanthropy, but they'd do it. No one wanted a
monster teaching their kiddies. Not to mention that the only person in
Richard's family who knew his secret was Daniel. Mom and Pop Zeeman
didn't know.

"Give me a number to contact you at," I said.

He did. "You'll come down then," he said.

"Yeah."

He sighed. "Thanks. Mom is raising hell, but it's not helping. We need
someone here who understands the legal system."

"I'll have a friend call you with the name of a good local lawyer before
I get there. You may be able to arrange bail by the time I arrive."

"If he'll see the lawyer," Daniel said.

"Is he being stupid?" I asked.

"He thinks that having the truth on his side is enough."

It sounded like something Richard would say. There was more than one
reason why we'd broken up. He clung to ideals that hadn't even worked
when they were in vogue. Truth, justice, and the American way certainly
didn't work within the legal system. Money, power, and luck were what
worked. Or having someone on your side that was part of the system.

I was a vampire executioner. I was licensed to hunt and kill vampires
once a court order of execution had been issued. I was licensed in three
states. Tennessee was not one of them. But cops, as a general rule,
would treat an executioner better than a civilian. We risked our lives
and usually had a higher kill count than they did. Of course, the kills
being vamps, some people didn't count them as real kills. Had to be
human for it to count.

"When can you get here?" Daniel asked.

"I've got some things to clear up here, but I'll see you today before
noon."

"I hope you can talk some sense into Richard."

I'd met their mother--more than once--so I said, "I'm surprised that
Charlotte can't talk sense to him."

"Where do you think he gets this 'truth will set you free' bit?" Daniel
asked.

"Great," I said. "I'll be there, Daniel."

"I've got to go." He hung up suddenly as if afraid of being caught. His
mom had probably come into the room. The Zeemans had four sons and a
daughter. The sons were all six feet or above. The daughter was five
nine. They were all over twenty-one. And they were all scared of their
mother. Not literally scared, but Charlotte Zeeman wore the pants in the
family. One family dinner and I knew that.

I hung up the phone, turned on the lamp, and started to pack. It
occurred to me while I was throwing things into a suitcase to wonder why
the hell I was doing this. I could say that it was because Richard was
the other third of a triumvirate of power that Jean-Claude had forged
between the three of us. Master vampire, Ulfric, or wolf king, and
necromancer. I was the necromancer. We were bound so tightly together
that sometimes we invaded each other's dreams by accident. Sometimes not
so accidentally.

But I wasn't riding to the rescue because Richard was our third. I could
admit to myself, if to no one else, that I still loved Richard. Not the
same way I loved Jean-Claude, but it was just as real. He was in
trouble, and I would help him if I could. Simple. Complicated. Hurtful.

I wondered what Jean-Claude would think of me dropping everything to go
rescue Richard. It didn't really matter. I was going, and that was that.
But I did spare a thought for how that might make my vampire lover feel.
His heart didn't always beat, but it could still break.

Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it's just another way to
bleed.

Chapter 2
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I made phone calls. My friend Catherine Maison-Gillette was an attorney.
She'd been with me on more than one occasion when I had to make a
statement to the police about a dead body that I helped make dead. So
far, no jail time. Hell, no trial. How did I accomplish this? I lied.

Bob, Catherine's husband, answered on the fifth ring, voice so heavy
with sleep it was almost unintelligible. Only the bass growl let me know
which of them it was. Neither of them woke gracefully.

"Bob, this is Anita. I need to speak with Catherine. It's business."

"You at a police station?" he asked. See, Bob knew me.

"No, I don't need a lawyer for me this time."

He didn't ask questions. He just said, "Here's Catherine. If you think I
have no curiosity at all, you're wrong, but Catherine will fill me in
after you hang up."

"Thanks, Bob," I said.

"Anita, what's wrong?" Catherine's voice sounded normal. She was a
criminal attorney with a private firm. She was wakened a lot at odd
hours. She didn't like it, but she recovered well.

I told her the bad news. She knew Richard. Liked him a lot. Didn't
understand why in hell I'd dumped him for Jean-Claude. Since I couldn't
tell her about Richard being a werewolf, it was sort of hard to explain.
Heck, even if I could have mentioned the werewolf part, it was hard to
explain.

"Carl Belisarius," she said when I was finished. "He's one of the best
criminal attorneys in that state. I know him personally. He's not as
careful about his clients as I am. He's got some clients that are known
criminal figures, but he's good."

"Can you contact him and get him started?" I asked.

"You need Richard's permission for this, Anita."

"I can't talk Richard into taking on a new attorney until I see him.
Time's always precious on a crime, Catherine. Can Belisarius at least
start the wheels in motion?"

"Do you know if Richard has an attorney now?"

"Daniel mentioned something about him refusing to see his lawyer, so I
assume so."

"Give me Daniel's number, and I'll see what I can do," she said.

"Thanks, Catherine, really."

She sighed. "I know you'd go to this much trouble for any of your
friends, you're just that loyal. But are you sure your motives are just
friendly in this?"

"What are you asking me?"

"You still love him, don't you?"

"No comment," I said.

Catherine gave a soft laugh. "No comment. You're not the one under
suspicion here."

"Says you," I said.

"Fine, I'll do what I can on this end. Let me know when you get there."

"Will do," I said. I hung up and called my main job. Vampire killing was
only a sideline. I raised the dead for Animators Inc., the first
animating firm in the country. We were also the most profitable. Part of
that was due to our boss, Bert Vaughn. He could make a dollar sit up and
sing. He didn't like that my helping the police on preternatural crimes
was taking more and more of my time. He wouldn't like me going out of
town for an indefinite period of time on personal business. I was glad
it was the wee hours and he wouldn't be there to yell at me in person.

If Bert kept pushing me, I was going to have to quit, and I didn't want
to. I had to raise zombies. It wasn't like a muscle that would wither if
you didn't use it. It was an innate ability for me. If I didn't use it,
the power would leak out on its own. In college there had been a
professor who committed suicide. No one had found the body for the three
days that it usually takes for the soul to leave the area. One night,
the shambling corpse had come to my dorm room. My roommate got a room
switch next day. She had no sense of adventure.

I would raise the dead, one way or another. I had no choice. But I had
enough reputation that I could go freelance. I'd need a business
manager, but it would work. Trouble is, I didn't want to leave. Some of
the people who worked at Animators Inc. were among my best friends.
Besides, I had had about as much change as I could handle for one year.

I, Anita Blake, scourge of the undead--the human with more vampire kills
than any other vampire executioner in the country--was dating a vampire.
It was almost poetically ironic.

The doorbell rang. The sound made my heart pulse in my throat. It was an
ordinary sound, but not at 3:45 in the morning. I left my partially
packed suitcase on the unmade bed and walked into the living room. My
white furniture sat on top of a brilliant oriental rug. Cushions that
caught the bright colors were placed casually on the couch and chair.
The furniture was mine. The rug and cushions had been gifts from
Jean-Claude. His sense of style would always be better than mine. Why
argue?

The doorbell rang again. It made me jump for no good reason except it
was insistent and it was an odd hour and I was already keyed up from the
news about Richard. I went to the door with my favorite gun, a Browning
Hi-Power 9mm, in hand, safety off, pointed at the floor. I was almost at
the door when I realized I was wearing nothing but my nightgown. A gun,
but no robe. I had my priorities in order.

I stood there, barefoot on the elegant rug, debating whether to go back
for the robe or a pair of jeans. Something. If I'd been wearing one of
my usual extra-large T-shirts, I'd have just answered the door. But I
was wearing a black satin nightie with spaghetti straps. It hung almost
to my knees. One size does not fit all. It covered everything but wasn't
exactly answering-the-door attire. Screw it.

I called, "Who is it?" Bad guys usually didn't ring the doorbell.

"It is Jean-Claude, ma petite."

My mouth dropped open. I couldn't have been more surprised if it had
been a bad guy. What was he doing here?

I clicked the safety on the gun and opened the door. The satin nightie
had been a gift from Jean-Claude. He'd seen me in less. We didn't need
the robe.

I opened the door and there he was. It was like I was a magician and had
thrown aside the curtain to show my lovely assistant. The sight of him
caught my breath in my throat.

His shirt was a conservative business cut with fastened cuffs and a
simple collar. It was red with the collar and cuffs a solid almost
satiny scarlet. The rest of the shirt was some sheer fabric so that his
arms, chest, and waist were bare behind a sheen of red cloth. His black
hair curled below his shoulders, darker, richer somehow against the red
of the shirt. Even his midnight blue eyes seemed bluer framed by red. It
was one of my favorite colors for him to wear, and he knew it. He'd
threaded a red cord through the belt loops of his black jeans. The cord
fell in knots down one side of his hip. The black boots came almost to
the tops of his legs, encasing his long, slender legs in leather from
toe to nearly groin.

When I was away from Jean-Claude, away from his body, his voice, I could
be embarrassed, scratchy with discomfort that I was dating him. When I
was away from him, I could talk myself out of him--almost. But never
when I was with him. When I was with him, my stomach dropped to my feet
and I had to fight very hard not to say things like golly.

I settled for "You look spectacular, as always. What are you doing here
on a night that I told you not to come?" What I wanted to do was to
throw myself around him like a coat and have him carry me over the
threshold clinging to him like a monkey. But I wasn't going to do that.
It lacked a certain dignity. Besides, it sort of scared me how much I
wanted him--and how often. He was like a new drug. It wasn't vampire
powers. It was good, old-fashioned lust. But it was still scary, so I
had set up some parameters. Rules. He followed them most of the time.

He smiled, and it was the smile I'd grown to both love and dread. The
smile said he was thinking wicked thoughts, things that two or more
could do in darkened rooms, where the sheets smelled of expensive
perfume, sweat, and other bodily fluids. The smile had never made me
blush until we started having sex. Sometimes all he had to do was smile,
and heat rushed up my skin like I was thirteen and he was my first
crush. He thought it was charming. It embarrassed me.

"You son of a bitch," I said softly.

The smile widened. "Our dream was interrupted, ma petite."

"I knew it wasn't an accident that you were in my dreams," I said. It
came out hostile, and I was pleased. Because the hot summer wind was
blowing the scent of his cologne against my face. Exotic, with an
undercurrent of flowers and spice. I almost hated to wash my sheets for
fear of losing the scent of him sometimes.

"I asked you to wear my gift so I could dream of you. You knew what I
meant to do. If you say other, then you are lying. May I come in?"

He'd been invited in often enough that he could have crossed my
threshold without the invitation, but it had become a game with him. A
formal acknowledgment every time he crossed that I wanted him. It
irritated me and pleased me, like so much about Jean-Claude.

"You might as well come in."

He walked past me. I noticed the black boots were laced up the back from
heel to top. The back of his black jeans fit smooth and tight so there
was no need to guess what he wasn't wearing under them.

He spoke without turning around. "Do not sound so grumpy, ma petite. You
have the ability to bar me from your dreams." He turned then, and his
eyes were full of a dark light that had nothing to do with vampire
powers. "You welcomed me with more than open arms."

I blushed for the second time in less than five minutes. "Richard is in
jail in Tennessee," I said.

"I know," he said.

"You know?" I said. "How?"

"The local Master of the City called to tell me. He was very much afraid
that I would think it was his doing. His way of destroying our
triumvirate."

"If he was going to destroy us, it would be a murder charge, not
attempted rape," I said.

"True," Jean-Claude said, then laughed. The laughter trailed over my
bare skin like a small, private wind. "Whoever framed our Richard did
not know him well. I would believe murder of Richard before rape."

It was almost exactly what I'd said. Why was that unnerving? "Are you
going down to Tennessee?"

"The master, Colin, has forbidden me to enter his lands. To do so now
would be an act of aggression, if not outright war."

"Why should he care?" I asked.

"He fears my power, ma petite. He fears our power, which is why he has
made you persona non grata in his territory as well."

I stared at him. "You are kidding, I hope. He's forbidden either of us
to help Richard?"

Jean-Claude nodded.

"And he expects us to believe it's not his doing?" I said.

"I believe him, ma petite."

"You could tell he wasn't lying over the phone?" I asked.

"Some master vampires can lie to other master vampires, though I do not
think Colin is such a power. But that is not why I believe him."

"Why then?"

"The last time you and I traveled to another vampire's lands, we slew
her."

"She was trying to kill us," I said.

"Technically," he said, "she had set all of us free save you. You she
wished to make a vampire."

"Like I said, she was trying to kill me."

He smiled. "Oh, ma petite, you wound me."

"Cut the crap. This Colin can't really believe that we are just going to
leave Richard to rot."

"He has the right to deny us safe passage," Jean-Claude said.

"Because we killed another master in her own territory?" I asked.

"He doesn't need grounds for his refusal, ma petite. He merely has to
refuse."

"How do you vampires get anything accomplished?"

"Slowly," Jean-Claude said. "But remember, ma petite, we have the time
to be patient."

"Well, I don't, and Richard doesn't."

"You could have eternity if you would both accept the fourth mark," he
said, voice quiet, neutral.

I shook my head. "Richard and I both value what little is left of our
humanity. Besides, eternity my ass, the fourth mark wouldn't make us
immortal. It just means that we live as long as you do. You're harder to
kill than we are, but not that much harder."

He sat down on the couch, folding his legs under him. It wasn't an easy
position, wearing that much leather. Maybe the boots were softer than
they looked. Naw.

He rested his elbows on the couch arm, leaning his chest outward. The
sheer red cloth covered his chest completely and left nothing to the
imagination. His nipples pressed against the thin fabric. The red haze
of cloth made the cross-shaped burn scar look almost bloody.

He raised himself upward with his hands propped on the couch arm like a
mermaid on a rock. I expected him to tease or say something sexual.
Instead, he said, "I came to tell you of Richard's imprisonment in
person." He watched my face very closely. "I thought it might upset
you."

"Of course it upsets me. This Colin guy, vampire, whatever the hell he
is, is crazy if he thinks he's going to keep us from helping Richard."

Jean-Claude smiled. "Asher is negotiating even as we speak to try and
allow you to enter Colin's territory."

Asher was his second banana, his vampire lieutenant. I frowned. "Why me
and not you?"

"Because you are much better with police matters than I am." He threw
one long, leather-clad leg over the couch arm and slithered over it to
his feet. It was like watching a lap dance without a lap. To my
knowledge, Jean-Claude had never stripped at Guilty Pleasures, the
vampire strip club he owned, but he could have. He had a way of making
even the smallest movement sexual and vaguely obscene. You always felt
like he was thinking wicked thoughts, things you couldn't say in mixed
company.

"Why didn't you just call and tell me all this?" I said. I knew the
answer, or at least part of it. He seemed to be as enamored of my body
as I was of his. Good sex cuts both ways. The seducer can become the
seduced, with the right victim.

He glided towards me. "I thought this was news to be delivered
face-to-face." He stopped just in front of me, so close that the
slightly full hem of my nightie brushed his thighs. He gave a small
movement of his body and the satin edge of the nightie moved gently
against my bare legs. Most men would have had to use their hands to get
that kind of movement. Of course, Jean-Claude had had four hundred years
to perfect his technique. Practice makes perfect.

"Why face-to-face?" I asked, my voice a little breathy.

A smile curled his lips. "You know why," he said.

"I want to hear you say it," I said.

His beautiful face fell into blank, careful lines, only his eyes held
the heat like a banked fire. "I could not let you leave without touching
you one last time. I want to do the wicked dance before you leave."

I laughed, but it was tense, nervous. My mouth was suddenly dry. I was
having trouble not staring at his chest. The "wicked dance" was his pet
euphemism for sex. I wanted to touch him, but if I did, I wasn't sure
where it would stop. Richard was in trouble. I'd betrayed him once with
Jean-Claude; I wouldn't let him down again. "I need to pack," I said. I
turned abruptly and started walking towards the bedroom.

He followed me.

I put my gun on the bedside table beside the phone, got socks out of the
drawer, and started tossing them into the suitcase, trying to ignore
Jean-Claude. He doesn't ignore easily. He lay on the bed beside the
suitcase, propped on one elbow, long legs stretched the length of the
bed. He looked fearfully overdressed against my white sheets. He watched
me move around the room, moving just his eyes. He reminded me of a cat:
watchful, perfectly at ease.

I went into the nearby bathroom to get toiletries. I had a man's shaving
kit bag that I kept all the small stuff in. I was traveling out of town
more and more lately. Might as well be organized about it.

Jean-Claude was lying on his back, long, black hair spilling like a dark
dream on my white pillow. He gave a slight smile as I entered the room.
He held a hand out to me. "Join me, ma petite."

I shook my head. "If I join you, we'll get distracted. I'm going to pack
and get dressed. We don't have time for anything else."

He crawled towards me over the bed, moving in a rolling glide like he
had muscles in places he wasn't supposed to have them. "Am I so
unappealing, ma petite? Or is your concern for Richard so overwhelming?"

"You know exactly how appealing you are to me. And yes, I am worried
about Richard."

He slid off the bed, following at my heels. He glided in a sort of
graceful slow motion while I hurried to and fro, but he paced me,
matching each of my quick steps with his easy ones. It was like being
chased by a very slow predator, one that had all the time in the world
but knew in the end it would catch you.

The second time I almost ran into him, I finally said, "What is your
problem? Quit following me around. You're making me nervous." Truth was,
his body being so close made my skin jump.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed, "I don't want you to go."

That stopped me in my tracks. I turned and stared at him. "Why, for
heaven's sake?"

"For centuries I have dreamed of having enough power to be safe. Enough
power to hold my lands and finally, at long last, have some sense of
peace. Now I fear the very man who could make my ambitions come true."

"What are you talking about?" I came to stand in front of him, arms full
of shirts and hangers.

"Richard; I fear Richard." There was a look in his eyes that I'd seldom
seen. He was unsure of himself. It was a very normal, human expression.
It looked totally at odds with the elegant man in his peekaboo shirt.

"Why would you be afraid of Richard?" I asked.

"If you love Richard more than you love me, I fear you will leave me for
him."

"If you haven't noticed, Richard hates me right now. He talks more to
you than to me."

"He does not hate you, ma petite. He hates that you are with me. There
is a great difference between the two hatreds." Jean-Claude stared up at
me almost mournfully.

I sighed. "Are you jealous of Richard?"

He looked down at the toes of his expensive boots. "I would be a fool if
I were not."

I transferred the blouses to one arm and touched his face. I turned his
face up to mine. "I'm sleeping with you, not Richard, remember?"

"Yet, here I am, ma petite. I am dressed for your dreams and you do not
even offer me a kiss."

His reaction surprised me. Just when I thought I knew him. "Are you hurt
that I didn't give you a hello kiss?"

"Perhaps," he said very softly.

I shook my head and tossed the blouses in the general direction of the
suitcase. I bumped his knees with my legs until he opened his legs and
let me stand, pressing my body the length of his. I put my hands on his
shoulders. The sheer red cloth was rougher textured than it looked, not
soft. "How can anyone as gorgeous as you are be insecure?"

He wrapped his arms around my waist, snuggling me against him. He
squeezed his legs against me. The leather of the boots was softer than
it looked, more supple. With his arms around me and his legs squeezing
against me, I was effectively trapped. But I was a willing captive, so
it was okay.

"What I want to do is go down on my knees and lick the front of this
nifty shirt. I want to know just how much of you I can suck through the
cloth." I raised my eyebrows at him.

He laughed soft and low. The sound raised goose bumps up and down my
body, tightening my nipples and other places. His laughter was a
touchable, intrusive thing. He could do things with his voice that most
men couldn't do with their hands. Yet he was afraid I'd leave him for
Richard.

He rested his face on my chest, cradled between my breasts. He rubbed
his cheeks softly back and forth against me, making the satin slide
against me, until my breath came faster.

I sighed and leaned my face over him, folding our bodies together. "I
don't plan to leave you for Richard. But he's in trouble, and that comes
before sex."

Jean-Claude raised his face to me, our arms so entangled that he almost
couldn't move. "Kiss me, ma petite, that is all. Just a kiss to tell me
that you love me."

I laid my lips against his forehead. "I thought you were more secure
than this."

"I am," he said, "with everyone but you."

I pulled back enough to study his face. "Love should make you feel more
secure not less."

"Yes," he said quietly, "it should. But you love Richard, too. You try
not to love him, and he tries not to love you. But love is not so easily
slain--or so easily aroused."

I bent over him. The first kiss was a mere brush of lips like satin
rubbing against my mouth. The second kiss was harder. I bit lightly
along his upper lip, and he made a small sound. He kissed me back, hands
sliding to either side of my face. He kissed me as if he were drinking
me down, trying to lick the last drops from the bottle of some fine
wine, tender, eager, hungry. I collapsed against him, hands sliding over
him as if even my hands were hungry for the feel of him.

I felt his fangs, sharp, bruising against my lips and tongue. There was
a quick, sharp pain and the sweet copper taste of blood. He made a small
inarticulate sound and rolled over me. I was suddenly on the bed with
him above me. His eyes were one solid glowing blue, the pupils gone in a
rush of desire.

He tried to turn my head to one side, nuzzling at my neck. I turned my
face into his, blocking him. "No blood, Jean-Claude."

He went almost limp on top of me, face buried in the rumpled sheets.
"Please, ma petite."

I pushed at his shoulder. "Get off of me."

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, carefully not looking
at me. "I can enter every orifice of your body with every part of me,
but you refuse me the last bit of yourself."

I got off the bed carefully, not sure my knees were steady. "I am not
food," I said.

"It is so much more than mere feeding, ma petite. If only you would
allow me to show you how very much more."

I grabbed the pile of blouses and started taking them off the hanger and
folding them in the suitcase. "No blood; that is the rule."

He rolled onto his side. "I have offered you all that I am, ma petite,
yet you withhold yourself from me. How can I not be jealous of Richard?"

"You're getting sex. He's not even getting dates."

"You are mine, but you are not mine, not completely."

"I'm not a pet, Jean-Claude. People aren't supposed to belong to other
people."

"If you could find a way to love Richard's beast, you would not hold
back from him. Him you would give yourself to."

I folded the last blouse. "Damn it, Jean-Claude, this is stupid. I chose
you. All right? It's a done deal. Why are you so worried?"

"Because the moment he was in trouble, you dropped everything to run to
his side."

"I'd do the same for you," I said.

"Exactly," he said. "I have no doubt that you love me in your way, but
you love him, too."

I zipped up the suitcase. "We are not having this argument. I'm sleeping
with you. I am not going to donate blood just to make you feel more
secure."

The phone rang. Asher's cultured voice, so like Jean-Claude's: "Anita,
how are you this fine summer evening?"

"I'm fine, Asher. What's up?"

"May I speak with Jean-Claude?" he asked.

I almost argued, but Jean-Claude had his hand out for the phone. I gave
the phone to him.

Jean-Claude spoke in French, which he and Asher had a habit of doing. I
was glad that he had someone to speak his native tongue with, but my
French just wasn't up to following the conversation. I suspected
strongly that sometimes the vampires spoke in front of me like you would
speak in front of a child that doesn't have enough grown-up talk to
follow the conversation. It was rude and condescending, but they were
centuries-old vampires, and sometimes they just couldn't help
themselves.

He switched to English, talking directly to me. "Colin has refused you
entrance to his territory. He has refused entrance to any of my people."

"Can he do that?" I asked.

Jean-Claude nodded. "Oui."

"I am going down there to help Richard. Arrange it, Jean-Claude, or I'll
go down there without arrangements being made."

"Even if it's war?" he asked.

"Shit," I said. "Call the little son of a bitch and let me talk to him."

Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows but nodded. He hung up on Asher, then
dialed a number. He said, "Colin, this is Jean-Claude. Yes, Asher told
me what you have decided. My human servant, Anita Blake, wishes to speak
with you." He listened for a moment. "No, I do not know what she wishes
to say to you." He handed me the phone and settled back against the
headboard of the bed as if watching a show.

"Hello, Colin?"

"This is he." His accent was pure Middle American. It made him sound
less exotic than some of them.

"My name's Anita Blake."

"I know who you are," he said. "You're the Executioner."

"Yeah, but I'm not coming down there for an execution. My friend is in
trouble. I just want to help him."

"He is your third. If you enter my lands, then two of your triumvirate
will be within my territory. You are too powerful to be allowed
entrance."

"Asher said you also denied access to any of our people, is that true?"

"Yes," he said.

"Why, for God's sake?"

"The Council, the rulers of all vampire kind, itself fears Jean-Claude.
I will not have you in my lands."

"Colin, look, I don't want your power base. I don't want your lands. I
have no designs upon you whatsoever. You're a master vampire. You can
taste the truth in my words."

"You mean what you say, but you are the servant. Jean-Claude is the
master."

"Don't take this wrong, Colin, but why would Jean-Claude want your
lands? Even if he was planning some sort of Ghengis Kahn invasion, your
lands are three territories away from us. If he was going to try
conquering someone, he'd pick land next door."

"Maybe there's something here he wants," Colin said, and I could hear
the fear in his voice. That was rare with a master vamp. They were
usually better at hiding their emotions.

"Colin, I'll swear any oath you want that we don't want anything from
you. We just need for me to come down there and get Richard out of jail.
Okay?"

"No," he said. "If you come down here uninvited, it is war between us,
and I will kill you."

"Look, Colin, I know you're afraid." As soon as I said it, I knew I
shouldn't have.

"How do you know what I feel?" The fear rose a notch, but the anger rose
faster. "A human servant that can taste a master vampire's fear--and you
wonder why I don't want you in my lands."

"I can't taste your fear, Colin. I heard it in your voice."

"Liar!"

My shoulders were beginning to tighten. It doesn't usually take much to
piss me off, and he was working at it. "How are we supposed to help
Richard, if you won't let us send anyone down there?" My voice was calm,
but I could feel my throat tightening, my voice going just a little
lower with the effort not to yell.

"What happens to your third is not my concern. Protecting my lands and
my people, that is my concern."

"If anything happens to Richard because of this delay, I can make it
your concern," I said, voice still quiet.

"See, already the threats begin."

The tightness in my shoulders spilled up my neck and came out my mouth.
"Listen, you little pip-squeak, I am coming down there. I am not letting
your paranoia hurt Richard."

"We will kill you then," he said.

"Look, Colin, stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. You fuck
with me, and I will destroy you, do you understand me? It's only war if
you start it, but if you start something, by God I will finish it."

Jean-Claude was motioning for the phone rather desperately. We wrestled
for the receiver for a few seconds while I called Colin an antiquated
politician, and worse.

Jean-Claude apologized to the empty, buzzing phone. He hung the phone up
and looked at me. The look was eloquent. "I would say I am speechless,
ma petite, or that I don't believe that you just did that, but I do
believe it. The question is: Do you understand what you have just done?"

"I am going to rescue Richard. I can go around Colin or over him. It's
his choice."

Jean-Claude sighed. "He is within his rights to see it as the beginning
of a war. But Colin is very cautious. He will do one of two things. He
will either wait and see if you initiate hostilities, or he will try and
kill you as soon as you set foot on his lands."

I shook my head. "What was I supposed to do?"

"It doesn't matter now. What's done is done, but it changes the travel
arrangements. You can still take my private jet, but you will have
company."

"Are you coming?" I asked.

"No. If I arrived with you, Colin would be certain that we had come to
kill him. No, I will stay here, but you will have an entourage of
guards."

"Now, wait a minute," I said.

He held up his hand. "No, ma petite. You have been very rash. Remember,
if you die, Richard and I may die, as well. The binding that makes us a
triumvirate gives power, but it does not come without a price. It is not
merely your own life that you are risking."

That stopped me. "I hadn't thought of it that way," I said.

"You will need an entourage now that befits a human servant of mine, and
an entourage that is strong enough to fight Colin's people, if need be."

"Who do you have in mind?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Leave that to me."

"I don't think so," I said.

He stood, and his anger lashed through the room like a scalding wind.
"You have endangered yourself and me and Richard. You have endangered
everything we have or hope to have with your temper."

"It would have come down to an ultimatum in the end, Jean-Claude. I know
vampires. You would have argued and bargained for a day or two, but in
the end, it would have come down to this."

"Are you so sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I heard the fear in Colin's voice. He's scared shitless
of you. He'd have never agreed to us coming down."

"It is not just me he fears, ma petite. You are the Executioner. Young
vampires are told if they are foolish, you will come and slay them in
their coffins."

"You're making that up," I said.

He shook his head. "No, ma petite, you are the bogeyman of vampirekind."

"If I see Colin, I'll try not to scare him more than I already have."

"You will see him, ma petite, one way or the other. He will either
arrange a meeting when he sees you mean him no harm, or he will be there
when they attack."

"We have to get Richard out before the full moon. We've only got five
days. We didn't have time to do this slowly."

"Who are you trying to convince, ma petite, me or yourself?"

I had lost my temper. It had been stupid. Inexcusable. I had a temper,
but I was usually better at controlling it than that. "I'm sorry," I
said.

Jean-Claude gave a very inelegant snort. "Now she's sorry." He dialed
the phone. "I will have Asher and the others pack."

"Asher?" I said. "He's not going with me."

"Yes, he is."

I opened my mouth to protest. He pointed one long, pale finger at me. "I
know Colin and his people. You need an entourage that is impressive
without being too frightening, and yet if the worst happens, they must
be able to defend you and themselves. I will pick who goes and who
stays."

"That's not fair."

"There is no time for fairness, ma petite. Your precious Richard sits
behind bars and the full moon is approaching." He let his hand fall to
his lap. "If you wish to take some of your wereleopards with you, that
would be welcome. Asher and Damian will need food while they are away.
They cannot hunt within Colin's territory. That would be taken as an act
of hostility."

"You want me to volunteer some of the wereleopards as walking
provisions?"

"I am going to supply some werewolves as well," he said.

"I'm lupa for the pack as well as Nimir-ra for the leopards. You need to
run the wolves by me, too." Richard had made me lupa of the werewolves
when we were dating. Lupa is often just another word for the head wolf's
girlfriend, though usually it's another werewolf, not a human. The
wereleopards came to me by default. I killed their last leader and found
out that everyone else was pretty much beating the hell out of them.
Weak shape-shifters without a dominant to protect them end up as
anyone's meat. It was my fault, sort of, that they were being hurt, so I
extended my protection over them. My protection, since I wasn't a
wereleopard, consisted of my threat. My threat was that I'd kill anyone
who messed with them. The monsters in town must have believed it,
because they left the leopards alone. Use enough silver bullets on
enough monsters, and you get a reputation.

Jean-Claude put the receiver up to his ear. "It is getting so that a
person cannot insult a monster in Saint Louis without answering to you,
ma petite." If I hadn't known better, I'd say Jean-Claude was angry with
me.

I guess, this once, I couldn't blame him.

Chapter 3
---------

The private jet was like a long white egg with fins. Okay, it was longer
than an egg and more pointy at the ends, but it seemed just as fragile.
Have I mentioned I have this little phobia about flying? I sat in my
comfy, fully swivel, fully reclinable chair very upright, seat-belted
in, fingernails digging into the cushioned arms. I had purposefully
turned the seat away from one of the many round windows so I couldn't
see out the side nearest me. Unfortunately, the plane was so narrow that
I caught glimpses on the opposite side windows of fluffy clouds and
clear blue sky. Hard to forget you're thousands of feet above the ground
with only a thin sheet of metal between you and eternity when clouds
keep floating past the window.

Jason plopped down in the seat next to me, and I let out a little yip.
He laughed. "I can't believe you're this scared of flying." He pushed
his chair with his feet, making it spin around, slowly, like a kid with
Daddy's office chair. His thin blond hair was cut just above his
shoulders, no bangs. His eyes were the same pale blue as the sky we were
flying through. He was exactly my height, five three, which made him
short, especially for a man. He never seemed to mind. He wore an
oversized T-shirt and a pair of jeans so faded they were almost white.
He wore two hundred dollar jogging shoes, though I knew for a fact he
never jogged.

He'd turned twenty-one this summer. He'd informed me that he was a
Gemini, and he was now legal for everything. Everything could cover a
lot of ground for Jason. He was a werewolf, but he currently lived with
Jean-Claude and played morning appetizer or evening snack for the
vampire. Shapeshifter blood has a bigger kick to it, more power. You can
drink less of it than human blood and feel a hell of a lot better, or so
I've observed.

He flung himself up from the chair and fell to his knees in front of me.
"Come on, Anita. What's to worry?"

"Leave me alone, Jason. It's a phobia. It has no logic. You can't talk
me out of it, so just go away."

He sprang to his feet so fast it was almost magical. "We're perfectly
safe." He started jumping up and down on the floor on the plane. "See,
solid."

I yelled, "Zane!"

Zane appeared beside me. He was about six feet tall, stretched long and
thin as if there wasn't enough flesh to cover his bones. His hair had
been dyed a shocking yellow, like neon buttercups, shaved on the sides
and gelled into small, stiff spikes on top. He wore black vinyl pants,
like a slick second skin, and a matching vest, no shirt. Shiny black
boots completed the outfit.

"You rang?" he asked in a voice that was almost painfully deep. If a
shapeshifter spends too much time in animal form, some of the physical
changes can be permanent. Zane's gravelly voice and the dainty upper and
lower fangs in his human mouth said he'd spent a little too much time as
a leopard. The voice could have passed for human, but the fangs--the
fangs gave it away.

"Get Jason away from me, please," I said through gritted teeth.

Zane looked down at the smaller man.

Jason stood his ground.

Zane moved those last two steps to close the distance between them. They
stood there, pressed chest to chest, eyes locked. You could suddenly
feel that skin-crawling energy that let you know that human was not what
they were.

Shit. I hadn't meant to start a fight.

Zane lowered his face toward the shorter man, a low growl trickling out
of his closed lips.

"No fighting, boys," I said.

Zane planted a big, wet kiss on Jason's mouth.

Jason jerked back, laughing. "You bisexual son of a bitch."

"Now, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Zane said.

Jason just grinned and wandered off, though there wasn't a lot of room
to wander anywhere. I also have a touch of claustrophobia. I got it from
a diving accident, but I've noticed it's worse since I woke up one
morning trapped in a coffin with a vampire I didn't like. I got away,
but I like enclosed spaces less and less.

Zane slid into the seat beside me. The shiny black vest gaped over his
thin, pale chest, giving a glimpse of a silver nipple ring.

Zane patted my knee, and I let him. He was always touching people,
nothing personal. A lot of shapeshifters were touchy-feely, as if they
were animals instead of people and had fewer physical boundaries, but
Zane had turned to casual touch into an art form. I finally realized
that he touched others as a sort of security blanket. He tried to play
the dominant predator, but he wasn't. Underneath the show of teasing
confidence, he knew it. He got really tense if he was in a social
situation where he had to stand alone, literally without the touch of
other flesh. So I let him touch me when I'd have bitched at anyone else.

"We'll be on the ground soon," he said. The hand left my knee. He
understood the rules. I let him touch me when he had no business doing
it, but no long, lingering caresses. I was his touchstone when he was
nervous, not his girlfriend.

"I know," I said.

He smiled. "But you don't believe me."

"Let's just say I'll relax when we actually land."

Cherry joined us. She was tall and slender, with straight, naturally
blond hair cut very, very short and close to a strong, triangular face.
The eye shadow was gray, the eyeliner so black it looked like crayon.
The lipstick was black. The makeup wasn't the colors I'd have chosen for
her, but it did match her clothes. Black fishnet stockings, vinyl
miniskirt, black go-go boots, and a black lace bra underneath a fishnet
shirt. She'd added the bra for my benefit. Left to her own devices, when
she wasn't working as a nurse, she went pretty much topless. She'd been
a nurse until they found out she was a wereleopard; then she'd been the
victim of budget cuts. Maybe it was budget cuts, but then again, maybe
it wasn't. It was illegal to discriminate against someone because they
had a disease, but no one wants a wereanything treating the sick. People
seem to think lycanthropes can't control themselves around freshly
spilled blood. Some of the newer shapeshifters would be in trouble, but
Cherry wasn't new. She'd been a good nurse, and now she'd never be a
nurse again. She was bitter about it and had turned herself into the
slut bride from Planet X, as if even in human form, she wanted people to
know what she was now: different, other. Trouble was, she looked like a
thousand other teens and early twenties who also wanted to be different
and stand out.

"What happens once we land?" Cherry asked in a purring, contralto voice.
I'd thought her voice had been the product of too much fur time, like
Zane's teeth, but nope, Cherry just had this wonderful, deep, sexy
voice. She'd have done good phone sex. She sat on the ground at our
feet, knees out, ankles crossed, making the short skirt ride up enough
to show the hose were thigh high but still managing to cover the rest.
Though in a skirt that short, I was hoping she was wearing undies. I'd
have never have been able to wear something that short and not flash.

"I contact Richard's brother and go to the jail," I said.

"What do you want us to do?" Zane asked.

"Jean-Claude said that he made arrangements for rooms, so you guys go to
the rooms."

They exchanged a glance. It was more than an ordinary glance.

"What?" I asked.

"One of us will need to go with you," Zane said.

"No, I'm going to go in there flashing my executioner's license. I'm
better off on my own."

"What if the master of this city has his people waiting for you in
town?" Zane asked. "He'll know you're going to the jail today."

Cherry nodded. "It could be an ambush."

They had a point, but . . . "Look, nothing personal, guys, but you look
like the top half of an S and M wedding cake. Cops don't like people who
look sort of . . ." I wasn't sure how to say it without being insulting.
Cops were meat-and-potatoes people. They weren't impressed by the
exotic. They'd seen it all and cleaned up the mess. Most of the exotic
that they saw were bad guys. After a while, policemen seem to think
anything exotic is a bad guy; just saves time.

If I walked into the police station with Tweedle-punk and Tweedle-slut,
it was going to raise the cop's antennae. They'd know I wasn't exactly
what I was claiming to be, and that would complicate things. We needed
to make things easier, not harder.

I was dressed in vampire executioner casual. New black jeans, not faded,
crimson short-sleeved dress shirt, black suit jacket, black Nikes, black
belt so the loops of my shoulder holster had something to hang on. The
Browning Hi-Power sat under my left arm, a familiar tightness. I was
carrying three blades. A silver knife in a wrist sheath on each arm and
a blade in a sheath down my spine. The handle stuck up high enough that
my hair had to hide it, but my hair was thick and dark enough to do the
job. The last blade was like a small sword. I'd used it only once for
real to pin a wereleopard through the heart. The tip had pushed out his
back. A silver cross under the blouse for true emergencies, and I was
packed for werebear, or almost anything else. I had a spare clip of
normal bullets in my fanny pack just in case I met up with a rogue
fairie. Silver didn't work against them.

"I'll go with you." Nathaniel slid in behind Cherry, pressing himself
against the wall of the plane and my legs. One broad shoulder rested
against my jeans in a nice, solid weight. There was actually no way for
him to sit there and not touch me. He was always trying to touch me, and
he was good enough at it that I couldn't always bitch about it, like
now.

"I don't think so, Nathaniel," I said.

He hugged his knees to his chest and asked, "Why not?" He was dressed
normally enough in jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt, but the rest of him .
. . His hair was a deep, nearly mahogany auburn. He'd tied it back in a
loose ponytail, but the hair fell like silken water to his knees.

Nathaniel gazed up at me with eyes the pale purple of Easter egg grass.
Even if he cut the hair, the eyes would have given him trouble. He was
short for a man, and was also the youngest of us, nineteen. I suspected
strongly that he was in the middle of a growth spurt. Someday, that
short body was going to match his shoulders, which were broad and very
masculine. He was a stripper at Guilty Pleasures, a wereleopard, and
once he'd been a male prostitute. I'd put a stop to that. If you're
going to be leopard queen, you might as well rule. The rule was that
none of the leopards were whores. Gabriel, their old alpha, had pimped
them out. Shapeshifters can take a lot of damage and survive. Gabriel
had figured out a way to make that pay. He pimped his kitties out to the
S and M set. People who liked to give pain had paid a lot of money for
Nathaniel, once upon a time. The first time I'd ever seen him was in the
hospital after a client had gotten carried away and nearly killed him.
Admittedly, this was after Gabriel had been killed. The wereleopards had
tried to keep up the client list without anyone to protect them from the
clients.

Zane had tried to take Gabriel's place as pimp and bad-ass kitty, but he
hadn't been strong enough to fill the bill. He'd let Nathaniel nearly
die and hadn't been able to protect him.

Nathaniel could bench-press a grand piano, but he was a victim. He liked
pain and wanted someone to be in charge of him. He wanted a master and
was trying very hard for me to take the job. We might have worked
something out, but being his master--or mistress--seemed to include sex,
and that I was not up for.

"I'll go," Jason said. He sat down beside Cherry and laid his head on
her shoulder, snuggling. Cherry moved away from him, cuddling closer to
Nathaniel. It wasn't sex, exactly, it was that the wereanimals tended to
get up close and personal with their own kind. It was considered
something of a social gaffe to cuddle up to a different sort of animal.
But Jason didn't care. Cherry was female, and he flirted with anything
that was female. Nothing personal, just habit.

Jason wiggled his butt until Cherry was pressed between him and
Nathaniel. "I've got a suit in my luggage. A nice, normal, blue suit.
I'll even wear a tie."

Cherry growled at him. It sounded all wrong, coming from that pretty
face. I am not one of those women who wants to redo other women. I don't
care much for makeup or clothes. But Cherry made me want to give her
hints. If she was pretty in the Bride of Frankenstein makeup, she'd have
been a knockout in something that matched her skin tone.

I smiled. "Thanks, Jason. Now, give Cherry some breathing room."

He pressed himself even closer. "Zane gave me a kiss to make me move."

"Move, or I'll bite your nose off." She gave an expression that was
half-snarl, half-smile, a threatening flash of teeth.

"I think she means it," I said.

Jason laughed and stood in one of those lightning-fast movements that
they were all capable of. He went to stand behind my seat, leaning his
forearms on it.

"I'll hide behind you until it's safe," he said.

"Get off the back of my seat," I said.

He moved his arms but stayed standing behind me. "Jean-Claude thought
you might have to take some of us into police situations. We can't all
look like college students and porn stars."

The porn star comment was sadly accurate for all three of the
wereleopards. Another good idea of Gabriel's had been to star his people
in porno films. Gabriel did his own share of starring roles. He was
never one to ask of his kitties what he wasn't willing--nay, eager--to
do himself. He'd been a sick son of a bitch, and he'd made sure that his
wereleopards were as sick as he was.

Nathaniel had given me a gift box of three of his movies. He suggested
we watch them together. I said thanks, but no thanks. I kept the tapes
mainly because I wasn't sure what to do with them. I mean, he'd given me
a gift. I was raised not to be rude. They were way in the back of my
video cabinet, hidden behind a stack of Disney tapes. And no, I had not
watched them once I was alone.

The air slapped against the plane, making it shudder. Turbulence, just
turbulence. "You're actually pale," Cherry said.

"Yeah," I said.

Jason kissed the top of my head. "You know you're actually cute when
you're scared."

I turned very slowly in the seat and stared at him. I would have liked
to say I stared at him until his smile faded away, but we didn't have
that kind of time. Jason would grin on his way into hell. "Don't touch
me."

The grin widened. His eyes sparkled with it. "Who me?"

I sighed and settled back into the seat. It was going to be a very long
couple of days.

Chapter 4
---------

Portaby Airfield is small. I guess that's why it's called an airfield
instead of an airport. There were two small runways and a cluster of
buildings, if three could be called a cluster. But it was clean and neat
as a pin, and the setting was postcard perfect. The airfield sat in the
middle of a wide, green valley surrounded on three sides by the gentle
slopes of the Smokey Mountains. On the fourth side, behind the
buildings, was the rest of the valley. It sloped sharply down, letting
us know that the valley we were standing in was still part of the
mountains. The town of Myerton, Tennessee, stretched below us in air so
clean it sparkled like someone had dusted the clouds with ground
diamonds. Words came to mind like pristine, crystalline.

That was the main reason one of the last remaining wild bands of Lesser
Smokey Mountain Trolls lived in the area. Richard was finishing up his
master's degree in biology. He'd been studying the trolls every summer
for four years between teaching full time. Takes longer to get your
master's degree part time.

I took a deep breath of the clean, clean air. I could see why Richard
would want to spend his summers here. It was exactly the kind of place
he'd enjoy. He was into outdoorsy stuff in a big way. Rock climbing,
hiking, fishing, camping, canoeing, bird-watching--pretty much anything
you could do outside was his idea of fun. Oh, caving, too. Though I
guess, technically, you're not outside if you're inside a cave.

When I said that Richard was a Boy Scout, I didn't mean just his moral
fiber.

A man walked towards us. He was almost perfectly round in the middle,
wearing a pair of coveralls with oil on the knees. White hair stuck out
from underneath a billed cap. His glasses were black-rimmed and square.
He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked. The look on his face was
polite, curious. His eyes flicked from me to the rest of the guys as
they filed out of the plane. Then his eyes flicked to the coffins that
were being unloaded from the storage compartment. Asher was in one.
Damian was in the other.

Asher was the more powerful of the two, but he was several hundred years
younger. Damian had been a Viking when he was alive, and I don't mean
the football team. He'd been a card-carrying, sword-wielding, marauding
raider. One night he'd raided the wrong castle, and she took him. If she
had a name, I've never heard it. She was a master vampire and ruler of
her lands, the equivalent to Master of the City when there is no city in
a hundred miles. She took Damian on a summer night over a thousand years
ago, and she kept him. A thousand years, and he felt no more powerful in
my head than a vampire half his age. I'd underestimated his age by
hundreds of years, because part of me just couldn't accept that you
could exist that long and not be more powerful, scarier. Damian was
scary but not a millennium worth of scary. He'd never be more than he
was: a third or fourth banana for all eternity. Jean-Claude bargained
for Damian's freedom when he came to be Master of the City. He ransomed
Damian. I never knew what it cost Jean-Claude, but I knew that it hadn't
been cheap. She had not wanted to give up her favorite whipping boy.

The man said, "I'd shake your hand, but I've been working on the planes.
Mr. Niley's man is waiting in the building."

I frowned. "Mr. Niley?"

He frowned then. "Aren't you Mr. Niley's people? Milo said you'd be
coming in today." He looked back, and a tall man stepped out of the
building. His skin was the color of coffee, two creams. His hair was cut
in a wedge, leaving his elegant, sculpted face bare and unadorned. He
was wearing a suit that cost more than most cars. He stared at me, and
even from a distance I felt the dead weight of his eyes. All he needed
was a sign over his head that said Muscle.

"No, we're not Mr. Niley's people." That he'd made the mistake made me
wonder who Mr. Niley was.

A voice called, "These are the people I've been expecting, Ed." It was
Jamil, one of Richard's enforcers. The enforcers were Skll and Hati
after the wolves that chase the sun and moon in Norse mythology. When
they catch them, it will be the end of the world. Tells you something
about werewolf society that their enforcers were named after creatures
that would bring about the end of everything. Jamil was Skll for
Richard's pack, which meant he was head enforcer. He was tall and
slender in the way a dancer is slender, all muscles and shoulders planed
down to a smooth, graceful machine of flesh. He was wearing a white
sleeveless men's undershirt and loose, tailored white pants with a very
sharp cuff rolled at the end of the pants legs. Black suspenders graced
his upper body and matched the highly polished black shoes. A white
linen jacket was thrown over one shoulder. His dark skin gleamed against
the whiteness of his clothes. His hair was nearly waist length in
cornrows with white beads woven through the braids. Last time I'd seen
him, the beads had been multicolored.

Ed flicked a look back at Jamil. "If you say so," he said. He went back
to the main building, leaving us to ourselves. Probably just as well.

"I didn't know you were here, Jamil," I said.

"I'm Richard's bodyguard. Where else would I be?"

He had a point. "Where were you the night his body was supposedly
attacking this woman?"

"Her name is Betty Schaffer."

"Have you talked to her?"

His eyes widened. "She's already cried rape once on a fine, upstanding
white boy. No, I haven't talked to her."

"You could try and blend in a little."

"I'm one of only two black men for about 50 miles," he said, "There's no
way for me to blend in, Anita, so I don't try." There was an
undercurrent of real anger there. I wondered if Jamil had been having
trouble with the locals. It seemed likely. He wasn't just African
American. He was tall, handsome, and athletic looking. That alone would
have gotten him on the redneck hit parade. The long cornrow hair and the
killer fashion sense raised the question that he might violate the last
white male bastion of homophobia. I knew that Jamil liked girls, but I
was almost willing to bet some of the locals hadn't believed that.

"I assume that is the other African American guy." I was careful not to
point at Milo. He was watching us, face expressionless, but too intense.
Muscle recognizes muscle, and he was probably wondering about Jamil just
as we were wondering about him. What was professional muscle doing out
here in the boonies?

Jamil nodded. "Yeah, that's the other one."

"He doesn't blend in, either," I said. "Who is he?"

"His name is Milo Hart. He works for a guy named Frank Niley who is
supposed to arrive today."

"You and he sit down and have a talk?"

"No, but Ed is just full of news."

"Why does Frank Niley need a bodyguard?"

"He's rich," Jamil said as if that explained it, and maybe it did. "He's
down here doing some land speculation."

"Ed the plane mechanic tell you all this?"

Jamil nodded. "He likes to talk, even to me."

"Gee, and I thought you were just another pretty face."

Jamil smiled. "I'll do my job when Richard lets me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means if he'd let me watch over him like a good Skll is supposed
to, this rape charge would never have happened. I'd have been a witness,
and it wouldn't be just her word against his."

"Maybe I should talk to Ms. Schaffer," I said.

"Babe, you just read my mind."

"You know, Jamil, you're the only person who ever calls me babe. There's
a reason for that."

His smile widened. "I'll try to remember that."

"What happened to Richard, Jamil?"

"You mean did he do it?"

I shook my head. "No, I know he didn't do it."

"He did date her," Jamil said.

I looked at him. "What are you saying?"

"Richard's been trying to find a replacement for you."

"So?"

"So, he's been dating anything that moves."

"Just dating?" I asked.

Jamil swirled his jacket from his shoulder to one arm, smoothing the
cloth and not looking at me.

"Answer the question, Jamil."

He looked at me, almost smiling, then sighed. "No, not just dating."

I had to ask. "He's been sleeping around?"

Jamil nodded.

I stood there, thinking about that for a second or two. Richard and I
had each been celibate for years, separate decisions. I'd certainly
changed my lifestyle. Did I really think he'd stay chaste when I hadn't?
Was it any of my business what he did? No; no, it wasn't.

I finally shrugged. "He's not my boyfriend anymore, Jamil. And he's a
big boy." I shrugged again, not really sure how I felt about Richard
sleeping around. Trying very hard not to feel anything about it, because
it didn't matter how I felt. Richard had his own life to live, and it
didn't include me, not in that way. "I'm not here to police Richard's
sex life."

Jamil nodded almost to himself. "Good. I was worried."

"What, you thought I'd throw a fit and storm off, leaving him to his
just desserts?"

"Something like that," he said.

"Did he have sex with the woman who's made the accusation?"

"If you mean intercourse, no. She's human," he said. "Richard doesn't do
humans. He's afraid they're too fragile."

"I thought you just said he'd been sleeping with Ms. Schaffer."

"Having sex, but not doing the dirty deed."

I wasn't a virgin. I knew there were alternatives, but . . . "Why
alternative methods with humans? Why not just . . . do it?"

"Doing the wild thing can release our beast early. You don't want to
know what happens when you're with a human who doesn't know what you
are, and you shift on top of them, inside them." A shadow crossed his
face, and he looked away.

"You sound like the voice of experience," I said.

He looked slowly back at me, and there was something in his face that
was suddenly frightening, like looking up and realizing that the bars
between you and the lion at the zoo aren't there anymore. "That is none
of your business."

I nodded. "Sorry, you're right. You're absolutely right. It was too
personal."

But it was interesting information. There had been a point where I'd
pretty much begged Richard to stay the night. To have sex with me. He'd
said no because it wouldn't be fair until I saw him change into werewolf
form. I needed to be able to accept the whole package. I hadn't been
able to do that once the package bled and writhed all over me. But now I
wondered if part of his hesitation had been simply fear of hurting me.
Maybe.

I shook my head. It didn't matter. Business. If I concentrated really
hard, maybe I could stay on track. We were here to get him out of jail,
not to worry about why we broke up.

"We could use a little help here with the luggage," Jason called.

He had two suitcases under each arm. Zane and Cherry were carrying one
coffin. They looked like pallbearer bookends. Nathaniel was lying on his
back on the other coffin. He'd taken off his shirt and unbound his hair.
His hands were folded across his stomach, eyes closed. I didn't know
whether he was playing dead or trying to get a tan.

"A little help here," Jason said, kicking his foot towards the rest of
the luggage. Two suitcases and a huge trunk still sat unclaimed.

I walked towards them. "Jesus, only one of those suitcases is mine.
Who's the clotheshorse?"

Zane and Cherry put the coffin gently on the Tarmac. "Just one suitcase
is mine," Zane said.

"Three of them are mine," Cherry said. She sounded vaguely embarrassed.

"Who brought the trunk?"

"Jean-Claude sent it," Jason said. "Just in case we do meet with the
local master. He wanted us to make a good show of it."

I frowned at the trunk. "Please tell me there's nothing in there that
Jean-Claude plans on me wearing."

Jason grinned.

I shook my head. "I don't want to see it."

"Maybe you'll get lucky," Jason said. "Maybe they'll try to kill you
instead."

I frowned at him. "You're just full of happy thoughts."

"My speciality," he said.

Nathaniel turned his head and looked at me, hands clasped across his
bare stomach. "I can lift the coffin, but it's not balanced right for
carrying. I need help."

"You certainly do," I said.

He blinked up at me, one hand raised to block the sun. I moved until my
body blocked the sun and he could look at me without squinting. He
smiled up at me.

"What's with the coffin sunbathing?" I asked.

The smile wilted around the edges, then faded completely. "It's the
scene in the crypt," he said as if that explained everything. It didn't.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He raised just his shoulders and head off the coffin like he was doing
stomach crunches. His abs bunched nicely with the effort. "You really
haven't watched my movies, have you?"

"Sorry," I said.

He sat up the rest of the way, smoothing his hair back with both hands
in a practiced gesture. He slipped a silver clasp around the hair and
flipped the tail of auburn hair behind his back.

"I thought silver jewelry burned when it touched a lycanthrope's skin,"
I said.

He wiggled his hair, settling the silver clasp securely against his
neck. "It does," he said.

"A little pain makes the world go round, I guess."

He just stared at me with his strange eyes. He was only nineteen, but
the look on his face was older, much older. There were no lines on that
smooth skin, but there were shadows in those eyes that nothing would
ever erase. Cosmetic surgery for the soul was what he needed. Something
to take the terrible burden of knowledge that had made him what he was.

Jason limped over to us, loaded with suitcases. "One of his movies is
about a vampire who falls in love with an innocent young human."

"You've seen it," I said.

He nodded.

I shook my head and picked up a suitcase. "You got a car for us?" I
asked Jamil.

"A van," he said.

"Great. Pick up a suitcase, and show me the way."

"I don't do luggage."

"If we all help, we can load the van in half the time. I want to see
Richard as soon as possible, so grab something and stop being such a
freaking prima donna."

Jamil stared at me for a long, slow count, then said, "When Richard
replaces you as lupa, I won't have to take shit from you."

"Fine, but until then, hop to it. Besides, this isn't giving you shit,
Jamil. When I give you shit, you'll know it."

He gave a low chuckle. He slipped his jacket back on and picked up the
trunk. It should have taken two strong men to lift it. He carried it
like it weighed nothing. He walked off without a backward glance,
leaving me to get the last suitcase. Zane and Cherry picked the coffin
back up and walked after him. Jason shuffled after them.

"What about me?" Nathaniel said.

"Put your shirt back on and stay with the coffin. Wouldn't do to have
someone make off with Damian."

"I know women who would pay me to take the shirt off," he said.

"Too bad I'm not one of them," I said.

"Yeah," he said, "too bad." He picked his shirt up off the ground. I
left him sitting on the coffin in the middle of the Tarmac, shirt wadded
in his hands. He looked sort of forlorn in a strange, macabre way. I
felt very sorry for Nathaniel. He'd had a rough life. But it wasn't my
fault. I was paying for his apartment so he didn't have to turn tricks
to make ends meet, though I knew other strippers at Guilty Pleasures who
managed to make ends meet on their salary. Maybe Nathaniel wasn't good
with money. Big surprise there.

The van was large, black, and looked sinister. The sort of thing serial
killers drive in made-for-TV movies. Serial killers did drive vans in
real life, but they tended to be pale colors with rust spots.

Jamil drove. Cherry and I rode up front with him. The luggage and
everyone else went in the back. I expected Cherry to ask me to sit in
the middle because I was at least five inches shorter than she was, but
she didn't. She just crawled into the van, in the middle, with those
long legs tucked up in front of the dashboard.

The road was well paved, almost no potholes, and if you held your
breath, two cars could pass each other without scraping paint. Trees
hugged the road on either side. But on one side, you caught glimpses of
an amazing drop-off, and on the other side, there was just rocky dirt. I
preferred the dirt. The trees were thick enough that the illusion of
safety was there, but the trees fell away like a great, green curtain,
and you could suddenly see for miles. The illusion was gone, and you
realized just how high up we were. Okay, it wasn't like Rocky Mountain
high, but it would do the job if the van went over the edge. Falling
from high places is one of my least favorite things to do. I don't
clutch the upholstery like in the airplane, but I'm a flatlander at
heart and would be glad to be in the lower valley.

"Do you want me to drop you at the police station or take you to the
cabins first?" Jamil asked.

"Police. Did you say cabins?"

He nodded. "Cabins."

"Rustic living?" I asked.

"No, thank God," he said. "Indoor plumbing, beds, electricity, the
works, if you aren't too particular about the decor."

"Not a fashion plate?"

"Not hardly," he said.

Cherry sat very still between us, hands folded in her lap. I realized
she wasn't wearing her seat belt. My mother would be alive today if
she'd been wearing hers, so I'm picky about it. "You're not wearing your
seat belt," I said.

Cherry looked at me. "I'm squashed enough without the seat belt," she
said.

"I know you could survive a trip through the windshield," I said, "but
having you heal that much damage would sort of blow your cover."

"Am I supposed to be playing human?" she asked.

It was a good question. "For the townsfolk, yeah."

She fastened her seat belt without any more arguing. The wereleopards
had taken me to heart as their Nimir-ra. They were so glad to have
someone act as protector, even if it was just a human, that they didn't
bitch much. "You should have told me we were trying to blend in. I'd
have dressed differently."

"You're right; I should have said something." Truthfully, it hadn't
occurred to me until just that moment.

The road spilled down into what passed for flatland here. The trees were
so thick that it was almost claustrophobic. There was still a gentle
swell to the land, letting you know you were driving over the toes of
mountains.

"Do you want us to wait for you outside the station?" Jamil asked.

"No, you guys sort of stand out."

"How are you going to get to the cabins?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. Taxi?"

He looked at me, the look was eloquent. "In Myerton, I don't think so."

"Damn," I said. "Drive us to the cabins then. I'll take the van back
into town."

"With Jason?" Jamil said.

I nodded. "With Jason." I looked at him. "Why is everyone so solicitous
of me? I mean, I know there may be problems, but you guys are being
awful cautious." I sat up straighter in the seat and stared at the side
of Jamil's face. He was watching the road like his life depended on it.

"What aren't you guys telling me?"

He hit his turn signal and waited for a pickup truck to go past, then
turned left between yet more trees. "It'll take longer to get to the
cabins."

"Jamil, what is going on?"

Cherry tried her best to sink into the seat, but when you're model tall
and in the middle, it's hard to play invisible. That one body movement
told me she knew, too. That they both knew something I didn't.

I looked at her. "Cherry, tell me what's going on."

She sighed and sat up a little straighter. "If anything happens to you,
Jean-Claude's going to kill us."

I frowned at her. "I don't understand."

"Jean-Claude couldn't come here himself," Jamil said. "It would be seen
as an act of war. But he's worried about you. He told us all that if we
let you get killed, and he survives your death, he'll kill us, all of
us." He watched the road as he talked, turning onto a gravel road that
was so narrow that trees brushed the sides of the van.

"Define all," I said.

"All of us," Jamil said. "We're your bodyguards."

"I thought you were Richard's bodyguard?" I said.

"And you're his lupa, his mate."

"If you're a real bodyguard, you can't guard two people. You can only
guard one at a time."

"Why?" Cherry asked.

I looked at Jamil. He didn't answer, so I did.

"Because you can't take a bullet for more than one person, and that's
what a bodyguard does."

Jamil nodded. "Yeah, that's what a bodyguard does."

"You really think anyone's going to be shooting at Anita?"

"The bullet's a metaphor," Jamil said. "But it doesn't matter. Bullet,
knife, claws, whatever it is, I take it." He pulled into a wide gravel
turnaround and a huge clearing. There were small, white, boxy cabins
scattered around the clearing like a Motel 6 that had been cut into
pieces. There was a neon sign, pale in the sunlight, that said Blue Moon
Cabins.

"Anita is our Nimir-ra. She's supposed to protect us, not the other way
around."

I agreed with her. I'd picked Zane and Cherry not for their bodyguarding
ability but because they didn't mind sharing blood with the vampires.
Even among the wereleopards, most of them didn't like donating. They
seemed to think being a blood cocktail for the vamps was worse than sex
for money. I wasn't sure I agreed with them, but I wasn't about to force
them to do it if they didn't want to. I didn't donate blood, and I was
sleeping with one of the undead.

"No," I said. "I didn't agree to this. I can take care of myself, thank
you very much." I opened the door, and Jamil reached across and grabbed
my arm. His hand looked very dark against the paleness of my arm. I
turned very slowly and looked at him. It was not a friendly look. "Let
go of me."

"Anita, please, you are one of the toughest humans I've ever met. You
are the most dangerous human female I've ever seen." His hand squeezed
just enough for me to feel the immense strength in it. He could probably
deadlift an elephant if it didn't wiggle too much. He could certainly
crush my arm.

"But you are human, and the things you're up against aren't."

I stared at him. Cherry sat very still between us, half-pinned by
Jamil's body "Let go of me, Jamil."

His hand tightened. It was going to be a hell of a bruise. "Just this
once, Anita, stay in the background, or you're going to get us all
killed."

Jamil's body was extended across the seat, across Cherry. I was on the
edge of the seat, butt half in the air. Neither he nor I were balanced
very well. His grip was on the middle of my forearm, not a good place to
hold on.

"What you fuzzballs keep forgetting is that strength isn't enough.
Leverage, there's the ticket."

He frowned at me, obviously puzzled. His hand tightened just this side
of serious injury. "You can't fight this, Anita."

"What do you want me to say? Uncle?"

Jamil smiled. "Uncle, okay, yeah, say uncle. Admit that just this once
you can't take care of yourself."

I pushed myself out of the van, tucking my legs so he was suddenly
trying to hold my entire body weight with a one-handed grip on my
forearm. My arm slipped through his fingers. I let myself fall to the
ground, going for the long blade down my back, not worrying about trying
to stand. My right hand went for the Browning, but I knew I wouldn't
make it in time. I was trusting that Jamil wasn't going to kill me. We
were grandstanding. If I was wrong on that, I was about to die.

Jamil spilled over the seat, arms reaching for me, trusting in his own
way that I wouldn't blow his head off. He knew I had the gun. He was
treating me like a shapeshifter who knew the rules. You didn't kill over
small stuff. You bled each other, but you didn't kill.

I sliced his arm open from a nearly prone position. There was a moment
of utter surprise on his face. He hadn't known about the third blade or
its length, and getting sliced open is always a shock. He jerked
backwards out of sight like someone had pulled him, but I knew better.
He was just that fast.

I had time to get to one knee before he bounded onto the hood of the
van, crouched like the predator he was. I had the Browning pointed at
him. I got to my feet, gun nice and steady on the middle of his body.
Standing didn't help things. I didn't shoot better standing. But somehow
I wanted to be on my feet.

Jamil watched me but made no move to stop me. Maybe he was afraid to
try. Not of the gun but of himself. I had hurt him. Blood was splashing
all over those pretty white clothes. His entire body vibrated with the
desire to close the distance between us. He was pissed, and it was four
nights until full moon. He probably wouldn't kill me, but I wasn't going
to test the theory. He could break my neck with one blow. Hell, he could
explode my skull like an egg. No more chances.

I pointed the Browning at him one-handed, knife still in my left. "Don't
do it, Jamil. I'd hate to lose you over something this stupid."

A low growl trickled from his lips. The sound alone raised the hair at
the back of my neck.

The others were out of the back of the van. I had a sense of movement.
"Everyone stay back," I said.

"Anita," Jason said, voice very calm, no teasing, no jokes. "Anita,
what's going on?"

"Ask Mr. Macho there."

Cherry spoke from her seat inside the van. She hadn't moved. "Jamil was
trying to explain to Anita how she couldn't handle herself against
shapeshifters and vampires." She slid very slowly towards the edge of
the seat. I kept my gaze on Jamil, but my peripheral vision was good
enough to catch the spots of blood all over the white skin.

"Stay in the van, Cherry. Don't press me."

She stopped scooting along the seat and just sat there. "Jamil wanted
her to take a backseat when the action starts."

"She is still human," Jamil growled. "She is still weak."

Cherry's deep, caressing voice said, "She could have sliced your throat
open instead of your arm. She could have shot you in the head when you
reached for her."

"I still can," I said, "if you don't tone it down."

Jamil lay nearly flat on the hood, fingers splayed. His entire body
trembled with tension. Something lurked behind that human body, swimming
up through his eyes. His beast pushed against his flesh like a leviathan
swimming just below the water, so you caught a dark glimpse of something
huge and overwhelmingly alien.

I'd turned my body in silhouette, my left hand with the knife behind my
back, the back of my hand resting lightly on the top of my butt. I'd
fallen into the stance I used at the shooting range when I was shooting
targets. The gun was pointed at his head now, because he'd lowered his
body mass until it was the biggest target. I'd saved Jamil's life once.
He was a good man to have at Richard's back, even if he didn't always
like me. I didn't always like him, so we were even. But I respected him,
and until now, I thought he respected me. His little show in the van
said he still thought of me as a girl.

Once upon a time, it had bothered me more to kill people. Maybe it was
years of killing vampires. They looked human. But somewhere along the
way, it just didn't bother me to pull the trigger. I stared at Jamil's
face, looked him right in the eyes, and felt that stillness fill me. It
was like standing in the middle of a buzzing field of white noise. I
could still hear and see, but it all fell away so there was nothing but
the gun and Jamil and the emptiness. My body felt light and ready. In my
saner moments, I worried that I was becoming a sociopath. But right now,
there was nothing but a very calm knowledge that I'd do it. I'd pull the
trigger and watch him die at my feet. And feel nothing.

Jamil watched my face, and I saw the tension begin to leak out of him.
He stayed very still until that vibrating energy died down and that
awful looming presence of his beast slid below the surface once more.
Then he very, very slowly sat back on his knees, still watching my face.

I kept the gun pointed on him. I knew how fast they could move, fast as
a wolf, maybe faster. Like nothing this side of hell.

"You really would do it," he said. "You'd kill me."

"You bet."

He took a deep breath, and it shuddered down his body, reminding me
strangely of a bird settling its feathers. "It's over," he said. "You're
lupa. You outrank me."

I lowered the gun carefully, still looking at him, still trying to keep
a feel for where everyone else was standing. "Please tell me that this
wasn't some sort of dominance crap?"

Jamil gave a smile that was almost embarrassed. "I thought I was trying
to make a point, but I wasn't. I've spent the last month down here
having to explain to the local pack how we ended up with a human lupa.
How I'm outranked by a human woman."

I shook my head and pointed the gun at the ground. "You stupid son of a
bitch. Your pride is wounded that I'm higher in the pack than you are."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"You guys just drive me crazy," I said. I was almost yelling. "We do not
have time for macho bullshit."

Zane leaned against the van near Cherry. He was very careful to keep his
hands down and move slowly, no sudden moves. "You couldn't have taken
Jamil without the knife and the gun. You won't always have them with
you."

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

He raised his hands upward. "Just an observation."

"Hey, folks." A man stepped out of one of the cabins. He was tall, thin,
with shoulder-length grey hair and a darker mustache. The hair and the
lines in his face said he was over fifty.

The body that showed from the T-shirt and jeans looked lean and younger.

He'd frozen in the doorway, hands on the wooden edges of the doorjamb.
"Easy there, little lady."

I pointed the gun at him, because under that calm exterior there was
enough power to raise goose bumps on my skin, and he wasn't even trying.

"This is Verne," Jamil said. "He owns the cabins."

I lowered the gun to the ground. "He the local Ulfric, or do they have
something scarier hiding in the woods?"

Verne laughed and started walking towards us. He moved in an almost
clumsy roll like his arms and legs were too long for his body, but it
was deceptive. He was playing human for me. I wasn't fooled.

"You spotted me pretty damn quick there, little lady."

I put the Browning up because to keep it out would be rude. I was here
as his guest in more than one way. Besides, I had to trust someone
enough to put the gun up. I couldn't keep it naked in my hand the entire
trip. I still had the naked blade, complete with blood. It needed to be
cleaned before I could sheathe it. I'd gummed up a couple of smaller
sheaths from not cleaning them well enough.

"Nice to meet you, Verne, but don't call me little lady." I started to
wipe the blood on the edge of the black jacket. Black's good for that.

"Don't you ever give an inch?" Jamil asked.

I glanced at him. There was blood all over his nice white clothes. "No,"
I said. I motioned him over to me.

He frowned. "What?"

"I want to use your shirt to wipe the blood off the blade."

He just stared at me.

"Come on, Jamil. The shirt is already ruined."

Jamil pulled the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He threw the
shirt at me, and I caught it one-handed. I started cleaning the blade
with the unstained part of the shirt.

Verne laughed. He had one of those deep, rolling chuckles that matched
his gravelly voice. "No wonder Richard's been having such a hard time
finding a replacement for you. You are a solid, cast-iron, ball-busting
bitch."

I looked at his smiling face. I think it was a compliment. Besides,
truth was truth. I wasn't down here to win Miss Congeniality. I was down
here to rescue Richard and to stay alive. Bitch was just about the right
speed for that.

Chapter 5
---------

The outside of the cabins were white and looked sort of cheap. The
interiors weren't honeymoon cabins, but they were amazingly roomy. There
was a queen-size bed in the one I was given. There was a desk against
one wall with a reading lamp. There was an extra chair in front of a
picture window. The chair was blue plush and comfortable. It sat on a
small throw rug that looked homemade and was woven in shades of blue.
The woods were hardwood and polished to a honeyed gleam. The bed's
comforter was royal blue. There was a bedside table, complete with a
lamp and a phone. The walls were pale blue. There was even a painting
over the bed. It was a reproduction of Van Gogh's Starry Night. Frankly,
any of Van Gogh's work done after he started going seriously nuts creeps
me out. But it was a good choice for a blue room. For all I knew, the
other cabins had matadors done on velvet, but this was okay.

The bathroom was standard white with a small window high over the
bathtub. The bathroom looked like standard motel issue except for a blue
bowl of potpourri that smelled like musk and gardenia.

Verne had informed me that this was the largest cabin left. I needed the
floor space. Two coffins take up a lot of room. I wasn't sure I wanted
to have Asher and Damian in my room permanently, but I didn't have time
to argue. I wanted to go see Richard as soon as possible. We could
always argue about who got the vamps as bunk mates after I saw Richard.

I made three phone calls before we went to the jail. The first was to
the number that Daniel had given me, to let him know we were in town. No
one answered. The second call was to Catherine to let her know I'd
arrived safely. I got her machine. The third call was to the lawyer that
Catherine had recommended, Carl Belisarius. A woman with a very good
phone voice answered. When she found out who I was, she was sort of
excited, which puzzled me. She forwarded me to Belisarius's cell phone.
Something was up, which was probably bad.

A deep, rich, male voice answered, "Belisarius here."

"Anita Blake. I assume that Catherine Maison-Gillette told you who I
am."

"Just a moment, Ms. Blake." He pushed a button and there was silence. I
was on hold. When he came back on the phone, I could hear wind and
traffic. He'd stepped outside.

"I am very glad to hear from you, Ms. Blake. What the fuck is going on?"

"Excuse me?" I said, tone less than friendly.

"He won't see me. Catherine gave me the impression that he needed a
lawyer. I traveled to this godless piece of real estate, and he won't
see me. He says he didn't hire me."

"Shit," I said softly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Belisarius." I had a thought.
"Did you tell him that I hired you on his behalf?"

"Will that make a difference?"

"Truthfully, I don't know. Either it'll help, or he'll tell you to go to
hell."

"He's already done that. I am not cheap, Ms. Blake. Even if he refuses
my services, someone has to pay for the day."

"Don't worry, Mr. Belisarius. I'll take care of it."

"Do you have that kind of money?"

"How much are we talking about?" I asked.

He mentioned a fee. I did my best not to whistle in his ear. I counted
slowly to five and said, calmly, "You'll get your money."

"You have that kind of money? I took Catherine's word for a lot of
things on this. Forgive me if I'm starting to be suspicious."

"No, I understand. Richard's giving you a hard time, so you're giving me
one."

He gave a rough laugh. "All right, Ms. Blake, all right. I'll try not to
pass the buck, but I want some assurances. Can you pay my fee?"

"I raise the dead for a living, Mr. Belisarius. It's a rare talent. I
can pay your fee." And I could, but it sort of hurt to do it. I wasn't
raised poor, but I was raised to appreciate the value of a buck, and
Belisarius was a little outside of outrageous.

"Send word to Richard that I hired you. Call me back if it makes a
difference. He may refuse to see either of us."

"You're paying a great deal of money, Ms. Blake, especially if I take
the case. I assumed you and Mr. Zeeman were close in some way."

"It's a long story," I said. "We're sort of hating each other right
now."

"A lot of money for someone you hate," he said.

"Don't you start, too," I said.

He laughed again. His laugh was more normal than his speech, almost a
bray. Maybe he didn't practice his laugh for the courtroom. I knew he
practiced that rich, rolling voice.

"I'll send the message, Ms. Blake. Hopefully, I'll be calling you back."

"Call me even if he says no. At least I'll know what to expect when I
come down to the jail."

"You'll come down even if he refuses to see you?" Belisarius asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Blake. You intrigue me."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"To very few, Ms. Blake." He hung up.

Jason came out of the bathroom as I hung up. He was wearing the suit.
I'd never seen him in anything except T-shirts and jeans or leather and
less. It was odd to see him standing there in a navy blue suit, white
shirt, and a thin white tie with a tastefully small design running
through it. When you looked close, the tie was silk and the print was
tiny fleur de lis. I knew who had picked out the tie. The suit was a
better cut than most off the rack, but Jean-Claude had ruined me for off
the rack no matter how nice the fit.

He buttoned the first button on the jacket and smoothed his hands
through his blond hair. "How do I look?"

I shook my head. "Like a person."

He grinned. "You sound surprised."

I smiled. "I've just never seen you look like a grown-up."

He fake pouted at me, lip pushed out. "You've seen me nearly naked and I
didn't look grown-up?"

I shook my head and smiled in spite of myself. I'd changed my clothes in
the bedroom while he changed in the bathroom. I found a few dark spots
of blood on the red blouse. As it dried, it would turn black and look
even worse, which was why the blouse was soaking in the sink. Red shows
blood no matter what people say.

The black jeans had escaped unstained as far as I could tell. A few
spots of blood are hard to find on black. Black or navy blue hides blood
best. I guess a really dark brown would work, but I don't own much
brown, so I don't know for sure.

The fresh blouse was a pale, almost icy, lavender. It had been a gift
from my stepmother, Judith. When I opened the box at Christmas and saw
the pale blouse, I assumed she bought me yet another piece of clothing
that would look better on her blond ice princess body than on my darker
one. But the pure, clear color actually looked pretty spiffy. I'd even
been gracious enough to tell Judith I was wearing it. I think it was the
first gift in ten years that I hadn't exchanged. I was still 0 for 8 in
the gift department for her. Oh, well.

Black dress pants with a belt wide enough for the Browning and wider
than was fashionable, black flats, and I was ready. I'd added just a
touch of makeup: eye shadow, mascara, a hint of blush, and lipstick. I
tried not to think why I'd dressed up. It wasn't for the local cops.
Jason and I were probably both overdressed for the locals. Of course, if
we'd shown up in jeans and T-shirts, we'd have been underdressed. The
only really good thing to wear to meet police is a uniform and a badge.
Anything else and you are not in the club.

There was a law being discussed in Washington, D.C., right now that
might give vampire executioners what amounted to federal marshal status.
It was being pushed hard by Senator Brewster, whose daughter had gotten
munched by a vampire. Of course, he was also pushing to revoke vampires'
rights as legal citizens. Federal status for executioners, maybe.
Revoking vamps' legal rights, I didn't think so. Some vampires would
have to do something pretty gruesome to give the antivamp lobby that
much push.

In March, vampire executioners had been officially licensed. It was a
state license because murder was a state, not a federal, crime.

But I understood the need for federal status for vampire executioners.
We didn't just kill, we hunted. But once we crossed out of our licensed
area, we were on shaky ground. The court order was valid as long as the
state we crossed into agreed to an extradition order. The extradition
order was then used to validate the original order of execution. My
preference was to get a second order of execution every time I crossed a
state line. But that took time, and sometimes you'd lose the vamp to yet
another jurisdiction and have to start all over again.

One enterprising vampire crossed seventeen states before he was finally
caught and killed. The general run, if they run, is maybe two or three.
Which is why most vampire executioners are licensed in more than one
state. In our own way, we have territories, sort of like vampires.
Within that territory, we kill. Outside of it, it's someone else's job.
But there are only ten of us, and that's not a lot for a country with
one of the largest vampire populations in the world. We aren't
constantly busy. Most of us have day jobs. I mean, if the vampires had
been bad enough to keep us hopping, then they'd never have made legal
status. But the more vamps you get in an area, the higher your crime
rate. Just like with humans.

Having to stop every time you left your licensed area made it harder to
do our jobs. Having no real status as a police officer made it
impossible to enter an investigation unless invited. Sometimes we
weren't invited in until the body count was pretty damn high. My largest
body count for a vampire was twenty-three. Twenty-three dead before we
caught him. There had been higher body counts. Back in the fifties,
Gerald Mallory, sort of the grandfather of the business, had slain a
kiss of vampires that took out over a hundred. A kiss of vampires is
like a gaggle of geese; it's the group name. Poetic, ain't it?

The phone rang. I picked it up and it was Belisarius. "He'll see us
together. I'll try to have something to tell you by the time you get
here." He hung up.

I took a big breath in through my nose and let it out in a rush through
my mouth.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

"Nothing."

"You're nervous about seeing Richard," he said.

"Don't be so dammed smart."

He grinned. "Sorry."

"Like hell," I said. "Let's go."

We went.

Chapter 6
---------

The drive to Myerton took longer than it had to because I was driving an
unfamiliar van on very narrow roads. It made me nervous. Jason finally
said, "Can I drive, please? We'll get there before dark."

"Shut up," I said.

He shut up, smiling.

We did finally drive into Myerton. The town consisted of a main street
that was paved and looked suspiciously like a two-lane highway with
buildings hugging the edges. There was a stoplight with a second, much
smaller gravel road spilling red clay dust across the blacktop. The
town's only stoplight made you notice the two fast-food restaurants and
a mom-and-pop diner that actually had a bigger crowd than the Dairy
Queen. Either the food was good, or the Dairy Queen wasn't.

Jamil had given me directions to the police station. He said to drive
down the main street, turn right. You can't miss it. Whenever someone
says that, it means one of two things. Either they're right and it's
obvious, or it's hidden and you'll never find it without a detailed map
where X marks the spot.

I turned right at the stoplight. The van hit a pothole and rolled like a
great beast treading water. I wished I had my Jeep. The gravel road was
the true main street of the town. Buildings with a raised wooden
sidewalk in front of them lined one side of the street. I spotted a
grocery store and a woodworker's shop selling handmade furniture. They
had a rocking chair out in front that still had rough grey bark on parts
of the wooden frame. Very rustic. Very nifty. Another shop sold herbs
and homemade jellies, though this wasn't the time of year for it. Houses
lined the other side of the street. They weren't the newer Midwestern
look that has taken over large parts of the South. The houses were
mostly one story on cinder blocks or red rock bases. They were covered
with side shingles running strongly to off-white and grey. One yard had
a herd of ceramic deer and a crop of lawn gnomes so thick, it looked
like they should be selling them.

There were mountains at the end of the street and trees like a thick,
green curtain. We were about to drive back into the forest, and I hadn't
seen anything that looked like a police station. Great.

"It has to be right here," Jason said.

I checked my rearview mirror, no traffic, and stopped. "What do you see
that I don't?" I asked.

"Shang-Da," he said.

I looked at him. "Excuse me?"

"On the porch at the end of the street."

I looked where he was looking. A tall man sat slumped in a lawn chair.
He was wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, no shoes, and a billed cap pulled
low. His tan stood out strongly against the whiteness of the shirt.
Large hands held a can of soda or maybe beer. Just an early-morning
pick-me-up.

"That's Shang-Da. He's our pack's second enforcer. He's Hati to Jamil's
Skll."

Ah. The light dawned. "He's guarding Richard, so the police station has
to be nearby."

Jason nodded.

I looked at the slumped figure. He didn't look particularly alert at
first glance. He almost blended into the scene until you realized the
T-shirt was spotless and new. The jeans had creases as if they'd been
ironed and you realized though he was tanned, the skin coloring wasn't
just from the sun. But it wasn't until he moved his head very slowly and
looked straight at us that I realized just how good the act was. Even
from a distance there was an intensity in his gaze that was almost
unnerving. I knew we suddenly had his full attention and all he'd done
was move his head.

"Shit," I said.

"Yeah," Jason said. "Shang-Da's new. He transferred in from San
Francisco Bay pack. No one fought him when he came in as Hati. No one
wanted the job that badly."

Jason pointed across the street. "Is that it?"

It was a low, one-story building made of white-painted cinder blocks.
There was a small, gravel parking lot out front but no cars. The van
took up most of the parking lot. I parked as close to the side as I
could, hearing the soft swish of tree branches along the top of the van.
There was probably a police car out there someplace that would be
parking beside me. I think they had room.

There was a small wooden sign, elegantly carved, hanging beside the
door. It read, Police Station. That was it, the only hint. Couldn't miss
it--Jamil had a sense of humor. Or maybe he was still pissed that I'd
cut him. Childish.

We got out. I felt Shang-Da's gaze on me. He was yards away, but the
power of his attention crept down my skin, raising the hair on my arms.
I glanced his way, and for a second, our eyes met. The hair at the back
of my neck stood to attention.

Jason came to stand beside me. "Let's go inside."

I nodded, and we walked to the door. "If I didn't know better, I'd say
Shang-Da doesn't like me."

"He's loyal to Richard, and you've hurt him--badly."

I glanced at him. "You don't seem mad at me. Aren't you loyal to
Richard?"

"I was there the night Richard fought Marcus. Shang-Da wasn't."

"Are you saying I was right to leave Richard?"

"No. I'm saying I understand why you couldn't handle it."

"Thanks, Jason."

He smiled. "Besides, maybe I have designs on your body."

"Jean-Claude would kill you."

He shrugged. "What's life without a little danger?"

I shook my head.

Jason got to the door first but didn't try to open it for me. He knew me
better than that.

I opened the mostly glass doors. I guess the doors were also a clue.
Everything else on the street had doors like you'd see on a house. The
glass doors were modern business doors. The interior was painted white,
including the long barlike desk across from the door. There were some
wanted posters tacked to a bulletin board to the left of the door and a
radio system behind the desk, but other than that, it could have been
the reception room for a dentist.

The guy sitting behind the desk was big. Even sitting down, you had a
sense of size. His shoulders were almost as broad as I was tall. His
hair was very short and still curled in tight ringlets. He'd have had to
shave his head to get rid of the curls.

My executioner's license is in a nice fake-leather carrying case. It had
my picture on it and looked damned official, but it wasn't a badge. It
wasn't even a license good in this state. But it was all I had to flash,
so I flashed it. I went in, holding the license out in front, because I
was bringing a gun into a police station. Cops tended not to like that.

"I'm Anita Blake, vampire executioner."

The cop moved just his eyes; his hands were hidden behind the desk. "We
didn't call for an executioner."

"I'm not here on official business," I said. I stood in front of the
desk. I started to put the license away, but he held his hand out for
it, and I gave it to him.

He studied the license while he asked, "Why are you here?"

"I'm a friend of Richard Zeeman."

His grey eyes flicked up then. It wasn't a friendly look. He tossed the
license back on top of the desk.

I picked it up. "Is there a problem, Officer . . ." I read his
nameplate, ". . . Maiden?"

He shook his head. "No problem except that your friend is a damned
rapist. I never understand why the meanest son of a bitch in the world
always seems to have a girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend," I said. "I'm exactly what I said I was: his
friend."

Maiden stood, and he looked every inch of his six-foot-plus frame. He
wasn't just tall; he was bulky. He'd probably been a wrestler or a
football player in high school. The muscle had started to melt into a
general bulk, and he was carrying about twenty pounds around the waist
that he didn't need, but I wasn't fooled. He was big and tough and used
to it. The gun around his waist matched the rest of him. It was a
chrome-plated Colt Python long barrel with heavy black custom grips.
Good for hunting elephants, a little much for scaring drunks on a
Saturday night.

"Who are you?" He pointed a thumb at Jason.

"Just a friend," Jason said. He smiled, trying to look harmless. He
wasn't as good at looking harmless as I was, but he was close. Beside
Officer Maiden we both looked sort of fragile.

"Her friend, or Zeeman's?"

Jason gave a big, good-humored smile. "I'm everyone's friend."

Maiden didn't smile. He just looked at Jason, giving him a cold, hard
stare out of those dark grey eyes. Maiden didn't have any better luck
staring Jason down than I did. Jason kept smiling. Maiden kept staring.

I finally touched Jason's arm ever so lightly. It was enough. He dropped
his eyes, blinked, but the smile never faltered. But it was enough for
Maiden to feel he'd won the staring contest.

Maiden lumbered out from behind the desk. He moved like he was aware
that he was big, like in his own ears, the earth trembled as he moved.
He was big, but he wasn't that big. Of course, I wasn't going to point
it out to him.

A second man came out of a small door to the right of the desk. He was
wearing a pale tan suit that fit him like an elegant glove. The white
shirt was ribbed down the front, and he had one of those string ties
with a hunk of gold at his throat. His eyes were large, black, and
surprised when they saw me. His hair was cut very short, but stylish.
The hand he extended for me to shake had a diamond pinkie ring and a
college class ring on it.

"Could this vision of loveliness be the infamous Ms. Blake?"

I smiled before I could stop myself. "You must be Belisarius."

He nodded. "Call me Carl."

"I'm Anita, and this is Jason."

He shook hands with Jason, still smiling, still pleasant. He turned to
Maiden. "May we go see my client now?"

"The two of you can go, but not him." Maiden jerked another thumb at
Jason. "Sheriff said let the two of you in. No one said anything about
anybody else."

Jason opened his mouth. I touched his arm. "That's fine."

"And the gun stays out here," he said. I didn't want to give up the gun,
but it made me think better of Maiden that he'd spotted it.

"Sure," I said. I pulled the Browning out from under the jacket. I hit
the slide and spilled the clip into my other hand. I jacked the gun open
to show the chamber was empty and handed the whole shooting match to
Maiden.

"Didn't trust me to unload it for you?"

"I figured the Browning might be too small for your hands. Requires fine
motor skills."

"You giving me shit?" he said.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm giving you shit."

He smiled then. He looked the Browning over before he put it in a desk
drawer along with the clip. "Not a bad gun if you can't handle anything
bigger." He locked the drawer--another brownie point for Maiden.

"It's not size that counts, Maiden. It's performance."

His smile widened to a grin. "Your friend still has to wait out here."

"I said that was fine. I meant it."

Maiden nodded and led the way back through the door that Belisarius had
come out of. There were two doors in the middle of the long, white
hallway. One said, Ladies, the other, Men.

"I'd hoped you coming out of this door meant you were visiting Richard."

"I'm afraid not. Mr. Zeeman has not relented."

"Relented," Maiden said, "relented. Now, that's a nice lawyer word."

"Reading improves your vocabulary, Officer Maiden. You should try it
sometime. Though I suppose you can get by with just looking at the
pictures."

"Ooh, I'm cut to the quick on that one," Maiden said.

"If you cut us, do we not bleed?" Belisarius asked.

Maiden shocked the hell out of me by giving the next line: "If you
tickle us, do we not laugh?"

Belisarius clapped softly. "Touch, Officer Maiden."

"Big and well read," I said. "I'm impressed."

He pulled a chain out of his pocket with keys on the end of it. "Don't
tell the other cops. They'd think I was a sissy."

I looked up at him, all the way up at him. "It's not reading Shakespeare
that makes you a sissy, Maiden. It's that damn gun. Only pansies carry
that much hardware."

He unlocked the door at the end of the hallway. "Got to carry something
big, Ms. Blake. Balances me out when I run."

That made me laugh. He opened the door and ushered us through. He locked
the door behind us and went down a long white stretch of hallway with
two closed doors on either side. "Wait here. I'll go make sure your
boyfriend is ready to see you."

"He's not my boyfriend," I said. It was becoming automatic, like an
involuntary reflex.

Maiden smiled and unlocked the door at the far end. He vanished through
it. "You and Officer Maiden seem to have hit it off, Ms. Blake."

"Cops dish out a lot of shit. Trick is, don't take it personally, and
dish back."

"I'll remember that next time."

I looked up Belisarius. "It might not work for you. You're a lawyer, and
you're wealthy."

"And I'm not an attractive woman," he said.

"That, too, though that can work against me with policemen."

Belisarius nodded.

Maiden stepped back through the far door. He was smiling like something
had amused the hell out of him. I was betting I wasn't going to think it
was funny. "I told Zeeman that for a fucking pervert, he had a cute
girlfriend."

"I'll bet that's not what you said," I said.

He nodded. "I asked him why, with a nice piece of ass like you for his
girlfriend, he had to go out and rape somebody."

"What'd he say?" I asked, face as blank as I could make it.

"He said you're not his girlfriend."

I nodded. "See, I told you so."

Maiden opened the door wide and motioned us through. "Ring the buzzer
when you want out." We stepped through, and he said, "Enjoy," as he
locked us in.

They must have gotten a deal on white paint because the entire room was
white, even the floor. It was like standing in the middle of a blizzard.
Two bunks, one on top the other, the bars on a small window, even the
toilet and sink were white. The only color was the bars that formed a
three-sided cage. Richard sat on the other side of the bars looking at
us.

He was sitting on the lower bunk. His hair fell in thick waves, nearly
hiding his face. In the stark whiteness of the overhead lights, the hair
looked darker than its normal honey brown, almost chestnut. He was
wearing a pale green dress shirt untucked, sleeves rolled back over
muscular forearms. His dark brown dress slacks were wrinkled from being
slept in. He unfolded his six-foot-one-inch body from the bunk. The
dress shirt stretched tightly across his shoulders and upper arms. He'd
bulked up a little since last I'd seen him, and he'd been pretty
muscular to begin with. Once upon a time, it would have been my great
pleasure to have peeled that shirt off and seen what was underneath, to
have run my hands over that lovely chest and those strong arms. But that
was then, and this was a whole new ball game, one that I really couldn't
win.

Richard came to stand at the bars, hands wrapping around them. "What are
you doing here, Anita?" His voice wasn't as angry as I feared it would
be. He sounded almost ordinary, and some tightness in the center of my
body relaxed.

Belisarius stepped away from us. He sat at the table outside the cell
and began spreading papers out of his briefcase. He tried to look very
busy and give us as much privacy as he could. It was a nice gesture.

"I heard you were in trouble."

"So you came to rescue me?" he made it a question. His solid brown eyes
stared at me, searching my face. His hair had fallen into his eyes. He
smoothed it back from his face in an achingly familiar gesture.

"I came to help."

"I don't need your help. I didn't do it."

Belisarius interrupted. "You've been charged with rape, Mr. Zeeman."

I turned and looked at Belisarius. "I thought it was attempted rape."

"I've been reading the file while I was waiting. Once I had Mr. Zeeman's
permission to act as his lawyer, I got access to the records. The rape
kit was negative for semen, but there was evidence of penetration.
Penetration is enough to constitute rape."

"I never had intercourse with her," Richard said. "It never got that
far."

"But you did date her," I said.

He looked at me. "Yes, I did." There was a little anger in his voice
now.

I let it go. I'd probably be grumpy, too, if I were in jail on
trumped-up charges. Hell, I'd be grumpy even if I had done it.

"The problem, Mr. Zeeman, is that without semen samples, you can't
really prove conclusively that you didn't violate Ms. Schaffer. If this
is a frame, it's a good one. You dated the woman more than once. She
went out with you and came home beaten up." He paged through one of the
files. "There was vaginal bruising, some tearing. If she wasn't raped,
it was still very rough."

"Becky said she liked it rough," Richard said quietly.

"When did how rough she liked sex come up in conversation?" I asked.

He met my eyes, no flinching, ready to be angry if I was angry. "When
she was trying to get me to go to bed with her."

"What exactly did she say?" Belisarius asked.

Richard shook his head. "I don't remember exactly, but I told her I was
afraid I'd hurt her. She said if I liked it rough, she was my girl."

I walked away from him to stand looking at the closed door. I didn't
want to be here for this. I turned around, and he was already staring at
me, already meeting my gaze. "Is this why you wanted to see both of us
at once? So I'd hear all the details?"

He gave a harsh sound, almost laughter, but bitter. A strange look
passed over his face. Once I could have read his every thought on his
face, in his eyes. Now I didn't know him. Sometimes I thought I'd never
known him, that we'd both been fooling ourselves. "If you want details,
I can give you details. Not about Betty, but there's Lucy and Carrie and
Mira. Especially Lucy and Mira. I can give you details on them."

"I heard you'd been a busy boy," I said. My voice was softer than I
wanted it to be, but normal. I wasn't going to cry.

"Who told you to come down here, Anita? Who disobeyed me?" That first
prickling roil of energy crept through the room. Sometimes you could
forget what Richard really was. He was better at hiding it than any
lycanthrope I knew. I glanced at Belisarius. He seemed oblivious. Good,
he wasn't sensitive to it. But I was. The power crept over my skin like
a warm wind.

"No one disobeyed you, Richard."

"Someone told you." His hands flexed on the bars, rubbing over and over.
I knew he could have ripped them out of the floor. He could have knocked
a hole through the back wall if he wanted to. The fact that he was still
in this cage was only because he didn't want out badly enough to blow
his cover. A mild-mannered junior high science teacher could not bend
steel bars.

I leaned close to the bars, lowering my voice. His otherworldly energy
breathed along my skin. "Do you really want to discuss this now, in
front of a stranger?"

Richard leaned in so close his forehead pressed against the bars. "He's
my lawyer. Doesn't he need to know?"

I leaned in so close I could have touched him through the bars. I wanted
to touch him. He didn't seem quite real this way. "You really are a babe
in the woods on this one, aren't you?"

"I've never been arrested before," he said.

"No, that was always my job."

He almost smiled. Some of that energy leaked away. His beast sliding
away inside that perfect camouflage.

I touched the cool, metal bars, sliding my hands just below his. "I bet
you thought you might be visiting me like this someday, but not the
other way around."

He gave a small smile. "Yeah, and I'd bake you a cake with a file in
it."

I smiled. "You don't need a file, Richard." I slid my hands over his. He
squeezed my fingers gently. "You need a good lawyer, and I brought you
one."

He stepped away from the bars. "Why do I need a lawyer when I'm
innocent?"

Belisarius answered, "You've been charged with rape. The judge has
refused you bail. Son, if we can't break her story, you're looking at
two to five years, if we're lucky. The pictures are in the file. She was
beat up pretty bad. She's a pretty little blond thing. She'll come into
court dressed like everyone's favorite second grade teacher. The one you
had a crush on that smelled like Ivory soap." He stood up and started
walking towards us as he talked. "We'll cut your hair--"

"Cut his hair?" I exclaimed.

Belasarius frowned at me. "Cut your hair, dress you up nice. It helps
that you're handsome and white, but you're still a big, strong-looking
man." He shook his head. "It's not you we have to prove innocent, Mr.
Zeeman. It's Ms. Schaffer we have to prove guilty."

Richard frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We have to make her look like the whore of Babylon. But first, I'll
file a motion that no bail is excessive for a first offense. Hell, you
don't even have a traffic ticket. I'll get you bail."

"How long will it take?" I asked.

Belisarius looked at me a little too hard. "Is there a time limit I'm
not aware of?"

Richard and I looked at each other as if on cue. Then he said, "Yes,"
and I said, "No."

"Well, which is it, boys and girls, yes or no? Is there something I need
to know here?"

Richard looked at me, then said, "No, I guess not."

Belisarius didn't like it, but he let it go. "Okay, kiddies. I'll take
your word for it, but if this piece of information that I don't need to
know comes up and bites me on the ass, I will not be amused."

"It won't," I said.

He shook his head. "If it does, I will leave Mr. Zeeman high and dry.
You will be finding yourself a new lawyer faster than you can say
penitentiary."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Richard said. "How can this be happening?"

"Why would she cry rape on you?" I asked.

"Somebody did it," Belisarius said. "If not you, then who?"

Richard shook his head. "Betty dates a lot. I know of at least three
other men, myself."

"We'll need their names."

"Why?" he asked.

"Son, if you are going to argue with me every step of the way, this
won't work."

"I just don't want to drag anyone else into this."

"Richard," I said, "you are in trouble here. Let Carl do his job,
please."

Richard looked at me. "You dropped everything to ride to my rescue,
huh?"

I smiled. "Pretty much."

He shook his head. "How'd Jean-Claude feel about that?"

I looked away, not meeting his eyes. "He wasn't thrilled, but he wants
you out of jail."

"I'll just bet he does."

"Look, kiddies, we don't have a lot of time here. If you two can't curb
the personal stuff, maybe Anita here should leave."

I nodded. "I agree. You're going to have to tell him details about Ms.
Schaffer that I don't want to hear. And you need to be able to talk
freely about her."

"Are you jealous?" Richard asked.

I took in a deep breath and let it out. I would have liked to have said
no, but he could smell a lie. I'd been doing okay until he'd made that
crack about Betty being his girl for the rough stuff. That had bugged
me. "I have no right to be jealous of you, Richard."

"But you are, aren't you?" he asked. He watched my face while he asked
it.

I had to force myself to meet his eyes while I answered. I wanted to
dunk my head, and I couldn't stop the rush of color up my face. "Yeah,
I'm jealous. Happy?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"I'm out of here." I wrote the phone number of the cabin on Belisarius's
notebook and pressed the buzzer to be let out.

"I'm glad you came, Anita," Richard said.

I kept my back turned to the door, hoping Maiden would hurry. "I wish I
could say the same, Richard."

The door opened. I escaped.

Chapter 7
---------

"Have fun visiting your boyfriend?" Maiden asked as he followed me down
the hall.

I waited at the second locked door. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Everyone keeps saying that." Maiden unlocked the door and held it open.
"Maybe it's a case of the lady protesting too much."

"Take your library card and shove it, Maiden."

"Ooh," he said, "that was nasty. Wonder if I can think of a comeback
half that good."

"Let me have my gun, Maiden."

He locked the door behind us. Jason was sitting in the little row of
chairs across from the desk. He looked up. "Can we go home now?"

"Wasn't Officer Maiden entertaining?" I asked.

"He wouldn't let me play with his handcuffs," Jason said.

Maiden went behind the desk and unlocked the drawer. He brought out the
Browning, slipped the clip back in it, and pulled the slide back, which
jacked a shell into the chamber. He checked the safety and handed it to
me, butt first.

"You think Myerton's dangerous enough to need to carry one in the
chamber?" I asked.

Maiden looked at me. It was a long look as if he were trying to tell me
something. "You never know," he said finally.

We stood staring at each other for a few frozen moments, then I put the
Browning in the holster with the bullet ready to go, though I checked
the safety twice. Didn't usually go around with a live round in the
chamber. Made me nervous. Made me more nervous that Maiden might be
trying to warn me. Of course, he might just be yanking my chain. Some
cops, especially small town ones, tended to give me grief. Being a
vampire executioner made some of them want to trade macho shit with me,
like getting me to carry a live round in the chamber.

"Have a nice day, Blake."

"You, too, Maiden," I said.

I had the door open, Jason at my back, when Maiden said, "Be careful out
there."

His eyes were guarded. There was nothing to read on his face. I am not a
subtle person, big surprise. "You got something to say, Maiden?" I
asked.

"I'm going to be taking my lunch break after you leave."

I looked at him. "It's ten o'clock in the morning. Little early for
lunch, don't you think?"

"Just thought you'd like to know I won't be here."

"I'll try and squelch my disappointment," I said.

He flashed a quick grin, then stood. "I gotta lock the door behind you,
since I'm leaving the desk unattended."

"Locking Belasarius in with Richard?"

"I won't be gone that long," he said. He opened the door for us, waiting
for us to go outside.

"I don't like games, Maiden. What the fuck is going on?"

He wasn't smiling when he said, "If the fancy lawyer gets bail for your
boyfriend, I'd leave town."

"You're not suggesting he jump bail, are you, Officer?"

"His family has been here almost from the first night he was taken into
custody. Before that, it was the scientists that he's been working with.
A lot of nice, upstanding citizens standing around for witnesses. But
the nice upstanding citizens won't be here forever."

Maiden and I looked at each other. I stood there for a minute, wondering
if he'd stop hinting and just tell me what the hell was going on. He
didn't.

I nodded at him. "Thanks, Maiden."

"Don't thank me," he said. He locked the door behind us.

My hand wasn't on the butt of the Browning, but it was sort of close to
it. It'd be silly to draw the gun on a nice August morning in a town
with a population lower than most college dorms.

"What was that all about?" Jason asked.

"If we don't get Richard out, he's going to get hurt. The only reason he
hasn't been yet is that there have been too many witnesses. Too many
people to ask questions."

"If the cops are in on it," Jason said, "why would Maiden warn us?"

"He's not happy about being in on it, maybe. Oh, hell, I don't know. But
it means that someone wanted Richard in jail for a reason."

A pickup truck pulled across the street in front of the little grey
house that Shang-Da was camped out in. Four men jumped out of the back.
There was at least one more in the cab. He slid out of sight, and they
formed a semicircle at the base of the porch. One of them had a baseball
bat.

"Well, well," Jason said. "You think if we bang on the doors and yell
for police help, we'll get it?"

I shook my head. "Maiden did help us. He warned us."

"I'm all warm and cozy with the effort," Jason said.

"Yeah," I said. I started walking across the street. Jason followed a
couple of steps behind. I was thinking as hard as I could. I had a gun
and they might not.

But if I killed somebody, I'd be bunking with Richard. Myerton's legal
system didn't seem to take to well to strangers.

Shang-Da stood on the porch, looking down at the men. He'd taken off the
billed cap. His black hair was cut very short on the sides and longer on
top. The hair was shiny with gel but squashed flat from the cap. He
stood balanced on his bare feet, long arms loose at his sides. He wasn't
in a fighting stance yet, but I knew the signs.

His eyes flicked to us, and I knew he'd seen us. The thugs hadn't yet.
Amateur thugs. Didn't mean they weren't dangerous, but it meant you
might be able to bluff them. Professional muscle tended to call a bluff.

A small, elderly woman came through the screen door to stand next to
Shang-Da. She leaned heavily on a cane, her back bowed. Her grey and
white hair was cut very short and permed in one of those tight hairdos
that elderly women seem so fond of. She wore an apron over a pink
housedress. Her knee-high hose were rolled down over fuzzy slippers.
Glasses perched on a small nose.

She shook a bony fist at the men. "You boys get off my property."

The man with the baseball bat said, "Now, Millie, this has got nothing
to do with you."

"This is my grandson you're threatening," she said.

"He ain't her grandson," another man said. He was wearing a faded
flannel shirt open like a jacket.

"Are you calling me a liar, Mel Cooper?" the woman asked.

"I didn't say that," Mel said.

If we'd been someplace more private, I'd have just wounded one of them.
It would have gotten their attention and called the fight off. But I'd
have bet almost any amount of money that if I shot one of them, the
mysterious sheriff would ride to their rescue. Maybe the plan was to get
more of us in jail. I was too new on the scene to even make an educated
guess.

Jason and I walked up onto the grass. Mel was the closest to us. He
turned, showing a stained undershirt and a beer gut beneath the flannel
shirt. Ooh, charming.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"Well, aren't you just Mr. Smooth."

He took a menacing step towards me. I smiled at him. He frowned at me.
"Answer the fucking question, girlie. Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter who she is," the one with the baseball bat said. "This
isn't any of her business. Leave it alone, or you'll get what he's going
to get." He motioned with his head at Shang-Da.

"I get to the beat the crap out of you, too?" I said. "Oh, goody."

Baseball Bat frowned at me, too. I had two of them puzzled. Confusion to
my enemies.

The woman shook a bony fist at them again. "You get off my property, or
I will call Sheriff Wilkes."

One of the men laughed, and another said, "Wilkes will be along. When
we're finished."

Baseball Bat said, "Come down off that porch, boy, or we're coming up
after you."

He was ignoring me. He was ignoring Jason. They weren't just amateur
muscle. They were stupid amateur muscle.

Shang-Da's voice was surprisingly deep, very calm. There was no fear in
it--big surprise--but there was an undercurrent of eagerness, as if
under that calmness he was itching to hurt them. "If I come down off
this porch, you will not enjoy it."

The man with the baseball bat wheeled his weapon of choice in a quick,
professional circle. He used it like he knew how. Maybe he'd played ball
in high school. "Oh, I'll enjoy it, China boy."

"China boy," Jason said. I didn't have to see his face to know he was
smiling.

"Not very original is it?" I commented.

"Nope."

Mel turned towards us, and another man moved with him. "Are you making
fun of us?"

I nodded. "Oh, yeah."

"You think I won't hit you because you're a girl?" Mel asked.

It was tempting to say, "No, I think you won't hit me because I have a
gun," but I didn't say it. Once you pull a gun in a fight, you've pushed
the violence level to a height where death is a very real possibility. I
didn't want anyone dead with the cops waiting to ride down and sweep us
up. Didn't want to go to jail. I have a black belt in judo. But Mel's
companion was almost as big as Officer Maiden, and not half as pretty.
They both outweighed me and Jason by a hundred pounds apiece, or more.
They'd been big most of their lives. They thought it made them tough. Up
until this moment, it probably had. In fact, it still might. I wasn't
going to stand there and trade blows with them. I'd loose. Whatever I
was going to do had to be quick and take my opponent out immediately.
Anything less, and I stood a very good chance of getting seriously hurt.

I'd bet on me against any bad guy my size. Trouble was, as usual, none
of the bad guys were my size. There was a tightness in my gut, a nervous
tremble. I realized with something close to shock that I was more afraid
right now than I had been with Jamil in the truck. This wasn't a
dominance game with rules. No one was going to say uncle when someone
was bleeding. Scared? Who, me? But it had been a long time since I'd
stood up to the bad guys without pulling a weapon. Was I becoming too
dependent on hardware? Maybe.

Jason and I moved back, sliding a little away from each other. You need
room to fight. The thought occurred that I'd never really seen Jason
fight. He could have thrown the pickup truck they came in across the
street, but I didn't know if he knew how to fight. If you throw human
beings around like toys, people can get badly hurt. I didn't want Jason
in jail, either.

"Don't kill anyone," I said.

Jason smiled, but it was just a baring of teeth. "Gee, you're no fun."
That first prickle of energy that said shapeshifter breathed along my
body.

Mel had been moving forward in a flat-footed, untrained movement. No
martial arts, no boxing, just big. The other guy was in a stance. He
knew what he was doing. Jason could heal a broken jaw in less than a
day; I couldn't. I wanted Mel. But he'd stopped moving forward. There
were goose bumps on his hairy arms. "What the hell was that?"

He was big and stupid, but he was psychic enough to feel a shapeshifter.
Interesting.

"Who the hell are we? What the hell was that? Mel, you need better
questions," I said.

"Fuck you," he said.

I smiled and motioned him forward with both hands. "Come and get it,
Mel, if you think you're man enough."

He let out a roar and ran at me. He literally ran at me with his beefy
arms wide like he was going to do a bear hug. The bigger guy with him
rushed Jason. I had a sense of movement and knew Shang-Da wasn't on the
porch anymore. There was no time to be afraid. No time to think. Just to
move. To do what I'd done a thousand times in practice in the dojo, but
never in real life. Never for real.

I ducked Mel's outstretched arms and did two things almost
simultaneously: I caught his left arm as he went past and swept his legs
out from under him. He fell heavily to his knees, and I got a joint lock
on his arm. I really hadn't decided to break the arm. A joint lock on an
elbow hurts enough that most people will negotiate after you prove just
how much it hurts. Mel didn't give me time. I caught a flash of the
blade. I broke his arm. It made a thick wet sound, flopping loose like a
chicken wing bent backwards.

He shrieked. Screaming didn't cover the sound. The blade was in his
other hand, but he seemed to have forgotten it for the moment.

"Drop the knife, Mel," I said.

He tried to get to his feet, one knee hyperextended to the side. I
kicked the knee and heard it give a deep, low pop. A bone breaking is a
crisp, sharp sound. A joint doesn't break as clean, but it breaks
easier.

He fell on the ground, writhing, screaming.

"Throw the knife away, Mel!" I was yelling at him.

The knife went airborne, lost across the fence into the next yard. I
stepped away from Mel, just in case he had another surprise. Everybody
else had been busy, too.

The big one that had attacked Jason was lying in a heap by the pickup
truck. There was a fresh dent in the side of the truck, as if he'd been
thrown into the side of it. He probably had.

A third man lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the porch steps. He
wasn't moving. Another man was trying to crawl away, one leg dangling
behind him like a broken tail. He was crying.

Shang-Da was trying to break through the man with the baseball bat's
defenses. Jason was fighting a tall, thin man with muscles corded along
his bare arms. He was in a low fighting stance, Tae Kwon Do or jujitsu.

Shang-Da took two blows on each arm from the baseball bat, then he took
the bat away from him. He broke the bat into two large pieces. The man
turned to run. Shang-Da started to stab him in the back with the broken
end of the bat.

I yelled, "Don't kill him."

Shang-Da flipped the broken wood in his hand and smashed the unbroken
end against the man's skull. He went to his knees so suddenly it was
startling.

The tall man fighting Jason crept forward in a fast crab movement that
looked sort of silly, but his foot lashed out and Jason had to throw
himself back onto the ground. Jason kicked at him, but the tall man
leaped over the kick so high and so gracefully that he seemed to float
in the air for a moment.

Sirens wailed, coming quickly closer.

Baseball Bat fell forward onto his face. He never tried to catch
himself. He was out for the count.

The only one of the bad guys standing was the tall man. Jason scrambled
to his feet quickly enough to stay just ahead of the punches and kicks,
but not well enough to hurt him back. Super strength does not mean super
skill.

Shang-Da started to move in to help.

Jason looked at Shang-Da, and that was all the tall man needed. He
landed a kick to the side of Jason's head that stunned him and left him
on his knees on the ground. The man turned and I saw the roundhouse kick
coming. It was a kick that could snap someone's neck. I was closer than
Shang-Da. I didn't even think about it. I moved forward and knew it
wouldn't be in time. But the tall man saw the movement. He switched his
attention from Jason to me.

I was suddenly in a defensive stance. He reversed the kick, and I
managed to avoid it because he was off balance. There were two police
cars skidding down the street towards us. Shang-Da stopped moving
forward. I think we both thought the fight was over. The tall man
thought otherwise.

The kick was just a blur of motion. I got one arm up in a partial block.
My arm went numb and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back
staring up at the sky. It didn't even hurt.

He could have moved in and killed me, because for a second, I couldn't
move. There was no sound for that frozen second, just me on the grass,
blinking upward. Then I could hear my blood pounding in my ears. I took
a deep gasping breath and I could hear human voices again.

A man's voice yelled, "Freeze, motherfucker!"

I tried to say, "Colorful," but no sound came out. I could taste blood
in my mouth. My face didn't hurt that much yet; I was sort of numb. I
opened my mouth just to see if I could. I could. My jaw wasn't broken.
Great. I raised one arm upward and managed to say, "Help me up."

Jason said, "They've got guns pointed at us."

Millie came down off the porch with her cane. She looked funny from my
angle, like a fuzzy-footed giant. "Don't you be pointing guns at my
grandson and his friends. These men attacked them."

"Attacked them?" said a man's voice. "Looks like your 'grandson' and his
friends attacked them."

I fumbled my ID out of my jacket pocket and held it up in the air. I
could probably have sat up on my own, but since I'd taken a hit, I might
as well use it. I was hurt, and the more hurt the cops thought I was,
the less likely we'd be going to jail. If only the bad guys had been
hurt, then we'd have all ended up in jail on assault charges or worse. I
hadn't checked for pulses in at least two of the thugs. They'd been
lying awfully still. This way we could all press assault charges. They
could put us all in jail, or none in jail. Or that was the plan. As
plans go, I'd had better ones. I was lucky my jaw wasn't broken.

"Anita Blake, vampire executioner," I said. The announcement would have
had a little more oomph if I hadn't been flat on my back, but hey, you
do what you can. I did roll onto one side. My mouth had filled with
enough blood that I either had to spit or swallow. I spat onto the
grass. Even rolling onto my side made the world spin. I wondered for a
second or two if I was going to spit up more on the grass than just
blood. The nausea passed, leaving me worried about a concussion. I'd had
them before, and they usually made me sick to my stomach.

I couldn't see Millie anymore, but I could hear her. "You put up those
guns, Billy Wilkes, or I will tan your hide with my cane."

"Now, Miss Millie," the male voice said.

I repeated who I was and said, "I need some help to stand. Can my people
help me up, please?"

The male voice, Sheriff Wilkes I presumed, sounded a little uncertain,
but said, "They can move."

Jason grabbed the arm that was holding my ID up in the air. He looked
down at me and pulled me to my feet. It was too quick and I didn't have
to pretend that the world went spinning. When my knees buckled, I didn't
fight it. I slid to my knees and Shang-Da took my other arm. Between the
two of them, they got me standing and facing the cops.

Sheriff Wilkes was about five foot eight, and he was wearing a pale blue
Smokey the Bear hat and a matching uniform. He looked trim and in shape
like he worked out and took it seriously. The gun at his side was a ten
mil Beretta. It was holstered. The day was looking up.

He stared at me with eyes a dark, solid, trustworthy brown. He took the
hat off and wiped sweat from his forehead. His hair was a pale salt and
pepper and made me put his age at over forty. "Anita Blake, I've heard
of you. What are you doing in our town?"

I spat another mouthful of blood into the grass and managed to stand
more than sag between Shang-Da and Jason. Truth was, I could have stood
on my own. But all the bad guys were on the ground. Even the one that
had kicked me was down for the count. Shang-Da must have stepped in
after I went down. I knew Jason couldn't have taken the tall man.

"I came to see a friend in your jail--Richard Zeeman."

"Friend?" he made it a question.

"Yeah, friend."

There were two deputies behind Wilkes. They were both over six feet
tall. One of them had a scar that went from eyebrow to jaw on one side.
Jagged; more a broken bottle than a knife. The other deputy had a
shotgun in his hands. It wasn't pointed at us, but it was there.
Scarface snickered at me. The one with the shotgun just stared with eyes
as empty and pitiless as a doll's.

Maiden was standing behind the others, hands in front, one hand clasping
his opposite wrist. His face was blank, but there was an edge around his
mouth that said he was trying not to smile.

"We've got to run you all in for assault," Wilkes said.

"Great," I said, "I can't wait to press charges."

He looked at me, his eyes just a touch wide. "You're the only ones
standing, Ms. Blake. I don't think you have grounds to press charges."

I leaned a little heavier against Jason. A trickle of blood ran from the
corner of my mouth. I could feel my eye already starting to swell. I've
always been a bleeder if you hit me in the face. I knew I looked
pitiful. "They attacked us, and we were forced to defend ourselves." I
let my knees slide out from under me. Shang-Da caught me and lifted me
easily in his arms. I closed my eyes and curled against his chest.

"Shit," Wilkes said.

"Look at that poor little girl, Billy Wilkes," Millie said. "You going
to take her before Judge Henry. What do you think he's going to do to
the rest of these hooligans? He's got a daughter about her age."

"Shit," Wilkes said again with more force. "Let's get everybody down to
the hospital. We'll sort it out there."

"Ambulance is on its way," Maiden said.

"One won't be enough," Wilkes said.

Maiden laughed low and deep. "There aren't enough ambulances in the
county for this many bodies."

"There would have been enough for three," Wilkes said.

I tensed in Shang-Da's arms. He tightened around me, one hand pressed
against the side of my head firmly enough that raising up would have
hurt my face. I let the breath ease out of my body and concentrated on
being still, but I'd remember what Wilkes had said. We'd see who got the
ambulance ride next time.

Chapter 8
---------

It took one ambulance, one pickup truck, two squad cars, Santa's sleigh,
and me riding in the van for everyone to get to the hospital. Okay, not
Santa's sleigh, but we did look like a parade. Nearly six hours later,
we were back in Myerton in the only interrogation room they had. I'd
been the only one of the injured that got to leave the hospital.

The guy that Jason had thrown into the truck might have permanent spine
damage. They'd know when the swelling went down. Two of the three that
Shang-Da had knocked unconscious had regained consciousness. They had
concussions but would recover. The third was still out for the count,
and the doctors were talking about swelling of the brain and skull
fractures. Shang-Da had also done the bad guy with the compound
fracture. I only had Mel to my credit, but he was in worse shape than
the compound fracture. It takes a hell of a lot of work to heal a joint
break. Sometimes you never recover full use of the limb. I felt sort of
bad about that, but he had pulled the knife.

Belisarius had been a busy little lawyer. He'd not only arranged bail
for Richard, but he'd also been representing us for the last hour or so.
Richard was a free man, temporarily. If Belisarius could keep the rest
of us out of jail, he was worth the money.

Wilkes didn't want to arrest us, but he wanted to take our fingerprints.
I didn't have a problem with that until Shang-Da did. He really didn't
want his prints taken, which made both Wilkes and me suspicious. But if
Shang-Da wouldn't do it, then none of us would. I told Wilkes if he
wanted our prints, he had to charge us with something. He seemed
reluctant to do that.

Maybe it was because I'd used my one phone call to contact a cop I knew,
who in turn had contacted an FBI agent I knew.

Having a call from the feds made Wilkes jumpy as hell. The bad guys had
ambushed us across from the police station. You didn't do a planned
attack right next door to the cops unless you were pretty sure they
wouldn't spoil the fun. The bad guys had known the police wouldn't help
us. They'd said as much during the fight, challenging Millie to call
Wilkes, like it wouldn't help. But Wilkes's reaction to the call from
the feds sort of clinched it for me. Policemen are very territorial. No
federal laws had been broken. The FBI had no business in a simple
assault case. Wilkes should have been pissed, and he wasn't. Oh, he made
noises like he was angry, and he was, but he should have raised hell,
and he didn't. His reaction to everything was just a little bit off--a
little bit less convincing than it should have been.

I was betting he was dirty. I just couldn't prove it yet. Of course, it
wasn't my job to prove it. I'd come down here to get Richard out of
jail, and we'd done that.

Wilkes finally asked to speak with me alone. Belisarius didn't like it,
but he left with the others. I sat at the little table and looked at
Wilkes.

It was the cleanest interrogation room I'd ever been in. The table was
pale pine and looked handmade. The walls were white and clean. Even the
linoleum on the floor was hospital bright. I didn't think Myerton got a
lot of use for the room. It'd probably started life as a storage closet.
It had been almost too small to hold five of us, but there was room for
two.

Wilkes pulled a chair out and sat across from me. He clasped his hands
in front of him and looked at me. There was a band around his head where
the hair had been pressed flat from the hat. There was a plain gold
wedding band on his left hand and one of those watches that joggers use,
big and black and utilitarian. Since I had the lady's version of the
same watch on my left wrist, it was hard to criticize.

"What?" I said. "You going to give me the silent treatment until I
scream for mercy?"

He gave a very small smile. "Made some phone calls about you, Blake.
There's a lot of talk that you'll bend the law if you need to. That
maybe you've murdered people."

I just looked at him. I could feel my face thinning out, blanking. Once
upon a time, every emotion I'd felt had played along my face, but that
was a while ago. I'd perfected my blank cop stare, and it showed
nothing.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" I asked.

The smile this time was bigger. "I just like to know who I'm dealing
with, Blake, that's all."

"Good to be thorough," I said.

He nodded. "I got calls from a Saint Louis cop, a fed, and a state cop.
The state cop says you're a pain in the ass and will bend the law six
ways to Sunday."

"Bet that was Freemount," I said. "She's still pissed about a case we
worked together."

He nodded, smiling pleasantly. "The fed sort of hinted that if you were
detained, he might find a reason to have the local federal office to
come take a look around."

I smiled. "Bet you really enjoyed that."

His brown eyes went hard and dark. "I don't want the feebies down here
messing in my pond."

"I'll bet you don't, Wilkes."

His face tightened, letting me see just how angry he was. "What the fuck
do you care?"

I leaned across the table on my elbows. "You should be more careful who
you do a frame-up job on, Wilkes."

"He's a fucking junior high science teacher. How was I supposed to know
he was shacking up with the fucking Executioner?"

"We're not shacking up," I said automatically. I sat back in my seat.
"What do you want, Wilkes? Why the private talk?"

He ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and for the first
time, I realized how nervous he was. He was scared. Why? What the hell
was happening in this tiny town?

"If the rape charges disappear, Zeeman is free to leave town. You and
everybody go with him. No harm, no foul."

A sport's metaphor--ooh, I was all a-tingle. "I didn't come down here to
sniff around your mess, Wilkes. I'm not a cop. I came down here to get
Richard out of trouble."

"He's out of trouble if he leaves."

"I'm not his keeper, Wilkes. I can't promise what Richard will do."

"Why does a schoolteacher have bodyguards?" Wilkes asked.

I shrugged. "Why do you want the schoolteacher out of the way bad enough
to frame him for rape?"

"We've all got our secrets, Blake. You make sure he leaves town and
takes his assassins with him, and we can all keep our secrets."

I looked at my hands spread on the smooth tabletop. I looked back up,
met his eyes. "I'll talk to Richard, see what I can do. But I can't
promise anything until after I've talked to him."

"Make him listen, Blake. Zeeman is so clean he squeaks, but you and I
know the score."

I shook my head. "Yeah, I know the score, and I know what people say
about me." I stood up.

He stood up. We looked at each other.

"I don't always pay attention to the letter of the law, that's true. One
of the reasons Richard and I aren't dating anymore is that he is so
fucking squeaking clean it makes my teeth hurt. But we have one thing in
common."

"What's that?" Wilkes asked.

"Push us, and we push back. Richard usually for moral grounds, because
it's the right thing to do. Me, because I am just that unpleasant."

"Unpleasant," Wilkes said. "Mel Cooper may never walk right again or
have the full use of his left arm."

"He shouldn't have pulled a knife on me," I said.

"If there hadn't been witnesses, would you have killed him?"

I smiled, and even to me, it felt like a strange smile, not humorous,
unpleasant maybe. "I'll talk to Richard. Hopefully, we'll be out of your
hair before tomorrow night."

"I wasn't always a small-town cop, Blake. Don't let the surroundings
fool you. I will not let you and your people fuck with me."

"Funny," I said. "I was thinking the very same thing."

"Well," Wilkes said, "we know where we stand."

"I guess we do," I said.

"I hope come dark tomorrow you and your friends are on your way out of
town."

I stared into his brown eyes. I'd looked into scarier eyes, blanker,
more dead. He didn't have the eyes of a professional killer. He didn't
even have good cop eyes. I could see the fear shiny and almost panicked
around the edges. No, I'd seen scarier eyes. But that didn't mean he
wouldn't kill me if he got the chance. Make even a good man scared
enough, and you never know what he'll do. Make a bad man scared, and you
are in trouble. Wilkes probably hadn't killed anybody yet or they
wouldn't have framed Richard for rape. They'd have framed him for murder
or just killed him. So Wilkes hadn't slid completely down into the
abyss. But once you embrace the screaming darkness, eventually, you
kill. Maybe Wilkes didn't know that yet, but if we pushed hard enough,
he'd figure it out.

Chapter 9
---------

By the time I got back to the cabins, it was after seven. It was August,
so it was still daylight, but you could tell it was late. There was a
softness to the light, a tiredness to the heat as if the day itself was
eager for night. Or maybe it was just me that was tired.

My face hurt. At least I hadn't had to have stitches in my mouth. The
EMS guy on the ambulance had said I'd need a couple of stitches. When I
got to the hospital, the doctor said I didn't. A very bright spot for
me. I'm sort of phobic about needles. But I've taken stitches with no
painkiller and that ain't fun, either.

Jamil was standing in front of the cabins. He'd changed into black jeans
and a T-shirt with a smiley face on it. The T-shirt was cut across the
middle so his abs showed. Though my dance card was full of attractive
men, Jamil did have one of the nicest stomachs I'd ever seen. The
muscles stood out under the tight smoothness of his skin like shingles
on a roof. It didn't even look real. Somehow, I didn't think you needed
cobblestone abs to be a good bodyguard. But hey, everyone needs a hobby.

"I'm sorry I missed the fun," he said. He touched my bruised lip gently.
It still made me wince. "I'm surprised you let anyone mark you."

"She did it on purpose," Shang-Da said.

Jamil looked at him.

"Anita pretended to faint," Jason said. "She looked really pitiful."

Jamil looked back at me.

I shrugged. "I didn't let someone kick me in the face on purpose. But
once I was down, I did play up how hurt I was. This way, we could press
our own assault charges."

"I didn't think you lied that well," Jamil said.

"Live and learn," I said. "Where's Richard? I need to talk to him."

Jamil glanced behind him at one of the cabins, then back to me. There
was a look on his face that I couldn't read. "He's cleaning up. He's
been in the same clothes for two days."

I stared at his so-careful face, trying to figure out what he wasn't
telling me. "What's going on, Jamil?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Don't give me grief, Jamil. I need to talk to Richard--now."

"He's in the shower."

I shook my head, and it made my head hurt. "Screw this. What cabin is he
in?"

Jamil shook his head. "Give him a few minutes."

"Longer," Shang-Da said, his voice very bland.

Jason looked from one to the other of them, eyes just a touch wide.

"What is going on?" I asked.

The cabin door behind Jamil opened. A woman appeared in the doorway.
Richard had her arms and seemed to be trying to push her, gently but
firmly, out the door.

The woman turned and saw me. She had pale brown hair in one of those
hairdos that seem artless and simple yet actually take hours to do. She
pulled away from Richard and stalked towards us. No, towards me. Her
dark eyes were all for me.

"Lucy, don't," Richard said.

"I just want to smell her," Lucy said.

It was the kind of comment a dog might make if it could speak. Smell me,
not see me. We primates tend to forget that a lot of other mammals
consider smell more important than vision.

Lucy and I had time to study each other as she walked towards me. She
was only a little taller than me, maybe five foot six. Her walk was an
exaggerated sway so that the short, plum-colored skirt bloused around
her and you got glimpses of the hose and garters she was wearing
underneath. She was carrying a pair of black heels but walked towards us
in a graceful, almost tiptoe movement. Her blouse was a paler purple,
unbuttoned so that you glimpsed enough of the bra to know it was black
and matched the rest of the undies that you could see. And either the
bra was a wonderbra or she was, well, stacked. She was wearing more
makeup than I ever wore, but it was well-applied and made her skin look
smooth and perfect. Her dark lipstick was smeared.

I glanced behind her at Richard. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and
nothing else. Water still beaded on his naked chest. His thick hair
clung to his face and shoulders in wet strands. He had her dark lipstick
smeared across his mouth like a plum-colored bruise.

We looked at each other, and I don't think either of us knew what to
say.

The woman knew exactly what to say. "So you're Richard's human bitch."

It was so hostile, it made me smile.

She didn't like the smile. She stepped into me so close, I'd have to
step back to keep the edge of her skirt from brushing my legs. If I'd
had any doubt what she was, this close, her power danced over my skin
like insects swarming over my body. She was powerful.

I shook my head. "Look, before we get into any arcane werewolf shit or
worse, personal shit, I need to talk to Richard about jail and why the
local cops went to the trouble of framing him for rape."

She blinked at me. "My name is Lucy Winston. Remember it."

I looked into her pale brown eyes from inches away. I was close enough
to see the small imperfections in her eyeliner. Richard had mentioned a
Lucy in jail. He couldn't be dating two of them, could he?
"Lucy--Richard mentioned you," I said.

She blinked again, but this time she was puzzled. She took a step back
from me to glance at Richard. "You mentioned me to her?"

Richard nodded.

She backed up and looked on the verge of tears. "Then why . . ."

I glanced from one to the other of them. Why what, is what I wanted to
ask. But I didn't. I'd been enjoying disliking Lucy. If she cried, it
might spoil my fun.

I put my hands up like I was surrendering and stepped around her. I
walked towards Richard because we had to talk, but seeing Lucy in her
garters and hose had taken a lot of the fun out of it.

It was none of my business what he did. I was sleeping with Jean-Claude.
I was all out of stones to throw. So why was I having such a hard time
not being pissed? Maybe that was a question better left unanswered.

Richard stepped back out of the doorway so I could walk past him. He
closed the door behind me, leaning against it. We were suddenly alone,
really alone, and I didn't know what to say.

He leaned against the door with his hands behind his back. Water beaded
on his naked upper body. He'd always had a nice chest, but he had been
lifting weights since last I'd seen him without his shirt. His upper
body was almost aggressively masculine, though still short of that
overdone look that bodybuilders strive so hard for. He was slumped
against the door. It made his stomach muscles bunch. Once upon a time, I
could have helped him dry off. His hair was starting to dry in a wavy
mass. If he didn't do something soon, he'd have to wet it and start
over.

"Lucy drag you out of the shower without a towel?" The moment I said it,
I wished I hadn't. I put my hand up and said, "I'm sorry. It's none of
my business. I don't have the right to be catty with you."

He smiled, almost sadly. "I think that's the second time I've ever heard
you admit you were wrong."

"Oh, I'm wrong a lot. I just don't admit it out loud."

That made him smile again, and it was almost his normal smile. That
bright flash of perfect teeth in the permanent tan of his face. Most
people thought Richard was tanned. I knew it was skin color because I'd
seen the whole package. He was white bread, all Middle American, with a
family that made the Waltons look unfriendly, but a generation or so
back was something not so white bread.

Richard pushed away from the door. He walked towards me on his bare
feet. I was more aware than was polite of the line of hair running down
the center of his lower abdomen.

I turned away and said, "Why did they want you in jail?" Business,
concentrate on business.

"I'm not sure," he said. "May I get a towel and finish drying off while
we talk?"

"It's your cabin. Help yourself," I said.

He disappeared into the bathroom. I was left to look around. The cabin
was almost identical to mine except that it was yellow and it was more
lived in. The cheerful comforter was pushed onto the floor in a sunny
heap. The white sheets were wrinkled. Richard was almost fanatical about
making the bed. Somehow Lucy didn't strike me as the neat type. I was
betting she had mussed the bed. Of course, there was a wet spot on one
side, so maybe she'd had help.

I passed my hand over the damp sheets. Even the pillow was wet as if
that thick wet hair had laid across it. My throat felt tight, and if I
hadn't known better, I'd have said there were tears in my eyes. Naw,
surely not. I mean I'd been the one that dumped Richard. Why should I
cry?

The print above the bed was another Van Gogh, Sunflowers this time. I
wondered if every cabin had a Van Gogh print in a color that matched the
decor. Yeah, maybe if I concentrated on the room's furnishings, I
wouldn't keep wondering if Lucy had looked up at the melting sunflowers
while Richard . . .

I cut that particular visual off. I didn't need to go there--ever. Did I
really think that Richard was going to stay chaste while I boffed
Jean-Claude? Did I really expect him to just wait around? Maybe I had.
Stupid, but maybe true.

The bathroom door was still closed. I could hear water running. Was he
taking another shower? Maybe he was just wetting down his hair. Maybe.
Or maybe he was cleaning off. Sex was never as neat as the movies made
it. Real sex was messy. Good sex was messier.

Three months with Jean-Claude, and I was a sex expert. It was almost
funny. I'd been chaste until he came along. Not virginal. My fianc in
college had taken care of that. I'd fallen into my fianc's arms with
the trust that only first love can give you. It was one of the last
naive things I ever did.

Richard and I had been engaged, briefly. But we'd never had sex. We'd
both been chaste since our first experience in college with other
people. Just a personal choice that we both shared. Maybe if we'd given
in to that lust, there wouldn't be so much heat left between us. Of
course, lately, we'd been mostly fighting.

Richard had been too kindhearted, too tender, too squeamish to rule the
wolf pack. He'd had a chance to kill the old Ulfric, Marcus, twice; and
twice Richard refused the kill. No kill, no new Ulfric. I urged him to
kill Marcus. And after he did it, I dumped him. Unfair, wasn't it? Of
course, I hadn't told him to eat Marcus, just to kill him. What's a
little cannibalism between friends?

The water was still running in the bathroom. If I hadn't been afraid
he'd answer dripping wet in nothing but a towel, I'd have knocked and
asked him to hurry. But I'd seen enough of Mr. Zeeman for one day. Less
was definitely more.

There were pictures pinned above the desk. I walked towards them. I'd
had one semester of Primate Studies: North American. We'd all called it
troll class. The Lesser Smokey Mountain Troll is one of the smallest of
the North American trolls. They average between three and a half feet to
five feet. They are mostly vegetarians but will supplement their diet
with carrion and insects. I let all the stats run through my head as I
walked towards the pictures. They were covered in blackish fur from head
to foot. Crouched in the trees, huddled together, they looked like tall
chimpanzees or slender gorillas, but there were pictures of them
walking. They were completely bipedal. The only primate except man that
walked upright.

The close-up shots of faces were startling. Their faces were more furry
than the great apes and more manlike. Some early theories had said
trolls were the missing link between man and ape. There had been at
least two famous cases of circuses in the early 1900s that toured with
trolls but listed them as wild men. American settlers had been killing
trolls for centuries. By the early 1900s, they'd been rare enough to be
oddities.

Two things happened in 1910 that saved the trolls from utter
destruction. One: a scientific article was published that said that the
trolls used tools and buried their dead with flowers and personal
articles. The scientist very carefully did not project anything beyond
the basic findings, but the newspapers did. They declared that trolls
believed in an afterlife, that they believed in God.

An evangelical minister named Simon Barkley felt that God spoke to him.
He went out and captured a troll and tried to convert him to
Christianity. He wrote a book about his experiences with Peter (the
troll), and it became a best-seller. Suddenly, trolls were a cause
clbre.

One of my biology profs had kept a black-and-white photo of Peter the
Troll up in his office. Peter had his head bowed and his hands clasped.
He was even wearing clothes, though Minister Barkley was always
distressed that without constant supervision, Peter disrobed.

I wasn't sure how good a time Peter had with Barkley, but he saved his
species from almost certain extinction. Peter had been a North American
Cave Troll, the only species on this continent smaller than the Lesser
Smokey. Barkley had been moved by the spirit of God, but he hadn't been
stupid. There had still been Greater Smokey Mountain Trolls in those
days, eight to twelve feet tall and carnivorous. Barkley hadn't tried to
save one of them. Probably just as well. It would have been a real
downer if the troll had eaten Barkley instead of praying for him.

Trolls were the first protected species in America. The Greater Smokey
Mountain Troll was not protected. It was hunted to extinction; but then,
it pulled up large trees and beat the tourists to death and sucked the
marrow from their bones. Hard to get good press that way.

There was still a troll society called Peter's Friends. Even though it
was illegal to kill trolls, any trolls, for any reason, it still
happened. Hunters poached them. Though staring into those too-human
faces, I don't know how they did it. Not just for a trophy.

Richard stepped out of the bathroom in a rush of warm air. He was still
wearing the jeans, but now there was a towel on his head and a
blow-dryer in one hand. He had rewet his hair, though he seemed to have
gotten all of him in the shower to do it. Mercifully, he'd dried his
chest and arms off. His arms looked amazingly strong. I knew he could
have tossed around small elephants, regardless of how muscular he
looked, but the muscles helped remind me. Physically, he was a pleasure
to gaze upon. But it made me wonder why he'd been spending the extra
time on his body. Richard didn't usually sweat that kind of thing.

I pointed at the pictures. "These are great." I smiled and meant it.
Once upon a time, I'd envisioned spending my life in the field doing
this kind of work. A sort of preternatural Jane Goodall. Though
truthfully, primates hadn't been my main area of interest. Dragons,
maybe, or lake monsters. Nothing that wouldn't eat me if it got the
chance. But that had been long ago before Bert, my boss, recruited me to
raise the dead and slay vampires. Sometimes, even though Richard was
older than I was by three years, he made me feel old. He was still
trying to have a life amid all the strange shit. I'd given up on
anything but the strange shit. You couldn't do both equally well--or I
couldn't.

"I'll take you up to see them, if you'd like," he said.

"I'd love to, if it wouldn't upset the trolls."

"They're pretty accustomed to visitors. Carrie--Dr. Onslow--has started
allowing small groups of tourists to come and take pictures."

He'd mentioned a Carrie in the same breath with Lucy. Was this the same
woman? "Are you guys that hard up for money?" I asked.

He sat down on the side of the bed and plugged in the blow-dryer.
"You're always short of money on a project like this, but it's not money
we need. It's good press."

I frowned at him. "Why do you need good press?"

"Have you been reading the newspaper lately?" he asked. He removed the
towel from his head. His hair was dark and brown with moisture, heavy,
as if there was still water to be squeezed from it.

"You know I don't read the newspaper."

"You didn't own a television, either, but you do now."

I leaned my butt against the edge of his desk, as far away from him as I
could get and not leave the room. I'd bought the television so that he
and I could watch old movies and videos.

"I don't watch much television anymore."

"Jean-Claude not a fan of muscials?" Richard asked, and there was that
edge to his voice that I'd heard in the last few weeks: angry, jealous,
hurt, cruel.

It was almost a relief to hear it. His anger made everything easier.
"Jean-Claude's not much of a watcher. He's more a doer."

Richard's face thinned out, anger making his high, sculpted cheekbones
stand out underneath his skin. "Lucy isn't much of a watcher, either,"
he said, voice low and careful.

I laughed, and it wasn't a happy sound. "Thanks for making this easier,
Richard."

He stared down at the floor, his wet hair tucked to one side so his face
was in full profile. "I don't want to fight, Anita. I really don't."

"Could have fooled me," I said.

He looked up, and his chocolate brown eyes were dark with more than just
color. "If I'd wanted a fight, I could have just given in to Lucy. Let
you find us in the bed together."

"You're not mine, anymore, Richard. Why should it bother me what the
hell you do?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" He stood and started walking towards
me.

"Why did they frame you?" I asked. "Why did they want you in jail?"

"That's you, Anita. All business."

"And you let yourself get distracted, Richard. You don't keep your eye
on the ball." Geez, a sports metaphor. Maybe it was contagious.

"Fine," he said, and that one word was so angry that it almost hurt.
"The troll band that we're studying has broken into two bands. Their
birth rate is so low that they don't do that very often. It's the first
recorded offshoot for a North American troll troop in this century."

"This is all fascinating, but what does it have to do with anything?"

"Just shut up and listen," he said.

I did. That was a first.

"The second smaller troop moved out of the park. They've been on private
land for a little over a year. The farmer who owned the land was okay
with that. In fact, he was sort of pleased. Carrie brought him up to see
the first troll baby born on his land, and he carried the picture in his
wallet."

I looked at him. "Sounds great."

"The farmer, Ivan Greene, died about six months ago. His son was not a
nature lover."

"Ah," I said.

"But trolls are a severely endangered species. And they're not like the
snail darter, or the velvet-back toad. They're a big, showy animal. The
son tried to sell the land, and we got it stopped legally."

"But the son wasn't happy with that," I said.

Richard smiled. "Not hardly."

"So he took you to court," I said.

"Not exactly," Richard said. "We expected him to do that. In fact, we
should have known something was wrong when he didn't keep us tied up in
court."

"What did he do?" I asked.

The anger was leaking away as Richard talked. He always had to work
really hard to stay angry. Me, it was one of my best things. He
retrieved the towel from the bed and started drying his hair while he
talked.

"Goats started disappearing from a local farmer."

"Goats?" I said.

Richard peered at me through a curtain of wet hair. "Goats."

"Somebody's been reading too much 'Billy Goat Gruff,' " I said.

Richard wrapped the towel more firmly around his head and sat down on
the bed. "Exactly," he said. "No one who really knew anything about
trolls would have taken goats. Even the European Lesser Trolls that do
hunt will take your dog before they'll take your goat."

"So it was a setup," I said.

"Yeah, but the newspapers got hold of it. We were still okay until the
dogs and cats started disappearing."

"They got smarter," I said.

"They listened to Carrie's interviews where she discussed food
preferences," he said.

I'd come to stand at the foot of the bed. "Why are the local cops
interested in some land squabble?"

"Wait, it gets worse," he said.

I picked up the spilled comforter and sat on the edge of the bed with it
bundled in my lap. "How worse?"

"A man's body was found two weeks ago. It was just one of those horrible
hiking accidents at first. He fell off the mountain. It happens,"
Richard said.

"Having seen some of the mountains, I'm not surprised," I said.

"But somehow the body was listed as a troll kill."

I frowned at him. "It's not like a shark kill, Richard. How did they
tell a troll did it?"

"A troll didn't do it," Richard said.

I nodded. "Of course not, but what was their proof, false or otherwise?"

"Carrie tried to get the coroner's report. But it was leaked to the
newspapers first. The man had been beaten to death and had bites out of
his body from animals. Troll bites."

I shook my head. "Anybody who dies in these mountains is going to have
animal bites on the body. Trolls are known scavengers."

"Not according to Sheriff Wilkes," Richard said.

"What does the sheriff get out of this?"

"Money," Richard said.

"Do you know that for sure?" I asked.

"You mean, can I prove it?"

I nodded.

"No. Carrie's been trying to see if there's a paper trail, but so far,
nothing. She's been chasing around, trying to get me out of jail for the
last few days."

"Is she the same Carrie you mentioned as a girlfriend in jail?" I asked.

Richard nodded.

"Aha," I said.

"Did you just say, aha?" he asked.

"Yes, and I apologize for it, but what better way to keep Carrie from
working on the mystery than to put her boyfriend in jail."

"I'm not her boyfriend anymore," he said.

I hurried past that little bit of knowledge. "Is it common knowledge
that you're not an item anymore?"

"Not really."

"Then that may explain why they wanted you in jail. They framed you for
rape because so far, Wilkes isn't willing to kill."

"You think that will change?" Richard asked.

I touched my swollen lip. "He's already started upping the violence
level."

Richard leaned across the bed until his fingertips touched the bruises
on my face. It was a tentative touch like a butterfly's wing. "Did
Wilkes do this?"

My heart was suddenly beating faster. "No," I said, "Wilkes was very
careful to only show up after all the bad guys needed an ambulance."

Richard smiled, fingers tracing the edge of my face, just beyond the
bruises. "How many of them did you hurt?"

My pulse was beating so hard, I was afraid he could see it jumping in my
throat. "Just one."

Richard scooted just a little closer to me, hand still trailing up and
down my cheek. "What did you do to him?"

I didn't know whether to move away or cuddle my aching face against the
cool warmth of his hand. "I broke his arm and leg at the joint."

"Why did you do that?" Richard asked.

"He was threatening Shang-Da, and he pulled a knife on me." My voice
sounded breathy.

Richard leaned in close, then closer. He pulled the ridiculous towel
from his head, and his thick hair fell in chilled, wet strands around
his face, against my skin. His lips were so close to my mouth, I could
feel his breath.

I stood, stepping back from him, the comforter still bundled in my arms.
I let it fall to the floor, and we stared at each other.

"Why not, Anita? You want me. I can feel it, smell it, taste your pulse
on my tongue."

"Thanks for that visual, Richard."

"You still want me after months in his bed. You still want me."

"That doesn't make it right." I said.

"Loyal to Jean-Claude now?" he asked.

"Just trying not to fuck up any worse than I already have, Richard.
That's all."

"Regretting your choice?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No comment."

He stood and started towards me. I put a hand out, and he stopped. The
weight of his gaze was almost touchable, as if I could feel what he was
thinking, and it was personal and intimate, and things we'd never done
before.

"Sheriff Wilkes says get out of Dodge by dark tomorrow, take our
bodyguards with us, and he'll just forget everything. The rape charges
will vanish, and you can go back to your normal life."

"I can't do that, Anita. They're talking about hunting the trolls down
with guns and dogs. I'm not leaving until I know the trolls are safe."

I sighed. "School starts in less than two weeks. Are you going to stay
here and lose your job?"

"Do you really think Wilkes will let it go that long?" Richard asked.

"No," I said. "I think he or some of his men will start killing people
first. We need to find out why this land is so valuable."

"If it's minerals, Greene hasn't filed the report, which means he
doesn't need government permission and doesn't need partners."

"What do you mean permission and partners?"

"If he'd found, say, emeralds on land that bordered the national park,
then he'd have to file the claim and try to get permission to place a
mine next to the park. If he'd found something that needed blasting and
hard mining like maybe lead or something, then he might need partners to
help him finance it. Then he'd need to file a claim to show the
prospective partners."

"When did you start studing geology?" I asked.

He smiled. "We've been trying to figure out what is on the land that is
worth this much trouble. Minerals seemed the logical choice."

I nodded. "Agreed, but either it's not minerals or it's something
private, and he doesn't have to share that info, right?"

"Exactly."

"I need to speak with Carrie and the other biologists," I said.

"Tomorrow," he said.

"Why not tonight?"

"You said it outside: arcane werewolf shit."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"It means that we're four nights from the full moon, and you're my
lupa."

"I heard you've been taking applicants for the job," I said.

He smiled, and it wasn't nearly embarrassed enough. "You may find it
strange, but a lot of women find me attractive."

"You know I don't find that strange," I said.

"But you're still with Jean-Claude," he said.

I shook my head. "I'm out of here, Richard. I'll stay around and try to
keep you from being killed or getting any of our pack killed, but let's
drop the personal stuff."

He closed the distance between us, and I put my hands up to keep him
from touching me. My hands ended up pressed to his bare chest. His heart
thudded against my hands like a trapped animal.

"Don't do this, Richard."

"I tried hating you, and I can't." He put his hands over mine, holding
them against the hard smoothness of his chest.

"Try harder." But it was a whisper.

He leaned over me, and I drew back. "If you don't dry your hair, you're
going to have to wet it down again."

"I'll risk it." He kept moving towards me, lips half parted.

I stepped back, pulling my hands out of his, and he let me. He was
strong enough that he didn't have to let me, and that still bothered me.

I backed towards the door. "Stop trying to love me, Richard."

"I have tried."

"Then stop trying and just do it." The door was pressed against my back.
I grabbed the doorknob without turning around.

"You ran from me that night. You ran from me to Jean-Claude. You pulled
his body around you like a shield to keep me away."

I opened the door, but he was just suddenly there, holding it
half-closed. I started tugging on the door, and it was like pulling
against a wall, immobile. His one hand pressed flat on the door, against
the pull of my entire body, and I couldn't budge him. I hated that a
lot.

"Damn it, Richard, let me go."

"I think you're more afraid of how much you love me than you are of
Jean-Claude. At least with him you know you're not in love."

That was it. I wedged my body in the door enough so he couldn't close it
on me, but I stopped tugging on it. I looked up at him, at every
gorgeous inch of him. "I may not love Jean-Claude in the same way I love
you."

He smiled.

"Don't get cocky," I said. "I do love Jean-Claude. But love isn't
enough, Richard. If love were enough, I wouldn't be with Jean-Claude
now. I'd be with you." I looked into his big, brown eyes and said, "But
I'm not with you, and love isn't enough. Now, get away from this damned
door."

He stepped back, hands at his side. "Love can be enough, Anita."

I shook my head and stepped out on the steps. The darkness was thick and
touchable but not yet solid. "The last time you listened to me, you
killed for the first time, and you haven't recovered from it. I should
have just shot Marcus for you."

"I'd have never forgiven you for that," he said.

I gave a harsh sound that was almost a laugh. "But at least you wouldn't
be hating yourself. I'd be the monster, not you."

His handsome face was suddenly very solemn; all the light fled from it.
"Whatever I do, wherever I go, Anita, I am the monster. You left me
because of what I am."

I stepped down onto the ground, staring up at him. There was no light
inside the cabin, and Richard stood in a darker shadow than the coming
night. "I thought you said I left you because I was afraid of how much I
loved you."

He looked confused for a second, not knowing how to deal with his own
logic thrown back into his face. He finally looked at me. "Do you know
why you left me?"

I wanted to say, "Because you ate Marcus," but I didn't. I couldn't say
it staring into his face, so ready to believe the worst of himself. He
wasn't my problem anymore, so why did I care how hurt his ego was? Good
question. I was out of good answers. Besides, maybe there was some truth
to what Richard was saying. I didn't know anymore.

"I'm going to go to my cabin, now, Richard. I don't want to talk about
this anymore."

"Afraid?" he asked.

I shook my head and answered without turning around. "Tired." I kept
walking, knowing he was watching me. The parking area was empty. I
didn't know where Jamil and the others had gone, and I didn't care. I
needed some alone time.

I walked through the soft, summer darkness. There was a spill of stars
overhead, glittering and edged by the dark shapes of leaves. It was
going to be a beautiful evening. Somewhere off in the distance, a high,
clear howl rode the coming dark. Richard had said something about arcane
werewolf shit. We were going to have a moonlight jamboree. God, I hated
parties.

Chapter 10
----------

I leaned against the door of my cabin, eyes closed, breathing in the
cool air. I'd turned the air-conditioning on for my two guests. The
coffins sat in the middle of the floor between the desk and the bed.
Under the Circus of the Damned, deep underground, neither Damian nor
Asher slept until full dark. I hadn't been sure if they would
aboveground or not. So the air. Though, actually, it had been partly
selfish. Vampires in a closed, hot space tended to smell, well, like
vampires. They didn't smell like dead bodies. It was like the smell of
snakes, and yet that wasn't it, either. It was a neck-ruffling smell.
Thick, musky, more reptile than mammal. The smell of vampires.

How could I be sleeping with one of them? I opened my eyes. It was dark
in the cabin, but there was still a faint push of illumination through
the two windows. A faint touch of light against the gleaming feet of the
coffins. Had that small touch of natural light been enough to keep both
vampires comatose, dead in their coffins, waiting for true dark?
Something had, because I knew that they were still and waiting inside
the coffins. A small amount of concentration, and I knew they were still
dead to the world.

I strode between the coffins into the bathroom, closed and locked the
door. The darkness seemed too solid. I turned on the light. It was white
and harsh after the darkness. I was left blinking in the brightness.

Getting a good look at myself in the mirror was almost startling. I
hadn't really seen the bruises yet. The corner of my left eye was a
wonderful shade of purple black, swollen, puffy. Seeing it made it hurt
worse, like seeing blood from a cut that doesn't sting until you notice
it.

My left cheek was a wonderful shade of greenish brown. It was that
sickly green that usually takes days to accomplish. My lower lip was
puffy. You could still see the edge of darkened skin where it had bled.
I ran my tongue inside my mouth and could feel the ridge where my cheek
had been forced against my teeth, but it was healed. I stared into the
mirror and realized as sore and awful as it looked, it wasn't as bad as
it should have been.

It took me a few moments of staring to figure it out. When I did finally
realize what was happening, a rush of fear ran through my body from my
toes to the top of my head. I felt almost faint.

I was healing. I was healing days worth of injury in only hours. At this
rate, the bruises would be almost gone by tomorrow. I should have been
wearing the fight marks for days, a week at least. What the hell was
happening to me?

I felt Damian wake in his coffin. I felt it like a stab through my body.
It staggered me against the sink. I knew he was hungry, and I knew that
he sensed me near at hand. I was Jean-Claude's human servant, bound by
marks that only death would break. But Damian was mine. I'd raised him
and another vampire, Willie McCoy, more than once. I'd called them from
their coffins during daylight hours, safely underground, but the sun had
been burning bright when I did it. One necromancer had said it made
perfect sense. We could only raise zombies after the souls had fled the
bodies, so I could only raise vamps when their souls had fled for the
day.

I wasn't even going to debate the vampires and soul issue. My life was
complicated enough without religious discussions. I know, I know, I was
just delaying the inevitable. If I stayed with Jean-Claude, I was going
to have to face the whole issue. No hiding. But not tonight.

Raising Damian had forged some kind of link between us. I didn't
understand it and didn't have anyone to ask advice of. I was the first
necromancer in several hundred years that could raise vampires like
zombies. It scared me. It scared Damian more. Frankly, I didn't blame
him.

Was Asher awake, too? I concentrated on him, sent that power, magic,
whatever the hell it was, outward. It brushed him, and he felt me. He
was awake and aware of me.

Asher was a master vampire. Not as powerful as Jean-Claude, but a
master, nonetheless. That gave him certain abilities that Damian, who
was by far the elder of the two, would never have. Without the link
between us, Damian wouldn't have sensed me searching for him.

I wanted a few minutes to be alone and think, and I wasn't going to get
it. I didn't make them call for me. I opened the door and stood framed
in the light, blinking out into the thick darkness.

The vampires stood like pale shadows in the gloom. I hit the overhead
light. Asher threw his hand up to protect his eyes from the light, but
Damian just blinked at me. I wanted them to cower back from the light. I
wanted them to look monstrous, but they didn't.

Damian was a green-eyed redhead, but that didn't really cover it. His
hair fell like a red curtain around his upper body, the hair so red it
looked like spilled blood against the green silk of his shirt. The shirt
was a paler green than his eyes. They were like liquid fire, if fire
could burn green. It wasn't vampire powers that made his eyes gleam. It
was natural color, as if his mother had fooled around with a cat.

Asher was a blue-eyed blond, but again, that description didn't do him
justice. The waves of his shoulder-length hair were golden. I don't mean
blond, I mean gold. His hair was almost metallic in its glittering
brilliance. His eyes were a blue so pale, they were almost white, like
the eyes of a husky.

He was wearing a white dress shirt, untucked over chocolate brown dress
pants. Leather loafers, no socks, completed his clothes. I'd spent too
much time around Jean-Claude to call it an outfit.

If you could stop staring at the eyes and hair long enough to see their
faces, Asher was the handsomer of the two. Damian was handsome, but
there was a length of jaw, a less perfect slope to the nose--small
imperfections that might go unnoticed if you hadn't had Asher for
comparison. Asher was beautifully handsome like a medieval cherub. Half
of him, anyway.

Half of Asher's face was the beauty that drew a master vampire to him
centuries ago. The other half was covered in scars. Holy water scars.
The scars started about an inch from the midline of his face so his
eyes, nose, and those full, perfect lips remained untouched, but the
rest was like melted wax. His neck was pale and perfect, but I knew that
the scars continued at his shoulders. His upper body was worse than the
face, the scars rough and pitted. But like the face, only half of his
body was scarred. The other half was still lovely.

I knew that the scars touched his upper thigh, but I had never seen him
completely nude. I had to take his word that the scars covered the space
between. It had been implied though never stated that he was still
capable of sex but was scarred. I didn't know for sure, and I didn't
want to know.

"Where are your bodyguards?" Asher asked.

"My bodyguards? You mean Jason and the Furballs?"

Asher nodded. His golden hair fell forward over the scarred side of his
face. It was an old habit. The hair hid the scars--or almost hid the
scars. He could use the shadows the same way. He always seemed to know
just where the light would hit him. Centuries of practice.

"I don't know where they are," I said. "I just finished talking to
Richard. I guess they thought we needed privacy."

"Did you need the privacy?" Asher asked. He looked straight at me, using
the scars and beauty for a double effect. He didn't look happy for some
reason.

"It's none of your damn business," I said.

Damian sat at the foot of the carefully made bed. He smoothed pale,
long-fingered hands across the blue coverlet. "Not in this bed, you
didn't," he said.

I came to stand beside the bed and stare down at him. "If one more
vampire or were-anything tells me they can smell sex, I am going to
scream."

Damian didn't smile. He'd never been a real happy camper, but lately was
even more serious than usual. He just sat there, looking up at me.
Jean-Claude or even Asher would have smiled, teased. Damian just looked
at me with eyes that held sorrow the way others' held laughter.

I reached out to touch his shoulder and had to sweep back a lock of his
hair to reach it. He jerked back from my touch as if it had hurt. He
pushed to his feet and went to stand near the door.

I was left with my hand out, puzzled. "What's wrong with you, Damian?"

Asher came to stand beside me. He rested his hands lightly on my
shoulders. "You are quite right, Anita. What you do with Monsieur Zeeman
is none of my business."

I slid my hands over his, sliding my fingers to intertwine with his. I
remembered the feel of his cool skin against mine. I leaned my back
against him, pulling his arms around me, and I wasn't tall enough. It
wasn't my memory. It was Jean-Claude's. Asher and he had been companions
for over twenty years, once upon a time.

I sighed and started to pull away.

Asher leaned his chin on the top of my head. "You need someone's arms
that you don't feel threatened by."

I leaned against him, eyes closed, and for just a moment let him hold
me. "The only reason this feels so good is that I'm remembering someone
else's pleasure."

Asher gently kissed the top of my head. "Because you see me through the
nostalgia of Jean-Claude's memories, you are the only woman in over two
hundred years who doesn't treat me like a circus freak."

I leaned my face against the bend of his arm. "You are devastatingly
handsome, Asher."

He smoothed the hair from my bruised cheek. "To you, perhaps." He leaned
over me and laid the softest of kisses on my cheek.

I pulled away from him, gently, almost reluctantly. What I remembered of
Asher was simpler than anything I was trying to pull off in this
lifetime.

Asher didn't try to hold me. "If you were not already in love with two
other men, the way you look at me might be enough."

I sighed. "I'm sorry, Asher I shouldn't touch you like that. It's just .
. ." I didn't know how to put it into words.

"You treat me like an old lover," Asher said. "You forget and touch me
as if you'd touched me before when it is always the first time. Do not
apologize for that, Anita. I enjoy it. No one else will touch me so
freely."

"Jean-Claude will," I said. "These are his memories."

Asher smiled and it was almost sorrowful. "He is loyal to you and to
Monsieur Zeeman."

"He's turned you down?" I asked and wished I hadn't.

Asher smile brightened, then dimmed. "If you would not share him with
another woman, would you truly share him with another man?"

I thought about that for a second or two. "Well, no." I frowned up at
him. "Why do I feel like apologizing for that?"

"Because you share with Jean-Claude and myself the memories of Julianna
and the two of us. We were a very happy mnage  trois for almost longer
than you have been alive."

Julianna had been Asher's human servant. She'd ended up burned as a
witch by the same people that had scarred Asher. Jean-Claude couldn't
save them both. I wasn't sure that either of them had truly forgiven
Jean-Claude for this oversight.

Damian said, "If I'm not interrupting, I need to feed." He was standing
by the door, hugging himself as if he were cold.

"You want me to open the door and yell dinner?" I asked.

"I want permission to go feed," he said.

I frowned at the phrasing but said, "Go find one of our walking donors
and help yourself. Just our people, though. We can't hunt here."

Damian nodded, standing up straighter as if he'd been hunched in upon
himself. I could feel that he was hungry, but it wasn't hunger that made
him huddle. "I will not hunt."

"Good," I said.

He hesitated, with his hand on the doorknob. His back was to me, but his
voice came low, "May I go and feed?"

I glanced at Asher. "Is he talking to you?"

Asher shook his head. "I think not."

"Sure, help yourself."

Damian opened the door and slipped outside. He left the door slightly
ajar.

"What is his problem lately?" I asked.

"I think he must answer that question," Asher said.

I turned and looked at him. "Does that mean you can't answer the
question or won't answer it?"

Asher smiled and his face moved freely, even the scarred skin. He was
having consultations with a plastic surgeon in Saint Louis. No one had
ever tried to repair holy water damage on vamps, so they didn't know if
it would work, but the doctors were hopeful. Hopeful but cautious. The
first operation was still months away.

"It means, Anita, that some fears are very personal."

"Are you saying Damian's afraid of me?" I didn't try to keep the
astonishment out of my voice.

"I am saying that you must speak to him directly if you want answers."

I sighed. "Great, just what I need. Another complicated male in my
life."

Asher laughed, and it slid along my bare arms like a touch, raising
gooseflesh. The only other vampire that could do that to me was
Jean-Claude.

"Stop that," I said.

He gave a low, sweeping bow. "My most sincere apologies."

"Bullshit," I said. "Go get dinner. I think the werewolves are planning
some sort of party or ceremony."

"You need one of us with you at all times, Anita."

"I heard Jean-Claude's ultimatum." I looked at him and couldn't keep the
surprise off my face. "You think he'd really kill you if something
happened to me?"

Asher just looked at me with his pale, pale eyes. "Your life means more
to him than mine does, Anita. If it did not, he would be in my bed and
not yours."

He had a point, but . . . "It would kill something inside of him to kill
you personally."

"But he would do it," Asher said.

"Why? Because he said he'd do it?"

"No, because he would always wonder if I allowed you to die as revenge
for his failure to protect Julianna."

Oh. I opened my mouth to say more, and the phone rang. Daniel's voice
came low and panicked, backed by country music.

"Anita, we're out at the Happy Cowboy on the main highway. Can you come
down?"

"What's wrong, Daniel?"

"Mom's tracked down the woman who accused Richard. She's determined to
make her stop lying."

"Are they fighting yet?" I asked.

"Yelling."

"You outweigh her by over a hundred pounds, Daniel. Just toss her over
your shoulder and get her out of there. She'll only make things worse."

"She's my mother. I can't do that."

"Shit," I said.

Asher asked, "What has happened?"

I shook my head. "I'll be there, Daniel, but you're being a wimp."

"I'd rather take on every guy in the bar than my mother," he said.

"If she makes a big enough scene, you may get your chance." I hung up.
"I cannot believe this."

"What?" Asher asked again.

I explained as quickly as I could. Daniel and Mrs. Zeeman were staying
at a nearby motel. Richard hadn't wanted them at the cabins with so many
shapeshifters running around. Now I wished we'd kept them closer to
home.

It would have been nice to have changed out of the blood-splattered
blouse, but we were out of time. No rest for the wicked.

The real trick was what to do with Richard. He'd want to come along, and
I didn't want him anywhere near Miss Betty Schaffer.

Legally, he could enter the bar and sit down beside her. There was no
court order to stay away. But if the sheriff realized we weren't getting
out of town, he'd look for any excuse to get Richard back behind bars. I
didn't think Richard would have nearly as pleasant a second visit as he
had a first. Their ambush today had backfired. They'd be frustrated and
scared. They'd hurt Richard this time. Hell, they might hurt his mother.
Charlotte Zeeman and I were going to have to have a little talk. Come to
think of it, I was with Daniel. I'd have rather faced a full-blown bar
fight than have a talk with his mother. At least she'd never be my
mother-in-law. If I was going to have to punch her out tonight, that was
almost comforting.

Chapter 11
----------

Richard and I compromised. He came along and swore to stay in the car. I
brought along Shang-Da, Jamil, and Jason to make sure he stayed in the
car, though if push came to shove, I wasn't sure they'd listen to me
over Richard, not even if it was for his own good. It was the best I
could do. Some nights that has to be enough, because that's all you've
got.

The Happy Cowboy, which was one of the worst names for a bar I'd ever
heard, was on the main highway. It was a two-story building that was
supposed to look like a log cabin and managed not to. Maybe it was the
neon horse with its cowboy rider on the sign. The lights gave the
illusion that the horse was going up and down, along with the cowboy's
arm and hat. He didn't look particularly happy riding the neon horse,
but then maybe that was just me. I certainly wasn't happy to be here.

Richard had driven his four-by-four. He'd finally gotten around to
blow-drying his hair. It was a thick, wavy foam around his face and
shoulders. It looked so soft, you wanted to plunge your hands into it.
Or again, maybe that was just me. He'd added a plain green T-shirt,
tucked into his jeans, and white jogging shoes.

Jamil and Shang-Da were riding shotgun in the middle seat. Jamil was
still wearing his cut-off smiley T-shirt, but Shang-Da had changed. He
was all in black from his soft leather loafers to his belted dress
slacks, to the silk T-shirt and tailor cut jacket. His short back hair
was gelled into a crop of spikes on top of his head. He looked relaxed
and at home in the clothes and the hair. He would also look utterly out
of place at the Happy Cowboy. Of course, being over six feet tall and
Chinese put him behind the game when it came to blending in here. Maybe
he, like Jamil, was tired of trying to pass.

That was why Jason, still in his grown-up blue suit, was with us.
Nathaniel had wanted to come, but he wasn't old enough to go into a bar.
I didn't know how good Zane was in a stress situation yet, and Cherry
always made me feel vaguely protective, so Jason it was.

"If you're not out in fifteen minutes, we're coming in," Richard said.

"Thirty minutes," I said. I did not want Richard near Ms. Betty
Schaffer.

"Fifteen," he said, voice very quiet, very low, very serious. I knew
that tone of voice. I'd gotten all the compromise I was going to get.

"Fine, but remember that if you go to jail tonight, your mom may go with
you."

His eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"What would Charlotte do if she saw her little boy being dragged away to
jail?"

He thought about that for a second, then bowed his head. He laid his
forehead on the steering wheel. "She'd put up a fight for me."

"Exactly," I said.

He raised his face and looked at me. "I'll behave for her sake."

I smiled. "I knew it wasn't for mine." I got out of the car before he
could answer that one.

Jason settled into step beside me. He'd straightened his tie and
buttoned the first button on the jacket. He'd also tried to slick back
his baby-fine hair, but it escaped all efforts in tiny wisps. His hair
was very straight and very fine, and it would have looked better either
much shorter or much longer. But hey, it wasn't my hair.

We were both carded at the door by a muscular guy in a dark blue
T-shirt. The crowd was divided almost down the middle. There was the
tight jeans, cowboy boots crowd, and the short skirts, business jackets
crowd. There was some intermingling. Some of the women in cowboy boots
had short skirts. Some of the business jackets were wearing jeans. It
was the only alcohol for a twenty-mile radius, and it served food. Where
else were you going to go on a Friday night? I'd have rather gone for a
moonlit walk, but I didn't drink. Come to think of it, I didn't dance,
either, though Jean-Claude was working on both. Corruption at every
turn.

There was a live band playing country music so loudly it might as well
have been hard rock. A haze of cigarette smoke floated over everything
like a late-night fog. The entrance was on a little raised platform so
you could look around before plunging into the sea of bodies. Charlotte
is actually an inch or two shorter than I am, so I didn't bother
scanning for her. I looked for Daniel. How many six-foot-tall, tanned
guys with wavy, shoulder-length hair could there be? More than you'd
think.

I finally spotted him near the bar because he was waving to me. He'd
also tied his long hair back in a very tight ponytail, which was why
scanning for the hair hadn't worked. His hair was nearly identical to
Richard's except it was a more solid brown, a rich chestnut. His skin
was the same tanned shade as his brother's. The same high, sculpted
cheekbones, solid brown eyes, even the dimple in the chin. Richard was a
little broader through the shoulders and chest, just physically more
imposing, but other than that, the family resemblance was almost scary.
All the brothers looked like that. The two oldest had cut their hair,
one of them was almost a blond, and the father was going a little grey,
but the five Zeeman men in one room was a testosterone treat.

And the matriarch of this pile of masculine pulchritude was standing
about six feet from her son. Charlotte Zeeman had short blond hair that
framed a face that looked at least ten years younger than I knew she
was. She was wearing a butter yellow suit jacket over dress slacks. She
was also poking her finger into the chest of a tall blond woman.

The second woman had a mane of curled blond hair, but I was betting that
neither the color nor the curl were real. It had to be Betty Schaffer,
and the name didn't suit her. She looked like someone named Farrah or
Tiffany.

I waded into the crowd with Jason behind me. The crowd was thick enough
that I stopped saying excuse me about halfway across the room and just
started pushing.

A tall man in a plaid work shirt stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
"Can I buy you a drink, little lady?"

I reached back and got Jason's hand. I raised it where it was visible.
"Taken. Sorry." There was more than one reason I'd wanted to bring Jason
with me to a bar on a Friday night.

He stared down at Jason, way down, making a show of how very tall he
was. "Don't you want something a little bigger?"

"I like them small," I said, my face very serious. "It makes oral sex
easier."

We left him speechless. Jason was laughing so hard, he could barely keep
his feet. I pulled him through the crowd by the hand. Holding his hand
seemed to be hint enough for the rest of the cruising males.

The crowd was clearing around the bar. People had moved back to form a
semicircle around Charlotte, Betty, and Daniel. He had stepped up behind
his mother, laying a hand on either shoulder trying to pull her back.
She shrugged him off rather violently and ignored him. He let her do it.

Charlotte got up in the woman's face. I was close enough to catch a word
or two above the band, "Liar . . . whore . . . my son . . . rapist . .
." To hear even that much, Charlotte was screaming at the woman.

Betty was tall, but the spike-heeled boots put her at six feet. The
jeans were painted on, the blouse was midriff, and there was no bra. She
had small enough breasts that she could get away with it, but it was
still noticeable and meant to be. She looked like a cowboy hooker.
Richard had dated her. It made me think worse of him.

Two large guys wearing T-shirts that matched the guy who had carded us
at the door were at the edge of the crowd. I think they were sort of
puzzled by Charlotte. She was tiny and female and hadn't hit anyone yet.
She also looked older than the general crowd, though not really like
anyone's mother.

Betty had finally had enough. She was screaming back words like, "He
did, rapist, bastard."

I let go of Jason's hand and stepped up beside them. They both looked at
me. Charlotte was the most startled. Her large, honey-brown eyes went
wide. She said, "Anita," as if no one had told her I was in town.

I smiled. "Hi, Charlotte. Can we talk outside?" I had to put my face
nearly next to hers to be heard.

She shook her head. "This is the whore that's lied about Richard."

I nodded. "I know. Let's take it outside, though."

Charlotte shook her head again. "I am not leaving until she tells the
truth. Richard did not rape her."

We were yelling, with our faces almost touching, to be heard. "Of
course, he didn't," I said. "Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Richard
isn't a rapist."

Charlotte stared at me. "You believe him."

I nodded. "I got him out on bail. He's waiting to see you outside."

Her eyes went even wider, then she smiled, and it was beautiful. It was
one of those smiles that made you feel warm down to your toes. Charlotte
was like that. When she was happy, everyone around her was happy. When
she wasn't happy . . . well, that spilled over, too.

She yelled in my ear, "Let's go see Richard."

I turned to go through the crowd and heard a gasp. I turned to see Betty
Schaffer wearing the dripping remnants of a beer. Betty slapped
Charlotte. Charlotte returned the favor but with a closed fist.

Betty was suddenly on her butt in the floor, blinking up at us.

The bouncers moved in, as Charlotte moved in to finish the job. I threw
Charlotte over my shoulder. She weighed more than she looked like she
did, and she was struggling. Unlike most women, she was good at
struggling. I didn't want to hurt Charlotte, but she wasn't returning
the favor. She kicked me in the knee and I dumped her onto the floor
hard.

She lay there for a second, breath knocked out of her, staring up at me.
Daniel moved forward to help her up, and I stopped him with a hand on
his chest. "No."

The band had fallen silent with a last twangy guitar string. Into the
sudden silence, my voice sounded loud, "You can walk out of here on your
own, or you can be carried out unconscious, Charlotte. Your choice, but
you are leaving."

I went down on one knee, carefully, because Charlotte didn't fight like
a girl. I lowered my voice for her ears alone. "Richard will come in
here in just a few minutes to see what's wrong. If he gets near her
again, the local cops will revoke his bail and lock him up again." It
was only partially true. Legally, he had every right to enter the bar,
but I was betting that Charlotte didn't know that. Most law-abiding
citizens wouldn't have.

Charlotte looked at me for a second longer, then offered me a hand. I
helped her stand, still cautious. She had a hell of a temper once it got
started. Admittedly, it took a lot to get her this mad, but once she
reached it, it was every man for himself.

She let me help her to her feet without trying to slug me. An
improvement. We made our way through the crowd with Daniel and Jason
trailing behind us. No one crowded us as we went for the door. They
stared, but didn't crowd.

The bouncer at the door said, "She doesn't come back in here."

Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, and I gripped her shoulder.
"Don't worry. She won't."

He looked at Charlotte but nodded.

I let her get about three good steps ahead of me as we reached the
parking lot. Call it an instinct. She whirled, and I think would have
hit me, but I was out of reach. She stared at me with those big
honey-brown eyes, made somehow paler by the halogen lamps. "Don't you
ever lay hands on me again," she said.

"Behave like Richard's mother and not his outraged girlfriend, and I
won't."

"How dare you!" she said. She moved closer. I moved away. I didn't
really want to have a fistfight in the parking lot of a bar with
Richard's mother.

"If anyone should be trying to beat the shit out of Ms. Peroxide Blond,
it should be me."

That stopped her cold. She stood straight and looked at me. I could
almost see her sanity returning. "But you aren't dating him anymore. Why
should you care?"

"That is the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn't it?" I said.

Charlotte smiled suddenly. "I knew you couldn't resist my boy. No one
could."

"If he keeps dating everything in sight, I might."

She frowned. "I can't believe he ever dated that thing," she said.

We both turned and watched Richard walk towards us. There were nearly
identical looks on our faces. We disapproved of Ms. Schaffer--a lot.

Her first words were, "I cannot believe you dated that woman. She is a
whore."

Richard looked embarrassed, more than I'd gotten from him. "I know what
she is."

"Did you have sex with her?"

"Mother!"

"Don't you mother me, Richard Alaric Zeeman."

"Alaric," I said.

Richard spared me a frown, then turned back to his mother. "No, I never
slept with Betty."

He was saying he'd never had intercourse with her. Charlotte would take
it to mean that no sex at all had happened, just like I had. I
remembered what Jamil had said about alternatives, but I kept quiet. I
didn't want to upset Charlotte, and I didn't want to know.

"Well, at least that shows better sense," Charlotte said. She walked up
to him and smoothed the front of his T-shirt, then bowed her head, and I
realized she was crying.

I couldn't have been more surprised if she'd bitten him, maybe less.

Richard's entire face crumpled into helpless lines. He looked at me as
if for help, and I backed up. I shook my head. I was no better around
crying women than he was, maybe less.

He hugged her to him. I heard her murmur, "I was so worried about you in
that awful jail."

I backed up out of earshot, and Daniel joined me. He didn't seem eager
to join them, either. Of course, Charlotte didn't have to cry to unman
Daniel.

"Thanks, Anita," he said.

I looked up at him. He was wearing a red tank top that was almost a twin
of one Richard had. For all I knew, it was the same one. He looked
tanned and handsome and very grown-up. "You're assertive around everyone
but your parents. Why is that?"

He shrugged. "Isn't everyone like that?"

I shook my head. "No."

Jason moved up beside us. He echoed me: "No." Then he laughed. "Of
course, my mother would never have gotten into a fight in a bar, no
matter what I did. She's much too . . . decorous."

"Decorous," I said.

"My last roommate had a word-a-day calendar," Jason said.

"You've been reading again," I said.

He hung his head, looking abashed, then gave me rolled eyes and a grin.
It was such a mix of shame and utter cuteness that I laughed. "I can't
donate blood and have sex twenty-four hours a day. There's no television
at the Circus of the Damned."

"If there was?" I asked.

"I'd still read, but don't tell anyone."

I put an arm around his shoulders. "Your secret is safe with me."

Daniel put his arm around Jason from the other side and said, "Won't
breathe a word of it."

We walked towards the four-by-four, arm in arm. "If Anita was in the
middle, this would be perfect," Jason said.

Daniel just stopped in his tracks, staring at Jason. I pulled away from
both of them. "You just don't know when to stop, do you, Jason?"

He shook his head. "No."

Richard walked over to us. He sent Daniel to their mother, and Daniel
didn't argue with the order. He sent Jason on to the car, and Jason
didn't argue. I stood looking up at his suddenly serious face, wondered
what my orders were going to be, and bet I would argue with them.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I'll have to go with Daniel and my mother to calm her."

"I hear a but coming," I said.

He smiled. "But there's a ceremony to meet my lupa tonight. It's
customary before two packs share a full moon that they be formally
introduced."

"How formally?" I asked. "I didn't pack for formal."

The smile widened into that wondrous smile that was his mother's. It had
that same utter good humor to it. Contagious. "I don't mean that kind of
formal, Anita. I mean there are rites to observe."

"Rites, as in what?" I asked. I sounded suspicious, even to me.

He hugged me, spontaneously, not girlfriend-boyfriend, but just a
happy-to-see-you hug. "I have missed you, Anita."

I pushed away from him. "I make a suspicious comment and you say you've
missed me. I don't get that, Richard."

"I love all of you, Anita, even the suspicious parts."

I shook my head. "Stick to business, Richard. What rites?"

The smile faded, the good humor dying from his eyes. He looked suddenly
sad and I wanted to take it back, to have him smile at me again. But I
didn't. We weren't an item anymore, and he'd been dating little Miss
Schaffer, the cowgirl hooker. I didn't understand that at all. She
puzzled me even more than Lucy.

"I have to go with my mother for a while. Jamil and Shang-Da can explain
what you have to do as my lupa tonight."

I shook my head. "One of the bodyguards stays with you, Richard. I don't
care which one it is, but you don't go out there alone."

"Mom will not understand a chaperone that isn't family," Richard said.

"Don't go all momma's boy on me, Richard. I've had enough of that from
Daniel for one night. Explain it any way you like, but you aren't
leaving here without backup."

He stared down at me, and his handsome face was serious, arrogant. "I am
Ulfric, Anita. Not you."

"Yeah, you're Ulfric, Richard. You're in charge, fine, then do a good
job of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if the bad guys find you out alone tonight, they might
not wait to find out if you're leaving tomorrow. One of them might get a
little eager and try to hurt you."

"If it's not silver bullets, they can't kill me."

"And how are you going to explain to your mother that you survived a
shotgun blast to the chest?" I asked.

He glanced back at her and Daniel. "You cut right to the bone, don't
you," he said.

"It saves time," I said.

He turned back to me. Anger had darkened his eyes, thinned out his face.
"I love you, Anita, but sometimes I don't like you very much."

"It's not me you don't like, Richard, not on this issue. You're
terrified that if Mommy Dearest finds out you're a shapeshifter, she'll
think you're a monster."

"Don't call her that."

"Sorry," I said. "But it's still the truth. I think you're underrating
Charlotte. You're her son, and she loves you."

He shook his head. "I don't want her to know."

"Fine, but choose a bodyguard. Why not tell your mom that he's backup in
case the police try to make trouble? It's the truth."

"As far as it goes," Richard said.

"The best lies are always at least partially true, Richard."

"You're much better at lying than I am," he said. I looked for anger in
the words, but there was nothing. It was just a statement of fact that
left his eyes empty and sad.

I was tired of apologizing, so I didn't. "Do you want to take their car
and I can drive the four-by-four back to the cabins?"

He nodded. "I'll take Shang-Da with me. He doesn't like you much."

"I thought he might have warmed up to me since the fight this
afternoon," I said.

"He still thinks you betrayed me," Richard said.

I didn't even try to touch that one. "Fine, I'll take Jason and Jamil
with me. They can give me lessons in werewolf etiquette."

"Jason won't be much help. He's never been part of a healthy pack."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"It means that because our old lupa was such a sadistic bitch, we were
all afraid of each other. A normal pack is much more touchy-feely, more
casual with each other."

"How touchy?" I asked.

He smiled, almost sadly. "Talk to Jamil. He'll teach you and Jason,
too." He seemed to think about that.

"What about the wereleopards, and the vampires?"

"I already asked Verne. They are our guests tonight."

"One big happy family," I said.

Richard looked at me. It was a long, searching look. It took a lot to
meet his eyes and not to flinch. "It could be, Anita, it really could
be." With that, he turned and walked to his mother and brother.

I watched him go and wasn't sure what to make of his last comment. I
used to wonder why he put up with me, but after meeting his mother, I
knew. It had taken me three Sunday dinners to realize why Charlotte and
I were either in perfect agreement or on opposite ends of any
discussion. We were too much alike. A family, like a pack, can only have
so many alphas or it tears itself apart. Only Richard's brother, Glenn,
is currently married, and his wife and Charlotte butt heads constantly.
Aaron is a widower. I'm told the fights between Charlotte and Aaron's
deceased wife were legendary. They'd all gone out and married someone
like mom. Glenn's wife, though full-blooded Navajo, was still petite,
and tough. The Zeeman men seemed to have a weakness for small and tough.

Beverly, as the only girl and the eldest, was wonderfully dominant. She
and Charlotte had almost not survived her teenage years, according to
Glenn and Aaron. Bev had settled down, gone to college, married, and was
pregnant with her fifth child. She had four boys and was trying one last
time for a girl.

I'd paid attention to Richard's family because I'd thought they were
going to be my in-laws. That didn't seem likely to happen now. Oh, well.
I had enough problems with my own family. Who needed a second one?

Chapter 12
----------

Everyone was in my room getting a lesson in werewolf etiquette. I sat on
the foot of the bed with Cherry perched beside me. She'd washed off the
black makeup, and her face was pale and young with a dusting of golden
freckles across her cheeks. I knew she was my age, twenty-five, but
without makeup, she looked younger. Like her own younger more innocent
sister. The new clothes added to the illusion. She'd changed into a
faded pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt. Clothes you wouldn't mind
shapechanging in. This close to the full moon, sometimes you got carried
away and changed early. So I'm told. So I've seen.

Zane leaned against the far wall, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans
with the knees worn away to holes. He'd kept the nipple ring. It looked
very noticeable against his bare chest.

Jason was wearing shorts that had started life as a pair of jeans. The
edges were ragged with strings like he'd picked at them. The only other
thing he was wearing was an older pair of jogging shoes, no socks. He
lay on his stomach, head pointed towards us, with one of my pillows
bundled under his chin, knees bent, feet kicking slowly in the air while
he listened to Jamil.

Jamil paced back and forth in front of us in his little smiley shirt.
He'd kicked his shoes off by the door and paced on smooth, dark feet.
Even just walking he gave off an energy like a low-level current. The
moon was nearly full, and energy was easy to come by.

We'd tried to include Nathaniel in the lecture, but we couldn't find
him. I didn't like that much. I'd been ready to man a full-scale search,
but Zane had seen him going off with one of the female werewolves. The
implication seemed to be that they'd gone off for a little one on one.
So, no search, but I wasn't happy about it. I wasn't even sure exactly
why I wasn't happy about it, but I wasn't.

Nathaniel needed to know some rudimentary greetings because he was mine.
No one had ever met a lupa that was also Nimir-ra for a leopard pard,
but Verne had decided the leopards would be included because they were
mine. So they needed the little greetings lecture. I'd sent Damian and
Asher out to find Nathaniel. No one in Verne's pack expected the
vampires to be part of the official greeting. In fact, it had been
requested that they not touch any of the werewolves unless offered.
Strongly requested.

So it was just the four of us watching Jamil pace. He finally stopped in
front of me. "Stand up."

It sounded far too much like an order for my taste, but I stood, looking
up at him.

"Richard says you have a degree in biology."

Not the opening I was expecting, but I nodded. "Preternatural biology,
yeah."

"How much do you know about natural wolves?"

"I've been reading Mech," I said.

Jamil's eyes widened just a bit. "L. David Mech?"

"Yeah, you seem surprised. He is one of the leading authorities on wolf
behavior."

"Why have you been reading him?" Jamil asked.

I shrugged. "I'm lupa of a werewolf pack, but I'm not a werewolf. There
are no good books on werewolves, so the best I could do was research
real wolves."

"What else have you read?" he asked.

"Of Wolves and Men, by Barry Holstun Lopez. A few other books, but those
were the two best I've found."

Jamil smiled, a quick baring of teeth. "You have just made my job a lot
easier."

I frowned up at him.

"The formal greeting is like one friendly wolf greeting another. The
point is to get the nose back here," he touched the hair behind my ear,
gently.

"Do you rub the cheek along the other person's cheek like a real wolf
would do? I mean in human form, you don't have any glands on the cheek
to help you scent mark another wolf."

He looked down at me, solemn almost, nodding. "Yes, you do rub cheeks
even in human form. Then you bury your nose in the hair behind the ear."

"How big is Verne's pack?" I asked.

"Fifty-two wolves," Jamil said.

I raised eyebrows at him. "Please tell me that I don't have to rub faces
with every single one of them."

Jamil smiled, but it left his eyes serious. He was thinking something. I
wanted to know what it was. "Not with all of them, just the alphas."

"How many?"

"Nine," he said.

"Doable, I guess." I looked up into his thoughtful face and just asked,
"What are you thinking so hard about, Jamil?"

He blinked at me. "What--"

"Don't tell me it's nothing. You went all solemn and thoughtful about
five minutes ago. What gives?"

He stared down at me. The concentration in his dark eyes was almost
touchable. "I'm impressed that you bothered to research natural wolves."

"That's the third time you've used the term natural wolves. I've never
heard it before."

Jason rolled off the bed to his feet. "We are real wolves part of the
time. We're just not natural."

I looked to Jamil, and he nodded.

"So calling you guys real wolves is an insult?"

"Yes," Jamil said.

"Anything else to watch for?" I asked.

Jamil looked at Jason. They exchanged a look that made me feel excluded.
Like there was some unpleasant surprise coming and no one was telling
me.

"What?" I said.

"Let's just do the greeting," Jamil said.

"What are you guys hiding from me?"

Jason laughed. "Just tell her."

A low growl trickled from Jamil's human throat. The sound alone raised
the hair on my arms. "I am Skll, and you have no name among the lukoi.
Your voice is only the wind outside our cave."

Jason took a few steps closer. "The trees themselves bow before the
wind," he said. It sounded way too formal for Jason.

"Good," Jamil said, "you do know some lukoi phrases."

"We were afraid to touch each other," Jason said, "not to talk to each
other."

Zane pushed away from the wall, moving between them, standing close to
me. "The moon is rising. Time is passing."

I frowned at all of them. "I feel like you're speaking in code and I
don't know how to crack it."

"Apparently, we have some phrases in common," Jamil said, "between the
lukoi and the pard."

"Great, the wolves and the leopards share some common ground. Now what?"

"Greet me," Jamil said.

"Uh-uh," I said, "I'm lupa. You're just the Skll, the muscle. I outrank
you, so you offer me your face and throat first."

"She is your lupa, and our Nimir-ra, which is an equivalent rank to your
Ulfric, she has the right to ask," Zane said.

Jamil growled at him.

Zane moved behind me, as if using me for a shield. It would have worked
better if he hadn't been nearly ten inches taller than me.

"She refuses you," Jamil said. "You stand alone before me."

"No way," I said. "Zane is mine. You aren't going to use him for some
macho dominant crap."

Jamil shook his head. "He moved into you, but you didn't touch him."

I frowned up at him. "So?"

Jamil sighed. "All your reading has told you nothing about us."

"Then explain it to me," I said.

Jason said, "When Zane moved in close to you, he was asking for your
protection, but you didn't touch him. That's seen as a rejection of his
petition for protection."

Cherry was still sitting very still on the bed, hands clasped in her
lap. "It's one of the rules that works the same for the wolves and for
us."

I glanced behind me at them. "How do the two of you know all this?"

"With Raina and Marcus in charge, we all got to do a lot of petitioning
for protection," Jason said.

"Gabriel spent a lot of time with Raina," Cherry said. "We, the
wereleopards, got to spend a lot of time with the wolves."

"So when Zane moved up close, what was I supposed to do?"

"Do you want to protect him against me?" Jamil said.

I stared up at that tall, muscular body. Even if he hadn't been a
lycanthrope, he'd have scared me in a fair fight. Of course, nature had
made sure there would be no fair fight. Jamil outweighed me by a hundred
pounds or more. His reach was twice mine. His upper body strength . . .
well, enough said. There was no such thing as a fair fight between the
two of us. That was why I felt perfectly comfortable using weapons.

"Yeah," I said, "I want to protect Zane against you. If that's what it
takes."

"Then touch him," Jamil said.

I frowned again. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"The touch is what's important," Jamil said, "not where or how."

Zane was standing at my back. I moved backwards until my back touched
his body. Our bodies made a nice solid line. "Enough?" I asked.

Jamil shook his head. "For God's sake, just touch him." He motioned to
Jason. "Ask for my protection."

Jason came to his side with a smile. He stood very close but was careful
not to touch. Jamil put an arm across his shoulders, obviously
protective, almost a hug. "There, that's it."

"Does it have to be just like that, or can I touch him anywhere that's
noticeable?"

Jamil made a small sound between an umph and a growl. "You are making
this too complicated."

"No," I said, "you are. Just answer the question."

"No, it doesn't have to be just like this, but it's best if you get in
the habit of making the offer look normal to people."

"Why?" I asked.

"What if Zane were running from me in public? He sees you through the
crowd, comes up to you. All you have to do is pretend to hug him, or
even kiss him. I know you've given him your protection and none of the
humans around us know anything is wrong."

I wasn't sure how I felt about not being included with the other humans,
but I let it go. I drew Zane out from behind me with a hand around his
waist. I'd have been more comfortable if he'd been wearing a shirt, but
hey, that was my hang-up, not his. I made it my left arm, leaving my
right free. I also moved back enough so that my gun wasn't pressed up
against his body. Having my arm around Zane's waist, standing a little
apart, made the gun under my arm very obvious. There were a lot of
different ways to make threats. "Happy?" I asked.

Jamil nodded once very curtly.

Jason stepped away from him, closer to Zane and me.

"Jamil's just mad that Zane told you he had to do a submissive
greeting."

"And you've reminded her," Jamil said.

"Ooh," Jason said, "I'm so scared."

A roil of power prickled through the room. I watched Jamil's brown eyes
bleed to a rich yellow. He stared at Jason with wolf eyes. "You will
be."

Cherry slid off the bed, kneeling behind me. She reached a hand up to
me, and I took it. She licked a quick tongue across my hand, a greeting
that only the leopards used, then one slender hand went to my leg,
holding onto my pants like a small, shy child. She seemed to think
something bad was about to happen.

I half expected Jason to come to me like the wereleopards had, but he
didn't. He moved farther into the room, away from Jamil, but he didn't
ask for help.

"What's the big deal?" I asked. "Jamil just offers me his cheek first,
right?"

"Oh, no," Jason said, "much more fun than that."

That made me frown because I knew what Jason's idea of fun was. "Maybe I
asked for something I don't understand."

"But you did ask," Jamil said, "and as our lupa it is your right."

I was beginning to suspect I'd made a faux pas. That I'd asked something
of Jamil he didn't want to give and I probably wouldn't like receiving.
"If you hadn't been such an asshole when we first got here, Jamil, I'd
probably let this go."

"But. . ." he said.

"But I don't back down, not to you."

"Not to anyone," Jason said softly.

That, too.

"If I refuse, it's challenge between us," Jamil said.

"Fine, but remember, you've had your last free pass for the weekend,
Jamil."

He nodded. "I see the gun."

"Then we understand each other," I said.

"We understand each other," he said. Jamil closed the distance between
us, eyes still an eerie shade of yellow.

"Don't get cute, Jamil."

He gave a quick baring of teeth. "I am doing what you asked, Anita."

Zane moved behind me, hands on my shoulders, but giving me more room to
move. Cherry huddled against my legs. Neither of them moved away. I took
that as a good sign. I hoped I was right.

Jamil touched my face very lightly with the tips of his fingers. "If we
were in public, it would be this." He bent downward and it looked like
he was going to kiss me.

He did. A soft brush of lips, fingers still holding my face. He drew
back from me. When he opened his eyes, they were still that rich, golden
yellow. It was a startling color against the darkness of his skin.

I had just stood there throughout, too startled to know what to do.
Neither the leopards nor Jason called foul, so Jamil was doing what I'd
forced him to do. Probably. If it had been Jason, I'd suspected some
sort of ploy to steal a kiss, but Jamil didn't play those kinds of
games.

He stayed with his hands still cradling my face. "But tonight won't be
in public. Between ourselves when no one watches . . ." He didn't finish
the sentence. He just leaned over me again.

His tongue ran across my lower lip.

I jerked back.

He let his hands fall to his sides. "You read the wolf books, Anita, I
am a submissive wolf begging a dominant's attention."

"It's a variation of food begging by pups," I said. "In two adult
wolves, it's a ritual of licking and biting gently at the mouth of the
dominant wolf by the subordinate."

Jamil nodded.

"You've made your point," I said.

"The greeting I am trying to teach you is like our version of a
handshake. You both offer your faces at the same time. It's more like a
kiss."

"Show me," I said.

He leaned into me again, but this time he didn't try to touch my mouth.
He rubbed his cheek along mine, rubbing his face across my ear until his
face was buried in the hair behind my ear. His movement had put my face
against his hair. His hair was in cornrows, and the texture was rough
and soft at the same time.

Jamil spoke with his mouth still against my hair, "You have to bury your
face in the hair and smell the skin."

He burrowed his face into my hair until he had to be touching skin. I
heard him breathing in air. His breath was almost hot against my skin.

I tried to return the favor, but had to raise on tiptoe, one hand
against his chest for balance. Zane slid away from me, and I used my
other hand on his shoulder. The cornrows made it easier to put my face
next to the skin of his scalp. The braids moved around my face like
small thin ropes.

I could smell his hair straightener, his cologne, and under all that was
him. The moment his scent hit me, I felt a rush of power, and it wasn't
his. I suddenly knew that Richard was sitting on a bed, holding his
mother. I felt him look up as if he'd see me standing at the foot of the
bed. But I was miles away, standing at the foot of a different bed. We
drew in the rich warm smell of Jamil's skin, and Richard's power broke
over me in a march of goose bumps.

Jamil drew back from me, hands still on my shoulders. His nostrils
flared while he drew in scent. "Richard--I smell our Ulfric. How?"

Zane pressed against my back, rubbing his face against my hair. Cherry
had curled herself around my leg like a fetus. "She is your lupa. Bound
to your Ulfric."

Jamil stepped back from me, something very close to fear on his face.
"She cannot be bound to Richard. She is not lukoi."

I moved towards him, and Zane went to his knees behind me. Cherry let me
go, hands sliding away reluctantly. They huddled together, holding each
other.

I spared them a glance and asked, "You guys all right?"

Zane nodded. "I saw you call the power of the marks once before, but
I've never been touching you when you called the Ulfric's power. It's a
rush."

Cherry just stared at me, eyes gone large in a pale face.

"Don't I know it," Jason said. He was still across the room, hugging his
naked chest, hands rubbing up and down his bare arms as if he were cold.
He wasn't cold.

I turned back to Jamil. "I am bound to Richard. It isn't the same kind
of bonding that he'd have with another lycanthrope, but it is a bond."

"You are Jean-Claude's human servant," Jamil said.

I hated the term, but it was accurate, technically anyway. "Yes, I am,
just as Richard is Jean-Claude's wolf to call."

"He cannot call our Ulfric like a dog. Richard does not answer to the
vampire's whims."

"Me, either," I said. "Sometimes I think Jean-Claude may have bitten off
more than he can drink with the two of us."

The door to the cabin opened, no knock, no preliminaries. Asher stepped
through with Nathaniel in his arms. He was bundled into Asher's suit
jacket. What I could see of his legs were pale and bare.

I ran forward. "What happened?"

Asher laid Nathaniel on the bed on his back, trapping the jacket under
his body. He was nude except for the jacket. Nathaniel tried to curl up
onto his side into a ball, but Asher stopped him, trying to smooth his
legs down, to make him lie still. "Lie still, Nathaniel."

"It hurts!" His voice was strangled, twisted tight with pain.

I knelt by the bed, touching his face. He looked at me, eyes so wide
they flashed white. His mouth opened and a small moan escaped him. His
hand clawed at the bedspread as if he needed to hold something,
anything. I gave him my hand and his grip was so tight I had to remind
him not to crush my hand.

He muttered, "Sorry," then his spine bowed, body twisting. Normally,
seeing Nathaniel completely nude would have embarrassed me. Now I was
too scared to be embarrassed. There were bleeding cuts on his chest, but
they looked shallow. Nothing seemed wrong enough for this kind of pain.

Cherry disappeared into the bathroom. I didn't think you were that
squeamish if you were a nurse.

"Who did this?" I asked.

"He is our message from the local vampires," Asher said.

"What message?"

Nathaniel twisted on the bed, his other hand grabbing at my arm. Two
slow tears trailed down his cheeks. "They kept asking me why we'd come
here." He threw his head back and forth, and I caught a glimpse of
something on his neck. I got one hand free and moved all that long,
auburn hair so I could see his neck. A vampire bite showed in the smooth
flesh of his neck. The bite was clean, neat, but the skin was slightly
darker than it should have been.

"Did one of you do this?" I asked.

"I took blood from the bend of his arm," Asher said. "That is Colin's
doing."

Nathaniel's body eased against the bed, the spasm or whatever passing.
"I told them we were here to rescue Richard. I told them the truth, over
and over." His hand convulsed around mine, eyes closing as if he were
riding a wave of pain. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, his hand
easing around mine. "They wouldn't believe me."

Cherry came out of the bathroom. She tried to push me gently but firmly
out of the way, but Nathaniel clutched at my hand. Cherry settled for
making me kneel by the head of the bed. He could still hold my hand, but
I was out of the way. She began to explore the wounds on his chest. She
was very submissive, almost untrustworthily so, but let someone be
injured and it was like a different Cherry rose to the occasion. She
became Nurse Cherry, as if the leather-slut-from-hell was her secret
identity.

"Do you have a first aid kit in this cabin?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"I've got one in my suitcase in the other cabin," Cherry said.

"I'll get it," Jason offered. He started for the door.

"Wait," I said. "Jamil, go with him. I don't want anyone else taken
tonight."

No one argued with me. It was a first. The two werewolves just went for
the door. Damian had to move out of the way for them to leave. He shut
the door behind them and leaned against it. His eyes had gone a
drowning, solid green, like emerald fire. His pale skin was taking on
that transluscent, almost glowing quality that the vamps get when their
humanity begins to fold away. Strong emotions will do that to the lesser
vamps: fear, lust, anger.

I looked at Asher. He was . . . normal. He stood just back from the bed,
that handsome, tragic, face blank and empty. It was so like the
expression Jean-Claude used when he was hiding something.

"I thought Colin was either supposed to attack us directly or leave us
alone," I said. "No one said anything about this kind of shit."

"It was . . . unexpected," Asher said.

"Well, explain it to me."

Damian pushed away from the door, stalking into the room, every movement
tight with anger. "They tortured him because they enjoyed it. They're
vampires, but they fed off more than just blood."

"What are you saying, Damian?"

"They fed off his fear."

I looked from his glowing face to Asher, then back to Damian. "You mean
literally, don't you?"

Damian nodded. "The one who brought me over was like that. She could
feed off of fear as if it were blood. She'd go for days feeding off of
terror, then suddenly she'd take blood. But she didn't just feed, she
slaughtered. She'd come back to the chamber covered in blood, slick with
it. Then she'd make me . . ." His voice trailed off. He looked at me,
his eyes were beginning to look like naked green flame, as if his power
were eating the bones of his eye sockets. "I felt it when we met Colin.
I smelled it. He's like her. He's a night hag, a mora."

"What the hell is a night hag or a mora? And what do you mean, you met
Colin? I thought you rescued Nathaniel."

"No, they gave him back to us," Asher said. "If we did not see him, the
message would not be complete."

Cherry interrupted us. "His pulse is thready, his skin is clammy. He's
going into shock. The cuts on his chest are shallow. Even two vampire
bites in one night shouldn't put him into shock. We heal better than
this."

"There is a third bite," Asher said. Through it all, his voice had been
utterly calm, as if nothing touched him.

Cherry looked down the length of Nathaniel's body, then touched his
thigh. She moved his legs apart. "Of course, the femoral artery. Why is
the skin discolored on both bites?" She touched the skin of his inner
thigh. "The skin feels almost cold."

Nathaniel writhed on the bed. He let go of my hand, reaching for me as
if he wanted a hug. He grabbed one arm, and a handful of my blouse. His
eyes were wild. "It hurts."

"What hurts?" I asked.

"The bites are contaminated," Asher said.

"What do you mean, contaminated?"

"Think of it as a poison."

"He's a wereanimal, they're immune to poisons," I said.

"Not this one," Asher said.

"What kind of poison is it?" Cherry said.

There was a knock on the door. Jason said, "It's us."

Damian looked at me. His eyes had calmed down to a soft glow, his skin
almost back to the milky perfection that passed for normal.

I nodded.

He opened the door. Jason came in with a first aid kit bigger than most
overnight bags. Maybe Cherry had been a Girl Scout in another life.
Jamil followed behind Jason like a dark, solemn shadow.

"The kind of poison that nothing in that little bag will stop," Asher
said.

I stared up at him, suddenly realizing what he'd just said. "You mean
he's going to . . ." I couldn't even say it.

"Die," Asher said in that same utterly calm, almost mildly amused voice
that he'd been using since they first walked into the cabin.

I stood, Nathaniel's hands clinging to me. I looked at Cherry and she
moved in to help me draw free of him. I wanted to say things to Asher
that I didn't want Nathaniel to hear. Zane crawled onto the bed on the
other side. Nathaniel grabbed his hand and held on. Another spasm threw
Nathaniel writhing on the bed. Zane and Cherry held him down, let him
use that crushing strength on their hands. The two wereleopards stared
at me while Nathaniel thrashed, eyes rolling back into his head. Zane
and Cherry watched me. I was their Nimir-ra, their leopard queen. I was
supposed to protect them, not drag them into shit like this.

I turned away from their accusing, expectant eyes and moved with Asher
to the door. "What do you mean he's going to die?"

"You've seen the kind of vampires that rot and re-form themselves?"

"Yeah. So?"

"One of them bit Nathaniel."

"I've been bitten by one of them. Jason's been bitten by one of them.
Nothing like this happened to us." I glanced back and found Jason
holding Nathaniel's hand while Cherry started cleaning the chest wounds.
Somehow I didn't think bandaging the cuts was going to help.

Jamil and Damian joined us. We stood in a little circle, talking, while
Nathaniel screamed. Asher said, "It is one of the rarest of talents. I
thought that only Morte d' Amour, Lover of Death, the council member
could do this. Colin chose his messages carefully. The slashes are harm
from a distance with just a flexing of power."

"Jean-Claude can't cause harm from a distance," I said.

"No, and no one else can spread corruption from their bite. No one else
in this country."

"You keep saying corruption," Jamil said. "What does that mean exactly?"

Cherry came to us with white guaze pads in her hands. Her pale freckles
stood out like ink on her suddenly pale skin. There was yellow and green
puss on the gauze. "This came out of the chest wounds," she said
quietly. "What the hell is it?"

We all looked at Asher, even Damian. But I was the one who said it out
loud, "He's rotting. He's decaying while he's still alive."

Asher nodded. "The corruption is in his blood. It will spread and then
he will rot."

I looked back to the bed. Jason was speaking low and softly to
Nathaniel, stroking his head like you'd comfort a sick child. Zane was
looking at me.

"There has to be something we can do," I said.

Asher's face was as closed and careful as I'd ever seen it. One of
Jean-Claude's memories of Asher went through me so forcefully that my
fingertips tingled with it. It wasn't a memory of any one event. I
recognized the set of Asher's shoulders. I knew his body language with a
familiarity built up of years of observation. More years than I'd been
alive.

"What are you hiding, Asher?" I asked.

He looked at me, pale, pale eyes blank, empty, lined with those amazing
golden eyelashes like shining lace. He smiled. The smile was everything
it should have been: joyous, sensual, welcoming. That smile went through
my heart like a knife. I remembered that face whole and perfect. I
remembered when that smile had made me catch my breath.

I shook my head. The physical movement helped. I shook off the memories.
They faded, but it didn't change what I'd seen, what I knew. "You know
how to save him, don't you?"

"How badly do you want to save him, Anita?" His voice wasn't neutral
now, it was almost angry.

"I brought him down here, Asher, I put him in danger. I'm supposed to
protect him."

"I thought he was supposed to be your bodyguard," Asher said.

"He's walking food, Asher. You know that. Nathaniel can't even guard
himself."

Asher let out his breath in a long sigh. "Nathaniel is a pomme de sang."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It means apple of blood. It is a sobriquiet among the Council for
willing food."

Damian finished the thought. "The vampire that feeds from a pomme de
sang is duty bound to protect them, like a shepherd keeping the wolf
from his sheep." Damian looked at Asher while he said it, and it was not
a friendly look. They were fighting about something, but there was no
time.

I touched Asher's arm. It felt stiff, wooden, not even alive. He was
drawing away from me, away from the room, away from what was happening.
He was going to let Nathaniel die without even trying. Unacceptable.

I made myself grip that wooden, unalive arm. I hated it when Jean-Claude
felt like this. It was a reminder of what he was, and what he wasn't.
"Don't let him die, not like this. Please, mon chardonneret."

He jumped like I'd hit him when I used the old nickname that Jean-Claude
had used so many years ago. It meant literally, my goldfinch, which
sounded silly in English. But the look on Asher's face wasn't silly. It
was almost shocked.

"No one has called me that in over two hundred years." His arm softened
under my hand, feeling warm, alive again.

"I don't beg often, but for this I will."

"He means so much to you?" Asher asked.

"He's everyone's victim, Asher. Someone has to give a damn about him.
Please mon--" He put his fingers over my lips.

"Don't say it, Anita, don't ever say it again unless you mean it. I will
save him, Anita, for you."

I felt like I was missing something. I could remember Jean-Claude's pet
name for Asher but I couldn't remember why Asher was afraid to try to
heal Nathaniel. As I watched him walk to the bed, golden hair trailing
like a glittering veil across his shoulders, that missing memory seemed
very important.

Asher held his hand out to Damian. "Come, my brother, or does the famed
courage of the Vikings fail you now?"

"I was slaughtering your ancestors before you were a gleam in your
great-granddaddy's eye."

"Shit, this is dangerous, isn't it?" I asked.

Asher knelt beside the bed. He looked back at me, the golden hair
sliding over the scarred side of his face, hiding it. He knelt, all
golden perfection, and smiled, but it was bitter. "We can take the
corruption into ourselves, but if we are not powerful enough, it will
enter us, and we will die, but your precious wereleopard will be saved
either way."

Damian crawled onto the far side of the bed, moving Zane away from his
spot by Nathaniel's head. Nathaniel had stopped screaming. He lay very
still, skin pale, shiny with sweat. His breath came in shallow pants.
The wounds on his chest were oozing pus. There was a smell in the room
now, faint but growing. The bite on his neck still seemed solid, but the
skin of his neck was a deep blackish green like a bruise that was
killing deep.

"Asher," I said.

He looked at me, one hand running along Nathaniel's bare thigh.

"Damian's not a master."

"I cannot save your leopard by myself, Anita. Who would you save? Which
will you sacrifice?"

I looked at Damian. His green eyes were human again. He looked very
mortal, curled beside Nathaniel.

"Don't make me choose."

"But it is a choice, Anita. It is a choice."

I shook my head.

"Do you want me to save him?" Damian asked.

I met his gaze, and didn't know what to say.

"His pulse is very weak," Cherry said. "If you're going to do something,
you better do it soon."

"Do you want me to save him?" Damian asked again.

Nathaniel's fast, gasping breath was the only sound in the sudden
silence. They all looked at me. Waited for me to decide. And I couldn't
decide. I felt my head nod, almost as if I wasn't doing it. I nodded.

The vampires began to feed.

Chapter 13
----------

A feeding takes longer in real life than it does in the movies. Either
it's too quick or they do a fade like a 1950s sex scene. We all stood
around the room and watched. The room was quiet enough that you could
hear the vampires making small, wet noises as they fed.

Cherry knelt by the head of the bed. She checked Nathaniel's wrist pulse
periodically. The rest of us had moved farther away. I ended up on the
far side of the room, leaning my butt on the desk. I was working very
hard at not looking at the bed. Everyone moved around the room,
restless, embarrassed, I thought.

Jason came to stand beside me, leaning on the desk. "If I didn't know
his life was at stake, I'd be jealous."

I looked at him, trying to tell if he was teasing. There was a look in
his eyes, a heat, that said he was not. It made me look over at what was
happening.

Damian had drawn Nathaniel's body into his arms, his lap, so that he
cradled the smaller man almost the full length of his body. Parts of
Damian's body were lost to sight behind Nathaniel's naked body. His arm
cradled the smaller man's chest against the green silk shirt. The pus
had soaked into the cloth in blackening streaks. Nathaniel's face was
pressed by one pale hand into the vampire's shoulder. Damian had come
from behind for the neck strike. You could see the top of his bloodred
hair, his mouth locked over the wound. Even from where I stood, I could
see Damian's jaws swallowing.

Asher was still kneeling on the floor, one of Nathaniel's pale legs
flung outward so his foot hung in empty air. Asher's face was buried in
the man's inner thigh, so close to the groin that Nathaniel's slack
genitalia touched the side of his face. Asher moved his head slightly
and a spill of golden hair flung over Nathaniel's groin. It didn't hide
it so much as have him peeking out through it.

A blush flowed over my face so hard and fast I was almost dizzy. In
turning away, I caught a glimpse of myself in the room's only mirror. My
face was burning. My eyes looked wide and surprised. It was junior high
all over again, stumbling on couples under the bleachers, hearing their
laughter chase me into the night.

I stared at myself in the mirror and got a grip. I was not fourteen
anymore. I was not a child. I was not a virgin. I could do this with a
modicum of grace. Couldn't I?

Jamil had moved to the farthest corner of the room. He was sitting
there, arms tucked around his knees, face set in harsh lines, angry. He
wasn't enjoying the show, either.

Zane had moved back to lean against the wall, arms crossed. He was
looking at the floor as if there was something very interesting on it.

Jason was still sitting against the desk, watching the show. I looked at
him without turning around. "You do realize that you're the only one who
seems to be enjoying the view."

He shrugged, grinning. "It's a nice view."

I raised my eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're gay."

"Don't tell me you care," he replied.

My eyebrows went up a little farther. "My heart is breaking. I'll have
to burn all my lingerie." I kept watching his face. He was smiling but
not like it was a joke.

"Are you saying all that teasing is just an act?" I asked.

"Oh, no, I like women. But, Anita, almost none of the vampires in
Jean-Claude's inner circle are women. I've been acting as a pomme de
sang for two years. That's a lot of fangs sinking into your body."

"Is it really that close to sex?" I asked.

The humor left his face and he just looked at me. "You've really never
been rolled completely by a vamp, have you? I mean I knew you had
partial immunity even before the marks, but I thought someone somewhere
would have gotten to you."

"Nope," I said.

"Sometimes I'm not sure, but it may be better than sex, and almost
everyone who's been doing me has been a guy."

"So you're bisexual?"

"If what they're doing now counts as sex, yeah. If it doesn't then . .
." he laughed, and the sound was so abrupt in the silence that I saw
Zane and Jamil jump. "If this doesn't count as sex, let's just say that
'where no man has gone before' no longer applies."

Damned if I didn't want to ask who it had been. Maybe I would have
asked, but Cherry spoke and the moment was gone. "His pulse is stronger.
Losing this much blood, he should be getting weaker, but he's not."

Asher drew back from the wound. "We are not so much drinking blood as
drawing out the corruption." He stood one hand under Nathaniel's thigh.
He moved the leg back onto the bed, straightening his limbs as if he
were a sleeping child. A moment before, it had been utterly sexual; now
there was something in the way Asher acted that was tender, careful.

Damian pulled away from the wound. There was a spot on his lip, not red,
but black. I wondered if it had tasted bad. He wiped the spot away with
the back of his hand. If it had been pure blood he'd have licked it off.
So it hadn't been pleasant.

He crawled out from under Nathaniel, laying him carefully on his back.
He drew covers over Nathaniel as he moved off the bed.

Cherry had her first aid kit open. She recleaned the chest wounds with
antibacterial antiseptic. The first few sterile cloths came away smeared
with pus. We'd all moved next to the bed without realizing it. The smell
was stronger here, unpleasant, but fading. When the skin and wounds were
completely cleaned, the flesh was whole, and bright red blood welled
into the slashes.

Cherry flashed the room a smile so warm and bright that you had to smile
back. "He's going to be all right." She sounded surprised, and I
wondered how close it had been.

Someone drew a hissing breath. I turned to the sound. Damian was backing
up. He was staring at his hands. That pale, milky skin was turning dark,
a blackness flowing under the skin. The flesh of his hands began to peel
back while we watched.

Chapter 14
----------

"Shit," I said.

Damian held his hands out to me like a child that had burned its hand. I
didn't know which was worse, the terror in his face or the almost
resigned look in his eyes.

I shook my head. "No," I said, but my voice was soft. "No," I said it
again, louder, stronger.

"You cannot stop it," Asher said.

Damian stared at the darkening flesh of his hands, soft horror on his
face. "Help me," he said, and he looked to me.

I stared down at him and didn't have the faintest idea how to save him.
"What can we do?" I said.

"I know you are accustomed to riding in on your white steed and saving
the day, Anita, but some battles cannot be won," Asher said.

Damian had gone to his knees staring at his hands. He ripped his shirt
off in pieces, leaving remnants of the sleeves on his arms. The rotting
flesh was halfway to his elbows. A fingernail split and fell to the
floor with a burst of something dark and noisome. The smell was back,
sweet and sickly.

"I healed Damian once of a facial cut," I said.

Damian made a sound between a laugh and something more bitter. "I didn't
nick myself shaving, Anita." He shifted his gaze from the peeling flesh
of his hands to me. "Even you can't heal this."

I dropped to my knees in front of him, reaching out to touch his hands.
Damian jerked away. "Don't touch me!"

I put my hands over his hands. The skin felt almost hot to the touch, as
if the corruption were cooking him from the inside out. The skin was
soft as if, if I pressed too hard the skin would give way like a rotted
spot in an apple.

My throat was tight. "Damian, I'm . . . sorry." Dear God, it was an
inadequate word. A thousand years of "life" and he'd given it up for me.
He would never have taken such a risk if I had not asked. It was my
fault.

The look in his eyes was grateful, and pain-filled. He pulled his hands
gently out from under mine. Careful not to press too hard against my
hands. I think we were both afraid my fingers would sink through his
skin and into the flesh inside.

His face twisted in pain, and a small sound escaped his lips. I
remembered Nathaniel's cries of how it had hurt.

The ends of his fingers burst like overripe fruit, spilling something
black and greenish onto the floor. It spattered my arm. The smell was
growing in sickening waves.

I didn't swipe at the drops on my arm but I wanted to. I wanted to slap
at them like a spider, shrieking. My voice held some of the strain I was
trying to keep off my face. "I've got to at least try to heal you."

"How?" Asher asked. "How do, even you, begin to heal this?"

Damian made a low whimpering sound. His body shuddered, face ducking,
neck twisting, and finally he screamed. Wordless, hopeless.

"How?" Asher asked again.

"I don't know," and I was screaming, too.

"Only his original master, the one who saved him from the grave, would
have any chance of healing him."

I looked at Asher. "I called Damian from his coffin once. It was
accidental, but he answered to my call. I kept his . . . soul, whatever,
from fleeing his body once. We are bound together, a little."

"How did you call him from his grave?" Asher asked.

"Necromancy," I said, "I am a necromancer, Asher."

"I know nothing of necromancy," he said.

The smell swelled stronger. I breathed through my mouth, but that just
put the odor on the back of my tongue. I was almost afraid to look at
Damian. I turned slowly like a character in a horror movie, where you
just know the monster is right behind you, and you delay looking because
you know it will blast your sanity forever. But some things are worse
than any nightmare. The rot had moved past his elbows. Naked bone showed
through the back of his hand. The smell had driven all but the three of
us back. I stayed kneeling in the rotting fluid of Damian's body. Asher
stayed close, but only I was still within touching distance.

"If I were his master, what would I do?"

"You would drink his blood, take the corruption into yourself as we did
for Nathaniel."

"I didn't think vamps fed on each other."

"Not for food," Asher said, "but there are many reasons to share blood.
Food is only one of them."

I stared at Damian, watching the blackness spread under his skin like
ink. I could actually see it swimming underneath his flesh. "I can't
drink the corruption away," I said.

"But I could," Damian's voice came breathy with pain.

"No!" Asher said. He took a threatening step towards us. I could feel
his power flaring out from him like a whip.

Damian flinched, but looked up at the other vampire. He held his hands
out to Asher, pleading.

"What is going on?" I asked, looking from one to the other of them.

Asher shook his head, face angry, but otherwise unreadable. I watched
his features smooth and grow blank. He was hiding something.

"No," I said, getting to my feet. "No, you tell me what Damian meant."
Neither spoke.

"Tell me!" I screamed it into Asher's calm face.

He just stared at me, face as closed and impassive as a doll's.

"Dammit, one of you tell me what Damian meant. How could he drink away
his own corruption?"

"If . . ." Damian started.

"No," Asher said, pointing a finger at him.

"You are not my master," Damian said. "I must answer."

"Shut up, Asher," I said. "Shut the fuck up and let him talk."

"Would you have her risk all for you?" Asher asked.

"It does not have to be her. Only someone with more than human blood,"
Damian said.

"Tell me," I said, "now."

Damian spoke in a rushed whisper, voice edged with pain. "If I drank
blood from one powerful . . . enough. I might be able . . ." He
shuddered, struggling, then continued in a voice that was weaker than
just a moment before. "Might be able to take in enough power to . . .
cure myself."

"But if the one he takes blood from is not strong enough mystically to
take the corruption into himself, then they will die as Damian is dying
now," Asher said.

"I'm sorry," Jason said, "but count me out."

"Me, too," Zane said.

Jamil was across the room hugging his arms. He just shook his head.

Cherry knelt by the bed. She said nothing, eyes huge, face terrified.

I finally turned back to Asher "It has to be me. I can't ask anyone else
to take the risk."

Asher grabbed the back of my hair in a movement so fast I hadn't seen it
coming. He twisted my face back to look at Damian. "Is this how you want
to die, Anita? Is it? Is it!"

I spoke through gritted teeth. "Let go of me, Asher. Now!"

He released me slowly. "Don't do this, Anita. Please, don't. The risk is
too great."

"He's right," Damian's voice came in a bare whisper, so low I was
surprised I could hear it at all. "You could cure me but kill . . .
yourself."

The rot had spread up his arms and was gliding like some malignant force
underneath his collarbones. His chest was like glowing ivory, and I
could feel his heart thudding in his chest. I could feel it like a
second heartbeat in my own head. A vampire's heart didn't always beat,
but it was beating now.

I was so scared I could taste something flat and metallic in my mouth.
My fingertips tingled with the desire to run. I couldn't stay in this
room and watch Damian melt down into a stinking puddle, but part of my
brain was screaming at me to run. Run somewhere far away where I
wouldn't have to watch and I certainly wouldn't have to let those
rotting hands touch me.

I shook my head. I stared at Damian, not at the rotting flesh, but at
his face, his eyes. I stared into those shining green eyes like bits of
emerald fire. It was ironic that as parts of him corrupted and slothed
away, that what was left had become its most beautiful. His skin was
polished ivory with a depth of light like some white jewel. His hair
seemed to glow like spun rubies, and those eyes, those emerald eyes . .
. I stared at him, made myself see him.

I swept my hair to one side, exposing my neck. "Do it." I dropped my
hand, and the hair moved back to hide my neck.

"Anita," he said.

"Do it, Damian, do it. Now, please, before I lose my nerve."

He crawled to me. He swept the hair aside with a hand gone blackened
flesh and bone. He left a trail of something heavy and thick on my
shoulder. I could feel that thickness sliding down my shirt like a
snail. I concentrated on the soft glow of his skin, the imperfect slope
of his nose where someone centuries ago had broken that perfect profile.

But it wasn't enough. I turned my head to one side so he wouldn't have
to touch me more than necessary. I saw his head tense for the strike and
I closed my eyes. It was sharp like needles and it didn't get better.
Damian wasn't strong enough to roll me with his eyes. There would be no
magic to take away the pain.

His mouth locked against the wound and he began to feed. I thought I'd
have to try and force my power into him or lower my shields and let him
inside my power, let him drink it away. But moments after his teeth
pierced my skin, something flared between us. Power, bond, magic. It
raised every hair on my body.

Damian cuddled against the front of me, pressing our chests to one
another, and the power burst over us in a rush that filled the room with
sighing. Distantly I realized that there was a wind and it was coming
from us. A wind forged of the cool touch of vampire and the chill
control of necromancy. A wind forged of us.

Damian was like a feeding thing at my throat. The power took the pain,
turned it into something else. I felt his mouth at my throat, felt him
swallowing my blood, my life, my power. I gathered it all into us and
thrust it back into Damian. I fed it into him with my blood.

I visualized his skin whole and perfect. I felt the power spill down his
body. I felt us push out the other. I could feel it flowing out of us,
not onto the floor but into the floor, past the floor, into the ground
below. We were exorcising it, ridding ourselves of it. It was no more.

The two of us knelt bathed in power. A wind trailed Damian's hair across
my face, and I knew the wind was us. It was Damian who drew back,
trailing power between us like the broken shreds of some dream.

He knelt in front of me, lifting his hands to my face. They were healed,
under the remnants of that black ooze, his hands were healed. His arms
healed. He cradled my face in his hands and kissed me. The power was
still there. It flowed over us, through his mouth, in a line of energy
that burned.

I drew back from Damian's kiss. I managed to sit up.

"Anita."

I looked at Damian.

"Thank you," he said.

I nodded. "You're welcome."

"Now," Asher said, "I think it is time for showers all around." He
stood, pants covered in black goop. It was on his hands, too, and I
couldn't remember when he'd touched Damian or the floor.

I could feel the stuff clinging to my bare back where Damian had touched
me. My pants were soaked with it from the knees down. The clothes would
have to be burned or at least thrown away. This was one of the reasons I
kept a pair of coveralls in my Jeep to put on over my clothes at crime
scenes and some zombie raisings. Of course, I hadn't expected to get
this messy before I'd even left the damn cabin.

"Showers sound great," I said. "You first."

"May I suggest that you go first. A hot shower is a wonderful luxury,
but for Damian and me it is a luxury, not a necessity."

"Good point," I said. My hair had kept the stuff from soaking to my
scalp, but I could feel it when I touched my hair.

It. I kept saying, "it." I was shying away from the fact that "it" was
Damian's body rotted and leaked out upon the floor. Sometimes when it's
too horrible you have to distance yourself from it. Language is a good
way to do that. Victims become an "it" very quickly, because sometimes
it's too horrible even to say, "he," or "she." When you're scraping
pieces of someone's loved one off your hands, it has to be an "it." Has
to be, or you run screaming. So, I was covered in black, greenish it.

I washed my hands thoroughly enough so I could dig through my suitcase
without contaminating the clothes. I'd picked out jeans and a polo
shirt. Asher appeared behind me. I looked up at him.

"What?" I asked. It sounded rude even to me. "I mean, what now?"

Asher rewarded me with a smile. "We will have to meet Colin tonight."

I nodded. "Oh, yeah. He is definitely on my dance card for tonight."

He smiled and shook his head. "We cannot kill him, Anita."

I stared at him. "You mean we can't, as in it's too hard a job or we
can't, as in we shouldn't do it?"

"Perhaps both, but certainly the latter."

I stood. "He sent Nathaniel to us to die." I looked into the suitcase,
not seeing it, just not wanting to look up. There was a rim of blackness
at the base of my fingernails that the scrubbing at the sink hadn't
lifted. There had been a moment when the power broke between us, and I
knew it would work, but until that second . . . I had tried very hard
not to think about it. It was only after I'd gone into the bathroom to
clean my hands off that I started to shake. I'd stayed in the bathroom
until my hands were steady. The fear was under control, all that was
left was anger.

"I do not think anyone was meant to die, Anita. I think it was a test."

"A test of what?" I asked.

"How much power we truly have. In a way it was a compliment. He would
never have contaminated Nathaniel if he thought we had no hope of saving
him."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because, to kill a pomme de sang of another master vampire is a mortal
insult. Wars have begun over less."

"But he knows we can't make war on him without the Council hunting us
down."

"Which is why we cannot kill him." Asher held up his hand, which stopped
me with my mouth open. I closed it. "The last master you killed was
threatening your life directly. You killed her to protect yourself.
Self-defense is allowed. But Colin has not offered us personal
violence."

"That is cutting it pretty damn close, Asher."

He gave a graceful nod. "Oui."

"So if we kill him the Council comes back to town and cleans our clock."

Slight frown lines showed between his eyes. I don't think he understood
the slang. "They will kill us," he said.

I'd met some of the Council, and I knew he was right. Jean-Claude had
enemies on the Council and now so did I. No, I did not want to give the
nightmares of all vampirekind an excuse to come back to St. Louis and
wipe us out.

"What can we do? Because, mark me on this, Asher, they will pay for what
they did to Nathaniel."

"I agree. If we do nothing to avenge the insult, it will be viewed as a
sign of weakness and Colin may come against us and kill us."

"Why is everything so damned complicated with you guys?" I asked. "Why
couldn't Colin just believe we'd come down here to rescue Richard?"

"Because we didn't leave town." Nathaniel's voice came thin but steady
from the bed. He blinked lilac eyes at me. Cherry had bandaged his chest
and the neck wound was covered with a large piece of taped gauze. I
assumed the thigh wound was similarly covered, but the bedspread covered
him from the waist down.

"When Richard got out of jail, Colin expected us to leave town. When we
didn't, he thought we meant to take over his territory."

I went to stand by the bed. "Zane said you went off with one of Verne's
werewolves. How did the vamps get hold of you?"

"Mira," he said.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"The werewolf's name is Mira." He looked away from me as if he didn't
want to look me in the face while he talked. "She took me home. We had
sex. Then she left the room. When she came back the vampires were with
her." He looked up at me. I found myself staring down into his eyes and
the need in them was so raw it made me flinch.

"There were too many of them for you to fight, Nathaniel," I said. "It's
okay."

"Fight?" He laughed, and it was so bitter it hurt just to hear it.
"There was no fight. I was already chained down."

I frowned. "Why?"

He let out a long sigh. "Anita, Anita, God." He put one arm across his
eyes.

Zane came to the rescue, sort of. "You know that Nathaniel is a
submissive?"

I nodded. "I know he likes to be tied up and . . ." The light dawned.
"Oh, okay. I get it. Mira invited you home for some S and M sex."

"D and S, dominance and submission," Zane said, "but yeah."

I took a deep breath, mistake. The room still stank of bodily fluids,
the unpleasant kind. "So she wrapped you up like a present and gave you
to them?"

"Yes," he said, softly. "The sex had been good. She was a good top."

"Top?" I asked.

"Dominant," Zane said.

Ah.

Nathaniel curled onto his side, drawing the bedspread around him. "The
master, Colin, paid her to bring one of us to them. Anyone of us. It
didn't matter who. It could have been Jason, or Zane, or Cherry. One of
their animals, he said." He huddled down into the blankets, eyes
fluttering shut, then open, then shut.

I looked at Cherry. "Is he alright?"

"I gave him something to help him sleep. It won't last long. Our
metabolisms are too fast, but he'll get maybe half an hour, an hour if
we're lucky."

"If you're not going to take a shower, I'd like to," Damian said.

"No, I'm getting in."

"But you can't wear what you've picked out," Asher said.

I frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Jean-Claude sent a trunk of clothes just for this occasion," he said.

"Oh, no," I said, "no more leather and lace shit."

"I agree with you, Anita," Asher said. "If we were simply going to kill
them it wouldn't matter what we wore, but we are putting on a show as
much as anything. Appearance will matter."

"Well, shit," I said. "Fine, I'll dress up, we won't kill anyone, but
you better come up with something that we can do to them. They can't
abuse our people like this and just walk away."

"They will expect retribution, Anita. They are waiting for it."

I looked at Nathaniel cuddled so deep in the blankets that only the top
of his head showed. "This retribution better be good, Asher."

"I will do my best."

I shook my head. "You do that." I went into the shower without any
clothes to put on because the trunk was in the other cabin. I figured
with both coffins in my room I didn't need the trunk. I'd really hoped
we wouldn't be opening the damn thing. I hated dressing up in normal
dressy clothes. Jean-Claude's idea of dressing up was always worse.

Chapter 15
----------

It took three rounds of shampoo to get my hair clean. The stuff on my
body didn't seem to want to come off unless I scrubbed. There is that
point in the middle of the back that you just can't do yourself. It is
one of the few areas that married people have an edge on us single folk.
I finally had to turn the shower on as high as it would go and just let
it pound the middle of my back. The stuff finally sloughed off and
floated down the drain.

The stuff clung like nothing I'd ever had to clean off before. That
included real rotting corpses and zombies. None of it had ever been as
tough to get rid of as Damian's . . . fluids.

Cherry was the one who knocked on the door and brought in a pile of
clothes. I didn't like any of them. Too much leather for my taste. It
took two trips back and forth, wrapped in nothing but a towel, to find
clothes that I was willing to wear. There was one red leather bodysuit
that seemed to be nothing but straps. It might be interesting for
private use just between Jean-Claude and myself, but wearing it in
public was definitely out.

I ended up in a short-sleeved, black velvet, midriff top with such a low
neckline that it took a special bra under it just so the bra didn't
show. Jean-Claude had kindly packed the bra. It was one of those
uplifting ones, and if there was one thing my chest didn't need, it was
more lift; but it was also the only bra I had access to that plunged low
enough that it didn't show with the shirt. There was a velvet dress that
would have needed the bra for its neckline, too. Jean-Claude had been a
busy little vampire.

Everything fit perfectly, if you were willing to wear it. I picked a
leather skirt as the lesser of evils. There was a pair of thigh-high
black boots that zipped in the back. The tops of the boots were wide and
stiff and open at the back. The fronts of the boots came up to the
absolute limit of my legs, brushing my groin at odd moments if I walked
wrong. The boots had to have been custom-made for me. I didn't remember
Jean-Claude ever measuring me for shoes. He'd held pretty much every
inch of me in his hands at one point or another. Apparently, that had
been enough.

But the leather skirt had belt loops for my shoulder holster, and the
velvet midriff had enough sleeves that the shoulder straps didn't dig
into any bare flesh. The side straps felt a little strange against my
bare sides when I moved, but it was doable. Of course, there was no way
to wear an inner-pants holster in the skirt.

I had added the spine sheath down my back and both wrist sheaths. The
spine sheath showed underneath the midriff, but hey, they expected us to
be armed. Frankly, I wanted a second gun with me. One of the good things
about flying on Jean-Claude's private jet as opposed to an airline was
that I had several guns to choose from.

It was a mini-Uzi on a shoulder strap. It had a clip that attached to
the back of the skirt so it didn't swing around too much, but you could
pull it out into the open with one hand.

When I put it on, Asher's only comment had been, "We can't kill them,
Anita."

I looked at the weapons that I'd laid out on one of the last clean
spaces of floor. There was an American Derringer, a second Browning
Hi-Power, a sawed-off shotgun, and one pump-action shotgun.

I looked up at him. "I didn't bring everything I had."

"So glad to hear it," he said. "But the machine gun is a killing weapon,
nothing more."

"The reason I'm in this outfit is because you said we need to make a
good show. Well, we can't cause harm from a distance. We can't spread
corruption with any of your bites. What the hell are we going to do,
Asher? What can we possibly do that will impress them?" I swung the Uzi
into my left hand, pointing it at the ceiling. "If there's anyone with
him tonight that we can kill, I'll kill them with this."

"And you think that will impress or frighten Colin?"

"Have you ever seen a vampire cut in half by one of these?" I asked.

Asher seemed to think about that for a few seconds as if he'd seen so
many horrible things that he just wasn't sure. Finally, he shook his
head. "No, I have not."

"Well, I have." I let the gun swing back to the small of my back. "It
impressed me."

"Did you do it?" he asked, his voice soft.

I shook my head. "No, just saw it done."

Jamil knelt beside me. He was wearing something that had started life as
a black T-shirt but had been cut so severely at the neck, arms, and
midriff that it looked more like a wishful thought than a shirt. It
covered his nipples, and that was about it. But his upper body was
muscular and impressive nearly bare. We were going for impressive
tonight. He'd gotten to keep his black jeans and I was jealous. But
Jamil didn't belong to Jean-Claude, so there'd been no time to have some
piece of leather specially made. Truthfully, I hadn't been a hundred
percent certain Jamil was even going to come with us. Not only was Jamil
coming but so was Richard. Surprise, surprise. Jamil took an armload of
clothes for Richard to choose from. Shang-Da was coming along as well,
and he needed to change. Though he, like Jamil, had never belonged to
Jean-Claude intimately enough to have specially made clothes. So it was
whatever they could find in his suitcase. Happy hunting.

Chapter 16
----------

Damian had refused to share a shower with Asher even though they were
both dirty and would need someone to help scrape the stuff from the
harder-to-reach places. I'd suggested they share a shower because they
were both guys. I knew that Asher was bisexual, but I still had a hard
time wrapping my Midwestern upbringing around the fact that it didn't
matter what sex Asher shared a shower with, he saw both as sexual
objects. I knew it, and it didn't really bother me, but every once in a
while, the knowledge surprised me. I don't know why.

Asher came out of the shower with nothing but a towel knotted at his
waist. Damian went into the shower. The last of the night. Jason had
helped Asher scrape the harder-to-reach places. Jason didn't tease the
vampire. He just went in, helped him clean up, and got out. I'd actually
wondered, after Jason's little confession, if he would tease men the
same way he teased women. Apparently not.

The scars on Asher's chest were very visible. As he walked, the scars on
his right thigh flashed from the towel. The rest of him was a pale
golden perfection. He'd once known what it was like to walk into any
room and have people gasp at his beauty. People still gasped, but not
for the same reasons.

Zane and Cherry were being very careful not to look at him. They kept
their faces blank, but their discomfort screamed how they felt.

Asher's face was bland, as if he didn't notice, but I knew he did.

Jason didn't look away. He'd pulled on a pair of leather pants but
waited on the shirt and boots because he still had to help Damian flake
the gunk off his skin. He sat on one of the coffins, swinging his bare
feet, looking at me. His eyes flicked to the vampire, then back to me.

Oh, hell. Who died and made me den mother? You'd think hanging around
with this many preternatural studly guys would mean there was a lot of
sex, and sexual tension was in the air a lot, but more than sex, was
pain. I don't know if it was because I was a girl, or what, but I ended
up doing a hell of a lot more hand-holding than any of the guys. Maybe
it was a girl thing. I certainly didn't think of myself as particularly
compassionate. So why was it me walking across the floor to the vampire?

Asher was kneeling in front of the trunk. His back was smooth and almost
perfect, only a few trailing scars where the holy water had dripped down
his side. His golden hair hung thick and wet, water trailing in silver
lines down his back. There weren't enough towels, so the guys were
forgoing a second towel for the hair.

I took the towel I'd used for my hair from the back of the desk chair.
I'd put it there so it could dry. I went to him and put a hand on his
shoulder. He flinched, lowering his head, trying to get the wet hair to
cover his scarred face. The gesture was automatic, no thinking required,
and it hurt my heart to see him do it.

If we'd been lovers, I'd have licked the water off his chest, caressing
my tongue down the deep scars, maybe even slid a hand under the towel.
But we weren't lovers, and I'd never seen him nude. I didn't know what
was under the towel. He'd told me once that he was still fully
functional, but that didn't really tell me what he looked like under the
towel. And as comfortable as I was with him, I wasn't sure I wanted to
know. If it was as bad as his chest, I was almost sure I didn't want to
see. Yes, I admit there was a small part of me that did want to know for
sheer curiosity's sake.

I did the best I could. I laid my face against the roughness of his
right cheek. "What are you going to wear?"

He sighed and leaned his face into me. One hand touched my hand, sliding
my arm across his damp chest. "I think we shall need to shock them. I
shall wear very little."

I moved back enough to see his face. He kept my hand pressed to his
chest, resting on the smooth perfection of his left side. "You sure
about that?"

He smiled but blinked at the same time so I couldn't read his eyes. He
patted my hand and let me go. "I am accustomed to the effect I have on
people, ma cherie. I have had centuries to use it to my advantage."

I stood and draped the towel over his shoulders. "You'll need this for
your hair."

He grabbed the ends of the towel like a shawl, pressing the cloth to his
nose and mouth. "It smells of the sweet scent of your skin."

I touched a strand of that heavy, gold hair. "You say the nicest
things." I stared down into that face, into the frosted blue of his
eyes, and felt something low in my body tighten. A sudden flexing of
lust that made me catch my breath. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it's
just a gesture, a turn of the head, and you catch your breath, your body
reacts on a level that you can't control. When it happens, you pretend
it didn't, you hide it. Heaven forbid that the object of such instant
desire should know what you're thinking. But tonight, I let it show in
my eyes. I let him see how he moved me.

He took my hand and laid a gentle kiss against my skin. "Ma cherie. "

Jason came to stand near us, leaning against the nearest coffin as he'd
leaned against the desk. "Damn," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"You've seen me naked, or almost. We've been up close and very
personal." He sighed. "And you didn't look at me like that."

"Jealous?" I asked.

He seemed to think about that for a second, then nodded. "Yeah, I think
I am."

Asher laughed and it was touchable, caressable, like a feather trailing
down your skin held by a knowledgeable hand. "In that smooth, perfect
body, in the full bloom of your youth, alive and breathing, and you are
jealous of me. How lovely."

A knock on the door saved us from further discussion. I drew the
Browning and put my back to the wall near the door. "Who is it?"

"It's Verne."

I parted the drape and looked out. He seemed to be alone. I opened the
door and ushered him inside. The moment his back was to me, I pressed
the gun barrel into his back and kicked the door closed.

He froze. "What's up?" he asked.

"You tell us," I said.

"Anita," Asher said.

"No, he's the Ulfric. He's supposed to have his pack under solid
control."

I felt his ribs expand through the gun barrel. "I can smell the shit in
the carpet, the sheets. Colin pay a visit?"

I shoved the barrel tight enough into his back to leave a bruise. "He
left a present."

"He gave us one of his presents once," Verne said. "I know what I'm
smelling in here because I held Erin's hand while he rotted to death."

"Why should I believe you?" I asked.

"If you have a problem with Colin's people, why pull a gun on me?"

"One of your wolves lured Nathaniel away and delivered him to the
vampires."

Again I felt the movement through the gun barrel as he turned his head
to look at the bed. "Why isn't he dead?"

"That's our business," I said.

He nodded. "Which of my wolves delivered your cat to Colin?"

"Mira," I said.

"Shit," he said. "I knew she was pissed that Richard had stopped seeing
her, but I never thought she'd go over to the vampires."

Asher walked to us. "By rules of hospitality, you can be held
responsible for the actions of your pack."

"What can I do to make up for this breach of protocol?" The words
sounded way too formal for Verne's down-home drawl.

I leaned into him because the gun couldn't get any closer without going
into his body. Had to make my point somehow. "How do I know you didn't
tell her to do it?"

"I told you what he did to Erin. Colin said we were getting above
ourselves, forgetting that vampires are more powerful than any animal.
How the hell did you cure your leopard?"

"His name's Nathaniel," I said.

Verne took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "How did you cure
Nathaniel?"

I flicked my eyes past Verne's body to Asher. He gave the slightest of
nods, and I backed up enough steps that I'd be out of reach in case
Verne was upset about the gun. But I kept the gun pointed at him,
because I was still closer than ten feet. Even a normal man armed with
just a knife can close that distance quicker than most people can
upholster a gun.

"At great risk to ourselves," Asher said.

"How?" Verne asked. He moved towards the bed as if I was of no
importance. Asher told him how we'd healed Nathaniel.

"And neither of you were poisoned by it?" Verne asked.

"Damian was affected," Asher said.

Verne searched the room. "You mean the red-haired vampire?"

Asher nodded.

"I can hear him in the bathroom. He should be dead."

"Yes, he should be," Asher said.

Verne turned and looked at me then. "Our vargamor said she felt your
power tonight. Said you conjured up some sort of spell."

"I don't know the term vargamor," I said.

"A pack's wise woman or wise man, a witch usually, but not always.
Sometimes just a psychic. Most packs don't bother with them anymore. How
did you save the vampire once he started to rot?"

I holstered the Browning. One, I couldn't keep the gun naked in my hands
forever; two, I was beginning to believe Verne. "I'm a necromancer,
Verne. Damian's a vampire. I healed him."

His eyes narrowed. "Just like that?"

I laughed. "No, not just like that. We damn near didn't save him, but we
did it."

"Could you cure one of my people?"

"Did Colin do one of your people tonight?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, but if we stand with you against him, he will."

"Why would you stand with us on this?" I asked.

"Because I hate that bloodsucking son of a bitch."

"If that's true, then Mira broke pack law," Jason said.

Verne nodded. "Normally, I'd kick her ass. She disobeyed me, but she
injured you. Your grievence takes precedence." He glanced at Asher, then
at me, as if he wasn't a hundred percent sure who to ask permission of.
"What can my pack do to make this right between us?"

I looked at him, head to one side. I didn't like the idea that one of
his wolves had betrayed Nathaniel. It made me not trust him. But I
understood why Mira was pissed. Richard had dumped her. A woman scorned
and all that.

"First, delay the greeting ceremony," I said. "We're going to be ass
deep in vampires; there won't be time for anything else tonight."

Verne nodded. "Done."

"And I want Mira's head in a basket," I said.

"We need a place to meet Colin," Asher said.

"Our lupanar is ready for company," Verne said.

"Most generous," Asher said.

It was generous. Maybe too generous. "You understand that we aren't
going to kill Colin for this. That whatever happens tonight--unless he
attacks us, forces us to defend ourselves--we'll be leaving in a few
days, and Colin will still be Master of the City."

"You mean if I help you hurt him, he may hold a grudge?" Verne said.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Erin was a good kid. He wasn't even one of the young ones that had gone
up against the vampires. They picked him because he was one of my
wolves."

"Nathaniel said that Mira had been paid to bring one of our animals to
Colin," I said.

"It sounds like him." Verne's hands balled into fists, and his power
moved through the cabin like a line of heat. "I've wanted him to pay for
what happened to Erin for ten years, but I haven't had the power to go
up against him."

"You don't want him dead?" I asked, and I sounded surprised.

"Colin, for the most part, leaves us alone. But better yet, he can't
call wolves. If we kill him, a new master will move in, maybe one that
can control wolves. Maybe one that is a bigger, meaner son of a bitch.
Dead would be great, but not until I know what it would cost my pack."

"The devil you know or the devil you don't," I said.

Verne looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Yes."

"Great," I said, "let's turn up the fire under this particular devil and
roast his cojnes."

For one of the few times on this trip, everyone seemed to be in
agreement. I was used to killing vampires, not punishing them, because
I'd learned a long time ago that you either killed monsters or left them
the fuck alone. Once you pull on their tail, metaphorically speaking,
you're just never quite sure how they're going to react. Sorry, cancel
that. I knew exactly how Colin would react. The question was how much
blood would be spilled and could we possibly pull this off without
getting some of our people killed. I didn't give a damn if we killed
some of Colin's people, in fact, I was sort of looking forward to it.

Chapter 17
----------

I walked through a world of silvered moon shadows and the black outlines
of trees. The boots were low-heeled enough and they fit well enough that
they actually weren't bad for walking through the woods. It wasn't the
fit of anything that made it uncomfortable to be out in the woods; it
was the heat and the noise. There was sweat at the bend of my knees
underneath the nylons and the leather. I'd added a leather jacket,
borrowed from Jason. The jacket hid the mini-Uzi and the big leather
purse I had slung over one shoulder. The purse was Cherry's and had a
can of aerosol hair spray in it. I had a golden lighter in the pocket of
the jacket. The lighter belonged to Asher. It was too hot to be wearing
the jacket.

All that leather crinkled and sighed every time I moved. Under other
circumstances, it might have been interesting; as it was, it was
irritating. Important safety tip: Don't try to sneak up on people in new
leather. At least not people with supernatural hearing. Of course, we
weren't sneaking up on anybody tonight. The vampires knew we were
coming.

Verne's people had delivered the message. Once Richard arrived on the
scene, my suspicious nature was ignored. If Verne said he told the vamps
where to meet and why, then of course Richard believed him. Truthfully,
so did I, but it still bugged me how easily Richard accepted Verne's
word.

Of course, Richard had been visiting with Verne's pack for several years
every summer. He knew them as friends. I respected friendship; I just
didn't always trust it. Okay, I didn't trust other people's friends. I
trusted my own, because I trusted my own judgment. Which meant, I guess,
that I still didn't trust Richard's judgment. No, I didn't.

Thinking of him was enough. I could feel him off to my left like a warm
presence moving through the summer night. I had a moment of feeling him
walking. I could feel the rhythm of his body as he moved. I was almost
dizzy, stumbling, as I pulled away from the image.

Zane took my arm. "You all right?"

I nodded and pulled away. I didn't know him that well yet. If I had a
choice, I wasn't that touchy-feely with people I didn't know. But the
moment I pulled away, I felt him shrink back. I knew without any magic
at all that I'd hurt his feelings. I was his Nimir-ra, his leopard
queen, and I was supposed to like him, or at least not dislike him. I
didn't know whether apologizing would make it worse or better, so I said
nothing.

Zane moved off through the woods, leaving me to myself. He was wearing
the leather pants, vest, and boots he'd worn on the plane. Funny how
Zane's personal wardrobe was just fine for tonight.

Richard stopped moving and stared at me across the yards that separated
us. He was dressed all in black: leather pants and a silk shirt that
clung to his new, improved, muscular upper body. He'd been lifting
weights since Jean-Claude last measured him for shirts. He stood there
all in black, a color I'd never seen him in. The moonlight was strong
enough that I could see his face in bold highlights; only the eyes were
lost to shadow, as if he were blind. Even from here, I could feel him
like a line of heat in my body.

Earlier, Asher had made things in my body go low and tight. But now,
standing in the hot, summer woods, watching the gleam of moonlight
reflecting off the silk and leather on Richard's body, seeing his hair
slide like a soft cloud around his shoulders, it made my chest tight,
closer to tears than to lust, because he wasn't mine anymore. Whether I
liked it or not, whether I wanted it or not, I would always regret not
having been with Richard. I'd had other opportunities in the past for
being with other guys in intimate settings, but I'd never regretted
saying no before. In fact, I always felt like I'd dodged a bullet. Only
Richard made me regret.

He started walking towards me. It made me look away as if we'd been at a
restaurant or something, and I'd been caught staring at my ex. I
remembered a night just after college when I'd been in a restaurant with
some friends, and seen my ex-fianc with his new girlfriend. He'd walked
towards us as if he'd introduce me to her. I'd fled to the ladies' room
and hid out until one of my girlfriends came and told me the coast was
clear. Four years ago, I'd run for cover because he had dumped me and
didn't seem to miss me. Now I stood my ground but not because I had
dumped Richard. I stood my ground because my pride wouldn't let me hurry
away through the trees and pretend I hadn't run away. I wasn't much into
running lately.

So I stood there in the silvered dark, my heart beating in my throat,
and waited for him to come to me.

Jamil and Shang-Da stood together in the dark, watching but not
following him, as if he'd told them to stay put. Even from here, I could
tell Shang-Da didn't like it. As far as I could see, Shang-Da hadn't
changed clothes. He was still in his all-black, totally monochromed
tailored suit, shirt, and accessories.

Richard came to stand about two feet in front of me. He just looked down
at me and said nothing. I couldn't read his expression, and I didn't
want to read his mind again.

I broke first, babbling. "I'm sorry about that, Richard. I didn't mean
to invade you like that. I'm not very good at controlling the marks
yet."

"That's all right," he said. Why is it that voices in the dark can sound
so much more intimate?

"You okay with Asher's plan for tonight?" I asked, more for something to
say while he stared down at me than for anything else.

Verne had learned through Mira that Colin believed that Asher was his
replacement. Both masters were of an equivalent age. Colin was more
powerful, but much of that extra power could have been from the ties
that made him Master of the City. It was the first time I'd ever been
told that just being Master of the City gave you extra power. Live and
learn.

"I understand that Asher has to convince Colin that he doesn't want the
job," Richard said.

Asher had decided that the way to do that was to convince Colin he was
infatuated with me and with Jean-Claude. I wasn't sure how I felt about
the plan, really. But we all agreed, even Richard, that the local vamps
wouldn't believe that ties of friendship and nostalgia made Asher happy
where he was. Vampires are like people in one respect, they'll believe a
sexual explanation before an innocent one. Even death doesn't change the
human trait of being willing to believe the worst of a person rather
than the best.

"It's none of my business what you do or who you do it with, remember?"
His voice was a great deal more neutral than his words.

"I was embarrassed in the bathroom. You caught me off guard."

"I remember," I said. He shook his head. "If we're supposed to flaunt
our power tonight, that means we need to use the marks."

"Mira told them that you were interviewing new lupas. They know we're
not an item," I said.

"We don't have to show them domestic bliss, Anita, just power." He held
out his hand to me.

I stared at it. The last time he'd led me through summer woods had been
the night he killed Marcus. The night when everything had gone wrong.

"I don't think I can take another stroll through the woods, Richard."

His hand closed into a fist. "I know I handled it badly that night,
Anita. You'd never seen me shapeshift, and I shifted on top of you,
while you couldn't get away. I've thought about that. I couldn't have
chosen a worse way to introduce you to what I was. I know that now, and
I'm sorry I scared you."

Scared didn't quite cover it, but I didn't say it out loud. He was
apologizing, and I was going to accept it. "Thank you, Richard. I didn't
mean to hurt you. I just . . ."

"Couldn't handle it," he said.

I sighed. "Couldn't handle it."

He held his hand out to me. "I'm sorry, Anita."

"Me, too, Richard."

He gave a small smile. "No magic, Anita, just your hand in mine."

I shook my head. "No, Richard."

"Afraid?" he asked.

I stared up at him. "When we need to draw the marks, we can touch; but
not here, not now."

He reached up to touch my face, and I heard the silk of his shirt rip.
He lowered his arm and put three fingers in the ripped seam. "That's the
third time that's happened." He spread the seam on the other arm,
putting his whole hand in it. He turned and showed me his back. The
seams at the shoulders had pulled apart on both sides like mouths.

I giggled, and I don't do that often. "You look like the Incredible
Hulk."

He flexed his arms and shoulders like a bodybuilder. The look of mock
concentration on his face made me laugh. The silk ripped with an almost
wet sound. Silk sounds the closest to flesh of any cloth when you tear
it; only leather sounds more alive under a blade.

His tanned flesh showed pale through the black cloth, as if some
invisible knife were slashing rips in it. He straightened up. One sleeve
had ripped so badly at the shoulder that it flapped around his upper
arm. The seams at the top of his chest were like twin smiles.

"I feel a draft," he said. He turned and showed me his back. The shirt
had peeled off his back, hanging in tatters.

"It's trashed," I said.

"Too much weight lifting since I was measured for the shirt."

"You are perilously close to being too muscular," I said.

"Can you ever be too muscular?" he asked.

"Yes, you can," I said.

"You don't like it?" he asked. He wadded his hands into the front of the
shirt and pulled. The silk tore into black shreds, ripping like a soft
scream. He tossed the silk at me. I caught it by reflex, not thinking.

He grabbed what was left of the shirt across his shoulders and pulled it
over his head, exposing every inch of his chest, his shoulders. He
strained his arms upward, making the muscles mold against his skin from
stomach to shoulder.

It didn't just make me catch my breath, it made me catch and hold,
forgetting to breathe for a few seconds, so that when I did remember, my
breath came out in a shaky gasp. So much for being cool and
sophisticated.

He lowered his arms and all that was left were the sleeves. He pulled
them off like a stripper removing long gloves and let the bits of silk
fall to the ground. He stood looking at me, nude from the waist up.

"Am I supposed to applaud or say, 'My, my, Mr. Zeeman, what big
shoulders you have'? I'm aware that you have a great body, Richard. You
don't have to rub my face in it."

He moved into me until he was standing so close that a hard thought
would have made us touch. "What a good idea," he said.

I frowned at him, because I wasn't following. "What's a good idea?"

"Rubbing your face in my body," he said, his voice so low that it was
almost a whisper.

I blushed and hoped he couldn't see it in the dark. "It's an expression,
Richard. You know I didn't mean it."

"I know," he said, "but it's still a good idea."

I stepped back. "Go away, Richard."

"You don't know the way to the lupanar," he said.

"I'll find it on my own; thanks, anyway."

He started to reach out to touch my face, and I almost stumbled backing
up. He flashed me a quick smile and was gone, running through the trees.
I could feel the roil of power like wind in a sail. He rode the energy
of the woods, the night, the moon overhead, and if I wanted to, I could
go along for the ride. I stood there, hugging my arms, concentrating
everything I had on blocking him out, cutting the power between us.

When I felt alone and locked within my own skin again, I opened my eyes.
Jason was standing so close it made me jump. It also made me realize how
careless I'd been.

"Damn, Jason, you scared me."

"Sorry. I thought someone should stay behind and make sure no vampires
made off with you."

"Thanks, I mean that."

"You all right?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

He grinned, and there was almost enough moonlight to see the laughter in
his eyes. "He's getting better at it," Jason said.

"Getting better at what?" I asked. "Being Ulfric?"

"Seducing you," Jason said.

I stared at him.

"You know how I was jealous of the way you looked at Asher?"

I nodded.

"The way you look at Richard . . ." He just shook his head. "It's
something."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters," he said. "It doesn't make you happy, but it matters."

And to that, there wasn't a damn thing I could say. We started walking
through the woods in the general direction everyone else had been going.
We didn't need no stinking directions.

Chapter 18
----------

We found the lupanar, and we didn't need directions. We had Jason's nose
and my ability to sense the dead. I'd assumed that all lupanars were the
same, but yards away from this one, I knew I was wrong. Whatever lay up
ahead had death mixed in with it: old death. It felt almost like a
restless grave. Sometimes you'd be out in the woods and find one. An old
grave where someone was buried without rites, just a shallow hole in the
ground. The dead don't much care for shallow holes. It needs to be deep
and wide or they get restless. Cremation takes care of all of it,
actually. I'd never met a ghost of someone who had been cremated.

We could see the soft shine of lanterns through the trees when Jason
stopped, touching my arm for attention. "I don't like what I'm
smelling," he said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"A body aboveground for a long time."

"A zombie?" I made it a question.

He shook his head. "No, drier, older than that."

We both looked at each other. I was pretty sure we were both thinking
the same thing. Rotting vampire. I realized that I was clutching his
arm, and he was clutching mine. We stood in the dark like children
wondering if that noise was really a monster or if it was the wind.
Neither of us took that next step to find out. If we'd had covers, we'd
have been under them.

If we'd gone in there just to kill them, I'd have been all right. A
slash-and-burn operation was my style lately. Every time we approached
the vamps on their own territory by their own rules, we got hurt. I
realized suddenly how much I did not want to walk into that place and
negotiate with the monsters. I wanted to press a gun under Colin's chin
and pull the trigger. I wanted done with it. I did not want to walk in
there and give him power over me through some ancient rules of
hospitality among the terminally anemic.

Damian came gliding through the trees. He was dressed in the standard
uniform of black leather pants so tight you knew that nothing else was
under them but vampire. But he was wearing a black silk T-shirt with a
scooped neck. It looked almost like a woman's shirt. His shoulder-length
hair helped the illusion of feminity, but the chest and shoulders that
peeked out of the shirt ruined the effect: masculine, definitely
masculine.

Jason was wearing an almost identical outfit, except the shirt and pants
were satin. Though the knee-high boots were identical. For the first
time, I realized that Jason was broader through the shoulders than
Damian. Had that just happened recently? I looked from the werewolf to
the vampire and shook my head. They grow up so fast.

What I said out loud was, "You guys look like backup singers for a
Gothic band."

"Everyone's waiting for you," Damian said.

I realized that I still didn't want to go. I felt Jason shake his head.
"No," he said.

"You're afraid," Damian said.

Jason nodded. I frowned. Jason and I were both usually braver than this,
no matter what nasty things were in the next room--or the next clearing,
as the case may be.

"What's up, Damian? What's happening?"

"I told you what Colin was."

"You called him a night hag. He can feed off fear. Was that supposed to
be a clue?" I asked.

"He can also cause fear in others," Damian said.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax my hold on Jason's arm.
He kept his death grip. "That makes sense," I said. "They can always
guarantee a meal that way, right?"

Damian nodded. "But he also enjoys it. Fear is like a drug to a night
hag. My old master said it was better than blood, because she could walk
through a world of fear. If she desired it, she could move through a
world that trembled, ever so slightly, at her passing."

"And that's what Colin is doing tonight?" I said.

Jason dropped his hand from my arm. He stayed close enough that our arms
brushed, but we weren't huddling in the dark like rabbits.

"I can usually tell when a vamp is doing mind stuff on me. He's good."

"This is different from the other master-level powers, Anita. My first
master said it was like breathing to a human, something you did without
thinking about it. She could intensify it, but she could never really
stop it. A low level dread surrounded her at all times."

"Was she scary in bed?" Jason asked. I think he meant it as a joke.

The look on Damian's face even by moonlight wasn't funny. "Yes," he
said. "Yes, she was." He looked at me, and there was an intensity in his
face that I didn't like. He actually reached out to me, then let his
hand drop.

He finally said. "Some of the masters can feed off of other things, not
just fear. "

"What else?" I asked.

Asher breathed through my mind, and he must have done the same to
Damian, because we both jumped. His voice came like a whisper in a
nearby room, almost as if it was sound without words. "Hurry."

There was no more talk. We hurried.

The lantern light shone through the trees like small, yellow moons.
Damian glided through that last line of trees into the clearing. I
didn't glide. I stumbled over the outer edge of the clearing. There was
a power circle in this land so old and walked so often that it was like
a curtain waiting to be drawn around the lupanar. It would take almost
no power to bring whatever was here alive.

When I quit seeing with that inner vision and looked out into the
clearing, I stopped walking. I just stood and stared. Jason stood and
stared with me. Between the two of us, we were getting pretty jaded, but
the lupanar of the Oak Tree Clan was worth a stare or two.

It was a huge clearing with an oak tree in the center of it, but that
was like saying the Empire State Building is tall. The tree was like
some great spreading giant. A hundred feet tall, rising up and up. There
was a body hanging from one of the lower branches. It was mostly
skeleton with dried bits of tendon holding one arm out. The other arm
had disintegrated, falling to the ground. There were bones everywhere
under the tree. White bones, yellowed bones, bones so old they were grey
from being weathered. A carpet of bones stretched out from beneath the
tree, filling the clearing.

The wind picked up, hurrying through the forest. It sent the leaves on
the oak rustling and whispering. The rope on the skeleton creaked as it
swung in the wind. And with that one creak, my eyes went back to the
tree, because there were dozens of creaking ropes. Most of them were
empty now, broken or eaten to ragged ends, but those ropes creaked and
moved with the wind, up and up. I followed the ropes up to the top of
the tree as far as I could look in the dark by moonlight. The tree had
to be over a hundred years old, and there were ragged bits of rope at
its top. They'd been hanging bodies on this tree for a very long time.

The skeleton rotated suddenly in the growing wind, jaw gaping, empty
sockets reflecting the lantern light for a second. The tendons at the
jaw gave way, and the jaw hung, swinging on one side, like a broken
hinge. I had a horrible urge to run across that boneyard and yank the
jaw away, or reattach it, anything so that bit of bone would stop
waggling in the wind.

"My God," Jason whispered.

All I could do was nod. I wasn't rendered speechless often, but I had no
words for this.

Damian had stopped and moved back to stand by us. He seemed to be
waiting, as if he were our escort. I finally tore my gaze away from the
tree and its awful burden. There were benches forming three sides of a
disconnected triangle. There was enough room between each bench that no
one was unduly crowded, yet the clearing felt crowded, almost as if the
air itself was thick with things unseen, hurrying to and fro, brushing
past me in a rush of gooseflesh.

"Did you feel that?" I asked.

Jason looked at me. "Feel what?"

I guess not. That meant whatever was crowding so close in the air wasn't
something that a shapeshifter would pick up on. So what was it?

There was a vampire staring at me from where he sat on the near bench.
His hair was brown, cut short so his neck was pale and bare. His eyes
seemed very dark, maybe brown, maybe black. He smiled, and I felt his
power rush over me. He was trying to capture me with his eyes. Usually,
I would have tried to stare him down, but I didn't like what I was
feeling in this place. Power, and it wasn't vampires. I looked away from
his eyes, studying the pale curve of his cheek. His lips were full, with
an upper lip that was set in a perfect bow, very feminine. The rest of
the face was all points and angles; the chin sharp, the nose too long.
It was a face that would be homely except for that mouth and those
long-lashed eyes, dark and drowning deep as black mirrors.

I didn't stare too long at those eyes. I was feeling unsteady, as if the
ground under my feet wasn't quite solid. Richard should have told me
about the lupanar. Someone should have prepared me. Later, I'd be angry
that no one had; now, I was just trying to figure out what to do about
it. If Verne's clan were practicing human sacrifice, then it had to be
stopped.

Damian moved in front of me, blocking my view of the ethers. "What's
wrong, Anita?"

I looked at him. The only thing that kept me from losing it right then
in front of the other vampires was Richard. He'd have never tolerated
human sacrifice. Oh, he might have come down here once, then never
returned, and not called the police, but he would never have returned
year after year. He simply wouldn't have approved.

Maybe this was the way Verne's clan treated its dead. If it was anything
else, I'd call in the state cops, but not tonight. Not unless they
dragged out a screaming victim. If they did that, then all bets were
off.

I shook my head. "What could possibly be wrong?" I said. I walked into
the clearing, going for our own little group. It looked as if all three
groups had the same amount of people. That was pretty typical of a meet
between preternatural groups. You always negotiated your entourage.

Richard stood and came to meet me. I took his hand when he offered it,
but strangely, right at that moment, I didn't care if he was wearing his
shirt or not. I was angry at him. Angry at him for not preparing me for
this place. Maybe he thought that nothing shocked me anymore, or maybe .
. . oh, hell, I didn't know, but he'd screwed up again.

So I let him hold my hand, and the touch of his flesh meant nothing. I
was too confused and working too hard on holding my temper to be seduced
right then.

"Take the jacket off, child; let's get a look at what you've got," a
voice said.

I turned, slowly, to look at the owner of that voice.

The vampire had hair that I would have called golden if I hadn't had
Asher's hair to compare it to. The hair was cut short, all over. His
eyes could have been blue or grey in the uncertain light. The face had
frozen before he'd ever hit twenty. Still young enough that his face was
thin and smooth, as if he'd died before he'd been able to grow a decent
beard.

He had the face of a child on a tall, gangly frame, as if he'd been
awkward in life. He wasn't awkward as he stood. He came to his feet in a
movement so smooth it looked like dancing. He stood, and the black-eyed
vamp stood with him, coming to his side in a motion of long practice
like they were two parts of a whole.

There was one human woman among the eight of them. She looked like pure
Native American with waist-length hair that was as true black as my own.
Hers was straight and thick. Her skin was a dark brown, face almost
square, with large, brown eyes that had lashes so thick that even from a
distance they were noticeable.

If she wore any makeup, I couldn't tell. She was one of those women that
is striking rather than beautiful, too strong featured for conventional
prettiness, but you wouldn't forget the face once you saw it.

"Come on, girl, strip off," that young face said. "We've seen most
everything everybody else has. I will be mighty disappointed if I don't
get to see your goodies, too."

The woman's face remained marvelously blank, but there was a tightness
to those strong shoulders, a slight turn to that long line of neck. She
didn't seem to be enjoying the show.

Richard's hand tightened around mine. I thought at first he was trying
to warn me not to get mad, but one glance at his face, and it was the
other way around. He was getting pissed. The night would go downhill
pretty damn fast if I was supposed to be the calm one.

"Are you always this offensive, or am I getting a special treat?" I
asked.

He laughed, but it was just a laugh, ordinary, human. He couldn't do the
voice tricks that Jean-Claude and even Asher could do. Of course, Colin
had other talents. I'd seen those other talents carved in Nathaniel's
chest.

Asher stood. He'd started the evening wearing satin a pale icy blue only
two shades darker than his white-blue eyes. The jacket had darker blue
embroidery at the sleeves and lapels. It fastened with one of those
cloth loops over a large, silk-covered button. The pants matched the
jacket perfectly. He'd tried the jacket on with no shirt. His chest had
been very visible. The scars had seemed harsher against the soft blue
cloth. He'd stared at himself in the room's only mirror for a long time.
He'd finally put a white silk shirt on under the jacket.

Now that white shirt was in tatters. It looked like gigantic claws had
ripped at it. His chest showed very plainly through the ruined cloth.
There was no blood. I'd only seen three vampires that could cause harm
from a distance. One of them had been a member of their council. But
none of them had had the delicacy of control to shred cloth so close to
flesh and not draw blood. We were deep into the pissing contest. So far,
Colin was winning.

I looked at Shang-Da and Jamil, standing just behind the bench. They
looked untouched, unharmed.

"Some bodyguards," I said.

"We're not here to guard vampires," Shang-Da said.

I looked at Jamil. He shrugged.

Great, just great. Zane was standing even farther behind the wolves. He
didn't look any worse for wear, either, but he also looked lost, like
the lone teetotaler at a wine tasting.

"Was I supposed to stop him?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, Zane. Not you." I spared a glance at Richard,
wondering why he'd just let everyone stand around. Asher I understood.
Asking for help was a sign of weakness.

"Remove the jacket, or I'll remove it for you," Colin said.

"Colin, you've made your point." The woman's voice was surprisingly
deep, a rich, smoky alto.

Colin patted her hand, smiled, but his words weren't gentle. "I will
tell you when my point has been made, Nikki." He moved away from her
then, dismissed her, and the pain of that dismissal showed.

For a moment, anger flared in those dark eyes, and I felt her power. Her
power, not his. She was a witch or a psychic or something I had no word
for. Human in the same way I was human: barely.

The anger vanished behind that dark, stoic face, but I knew what I'd
seen. She didn't love him, nor he her. But she was his human servant,
bound for all eternity, for better or worse.

"You want to see what's under the jacket," I said, "come over here and
help me out of it. It'd be the gentlemanly thing to do."

"Anita," Richard said.

I patted his arm. "It's okay, Richard. Chill."

The look on his face was enough. He didn't trust me to behave. Funny, in
our own ways, neither of us trusted the other.

I looked at Asher. We shared no marks. We couldn't read each other's
thoughts. But we didn't need to. We were getting our butts kicked
because the werewolves weren't helping us.

I looked over at the eight werewolves that were local. Verne sat on the
bench with his wolves poised around him. Two of them were in full wolf
form, except they were the size of ponies, bigger than any normal grey
wolf. Verne was still in his T-shirt and jeans. No one had dressed up
but us. Even the other vampires were just in suits and dresses.

I'd never seen this many vampires dressed so . . . ordinarily. Most of
them had a sense of style, or at least theater. They put on a good show.
Of course, in the presence of the bone-draped tree who needed a better
show? Of course, the lupanar was supposed to be our showplace, not
Colin's. Again, I wondered if we could trust Verne as far as Richard
thought we could.

I walked a little into the center of the triangle made by the three
benches. I waited for Colin to join me.

He just stood there next to the black-eyed vamp, smiling. "Now why would
I waste the energy to walk even a few yards when I can undress you from
here?"

I smiled and I made it mocking. "Scared to get too close?"

"I admit you are a delicate little thing, but appearances are often
deceiving. I have used this youthful face of mine more than once to fool
the unwary. I am not the unwary, Anita Blake." He extended a pale hand,
and I felt the power thrill over my skin before it slashed through the
front of the velvet top. The cross spilled out of the velvet like a
captive star set free. The cross flared white and I was careful to look
sideways from it. It burned like magnesium, so bright it was almost
painful. Crosses glow around vamps, but they don't glow like small
supernovas unless you are in serious trouble. I'd never had one glow
like this when I wasn't afraid yet. I'd always assumed the cross reacted
to my level of fear like a holy mood ring. Tonight, for the first time,
I realized that it may have been my faith that enabled it to glow, but
once the faith was in place, something else took over. Not my will, but
thine.

Colin's vampires reacted just as they were supposed to. They cowered,
throwing their arms or their jackets or in one case, a skirt, in front
of their eyes. Hiding from the light.

Except for Colin and the black-eyed vamp. Why was I not surprised that
those two were old enough and powerful enough to face the cross? They
weren't happy about it. They were protecting their eyes, squinting
against the light, but they weren't cowering.

"Slash me again, fang-boy, see what else falls out."

He did what I asked. I really hadn't thought he'd try. He slashed at me
through the air, but the power fell away like water parting around a
rock.

"If you want to hurt me, Colin, you're going to have to get up close and
personal."

"I could have Nikki rip it from your throat."

"I thought you were hot shit, Colin. Or is that just when you have young
men tied up and helpless? Is that what you need to feel like a big bad
vampire? Someone tied up and helpless, or is it young men that does it
for you?"

Colin said one word: "Barnaby."

The black-eyed vampire moved in front of Colin, closer to the cross. But
he stopped, unable to come closer. Then, over the glow of the cross, I
watched Barnaby's face begin to rot. That smooth flesh sloughed away,
sliding in wet gobbets of flesh down his face, until tendons glistened
wetly and bone showed as his nose collapsed, showing his face like a
skull covered by rotted things.

He limped towards me, one hand held out, and it reminded me of Damian's
hands earlier in the night. The flesh bursting in a stinking wave of
blackness. Except there was no smell. The last vamp I'd seen who could
rot at will had also been able to control the smell, like a magical
deodorant.

If it had been a fight, I'd have drawn a gun and blown him away before
he took the cross, but this was a contest of wills more than anything.
If he was vampire enough to touch my cross, then I had to be brave
enough to let him do it. I hoped he didn't press it between our bodies.
I'd had one vampire do that, and a second degree burn on my breast
wasn't my idea of fun.

The cross burned brighter and brighter as he came for me. I had to turn
my head away from the light; it was so bright it hurt me to look at it.
I knew it hurt the vampire more.

I felt that rotted hand slide across my chest, leaving something wet and
semisolid to slide between my breasts. He grabbed the chain and not the
cross, smart vampire. He jerked the chain and it broke. The cross swung
into his arm, and the silver burned with a flame as white and pure as
the light had been.

The vampire screamed and threw the cross, which spun in a glittering arc
like a tiny comet until it was swallowed by the dark.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim lantern light once more, I said, "Don't
worry about it, Barnaby, I've got extras."

He'd fallen to his knees, cradling his arm. He was still a walking
rotted nightmare, but the flesh of his hand had blackened.

"But not everyone has your faith," Colin said. Again, just like in the
forest, I didn't feel his vampire powers reach out, but I was suddenly
afraid. Now that I knew what it was, it wasn't as bad, but it was
different from any other ability I'd ever sensed. Quieter somehow, and
more frightening because of it.

"Barnaby, the young blond werewolf is very afraid of you. He's tasted
your kind before."

Barnaby got to his feet and tried to move around me. I stepped in front
of him. "Jason is under my protection."

"Barnaby won't hurt him, just play with him a little."

I shook my head. "I gave Jason my word that I wouldn't let the vampire
that did Nathaniel touch him."

"Your word?" Colin said. "You're a modern American. Your word means
nothing."

"My word means something to me," I said. "I don't give it lightly."

"I can taste the truth of your words, but I say that Barnaby shall play
with your young friend, and you cannot stop him without breaking truce.
Whoever breaks truce first will have the Council to answer to."

I kept moving with Barnaby so that he was slowly backing me up, but I
kept getting in his way. "Colin, you can feel fear, so I'm told. You can
feel how very afraid he is of your friend here."

"Oh, yes, I will feast tonight."

"You could break his mind," I said. Someone touched my back and I
jumped. It was Asher. I'd been backed up all the way to the bench.

Richard and his bodyguards had moved around Jason. They might not
protect Asher, but they would protect Jason. Barnaby moved to one side,
trying to get around me. I was forced to jump on and over the bench to
put myself in his way again.

I put my left hand against that decaying chest. The right was on the
butt of the Browning. I made sure he saw it.

Colin spoke. Though Barnaby's body should have blocked his view, it was
almost as if he could see through the other vampire's eyes. "If you
shoot one of my vampires, then you will have broken truce."

"You sent Nathaniel back to us dying. Asher said it was a compliment of
sorts, that you truly thought we could cure him."

"And you did, didn't you?" Colin said.

"Yeah," I said. "Well, let me pay you the same compliment. I think if I
shoot Barnaby point-blank, he'll survive it. I've shot rotting vamps
before, and their clothes took more damage than they did."

"You can taste the truth in her words," Asher said. "She believes he'll
live, which means it is not a breach of truce."

"She believes it, but she hopes for his death," Colin said.

"Breaking the mind of one of our entourage," Asher said, "will break the
truce, as well."

"I do not agree," Colin said.

"Then we've got a stalemate," I said.

"I think not," Colin said. He turned to Verne. "Verne, earn your keep.
Strip the young one of his protectors."

Verne stood and his wolves flowed around him. They moved into the
clearing on a roil of energy that made the nape of my neck dance and my
hand go for a gun.

Richard said, "Verne."

But Verne wasn't looking at Richard. He was looking at me. He was
carrying a small covered basket in his hands. I didn't wait to find out
what he had in the basket. I pointed the gun at his chest.

Chapter 19
----------

"Ease down, girl," Verne said. "It's a present."

I kept the gun nice and steady on the center of his body. "Yeah, right."

"When you see what it is, you'll know that we aren't on his side."

"Don't pick the wrong side, puppy dog," Colin said. "Or I will make you
very, very sorry."

Verne looked at the vampire. I watched his eyes bleed from human to wolf
while he held that basket out to me. But he kept those angry,
frightening eyes on Colin.

"You have no animal to call," Verne said, in a voice gone rough and
growling low. "You dare to stand in our place of power and threaten us.
You are less than the wind outside our cave. You are nothing here."

"She is not one of you, either," Colin said.

"She is lupa of the Thronnus Roke Clan."

"She is human."

"She stands between you and a werewolf. That's lupa enough for me."

Barnaby had backed off. I don't know if he thought I'd jump the gun and
shoot him or if Colin had whispered a new plan in his rotting skull. I
wasn't sure I even cared. There was a glob of something heavy and wet
sliding down into the bra. It was like feeling a tear slide down your
cheek but worse, so much worse. I'd resisted the urge to wipe it away
with Barnaby staring me down. As soon as he crept back to Colin, I used
my left hand to scoop the leftover part out and fling it on the ground.

"What's the matter, Anita? Too up close and personal for you?"

I wiped my hand on the leather skirt and smiled. "Fuck you, Colin."

Verne stepped into the center of the triangle alone. His wolves stayed
huddled in front of the far bench. He came to stand a couple of yards in
front of our bench with that basket in his hands.

I glanced at Asher. He shrugged. Richard nodded like I was supposed to
go meet him. A present, Verne had called it.

I went to meet him. He knelt, setting the basket on the ground between
us. He stayed kneeling. I knelt, too, because he seemed to expect it. He
just kept looking at me with those wolfish eyes. He still looked like an
aging Hell's Angel, but those eyes . . . I wondered if I would ever get
used to seeing wolf eyes in a human face. Probably not.

I raised the hinged lid of the small basket. A face, a head, looked up
at me. I scrambled to my feet. The Browning just appeared in my hand. I
pointed it at Verne, then the ground, then pressed the flat of the
barrel to my forehead.

I found my voice, finally. "What is that?"

"You said you wanted Mira's head in a basket. That if we gave you that,
it would make it right between our two clans."

I took a sharp breath and blew it out. I looked down into the basket,
still standing, still holding the gun like the comfort object it was.
The mouth was open in a soundless scream, the eyes half closed as if
they'd caught her napping, but I knew they hadn't. Someone had simply
closed the eyes after they took her head. Even dead, like this, the
bones of the face were delicate, and you knew at least the face had been
pretty.

I forced myself to put up the gun. It couldn't help me now. I dropped
back to my knees, staring at it. I finally looked up at Verne. I was
shaking my head over and over. I looked into his face and tried to read
something in it that I could yell at or talk to. But the expression was
alien, and it wasn't just the eyes.

You'd think after all this time, I would stop forgetting that they
weren't human. But I had. I'd been pissed, and I'd spoken as if I was
talking to another human being, but I hadn't been. I'd been speaking to
werewolves, and I'd forgotten that.

I heard someone whispering, and it was me. I was whispering, "This is my
fault. This is my fault." I started to put my left hand in front of my
face, and I caught a whiff of Barnaby's rotted flesh. It was enough.

I crawled to one side and vomited. I knelt on all fours, waiting for it
to pass. When I could speak, I said, "Don't any of you people understand
the term? It's just a fucking expression!"

Richard was there, kneeling by me. He touched my back gently. "You told
him what you wanted, Anita. She had betrayed the pack's honor. It can
carry a death penalty. All you helped them choose was the method of
execution."

I glanced sideways at him. I had a horrible urge to cry. "I didn't mean
it," I whispered.

He nodded. "I know." There was a look in his eyes of such sorrow, of a
shared knowledge of how many times you never really meant what you said,
but the monsters were listening, and they always took you at your word.

Chapter 20
----------

"I thought you were tough, Miss Blake."

Richard helped me stand and I let him. I leaned against him for a
second, my forehead against the smooth skin of his arm. I pushed away
from him and stood on my own. I met Colin's eyes. They were definitely
grey, not blue.

"I know we're supposed to go through all the protocol and waltz for a
while, Colin. But the last of my patience is sitting in that basket. So
state your grievance and let's all get the fuck out of here."

He smiled. "So tenderhearted, maybe your reputation is just talk after
all."

I smiled then and shook my head. "Maybe it is, but since we're not
supposed to kill each other tonight, Colin, it doesn't matter."

Colin walked away from me. He went to stand closer to his own people but
faced Asher. I had been dismissed as his own human servant had been
dismissed.

"I will not be replaced, Asher."

"I have not come to replace you," Asher said, voice empty, neutral.

"Why would Jean-Claude send a master almost exactly my age into my lands
against my express orders?"

"I could have hidden what I was," Asher said. "But Jean-Claude thought
you would misinterpret that. I came in hiding nothing."

"But still you came," Colin said.

"I cannot change what has happened," Asher said. "What would satisfy us
all?"

"Your death," Colin said.

Everybody went very still, as if we'd all caught our collective breaths.
I started to say something and Richard touched my shoulder. I closed my
mouth and let Asher talk, but it was hard.

Asher laughed that wonderful touchable laugh. "Breaking the truce,
aren't you, Colin?"

"Not if I kill a rival sent to supplant me. Then I am merely protecting
myself and making an example for other ambitious vampires."

"You know I have not come to supplant you," Asher said.

"I know nothing of the kind."

"I am content where I am."

"Why?" Colin asked. "You could be the master of a city somewhere far
from their triumvirate. Why would you be content with less?"

Asher gave a very small smile. "I prefer gentler persuasions over
power."

Colin shook his head. "I have been told you are in love with her, and
with Jean-Claude himself. I have been told that you are bedding them
both and that is why the Ulfric seeks a new lupa."

"If he would only cooperate, it could be a happy foursome," Asher said.

Richard, startled beside me, stiffened. It was my turn to touch his arm
and keep him from saying what he was thinking.

"I have been told many things," Colin said. "My people have watched you
from afar. We believe you are enamored of the girl and of Jean-Claude.
We are aware of your history together. We even believe that a lover of
men like yourself would do their Ulfric if he would let you. What we do
not believe is that you are bedding any of them. We believe that this is
a pathetic story to save yourself."

I started walking to Asher. The plan was that we would put on a mild
show of petting. I'd warned him it better be mild, but I never got the
chance.

There was movement in the dark. Dozens of vampires appeared out of the
darkness, encircling the clearing. Colin had been distracting us while
the vampires moved up to flank us, and neither Asher nor I, nor any of
the wereanimals had sensed them.

"Let us have Asher and the rest of you may go free."

"You are breaking the truce now," Asher said. He sounded calm, empty, as
if Colin hadn't just demanded his death.

Verne strode forward. "This is our lupanar. We can close it to all
strangers."

"Not without your vargamor. You left her safe at home just in case
things went wrong. So protective of your human pet. I counted on it." He
raised an arm as if summoning his people. "No one you have with you is
witch enough to invoke the circle."

"If you kill Asher it will break truce."

"I will not harm Jean-Claude's triumvirate. I merely remove a rival."

The vampires moved up through the trees. They didn't hurry. They moved
like solid shadows, slow, as if they had all night to tighten the circle
and take us. "Asher?" I asked without taking my gaze from those slowly
menacing figures.

"Oui."

"Does this break truce?"

"Oui."

"Great," I said.

I felt him move towards me, but I had eyes only for the outer dark and
that ever-shrinking circle. I picked one vampire out. Male, slender,
youngish in appearance. He wore no shirt. His chest was a pale, almost
glowing whiteness in the darkness.

"What is it, ma cherie?" Asher was standing very close to me now. I
moved him to one side with my left arm and brought the mini-Uzi out with
my right. swinging it around my body, shooting before I'd actually
pointed so the bullets cut across the vampire's legs, making him jerk. I
grabbed it with both hands and fought the gun to spray it back and
fourth across his body. I was screaming as I did it, wordless, not to
sound menacing. You couldn't hear the screams over the machine gun. I
screamed because I couldn't help myself, because the tension, the
horror, something came up my hand from the gun and out my mouth.

The blood that sprayed from his body was black from distance and night.
It looked like his body was torn in half by some giant hand. His upper
body fell slowly to one side. His lower body collapsed to its knees.

The circle of vampires had frozen or had dived for cover. The silence
was thunderous. My own labored breathing seemed painfully loud. My voice
came breathy, but clear, a shout, "Nobody move, nobody fucking move!"

No one moved.

Asher's voice broke the stillness. "We can all walk away from here
tonight, Colin."

"Impressively violent," Colin said, "but I think you are mistaken. Poor
Archie will not be walking anywhere."

"My apologies to Archie," I said.

"I must have payment for him, Miss Blake."

"You can bill me."

"Oh, I intend to, Miss Blake. I intend to take it out of your hide."

"How many of your people do you want me to kill tonight, Colin? I've got
lots more bullets."

"You cannot kill them all, Miss Blake."

"Yeah, but I can kill about a half dozen and wound twice that many. I
don't see them lining up for it, Colin."

I badly wanted to see his face, but I kept my attention on the vamps in
the trees. They hadn't moved. The vampires already inside the lupanar
were someone else's problem. My job was keeping the others at a
distance. I think Asher knew the division of labor. I just hoped Richard
did.

"I don't know how Jean-Claude runs his territory, but I know how I run
mine. What you fail to appreciate, Miss Blake, is that nothing you can
do to them will make them fear you more than they already fear me."

"Death is the ultimate threat, Colin, and I don't bluff."

"Neither do I."

I felt something move out through the trees. Power moving from Colin to
those waiting figures. I started to turn the gun from the darkness to
Colin, but Asher touched my arm. "He is mine. Watch the others."

I slid the gun a fraction back to the still forms. "You get the Master
of the City and I get all the rest. Sounds fair."

Richard moved up beside me. "You don't get all of them," he said.

I wanted to ask if he would kill them. If he would use that
preternatural strength to snap spines and tear their bodies apart with
his bare hands as I had done with the machine gun. But I didn't ask. How
good Richard's threat was was between him and his conscience. The only
thing that bothered me about Richard's conscience was that I couldn't
count on him for a single kill tonight. He'd hurt people and toss them
around, but if he wouldn't kill, that meant that he couldn't account for
any of them. There were over a hundred bad guys, vampires, and only
eight of us. Sixteen if I could count Verne, but I didn't know if I
could count on him and his people. It would have been nice to be able to
trust Richard at my back, but I didn't.

The vampires out in the dark began to rot. Not all of them, but damn
near half. I'd never seen so many. For a vampire to rot, it means that
the vamp that made them was the same kind of creature. Which meant that
Barnaby had made half of Colin's people. No Master of the City would
allow any subordinate to have such power. But the proof was staring me
in the face with eye sockets gone to black dripping ruin.

"You have been very bold, Colin, to share your power with your second to
this degree," Asher said.

"Barnaby is my right hand, my second eye. Together we are a stronger
master than either of us would be apart."

"As are Jean-Claude and I," Asher said.

"But Barnaby is a corruptor. He brings that to the dance," Colin said.
"What do you bring to Jean-Claude's dance, Asher?" Fear breathed through
the lupanar. I shivered as it prickled down my skin, tightened my chest,
and tried to stop my breath in my throat.

"Night hag," Damian spoke, his voice a hiss. He spit on the ground in
the general direction of Colin, but he didn't walk any closer.

"I smell your fear, Damian. I can taste it like rich, nutty ale on the
back of my tongue," Colin said. "Your master must have been a fine piece
of work."

Damian moved back a step, then stopped. "You ask why Asher is content to
remain with Jean-Claude when he could go elsewhere and be his own
master. Maybe he is tired as I am tired of the struggle. The
in-fighting. The fucking politics. Jean-Claude ransomed me from my
master. I am not a master vampire, nor will I ever be. I have no special
powers. Yet, Jean-Claude bargained for me. I serve him not out of fear
but out of gratitude."

"You make Jean-Claude sound weak. The Council does not fear weaklings,
yet they fear him," Colin said.

"Compassion is not weakness," Richard said. "Only those without
compassion think otherwise."

I glanced at him, but he was looking at the vampires, not me. The fact
that I felt it was a personal remark to me was just me being overly
sensitive.

"Compassion." Colin shook his head. He threw back his head and laughed.
It was sort of unnerving. I kept my attention on the outer darkness and
the waiting vamps, but it was hard not to watch the laughing vampire.
Hard not to ask what was so funny.

"Compassion," Colin said again. "Now that is not a word I would have
used for Jean-Claude. Has he fallen in love with his human servant? I do
not think love is the path to Jean-Claude's heart. Is it sex?" He raised
his voice and called to me. "Is that it, Miss Blake? Has the seducer
finally been seduced? Are you that good a piece of ass, Miss Blake?"

That made my shoulders hunch. But I kept my eye on the other vampires,
the machine gun held in both hands. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell,
Colin."

That made him laugh again. "Jean-Claude would never forgive me if I
killed the best piece of ass he's found in centuries. I say again, give
me Asher, and the blond wolf. Asher's life and the wolf's fear at
Barnaby's hands. That is the price for safe passage through my lands."

It was my turn to laugh, a soft, harsh sound. "Fuck you."

"I take it that is a no," he said.

"No," I said. I watched the vampires out in the dark. They hadn't moved,
but somehow there was a sense of movement, an increased energy. It was
nothing I could start shooting about, but I didn't like it.

"Does Miss Blake speak for all of you?" Colin asked.

"You can't have Jason to torture," Richard said.

"I would not willingly give up my life," Asher said.

"The human servant speaking for all. How very strange. But if the answer
is no, then the answer is no."

Asher yelled, "Anita!"

I started to rotate the gun back towards them, but something slashed
down my face, over one eye. It made me hesitate, one hand going over my
eye, holding it. I had time to think, stupid, and start to lower my
hand, start to raise the gun back up, and a vampire slammed into me,
taking us both to the ground.

I was flat on my back with a woman on top of me, mouth wide, fangs
snapping at my face like a dog. I pulled the trigger with the muzzle
pressed to her body. The bullets exploded out her back in a rain of
blood and thicker bits. Her body danced on top of mine, twitching,
jerking. I had to push her body off of me, and when I could sit up, it
was too late. The vampires were inside the lupanar and the fighting was
joined.

I couldn't see out of my right eye. It was too full of blood, and more
kept pouring down. A figure appeared in front of me and I fired up the
length of its body until the bullets exploded its head in a burst of
splattering rain. I closed my right eye and did my best to ignore it.
Nursing the wound was going to get me killed.

I looked around for the others. Verne tore the head off a vampire and
sent it spinning into the dark. Richard was at the center of a mob,
almost lost to sight with bodies hanging off him. Asher was covered in
blood, facing Colin. There were werewolves everywhere in wolf or manwolf
form. Two vamps came for me and sight-seeing was over.

One of them was rotting down to bones, the other was solid. I shot the
solid one first because he, I was sure, I could kill. Rotting vamps
don't also die from bullets. The solid one fell to his knees in a spray
of blood, face split in half like a ripe melon.

The rotting vamp jumped me in a blur of speed and we went tumbling
across the ground as I tried to bring the gun up. The mouth stretched
above my face, naked tendons straining between the bones of his cheeks,
fangs came for my face. I fired into the body, but the gun was at a bad
angle and missed anything vital. All I got for my troubles was the
scream of a wolf, and I knew that I'd shot someone that was on our side.
Shit.

I turned my head and the fangs sank through the leather jacket into my
shoulder. I screamed, my hand fumbling for the jacket pocket and my
backup cross. A rotted hand caressed my face, sliding over the wound
above my eye. The leather jacket acted as a sort of armor, keeping the
fangs from getting a good lock on my shoulder. The mouth worried at my
shoulder like a dog with a bone, trying to dig through the thick leather
into the flesh beyond. It hurt, but not as much as it was going to hurt
if I didn't do something.

The cross flared to life like a captive star, but the vamp had its face
buried in the leather. It couldn't see the cross. I swung the cross by
the chain into its bare skull. Smoke rose from the bone, and the vampire
jerked its face back from me, naked teeth opened in a scream. I shoved
the cross in its face, and those teeth snapped at it like a dog telling
you to stay away. But those teeth caught the chain, and bit through it.
There was a moment where even without most of the flesh left on the
skull I could see surprise on its face. I flung my arms across my face
and heard the dull explosion, the spatter of debris. There was a sharp
pain in my hand, and when I could look, I had a bone shard in my left
hand. I pulled the shard out, and only then did I bleed.

The vampire was just so much mess scattered around me. The cross lay on
the ground still glowing, smoke rising off its surface as if the metal
had been freshly made and quenched in the blood of the vampire. I
started to pick it up by the chain, and Nikki, Colin's human servant,
was standing over me. I caught the dull flash of her knife and rolled
away, coming to one knee with the Browning in one hand. She was right
above me waiting for an underhand strike, but I wasn't standing, and she
didn't have time to change her strike. I started to pull the trigger and
a werewolf barreled into her, took them both off into the dark. Shit.
What was I supposed to do, yell "mine" like in a volleyball game?

I heard Jason yelling. He was standing only about a yard away with both
arms stuck through the chest of a rotting vampire. He was pulling
desperately on his arms, but they seemed trapped, caught on the ribs.
The vampire didn't seem to mind. It licked his face, and he screamed.
Another rotter was on his back, riding him, head back for a strike. I
sighted down my arm at the head and fired. The head jerked back, and
brains spilled out a hole on the other side in a dark gush, but the
vampire turned its head slowly and looked at me. I fired into that calm
face three more times in a tight cluster before the head collapsed in
upon itself like an empty eggshell. The vampire fell away from Jason.

I walked towards Jason and the other vampire. Now it was the vampire who
was struggling to get free of Jason, but they were entwined like bumpers
after a car wreck. I put the gun barrel under the vampire's chin, my
other hand over Jason's eyes to protect them, and fired. It took three
shots for the brain to be destroyed and the body to go limp.

I moved my hand from Jason's eyes, and he looked past me, eyes widening.
I was already turning before he could yell, "Behind you!"

The blow came before I'd finished the turn. My shoulder and arm went
numb. My hand opened and the Browning slipped out while I was still
trying to see what had hit me. I dived for the ground, rolling on my
good shoulder and came up to my knee to see Nikki holding a very big
stick. I was lucky she'd lost the knife somewhere.

I started to draw the big knife down my back, but I was using my left
hand, because my right still wasn't working. Left-handed I was slower,
and Nikki was unbelievably fast. She moved in a blur of motion that was
beyond human. She was on me, slashing the air with the club, and I gave
up trying to draw a knife, and worked just at not being hit. The attack
was so quick, so savage, that I didn't have time to stand. All I could
do was roll on the ground barely ahead of each blow.

The jagged end of the branch sank into the ground next to my face. She
struggled for a second to free it, and I kicked her in the knee. It made
her stagger, but didn't dislocate it, or she'd have screamed. It did
force her back from the club. I rolled away, trying to get to my feet.
She grabbed me, and lifted me over her head like she was bench-pressing
me. The next thing I knew I was airborne. I hit the ground just short of
the oak, falling into the bones beneath the tree hard enough that some
of them shattered. The jolt of power that ran through me from hands to
knees drove what air I had left from my body. I lay there half-stunned,
not just from being thrown across the clearing, but from the power
roaring across my body from the bones. It was death magic, and though
different from mine, it recognized me, recognized my power. I knew as I
lay in the bones that I could bring the circle to life? But what would
happen when the wards flared to life? This pack worshipped Odin. If I
set the circle of power would it count as a holy place? Would it
suddenly be like standing inside a church? It had possibilities if I
could warn Asher and Damian.

I got painfully to my knees and found that we were losing. Everywhere I
looked our people were buried under piles of vampires. Asher and Damain
were still standing free, but both were bleeding and Colin and Barnaby
were pressing the attack. Richard was completely lost to sight except
for one arm gone long with claws. Verne was standing with another
werewolf in human form. It was a woman shorter than I was with short
dark hair that touched her shoulders, dressed in a thigh-long T-shirt
and pants. She looked small beside Verne, but she was the only one of
his people still standing. The others were dead or dying on the ground.

My right hand was working again, just stunned not dislocated. Lucky me.
I drew a knife from one of the wrist sheaths. It wasn't a blade
consecrated to ritual, but it would have to do.

I wanted to whisper to Asher and Damian for them to fly, but it was too
far away to whisper, and I didn't know how to talk directly to either of
their minds. I did the only thing I could think of, I yelled. I yelled,
"Asher, Damian!"

They turned startled faces to me.

I raised the knife so they could see it, and screamed, "Fly, damn it,
fly!"

Nikki was almost to the bone circle. I screamed, "Fly!" Asher grabbed
Damian's wrist, and I had to turn away before I could see them safe. I
had moments to try and make this work. Nikki had a power similar to
mine. If she figured out what I was trying to do she'd stop me if she
could.

I pressed my hands to the tree trunk and the power breathed through me.
It was magic that had been built with death, and that was my speciality.
The moment I touched the tree I knew that it wasn't human sacrifice, but
that this was where their munin gathered. The spirits of their dead were
here in the bones, the tree, the ground. They filled the air with a
whispering, tittering, noise that only I could hear.

The lukoi consume their dead, at least part of them, and the eating of
their flesh puts them into some sort of ancestral memory. Munin they
call them after Odin's raven, Memory. They aren't ghosts, but they are
the spirits of the dead, and I was a necromancer. The munin liked me.
They eased around me like a cool caress of wind, entwining like phantom
cats. I could channel the munin, sort of like a medium at a seance, but
more, and worse. The only munin I'd ever channeled had been Raina, the
wicked bitch of the east. But when she came, it was like a battering
ram. Standing there in the middle of hundreds, thousands of munin, I
knew I could open to them. But it would be like opening a door, an
invitation. I could wallow in the past, live other lives. It was a
whisper of seduction. Raina came like a rapist, an overwhelming force.
Not a sharing, but a taking.

However they'd tied their munin to this place it was blood magic, death
magic. I cut the palm of my hand and pressed it to the tree. I prayed,
and sprinkled blood on the bones at my feet. The circle of power snapped
into place with a rush that raised my skin as if it would crawl off my
flesh. I invoked the circle. I called the wards. I worshipped, and it
was enough.

Shrieks, screams filled the night. The vampires went up in flames. They
ran, burning, for the edge of the ward and all who made it across
exploded in a rain of burning bits and pieces.

I felt Damian above me, and Asher. None of the vampires left behind
tried to do anything but run. Most fell into burning heaps on the ground
without taking another step. Anyone under a hundred died where they
stood.

The Indian woman had come to stand on the edge of the bone circle. She
stared at me while the vampires screamed and died, and the stink of
burning flesh and hair was thick enough to choke. Her face showed
nothing. She'd rescued the club.

Finally she said, "I should kill you."

I nodded. "Yes, you should, but your allies are dead and your master has
flown away. I'd get out while the getting's good, if I were you."

She nodded and threw the club to the ground. "Colin and Barnaby live,
and we will see you again, Anita."

"I look forward to it," I said. I was hoping that she wouldn't notice
that my back was pressed against the tree, because I wasn't sure I could
stand on my own.

Nikki nodded, and started to walk away into the dark, past the tree and
the bones. She spoke something then stepped through the ward. When she
stepped through, the magic quenched, swallowed back into the earth.

She looked at me from the dark on the other side of the quieted circle.
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I knew that if we met
again she would kill me if she could. She was Colin's human servant. It
was her job.

I slid down the tree until I was sitting in the bones. My legs were too
weak to hold me and a fine trembling had started in my hands. I gazed
out into the lupanar, gazed out over my handiwork. Some of the bodies
still burned, but no vampire moved within the circle. The vampires were
dead. All of them.

Chapter 21
----------

Another fight, another shower. Rotting vampire was not an odor you
wanted to wear to bed. My hair was still damp when I called Jean-Claude
to fill him in on what we'd done. Okay, on what I'd done.

I told him the shortest version possible. His response, "You did what?"

I repeated it.

Silence on the other end of the phone. I couldn't even hear him breathe.

"Jean-Claude, you still there?"

"I am here, ma petite." He sighed. "You have surprised me once again. I
did not see this coming."

"You don't sound happy," I said. "You know the news could be worse. We
could all be dead."

"I did not think Colin would be so foolish."

"Live and learn," I said.

"Colin was right to fear you, ma petite."

"I told Colin what would happen if he messed with us. He pushed the
button, not me."

"Who are you trying to convince, ma petite, me or yourself?"

I thought about that for a moment. "I don't know."

"Are you admitting you were wrong?" His voice held mild amusement.

"No." I tried to think how to say it. Finally, I said, "We were losing,
Jean-Claude. They were going to kill us. I had to do something. I wasn't
even sure it would work." I held the phone, and wished that he were here
to hold me. I hated the thought that I wanted him like that. That I
wanted anyone like that. I hated needing people. They all had a tendency
to die on me. But I'd have given a great deal for a pair of comforting
arms right at that moment.

"Ma petite, ma petite, what is wrong?"

I motioned Asher over to the phone. "Talk to your second banana. Ask
Asher if there were other options. If there were other options, I
couldn't see them."

"There is something in your voice, ma petite. Something fragile." He
whispered the last word.

I just nodded, and handed the phone to Asher. I walked away from it
hugging myself tight. Fragile, he said. Scared, more like. I'd scared
myself tonight. Something in the power I released had extinguished the
torches around the lupanar. Those of us still standing had moved by the
light of burning corpses. It had been a scene right out of Dante's
Inferno, and I had done it. The power inside of me had done this thing.
Yeah, scared about covered it.

Damian came up to me. He whispered, "Jason's crying in the shower."

I sighed. Great, just what I needed, another crisis. But I didn't ask
questions. I just knocked on the door of the bathroom. "Jason, you all
right?"

He didn't answer me. "Jason?"

"I'm all right, Anita." His voice, even over the shower sounded
strained. I'd never really heard him cry before, but that's what it
sounded like, a voice thick with tears.

I pressed the top of my head to the door and sighed. I did not need this
tonight. But Jason was my friend, and who else was I going to send in to
comfort him? Damian had come to me with it. Zane didn't seem the
hand-holding type, and Cherry, well . . . if I was going to send another
woman into comfort him, it seemed cowardly. Asher? Naw.

I knocked on the door again. "Jason, can I come in for a minute?"

Silence. If he'd been feeling anywhere near okay, he'd have made some
kind of joke about me finally seeing him in the shower. That he didn't
tease me at all was a bad sign.

"Jason, can I come in . . . please?"

"Come in," he said finally.

I opened the door and the warm air fogged around me. I closed the door
behind me. The room was soft and thick with warmth. It was hot, the
moisture beading on every surface as if he'd cranked the shower up to as
hot as it would go. Hot as it would go was enough to scald the flesh
from your bones, if you were human.

The light left his shadow on the white shower curtain. He wasn't
standing. He was sitting on the floor of the shower, huddled.

I moved the towel from the lid of the stool and sat down with it in my
lap. "What's wrong?"

He took a deep sobbing breath, and even over the shower I could hear him
weeping. Crying didn't cover it, weeping.

I wanted to see him while I talked to him, and I didn't want to see him
naked. Choices, choices.

"Talk to me, Jason. What's wrong?"

"I can't get it off me. I can't get clean."

"You mean metaphorically speaking or literally?" I asked.

"It's all over me and I can't get it off."

I was being a coward and a prude. I reached a hand for the curtain and
slowly drew it back until I could see him without splashing the entire
bathroom with water.

Jason had his knees drawn up tight to his chest, arms locked around
them. The heat from the water was enough to make me draw back. His skin
had turned a nice cherry pink but that was it. I'd have had blisters or
worse by now.

There were clinging patches of black goo on his back. The back of one
arm had a patch on it. He'd scrubbed and boiled himself nearly raw and
couldn't get clean.

He stared straight ahead at the faucets, rocking ever so slightly. "I
was okay until I got in the shower and it wouldn't come off. Then I kept
seeing those two vampires in Branson. I thought about Yvette, watching
her rot. But it's the two in Branson. I can still feel their hands on
me, Anita. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the day in a cold
sweat, remembering."

In Branson, Missouri we'd taken on the local Master of the City. She'd
had two young women that she was going to torture unless we gave her
some of us to torture. They'd suggested that if Jason made love to two
of the female vamps they would let one of the girls go. I think he'd
enjoyed it, at first, but then they'd started to rot.

Jason had struggled away from them, crawling against the wall. His bare
chest was covered in bits of their flesh. A strand of something thick
and heavy slid slowly down his neck onto his chest. He batted at it like
you would swat at a spider that you found crawling along your skin. He
was pressed into the black wall with his pants nearly to his thighs.

The blond rolled off her back and crawled towards him, reaching a hand
out that was nothing but bones with bits of dried flesh. She seemed to
be decaying in dry ground. The brunette was wet. She lay back on the
floor, and some dark fluid rushed out from her to pool beneath her body.
She'd undone her own leather shirt, and her breasts were like heavy bags
of fluid.

"I'm ready for you," the brunette said. Her voice was still clear and
solid. No human voice should have come out of those rotting lips.

The blond grabbed Jason's arm and he screamed.

I shook my head trying to clear the memory. It had haunted my dreams for
a while just witnessing it. But for Jason it had become his private
phobia. One of the Council's flunkies had been one of the rotting ones.
She'd tortured him, too, because she liked how very, very afraid he was
of her. Yvette's little torment had only happened about two months ago.
Tonight's fun and games had been far too close to home.

I took off the wrist sheaths and laid them on the back of the stool. The
fact that I was wearing the wrist sheaths when I should have been
getting ready for bed said something about my own paranoia. The heat
from the water as I reached for the knob was almost frightening. Years
of being told, don't touch, hot. I knew that fire killed wereanimals,
but apparently heat didn't. I turned the knob until the temperature was
something I could touch.

Jason started to shiver almost as soon as the water began to cool.
Frankly, I was amazed that the cabin's hot water heater had kept up this
long. The floor was wet and the water soaked into the legs of my jeans.
I had another pair I could change into.

I found the bar of soap but the washrag was black. I threw it into the
sink and got the last clean one. I'd have to remember to ask for extra
towels. I should have done that anyway.

Jason finally looked at me, a slow turning of his head. His blue eyes
looked almost glassy, as if he were slipping into his own version of
shock. "I can't go through it again, Anita. I can't."

I soaped the clean washrag until it squished white suds. I touched his
back and he flinched. I would have given almost anything in that moment
if he had grabbed for me, or teased, or even made a pass. Anything to
let me know he was okay. Instead he sat there naked and wet and
miserable. It made my throat tight, but damn it if I cried, I was afraid
I wouldn't stop. I was in here to comfort Jason not to make him comfort
me.

Worse yet, I couldn't get it off his back. It had been hard enough to
get off my own skin, but the extra hour Jason had sat around waiting for
me to finish my shower had turned the fluid into glue. I finally
resorted to using my fingernails, glad that I'd refused Cherry's offer
of fingernail polish. I would have chipped it all to hell. I scraped it
off a piece at a time with my fingers while the hot water ran and Jason
shivered. But it wasn't the cold that made him shiver. I was so hot in
the moist heat, I didn't feel well.

I'd cleaned everything but one last patch low on his back, very low. It
was like the fluid had soaked into the band of his pants, low enough
that the curve of buttocks started just below the patch. I was squeamish
about that one. Because, though Jason seemed unaware that he was nude, I
was very aware of it.

I was also having trouble keeping the oversized T-shirt I'd put on for
bed from getting wet. Normally I wouldn't have cared but I'd forgotten
to pack a second nightshirt. I finally turned the shower off and
adjusted the temperature on the faucets so I had water without having to
try and dodge the shower.

I moved back to Jason and started peeling that last patch off his skin.
I tried talking to get my mind off of where my hands were. "We killed
all the vampires, Jason. It's okay."

He shook his head. "Not Barnaby. We missed him, and he was their
creator. I can't stand the thought of him touching me, Anita. I can't do
this again."

"Then go home, Jason. Take the jet and get out."

"I won't desert you," he said. His gaze stayed on my face for a moment.
"And it's not just because Jean-Claude wouldn't like it."

"I know that," I said. "But all I can do is swear to you that if it is
within my power to protect you from Barnaby, I will."

I was leaning very close to him, my arm down the length of his back. I'd
finally gotten over the embarrassment with the sheer concentration of
prying the dried bits from his body. It was like dissecting that frog in
high school. It was gross until the teacher told me to cut out the
brain. Then I got so interested in scraping the skull away, ever so
carefully, so as not to damage the brain, that I forgot the smell, the
poor pitiful frog, and just concentrated on getting the brain out in one
piece. My lab partner and I were the only pair to get the brain out
whole.

Jason turned his head towards me, brushing my hair with his face. "You
smell like Cherry's base makeup."

I spoke without looking up. "I don't own any base so she put some of
hers on me earlier. She wears base that is way too pale for her, so it
works for me. I thought I got all of it off."

"Hmm," he said. His mouth was very close to my ear.

I froze in mid-movement. My body pressed against his back, my hand
touching the smooth skin just above his buttocks. There was a tension
now that hadn't been there. My pulse sped up with the awareness of his
body, because I suddenly knew he was aware of me. I got the last piece
of dried goop off his skin and took a deep breath. I started to lean
back and knew that he was going to try something. Part of me was nervous
about it and part of me was relieved. It was Jason after all, and he was
naked, and I was close, and it was Jason. If he'd let the opportunity
pass, I'd have known he was hurt beyond anything I could fix.

His arm slid around my waist, and he used that incredible speed that
they were capable of. I felt him lift me and we were just suddenly on
the floor with him on top. It was his legs on my legs that pinned me. He
used his arms to keep his body raised enough that his groin didn't press
into me, which of course meant my view of his body was unobstructed. A
mixed blessing. He began to lean his face down for a kiss.

I put a hand on his chest and stopped the movement. "Stop it, Jason."

"The last time I did this you shoved a gun in my ribs and said you'd
shoot me if I stole a kiss."

"I meant it," I said.

"You're armed," he said, "I'm not holding your hands down."

I sighed. "You know my rule. I don't point a gun at anyone unless I plan
to shoot them. You're my friend now, Jason. I'm not going to shoot you
for stealing a kiss. You know it, I know it."

He smiled and leaned in closer. My hand was on his chest but my hand
just kept getting closer to my own chest. "But I also don't want you to
kiss me. If you're really my friend, you won't do it. You'll just let me
up."

His face was just above mine so close it was hard to focus on his eyes.
"What if I tried for more than a kiss?" He moved his face so his mouth
was hovering over my chest. I could feel his breath just above the soft
line where my breasts began.

"Don't push it, Jason. If I shoot you in the right spot, it won't kill
you, you'll be hurt, but you'll heal."

He raised his face back up to me. He grinned, and started to roll off of
me. The door opened and Richard was just suddenly standing there staring
down at us. Perfect, just perfect.

Chapter 22
----------

"Would you believe I slipped?" Jason asked.

"No," Richard said. That one word was very cold.

"Get off of me, Jason."

He rolled to one side but made no move to grab for a towel. Richard
threw the towel at him. Jason caught it, and his eyes sparkled with the
effort not to smile. Jason had a streak in him that made him enjoy
yanking someone's chain. He liked to stir the pot and see what happened.
Someday he was going to do it with the wrong person, and he was going to
get hurt. But not tonight.

"Get out, Jason. I need to talk to Anita."

Jason stood and wrapped the towel around his waist. I'd sat up but
hadn't stood up. Jason offered me his hand. I almost never let a man
help me stand, sit, or do much of anything. I took Jason's hand, and he
gave it that little extra pull that made me bump into him when I got to
my feet.

"You want me to go?" he asked.

I moved a step back but let him keep my hand. "I'll be all right," I
said.

Jason grinned up at Richard as he walked out the door. Richard closed
the door, leaning against it. I was effectively trapped and he was angry
enough that the room filled with prickling energy.

"What was all that about?" he asked.

"It's none of your business anymore, is it?" I asked.

"Earlier today I thought you turned me down because you were being loyal
to Jean-Claude."

"I turned you down because it was the right thing to do." I went to the
sink and started trying to clean the bits of black crud out from under
my fingernails.

"If Jean-Claude finds out you're doing Jason, he'd hurt him, maybe kill
him."

"Are you going to tell on us? Run home tattling to our master?" I looked
at him in the mirror when I said it. My reward was that he flinched. A
little too close to home, that comment.

"Why Jason?" he asked.

"Do you really believe that I'm having sex with Jason?" I turned and
used the slightly damp towel to dry my hands.

Richard just looked at me.

"Jesus, Richard, just because you're jumping everything in sight doesn't
mean I am." I sat down on the closed stool and tried to blot my jeans
dry with the towel.

"So you're not sleeping with him?"

The towel was not helping the jeans. "No, I'm not." I threw the towel in
the corner. "I can't believe you'd even ask."

"If you'd found me on the floor with a naked woman on top of me, you'd
have thought the same thing," he said.

Hmm, he had me there. "All the women I'd find you with would be
strangers who are either dating you, fucking you, or both. What you saw
on the floor was Jason being Jason. You know how he is."

"You used to threaten to shoot him if he touched you."

I stood. "Do you really want me to shoot him because he made a pass? I
thought one of our main problems was that you thought I shot first and
asked questions later. I think you called me bloodthirsty." I pushed
past him and where our skin touched power flared like an invisible
flame.

He moved back clutching his arm like it had hurt. But I knew it hadn't
hurt. It had felt wonderful, a rush of power to make your hair stand on
end. It was little touches like that that let us both know what it could
be between us.

I walked out. So there was power between us, so there was heat, so what?
It didn't change the fact that I was sleeping with Jean-Claude. It
didn't change the fact that Richard was sleeping around. The fact that I
was jealous of his girlfriends and he was jealous of any man he thought
I might be having sex with was just a nasty cosmic joke. We'd get over
it.

Chapter 23
----------

There were three people in my bed; none of them were me. Cherry and Zane
had curled up around Nathaniel like fleshy security blankets. I'd been
informed that the physical closeness of your group, whatever the animal
flavor, was healing both emotionally and physically. Richard had backed
up this bit of werelore, so the wereleopards got the bed, because
Nathaniel had hysterics at the thought of being without me.

So the wereleopards got the bed, and I got the floor. I managed to get a
blanket and a pillow to go with my bit of carpet. We were in a new
cabin. Verne was going to try to clean the old cabin, but the bed and
carpet were probably a lost cause.

I apologized for that, but Verne seemed to think I could do no wrong. He
was tickled pink, purple, and blue that I'd fried Colin's vamps. I was
not so happy. Revenge can be a very scary thing. If someone had done to
Jean-Claude's vamps what I did to Colin's vamps, I'd . . . we'd have
killed them.

The bathroom door opened and closed quietly.

I sat up, hugging the blanket around me. Jason threaded his way between
the two coffins. He was wearing a pair of silk boxers. He'd put them on
last night in the bathroom and come out without a word. I'd still been
trying to convince the wereleopards that they couldn't all sleep naked.

Jason had wanted to sleep with them, adding his otherworldly energy to
theirs, but they refused him. Not because he was wolf instead of
leopard, but because Cherry didn't trust him to keep his hands to
himself.

Jason paused in front of the bed, staring down at the pile of sleeping
wereleopards. He ran his hands through his sleep-tousled hair. His hair
was straight enough and baby fine enough that his hands could smooth the
hair into place. He stayed near the foot of the bed, staring down.

I finally stood, wrapping the blanket around me. I was wearing an
oversized sleeping shirt that hit me at midcalf. One size does not fit
all, but it was still nightclothes, and I wanted something between me
and anyone else. At heart, I am a prude. I went to stand next to Jason,
covered shoulder to foot in the blanket. It wasn't Jason I didn't trust.
It was everyone else who made me uncomfortable.

Cherry lay on her back, sheets tangled around her knees. She was wearing
a pair of red bikini underwear stretched tight across narrow hips. Her
waist was very long so that she got height from there as well as those
long legs. Her breasts were small and firm. She sighed and rolled one
shoulder, making the flesh of one breast move, settling closer to the
bed. The nipple tightened as if something in the movement or the dream
was exciting. Or maybe she was just cold.

I glanced at Jason. He was gazing at her like he was memorizing every
curve, the way her breast spilled to the side. His eyes were almost soft
as he looked at her. More than lust, maybe? Or the way you look at a
really fine work of art, admiring it because you're not allowed to
touch.

Neither of the others were giving nearly as good a show. Nathaniel was
wrapped in a ball, head pressed to Cherry's waist. He was so bound in
covers that all you could see was the top of his head. He whimpered in
his sleep, and Cherry's hand touched the top of his head, her other arm
flinging out into space, eyes still closed, still asleep. But even in
her sleep, she reached for him, comforted him.

Zane lay on the other side of Nathaniel, spooning his body against the
smaller man's. But the covers had been dragged off him, showing the blue
bikinis he was wearing. The underwear looked suspiciously like Cherry's,
as if she'd had to give him something to wear to bed.

Jason had eyes only for Cherry's slender form. I was surprised that she
couldn't feel the weight of his gaze, even in her sleep.

I held the quilt in place with one hand and touched his wrist with the
other. I crooked my finger at him and led the way to the far corner of
the room, as far away from the bed as we could get.

I leaned against the wall to the side of the window. Jason leaned
against the wall close enough that his shoulder brushed the edge of the
quilt. I didn't protest because we were whispering. Besides, after
awhile, complaining about everything that Jason did just got tiresome.
It wasn't really personal. He pushed his luck with everyone.

"Did you sense anyone the last watch?"

He shook his head, leaning so close that I could feel his breath against
my cheek. "They're afraid of you after last night."

I turned to look at him and had to move my head back a little to be able
to focus on his eyes. "Afraid of me?"

His face was very serious. "Don't be coy, Anita. What you did last night
was impressive, and you know it."

I hugged the blanket around my shoulders and looked at the ground. After
the rush of power had faded last night, I'd been cold. I'd been cold all
night. It was nearly ninety degrees outside. The air conditioner was
whirring, and I was cold. Unfortunately, it wasn't the kind of cold that
blankets or heat or even another warm body could chase away. I'd scared
myself last night. Lately, that took a lot.

I'd seen the burning vampires in my dreams. They'd chased me with
flame-covered arms. Their mouths opened in screams, fangs leaking fire
like dragon's breath. The burning vamps had offered me Mira's head. The
head had talked in its basket, asking, "Why?" Because I was careless
didn't seem like a good enough answer. I ran from the dying vampires all
night long, one dream after another, or maybe it was just one long,
broken dream. Who knows? Either way, it hadn't been restful.

Richard had turned to me last night with the vampire bodies still
glowing like banked fires. He'd looked at me, and I'd felt his
revulsion, his horror at what I'd done, like a knife through my heart.
If things had been reversed and I'd been the werewolf and he'd been the
human, he'd have been just as sickened after the show with Marcus as I
had been. No, more so. The only reason Richard hung around with monsters
was the fact that he was one.

Richard had gone off to his cabin with Jamil and Shang-Da. Shang-Da and
Jamil hadn't been horrified; they'd been impressed. Though Shang-Da had
said, "They'll kill us all for this."

Asher had disagreed. "Colin is a lesser master than Jean-Claude, yet he
demanded the life of Jean-Claude's second, me, and the sanity of one of
his wolves, Jason. He overstepped his bounds. Anita merely reminded him
of that."

Shang-Da had looked at the blackened corpses, slowly turning to piles of
ash. "You think any master vampire will allow this to go unanswered?"

Asher shrugged. "It is no disgrace to lose against someone who has met
the Council and survived."

"Besides," Jamil said, "he'll be scared now. He won't come against Anita
face-to-face again."

Asher nodded. "Exactly; he fears her now."

"His human servant, Nikki, could have enabled the wards just like I
did," I said.

"I believe," Asher said, "that if his servant had power so similar to
your own, she would not have merely warned him."

"She'd have tried to keep me from setting the magic free," I said.

"Yes," Asher said.

"She lied," I said.

Asher smiled and touched my cheek. "How can you be so cynical and be
surprised when people lie?"

To that, there was no answer. What I'd done was just beginning to sink
in then. Now, in the light of midday, not morning--we'd managed to sleep
the morning away--I was cold with the knowledge that what I'd done last
night hadn't used power from either Richard or Jean-Claude. What I'd
done last night had been all me. I'd have been able to do it without a
single vampire mark or a drop of extra power.

I hated it when I did something so inhuman and couldn't blame anyone
else for it. Made me feel like a freak.

Jason touched my shoulder. I looked at him. There must have been
something in my face, because the grin faded from his. His eyes held
that world-weary sorrow that peeked through every once in awhile.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head. "You saw what I did last night. I did it. Not
Jean-Claude. Not Richard. Me. Just little old me."

He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to look at him full face.
"You saved me last night, Anita. You put yourself between me and those
things. I'll never forget that, ever."

I tried to look away, and he shook me gently until I looked at him. We
were exactly the same height, so it wasn't like looking up at him, just
at him. All the teasing was gone. What was left behind was something
more serious, more grownup, less Jason. "You killed to save us last
night. None of us will forget that. Verne and his wolves won't forget
that."

"Colin won't forget it, either," I said. "He'll come after us."

Jason shook his head. "Asher and Jamil are right. He's scared shitless
of you now. He won't come near you."

I grabbed his arms, letting the quilt slide to the floor. "But he'll
hurt the rest of you. He'll try and take you, Jason. He'll give you to
Barnaby. He'll break you just to hurt me."

"Or he'll kill Asher," Jason said. "I know." He smiled, and it was
almost his usual grin. "Why do you think we both stayed in here with you
last night? I, for one, wanted your protection."

"You know you have it," I said.

The smile softened. "I know." He touched my face gently. "What's wrong?
I mean really wrong? Why do you look so . . . tormented today?"

"What I did last night wasn't very human, Jason. I felt Richard's
horror. I felt him think of me as a monster, and he's right."

Jason hugged me. I stiffened at first, and he started to let me go, then
I relaxed against him. I let him hold me, wrapping my own arms around
his back. I buried my face against his neck and had a horrible urge to
cry.

There was a soft sound from behind us. I raised my head to look. The
wereleopards were climbing off the bed, gliding towards us on human feet
but moving as if there were muscles in their legs and hips and torsos
that didn't exist in mine. Zane and Cherry writhed and glided, nearly
naked, towards us. Cherry held Nathaniel's hand, leading him like a
child. But he didn't look like a child as he padded towards us, naked.
Undies would have hurt the upper thigh wound. Now, as he came towards
us, it was clear that he wasn't completely unhappy to see me. Or maybe
it was waking up next to Cherry, or maybe it was just a guy thing.
Either way, I didn't like it.

I pushed away from Jason. He didn't fight it, just stepped back. He
watched the wereleopards come, but I don't think he was worried about
it. In fact, I could feel his energy prickle along my skin. Strong
emotions like lust will make a shapeshifter's energy rise. The moment I
thought it, I looked without thinking. Jason was happy to see Cherry,
very happy.

I looked away, blushing. I turned my back on all of them, arms hugging
my sides.

Someone touched my shoulder. I flinched.

"It's me, Anita," Jason said.

I shook my head.

He hugged me from behind, arms very carefully across my shoulders and no
lower. "I'm not sorry you killed them, Anita. I'm just sorry you didn't
kill Barnaby."

"Someone else is going to pay for my bravado, Jason. Like Mira last
night. I do things, say things, around you guys, and it all goes wrong."

Zane moved around in front of me. I stared up at him with Jason's arms
still around my shoulders like a bulky necklace. Zane's brown eyes were
as serious as I'd seen them on this trip.

He reached out to touch my face, and only Jason's arms tightening ever
so slightly kept me from backing away or saying, "Don't." Touching
didn't mean the same thing to lycanthropes as it did to the rest of
American society. I would say human, but there were a lot of countries
that were more into casual touching than ours.

Zane's fingers trailed down my cheek while he studied my face, frowning.
"Gabriel was our whole world. He and Elizabeth made us, chose us. As bad
as you think he was, Gabriel saved most of us. I was a junkie, but he
didn't allow drugs in his pard."

He leaned into me, sniffing along my skin, rubbing his cheek so that I
could feel the fine stubble along his jaw. "Nathaniel was a street
whore. Gabriel pimped him out but not to just anybody, not to
everybody."

Cherry was on her knees. She took my hand, rubbing her face against my
skin like a cat scent-marking. "I lost a leg in a hit-and-run accident.
Gabriel offered me my leg back. He cut it off above the stump, and when
I shifted, the leg grew back."

Zane laid a gentle kiss on my forehead. "He did care for us in his own,
twisted way."

"But he never risked his life for us," Cherry said. She started licking
my hand, again for all the world like a cat. She stopped licking me
seconds before I told her to stop. Maybe she sensed my tension. "You
risked your life to save Nathaniel. You risked the lives of your
vampires for him."

Zane cradled my face in his hands, leaning back so he could see my face.
"You love Asher. Why would you risk him for Nathaniel?"

I drew back gently from their hands until I was standing alone near the
door. I wasn't going to make a break for it, I just needed some room.

Nathaniel crouched in the middle of the room. He was the only one who
hadn't touched me.

"I don't love Asher," I said.

"We can smell your desire for him," Zane said.

Oh, great. "I didn't say I didn't think he was cute. I said I didn't
love him." My eyes slid to the coffin. I knew he couldn't hear me, but .
. .

Jason was leaning against the wall, grinning at me, arms crossed over
his chest. The look on his face was enough.

"I don't love him."

Cherry and Zane stared at me, wearing almost identical expressions,
neither of which I could read. "You care for him," Cherry said.

I thought about that, then nodded. "Okay, I care for him."

"Why would you risk him for Nathaniel?" she asked. She was still on her
knees. She went to all fours as she spoke. Her breasts hung down, moving
as she crawled towards me. I'd never had a naked woman crawl towards me,
ever. Naked men, but not naked women. It bothered me. Homophobic? Who
me?

"Nathaniel is mine to protect. I'm his Nimir-ra, right?"

Cherry kept crawling towards me. Zane had dropped to all fours and was
joining her. Muscles moved under the skin of their shoulders, their
arms, muscles that shouldn't have been there. They moved forward in a
wave of grace and muscled potential, like violence contained inside
skin. Except for Nathaniel. He stayed crouched and immobile, as if
waiting for some signal.

I looked past the oncoming wereleopards to Jason. "What's going on?"

"They want to understand you."

"There's nothing to understand," I said. "Colin hurt Nathaniel because
he could, like you'd abuse a dog you didn't like. No one abuses my
friends. It's not allowed."

Cherry had waited for Zane so that they moved in tandem towards me, a
nearly matched pair. They were almost to me, almost within touching
range, and I didn't want them to touch me. Something was going on, and I
didn't like it.

"Nathaniel isn't your friend," Jason said. "It wasn't friendship that
made you risk Asher."

I frowned at him. "Stop helping me."

Zane and Cherry looked up at me, and I think they would have touched me
but weren't sure of their welcome. "Gabriel said he cared for us," Zane
said, "but he risked nothing. He sacrificed nothing." He raised up on
his knees, close enough that his otherworldly energy pressed like a warm
wind against my bare legs. "You risked your life for one of us last
night. Why?"

Cherry raised up on her knees, and again it was like an echo. Their
power pressed against me like a great, warm hand. Their intensity, their
need, filled their eyes. And I realized for the first time that it
wasn't just Nathaniel that was needy. It was all of them. They had no
home, no love, no care.

"It wasn't friendship," Zane said. "The wolf is right."

"You aren't having sex with Nathaniel," Cherry said.

I stared at them, at those eager faces. "Sometimes you do things just
because it's the right thing to do," I said.

"You risked Asher and Damian, then you risked yourself," Zane said.
"Why? Why?"

"Why did you protect me last night?" Jason asked. "Why did you stand
between me and Barnaby?"

"You're my friend," I said.

Jason smiled. "Now, I am, but that wasn't why you protected me. You'd
have done the same for Zane."

I frowned at Jason. "What do you want me to say, Jason?"

"The real reason why you protected me. The same reason you risked so
much for Nathaniel. Not friendship, or sex, or love."

"Then why?" I asked.

"You know the answer, Anita."

I looked from him to the two kneeling wereleopards. I hated putting it
into words, but Jason was right. "Nathaniel is mine now. He's on the
list of people that I'll protect. He's mine, and no one can hurt him
without answering to me. Jason's mine. You're all mine, and no one hurts
what's mine. It's not allowed."

It sounded so arrogant saying it out loud. It sounded medieval, but it
was still true. Some things just are true; you don't have to voice them,
they just are. And somewhere along the way, I'd started collecting
people. My people. It used to mean friends, but lately, it meant more
than that, or less. It meant people like Nathaniel. We certainly weren't
friends, but he was mine, just the same.

Staring down into Zane and Cherry's faces, it was like I could see all
the disappointments, the small betrayals, the selfishness, the
pettiness, the cruelty. I watched it fill their eyes. They'd seen so
much of it that they simply couldn't understand kindness or honor; or
worse, they just didn't trust it.

"If you mean that," Zane said, "we're yours. You can have all of us."

"Have?" I made it a question.

"They mean sex," Jason said. He wasn't smiling now. I wasn't sure why.
He'd been enjoying the show a moment before.

"I don't want to have sex with either of you, any of you," I added
hastily. Didn't want to have any misunderstandings.

"Please," Cherry said, "please choose one of us."

I looked at them. "Why do you want me to have sex with one of you?"

"You love some of the wolves," Zane said. "You feel true friendship for
them. You feel none of that for us."

"But you feel lust," Cherry said. "Nathaniel disturbs you because you
find him attractive."

That cut a little too close to home. "Look, guys, I don't sleep with
people just because I find them attractive."

"Why not?" Zane asked.

I sighed. "I don't do casual sex. If you don't understand that, I'm not
sure I can explain it to you."

"How can we trust you if you don't want anything from us?" Cherry said.

I didn't have an answer for that one. I looked at Jason. "Can you help
me out here?"

He pushed away from the wall. "I think so, but you may not like it."

"Explain," I said.

"The problem is that they've never really had a Nimir-ra, not for real.
Gabriel was an alpha, and he was powerful, but he wasn't a Nimir-raj,
either."

"One of the werewolves described Gabriel as a lion passant, a passive
leopard, one that had power but didn't protect," I said. "The pard
called me a loparde lionne, one that protects, before they promoted me
to Nimir-ra."

"We called Gabriel lopard lionne," Zane said, "because he was all we
knew, but the wolves were right, he was a lion passant."

"Great," I said, "so it's settled."

"No," Cherry said. "If Gabriel taught us anything, it was that you can't
trust anyone unless they want something from you. You don't have to love
us, but pick one of us for a lover."

I shook my head. "No. I mean thanks for the invitation, but no thanks."

"Then how can we trust you?" Cherry asked, voice almost a whisper.

"You can trust her," Jason said. "It's Gabriel that you couldn't trust.
He's the one that convinced you that sex was so damned important. Anita
isn't even sleeping with our Ulfric, but Zane saw her last night. He saw
what she did to protect me."

"She did it to protect her vampire. The one she cares for," Zane said.

"I don't feel for Damian the way I feel for Asher, but I risked my life
for him last night," I said.

The leopards frowned up at me. "I know," Zane said, "and I don't
understand that. Why didn't you let him die?"

"I'd asked him to risk his life to save Nathaniel. I try never to ask of
others what I'm not willing to do myself. If Damian was willing to risk
his life, then I couldn't do less."

The leopards were lost. It showed in their faces, the tension that
flowed through their power, as it breathed along my skin.

"Am I yours?" Nathaniel asked. His voice sounded small and lost.

I looked past the others to him. He was still crouched, huddled in the
middle of the floor. He was huddled in around himself. His long, long
hair had spilled around him, across his face. His flower-petal eyes
stared out at me through that curtain of hair, like he was staring out
through fur. I'd seen other lycanthropes that did that, hid behind their
hair, and stared. Crouched there, he was suddenly feral and vaguely
unreal. He brushed the hair back from one side, revealing a line of arm
and chest. His face was suddenly young, open, and raw with need.

"I won't let anyone else hurt you, Nathaniel," I said.

A single tear slid down his face. "I'm so tired of not belonging to
anyone, Anita. So tired of being anyone's meat that wanted me. So tired
of being scared."

"You don't have to be scared anymore, Nathaniel. If it's within my power
to keep you safe, I will."

"I belong to you now?"

I didn't like the phrasing, but watching him cry, one crystalline tear
at a time, I knew that now wasn't the time to quibble over semantics. I
hoped I wasn't signing up for more up-close-and-personal care than I
wanted, but I nodded. "Yes, Nathaniel, you belong to me." Words alone
rarely impressed shapeshifters. It was like part of them didn't
understand words.

I held out my hand to him. "Come, Nathaniel, come to me."

He crawled to me, not in that wild, muscular grace, but head down,
crying, face hidden by his hair. He was sobbing full out by the time he
reached me. He held one hand up to me blind, not looking at me.

Zane and Cherry had moved to either side, letting him come close to me.

I took Nathaniel's hand and wondered what to do with it. Shaking it
wasn't enough, kissing it seemed wrong. I racked my brain for anything
on leopards and just blanked. The one thing that the leopards did most
often was lick each other. I couldn't think of anything else.

I raised Nathaniel's hand to my mouth, bending over to press my mouth to
the back of his hand. I licked his skin, one quick movement, and the
taste of him was familiar. I knew in that moment that Raina had licked
this skin, ran lips, tongue, teeth, down this body.

The munin welled up inside of me, and I fought it. The munin wanted to
bite his hand, to draw blood and lap it like a cat with cream. The
imagery was too repulsive to me. My own horror helped me chase Raina
away. I pushed her down inside me and realized that she never really
left me anymore. That was why she came so quickly and so easily. I felt
her hiding inside me like a cancer waiting to spread.

I stood there with the taste of Nathaniel's skin in my mouth and did
what Raina had never done: I gave comfort.

I raised Nathaniel's head gently until I could cradle his face between
my hands. I kissed his forehead, I kissed the salty taste of tears from
his cheeks.

He fell against me with a sob, arms locked around my legs, pressed
against me. There was a moment when Raina tried to flare to life as
Nathaniel's groin pressed against my bare legs.

I reached out to Richard, drawing on the mark between us. His power came
to my call like a warm brush of fur. It helped chase away that awful,
stinging presence.

I offered my hands to the other leopards. They pressed their faces to my
skin, chin marking me like cats, licking me as if I were a kitten. I
stood there with the three wereleopards pressed to me, borrowing
Richard's power to keep Raina at bay. But it was more than that.
Richard's power filled me, washed through me into the leopards.

I was like the wood in the center of a fire. Richard was the flame, and
the wereleopards warmed themselves against that heat. They took it into
themselves, bathed in it, wrapped it around themselves like a promise.

Standing there, caught between Richard's power, the wereleopards' needs,
and that awful touch of Raina, like some foul perfume, I prayed: Dear
God, don't let me fail them.

Chapter 24
----------

The greeting ceremony that had been interrupted last night was back on
for tonight. One thing about the monsters: You have to observe the
rules. The rules said we needed a greeting ceremony, well, by golly,
we'd have one. Vengeful vampires, or crooked cops, or hell freezing
over, if there was a rite to be performed, or a ceremony to be had, you
went ahead with it. The vampires were worse about being cultured while
they tore your throat out, but the werewolves weren't far behind.

Me, I'd have ordered takeout and said, "Hell with it; let's try to solve
the mystery." But I wasn't in charge. Even crispy-crittering over twenty
vamps last night didn't make me top dog or top anything else, though
Verne's invitation had been very, very polite. Colin wasn't the only one
who was scared of me now.

Executing almost all of Colin's vamps meant that Verne's pack was in
charge now. They had the personnel to keep Colin from making more vamps.
Apparently, if there was no tie between vampires and wereanimals in an
area, then whoever had the strength could rule over the others. Until
last night, Colin had kept the wolves in line; now the shoe was on the
other foot, and from the look in Verne's eyes, the shoe was going to
pinch.

It was one of those hot August nights that is utterly still. The world
sits in the close, hot darkness as if holding its breath, waiting for a
cool breeze that never comes.

But there was movement under the trees. No wind, but movement. People
crept among the trees. No, not people, werewolves. Everyone was still in
human form, but you wouldn't have mistaken them for human. They eased
through the trees like gliding shadows, moving through the scattered
underbrush almost soundlessly. If there had been even the smallest
breeze to stir the trees, they would have been soundless. But a brush of
twig, a crunch of leaf, a rustle of green leaves, and you heard them. On
a night like tonight, even the small sounds carried.

A twig snapped off to my left, and I jumped. Jamil touched my arm, and I
jumped again.

"Damn, babe, you're jumpy tonight."

"Don't call me babe."

His smile flashed in the darkness. "Sorry."

I rubbed my hands along my arms.

"You can't be cold," he said.

"I'm not." It wasn't cold that was trailing up and dawn my skin like
insects marching.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

I stopped in the dark woods, knee-deep in some tall, leggy weed. I shook
my head, searching the darkness. Yeah, there were several dozen
werewolves slinking around, but it wasn't the shapeshifters themselves
that were freaking me out. It was . . . it was like hearing voices in a
distant room. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I could
hear them--hear them in my head. I knew what it was; it was the munin.
The munin in the lupanar. The munin called to me, whispered across my
skin. They were eager for me to come, waiting for me. Shit.

Zane stared out into the dark. He was standing close enough that I heard
him draw a breath and knew he was scenting the wind. They were all
turned out into the night, even Nathaniel. He seemed more confident than
I'd ever seen him, more comfortable in his own skin, no pun intended.
Our little ceremony this afternoon had meant something to all three of
the leopards. I still wasn't sure what, exactly, it meant to me.

They were all wearing old jeans, T-shirts, things you wouldn't mind
shapeshifting in, because one night closer to the full moon, accidents
happened. No, not accidents. I would get to watch some of them lose
their human shapes tonight. I realized that I really didn't want to see
it. Not really.

Asher and Damian were not here. They had gone to spy or negotiate with
Colin and his remaining vamps. I'd thought this was a really bad idea,
but Asher had assured me that it was expected. That he as Jean-Claude's
second would carry the message that I, we, had spared Colin and his
second in command, Barnaby. We had allowed his human servant to walk
from the circle. We had been generous, and we didn't have to be. By
their laws, Colin had overstepped his bounds. He was the lesser vampire,
and we could have taken everything from him.

Of course, the truth was that Colin and Barnaby had escaped. The only
person we allowed to escape was Colin's human servant. But Asher assured
me that he could lie to Colin and that the Master of this City would
never realize it was a lie.

There was a tightness in my gut at the thought of Damian and Asher out
there alone with Colin and company. The vamps had rules for everything,
but they had a tendency to bend the rules until they were just this side
of breaking. Close enough to get Asher and Damian hurt. But Asher had
been so confident, and tonight I was playing lupa. One monster at a
time, I guess.

Another thing that was making me nervous was no guns. Knives were okay,
they substituted for claws, but no guns. Marcus had been the same way.
No Ulfric worth his salt would let you bring a gun into their inner
sanctum. I understood it, but I didn't have to like it. After what I'd
done for Verne last night, I thought the request for no guns was
downright rude.

Richard had informed me that my killing of Colin's vamps inside the
lupanar would be our gift, the gift that the visiting Ulfric and lupa
gave to the resident pack.

The gift was usually a freshly killed animal, jewelry for the lupa, or
something mystical. Death, jewelry, or magic; it sounded like
Valentine's Day.

I'd put jeans on to protect my legs from the underbrush, even though it
was hot enough for my knees to sweat. The only one of us wearing shorts
was Jason. If his legs were getting scratched up, he didn't seem to
mind. He was also the only one not wearing a shirt of some kind. I'd put
on a royal blue tank top so at least the top of me would be cool. It did
leave the knives sort of visible, though.

The big knife down my spine was still invisible unless you looked really
hard at my back. The tank top was thin material, and you could see the
sheath, though not in the dark. I had my usual wrist sheaths and silver
blades on my forearms. They were very visible against my skin. I had a
new knife in my pocket. It was a four-inch switchblade with a safety
lock. Didn't want to sit down and stab myself. This is one of those
blades that comes straight out. Yes, it is illegal. It had been a gift
from a friend who didn't sweat legalities much. So why have a
four-incher that is illegal to carry in most states? Because at six
inches, it wasn't comfortable to sit down with it in my pocket. So nice
to have friends that know your size.

I was also wearing a silver crucifix. I didn't plan on meeting any bad
vamps tonight, but I didn't trust Colin not to try something. If he knew
enough about the greeting ceremony to know I wouldn't be allowed a gun,
now is when he would jump me.

There were soft grey shadows under the trees. The moon and stars were
bright somewhere overhead. But where we stood, the trees were a solid
darkness between us and the sky. I felt almost claustrophobic standing
there in the dark.

"I don't smell anything but other lukoi," Jason said.

Everybody agreed. Nothing but us shapeshifters tonight. No one but me
seemed to be able to feel that whispering echo. I was the only
necromancer in the bunch, so the spirits of the dead liked me better.

"We need to be at the meeting place before the ceremony goes any
further," Jamil said.

I looked at him. "You mean they've started the ceremony already?"

"The call has been given," Jason said.

He said it like call should have been in capital letters. "What do you
mean the call has been given?"

"They've sacrificed an animal and smeared blood on the tree, sort of
what you did last night," Jason said.

I rubbed my arms. "I wonder if that's why I'm sensing the munin."

"When we smear blood on the rock throne, our spirit symbol, it doesn't
make the munin come," Jason said.

I shook my head. "I've been in your lupanar, Jason; this one is
different. Their magic is different from yours."

I felt something creeping through the trees. A roil of energy that made
my heart skip a beat, and then beat faster, as if I'd been running.
"Jesus, what was that?"

"She's feeling the call," Jason said.

"That's impossible," Jamil said. "She isn't lukoi." He stabbed a finger
at Cherry, Zane, and Nathaniel. "They don't feel it. They're
shapeshifters, and they don't feel the call to the lupanar."

Cherry looked at us, then shook her head. "He's right. I feel something
like a vague buzz through the woods, but it's nothing big."

Nathaniel and Zane agreed with her.

My skin rushed across my body like it was going to try to crawl away
under its own power. It was creepy as hell. "What is happening to me?"

"She is feeling the call," Jason said.

"That is not possible," Jamil said.

"You keep saying that about her, Jamil, and you keep being wrong," Jason
said.

A low, growling snarl trickled from Jamil's mouth.

"Stop it, both of you," I said. I looked behind me farther into the
trees until there was nothing but a wall of darkness shot by faint
moonlight. Jason was right. I could feel the magic. It was ritual magic,
and it was death magic. Lycanthropes' power comes from life. They are
the most alive preternatural creatures I've ever been around, more like
fairies than humans, sometimes. But this lupanar ran on death as well as
life; it called to me twice. Once through Richard's marks; second
through my necromancy. I wished Richard were here.

He'd gone to have dinner with his family. Shang-Da had gone with him at
my insistence. Sheriff Wilkes had to know we weren't leaving town by
now. It wasn't just the local vampires we had to worry about. Richard
had called on the telephone, saying they were running late, to start
without him. His mother just hadn't understood why he couldn't stay
longer. All of the Zeeman men were so pussy whipped--ah, henpecked,
sorry.

I started through the trees, and they followed me. I climbed on top of a
fallen log. You never step directly over a log. You never know if
there's a snake on the other side. Step on the log, then over. Tonight
it wasn't snakes I was worried about. I moved slowly, picking my way
through the trees. My night vision is excellent for a human, and I could
have gone faster. I wanted to go faster. I wanted to fling myself
through the trees and run. I didn't, but it was force of will alone that
kept me walking.

It wasn't just the death I was picking up on. It was that warm rising
energy that was pure lycanthrope. I knew I could sense some of this with
Richard holding my hand. We'd done it before on a full moon, but never
with me alone. Never just me moving through the darkness trying to
breathe past the beating of my heart and the rush of someone else's
power.

I whispered, "Richard, what have you done to me?" Maybe it was his name,
maybe it was just thinking of him, but I suddenly felt him sitting in
the car. I had a moment of seeing Daniel driving. I could smell Daniel's
aftershave. I could feel the warm tightness of Richard's chest. I pulled
away and was left staggering. If I hadn't had a tree to hug, I'd have
fallen to my knees. If that moment of sharing hit Richard as hard as it
hit me, I was glad he wasn't driving.

"Anita, are you all right?" Jason touched my shoulder. And power flowed
between us in a hot, skin-creeping rush. I turned to him and it felt
like I was moving in slow motion. I couldn't breathe past the power and
the sensations that filled my mind. Images, flashes, like watching a
room through strobe light. A bed, white sheets, the smell of sex so
fresh it was hot and musky. My hands resting on a smooth chest. A man's
chest. That warm, rolling power that was pure lycanthrope, pure beast,
filled my body, like the man underneath me. Sharp, pleasant, exciting.
The power spilled out my fingertips, pulling claws from my hands like
knives unsheathing. The beast pushed at the smooth skin of my body,
tried to slip out and overwhelm me. But I held it, tightened my body
around it, and let only my hands turn monstrous. Claws sliced that
smooth chest. Blood, hot and fresh enough to taste on our tongues.

Jason stared up at me from the bed, still pinned by my body, our body,
and he screamed. He'd wanted this. Chosen it. And still he screamed. I
felt his flesh give under claws. Those hands struck again and again,
until the white sheets were spongy with blood and he lay motionless
underneath us. If he survived, he would be one of us. I remembered not
caring if he lived or if he died, not really. It was the sex, the pain,
the joy of it all that mattered.

When I could feel my body again, Jason and I were kneeling in the
leaves. His hands were still on my arms. Someone was screaming, and it
was me. Jason stared at me with a face almost blank with horror. He'd
shared the ride, but it wasn't his memory.

It wasn't Richard's memory, or mine. It was Raina's. She was dead but
not forgotten. She was why I feared the munin. I was a necromancer with
ties to the wolves. The munin liked me. Raina's munin liked me best of
all.

"What's wrong?" Cherry said. She touched me, and it opened something
inside of me again. It welcomed Raina back with a rush that left me
screaming. But I fought it this time. Fought it because I did not want
to see Cherry the way Raina would see her. Jason wouldn't care. Cherry
would care. I would care.

There was a rush of sensations: skin damp with sweat, hands with long,
polished nails on my breasts, those grey eyes staring up at me, mouth
open, slack, shoulder-length yellow hair against a pillow. Raina on top
again.

I screamed and pulled away from them both. The images died as if a plug
had been pulled. I scrambled through the leaves on all fours, eyes shut
tight. I ended sitting, hugging my knees to my chest, face buried
against my legs. I squeezed my eyes so tight that I began seeing white
snakes against my eyelids.

I heard someone move through the crunching leaves. I felt them hovering
over me.

"Don't touch me," I said. It was almost another scream.

I heard whoever it was kneel in the dry leaves before Jamil's voice
came. "I won't touch you. Are you still getting the memories?"

He didn't ask if I was seeing the memories. I found the phrasing
strange. I shook my head without looking up.

"Then it's over, Anita. Once the munin leave, they're gone until called
again."

"I didn't call her." I raised my face slowly and opened my eyes. The
summer night seemed blacker somehow.

"It was Raina again?" he made it a question.

"Yes."

He knelt as close as he could get without touching me. "You shared the
memories with Jason and with Cherry."

I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement, but I answered it:
"Yeah."

"It was a full visual," Jason said. He was sitting with his bare back
against a tree.

Cherry had her hands pressed to her face. She spoke, face hidden. "I cut
my hair after that night, after what she did to me. One night with her
was the price for not having to do one of their porno movies." She
jerked her hands away from her face, crying. "God, I can smell Raina's
scent." She rubbed her hands against her jeans, over and over, as if
she'd touched something bad and was trying to wipe it away.

"What the fuck was that?" I asked. "I've channeled Raina before, but it
wasn't like that. I've got glimpses of memories, but not a full-blown
movie. Nothing like that, ever."

"Have you been trying to learn to control the munin?" Jamil asked.

"Just to get rid of it, them, whatever."

Jamil moved closer to me, studying my face as if looking for something.
"If you were lukoi, I'd tell you, you can't just turn the munin off. If
you have the power to call them, then you must learn to control them,
not just shut them out. Because you can't shut them out. They'll seek a
way into you, through you."

"How do you know so much?" I asked.

"I knew a werewolf who could call the munin. She hated it. She tried to
shut them out. It didn't work."

"Just because it didn't work for your friend doesn't mean I can't do
it." I could feel his breath warm against my face. "Back off, Jamil."

He scooted back, but he was still closer than I wanted him to be. He sat
back in the leaves. "She went crazy, Anita. The pack had to execute
her." His eyes went past me into the darkness. I turned to see what he
was looking at. Two figures stood in the darkness. One was a woman with
long, pale hair and a long, white dress like something out of a 1950s
horror movie. If you were playing the victim. But she stood very
straight, very certain, as if she were anchored to the ground like a
tree. There was something almost frightfully confident about her.

The man with her was tall, slender, and tanned dark enough that he
looked brown in the dark. His hair was short and a paler brown than his
skin. If the woman seemed calm, he seemed nervous. He gave off energy in
a roiling bath that breathed along my skin and made the night seem
hotter.

"Are you well?" the woman asked.

"She shared the munin with two of us," Jamil said.

"By accident, I take it," the woman said. She sounded faintly amused.

I was not amused. I got to my feet, a little unsteady, but standing.
"Who are you?"

"My name is Marianne. I am the vargamor for this clan."

I remembered Verne and Colin talking about a varga-something last night.
"Verne mentioned you last night. Colin said he'd left you at home to
keep you safe."

"A good witch is hard to find," she said, smiling.

I looked at her. "You don't feel Wiccan."

Again, I knew she smiled at me. Her peaceful condescension grated on my
nerves. "A psychic then, if you prefer the term."

"I'd never heard the term vargamor before last night," I said.

"It's rare," she said. "Most packs don't have one anymore. Considered
too old-fashioned."

"You aren't lukoi," I said.

Her head cocked to one side, and the smile was gone, as if I'd finally
done something worthwhile. "Are you so sure?"

I tried to get a sense of what had made me so sure she was human, or at
least not lukoi. She had her own energy. She was psychic enough for me
to notice. We'd have recognized each other without any introductions. We
might not have known the exact flavor of each other's abilities, but
we'd have recognized a kindred or rival spirit. Whatever power moved
her, it wasn't lycanthropy.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're not lukoi," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"You don't taste like a shapeshifter."

She laughed then, and it was a rich, musical sound that managed to be
wholesome and earthy all at the same time. "I like your choice of
senses. Most humans would have said I didn't feel right. Feel is such an
imprecise word, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"This is Roland. He is my bodyguard for this night. We poor humans must
be watched over for fear that some overzealous shapeshifter might lose
control and harm us."

"Somehow I don't think you are that easy a prey, Marianne."

She laughed again. "Why, thank you, child."

Her calling me child made me add about ten years to her age. She didn't
look it. It was dark, but she still didn't look it.

"Come, Anita. We will escort you to the lupanar." She held out her hand
to me like I was supposed to take it and be led like a child.

I looked to Jamil. I hoped somebody knew what was going on, because I
was lost.

"It's all right, Anita. The vargamor is neutral. She never fights or
takes sides in challenges. That's how she can be human and run with the
pack."

"Are we involved in a challenge or a fight that I don't know about?" I
asked.

"No," Jamil said, but he sounded uncertain.

Marianne interpreted for me without being asked. "Introducing two
outside dominants to a pack can lead to fighting. Having someone as
powerful as Richard is raising the hackles on our younger wolves. Having
him sleeping with our pack's only two dominant females makes it worse."

"You mean we may get into a pissing contest," I said.

"A colorful phrase, but accurate enough," she said.

"Okay, now what?" I asked.

"Now, Roland and I escort you all to the lupanar. The rest of you may go
ahead. You know the way, Jamil."

"I don't think so," I said.

"No to what?" Marianne asked.

"Do I look like Little Red Riding Hood?" I said. "I'm not taking a
stroll in the woods with two strangers. One of them a werewolf and the
other a . . . I don't know what you are yet, Marianne. But I don't want
to be alone with the two of you."

"Very well," she said. "Some or all may stay. I was thinking that you
might like privacy to speak with another human tied to the lukoi.
Perhaps I was wrong."

"Tomorrow in the light of day, we can talk. Tonight, let's just take it
easy."

"As you like," she said. Again, she held out her hand to me. "Come. Let
us talk as we all troop to the lupanar as one big, happy family."

"You're making fun of me now," I said. "That won't put you on my
A-list."

"I make fun of everyone a little," she said. "I mean no harm by it." She
waggled her hand at me. "Come, child, the moon is passing above us. Time
wastes away."

I walked towards her with my five bodyguards at my back. I didn't take
her hand, though.

I was close enough to see the condescending smile clearly now. Anita
Blake, the famous vampire hunter, afraid of some backcountry wisewoman.

I smiled. "I'm cautious by nature and paranoid by profession. You've
offered me your hand twice now within just a few minutes. You don't
strike me as someone who does anything without a reason. What gives?"

She put her hands on her hips and tsked at me. "Is she always this
difficult?"

"Worse," Jason said.

I frowned at him. Even if he couldn't see it in the dark, it made me
feel better.

"All I want, child, is to touch your hand and get a sense of how
powerful you are before we let you inside the boundaries of our lupanar
again. After what you did last night, some of our pack fear you within
the boundaries of our lupanar. They seem to think you will steal our
power."

"I can tap into it," I said, "but I can't steal it."

"But the munin already reach out to you. I felt you call your munin. It
traveled through the power we have called tonight in the lupanar. It
disturbed it like plucking on a thread of a spider's web. We came to see
what we had caught, and if it were too big to eat, we would cut it loose
and not take it home."

"The spider metaphor worked for maybe two sentences, then you lost me,"
I said.

"The lupanar is our place of power, Anita. I need to get a sense of what
you are before you enter it this night." The laughter was gone from her
voice. She was suddenly very serious. "It is not just our protection I
am thinking of, child. It is yours. Think, child, what would happen to
you if the munin within our circle rode you one after another? I need to
make sure you can control at least that well."

Just hearing her say it made my stomach tight with fear. "Okay." I held
out my hand to her like we were going to shake hands, but I gave her my
left hand. If she didn't like it, she could refuse it.

"Offering the left hand is an insult," she said.

"Take it or leave it, vargamor. We don't have all night."

"That is more true than you know, little one." She put her hand out as
if to touch mine but stopped with her hand just above mine. She spread
her hand above my skin. I mirrored her. She was trying to get a sense of
my aura. Two could play at that game.

When I raised my hands up in front of my body, she mirrored me. We stood
facing each other, hands spread wide, not quite touching. She was tall,
five-foot-seven or five-foot-eight. I didn't think there were high heels
under that long dress.

Her aura was warm against my skin. It had a weight to it, as if I could
have wrapped her aura in my hands like dough. I'd never met anyone with
such weight to their aura. It confirmed my first sense of her. Solid.

She pushed forward suddenly, wrapping her fingers around my hand. She
forced my aura back in upon itself like a knife thrust. It made me gasp,
but again, I knew what was happening. I pushed back and felt her waver.

She smiled, but it wasn't condescending now. It was almost as if she
were pleased.

The hair at the back of my neck tried to crawl down my spine.

"Powerful," she said. "Strong."

I spoke around a tightness in my throat. "You, too."

"Thank you," she said.

I felt her power, her magic, move over me, through me, like a rush of
wind. She pulled away so abruptly it staggered both of us.

We were left standing a foot away from each other, breathing hard like
we'd been running. My heart thudded in my throat like a trapped thing.
And I could taste her pulse on the back of my tongue. No, I could hear
it. I could hear it like a small ticking clock. But it wasn't her pulse.
I smelled Richard's aftershave like a cloud that I had walked through.
When the marks were working through Richard, it was often scent that let
me know what was happening. I didn't know what had caused them to act
up. Maybe the power of the other lycanthropes or the closeness of the
full moon. Who knew? But something had opened me to him. I was
channeling more than the sweet smell of his body.

"What is that sound?" I asked.

"Describe it," Marianne said.

"Like a clicking, soft, almost mechanical."

"I've got an artificial valve in my heart," she said.

"It can't be that."

"Why not? When I lean forward to the mirror to apply eyeliner, I can
hear it through my open mouth, echoing against the mirror."

"But I can't hear it," I said.

"But you are," she said.

I shook my head. I was losing the sense of her. She was pulling away
from me, putting up shields. I didn't blame her, because, for just a
second I could feel her heart beating, limping along. The sound hadn't
made me sorry for her or empathetic. The sound excited me. I felt it
pull things deep inside my body. It was almost sexual. She'd be slow, an
easy kill. I looked at this tall, confident woman, and for a split
second all I saw was food.

Fuck.

Chapter 25
----------

We followed Marianne and her guard, Roland, through the darkened trees.
I'd have caught that damn dress on every twig and deadfall. Marianne
floated through the woods as if the trees themselves let her and the
dress pass gently through. Roland paced at her arm, gliding through the
woods like water down a well-worn channel. Jamil, Nathaniel, and Zane
moved just as gracefully. It was the rest of us that were having
trouble.

My excuse was that I was human. I didn't know what Jason and Cherry's
excuse was. I tried to step on a log and missed. I ended up on my
stomach, arms scraping along the rough bark. I straddled it like a horse
and couldn't seem to get my leg over the other side. Cherry tripped on
something in the leaves and fell to her knees. I watched her get to her
feet and trip over the same damn thing. This time she stayed on her
knees, head down.

Jason fell in a tangle of dry tree roots at the end of the log I was
sitting on. He fell on his face and cursed. When he got to his feet,
there was a scrape on his chest deep enough to show blood, black in the
moonlight. It reminded me of what Raina had done to him. She'd cut his
chest to rags, and there wasn't a scar on him from it.

I closed my eyes and leaned over the log, resting my forearms on it. My
arms hurt. I raised myself slowly and looked at them. I'd scraped them
up enough so that blood was slowly filling the wounds in spots. Great.

Jason leaned against the end of the log, far enough away that we
wouldn't touch. I think we were all still afraid of that. Didn't want a
repeat.

"What's wrong with us?" Jason asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Marianne was just suddenly there. I hadn't heard her come up. Was I
losing time? Was I that out of it?

"You cast out the munin before it was ready to release you."

"So?" I said.

"So, that takes energy," she said.

"Fine, that explains me stumbling around. What about them? Why do they
feel like shit?"

She gave a very small smile. "You are not the only one who fought the
munin, Anita. It was you who called it, and if you had not been willing
to fight it, then the other two would have been helpless before it, but
they fought it as well. They struggled against the memories. That
costs."

"You sound like you know," I said.

"I can call the munin. These chaotic flashes are what happens when you
have a munin that hunts you, and that you do not want to embrace."

"How did you know it was chaotic?" I asked.

"I caught a glimpse or two of what you saw. The merest touch," she said.

"Why don't you feel awful?" I asked.

"I did not struggle. If you simply allow the munin to ride you, it
passes much more quickly and relatively painlessly."

I half-laughed at her. "That sounds like the old advice of lie back,
close your eyes, and it'll be over soon."

She turned her head to one side, long hair sliding over her shoulders
like a pale ghost. "Embracing the munin can be pleasant or unpleasant,
but this munin hunts you, Anita. Most of the time, a munin that tries to
bond with a pack member does so out of love or shared sorrow."

I just looked at her. "It isn't love that motivates this one."

"No," she said, "I felt both the strength of her personality and her
hatred of you. She chases you out of spite."

I shook my head. "Not just spite. What little is left of her enjoys the
game. She's having a really good time when I channel her."

Marianne nodded. "Yes. But if you would embrace her instead of fighting,
you could pick and choose among the memories. Strong ones will come
easiest, but you could control more of what comes and how strongly it
comes. If you would truly channel her, as you put it, then the images
would be less like a movie and more . . . like wearing a glove."

"Except that I'm the glove," I said, "and her personality overwhelms
mine. No thanks."

"If you continue to fight this munin, it will get worse. If you will
cease struggling and meet her even partway, the munin will lose some of
its strength. Some feed off of love. This one feeds off of fear and
hatred. Was this the old lupa? The one you killed?"

"Yeah," I said.

Marianne shivered. "I never met Raina, but even that small touch of her
makes me glad she's dead. She was evil."

"She didn't see herself that way," I said. "She saw herself as more
neutral than evil." I said it like I knew, and I did know. I knew
because I'd worn her essence like a dress more than once.

"Very few people see their own actions as truly evil," Marianne said.
"It is left to their victims to decide what is evil and what is not."

Jason raised his hand. "Evil."

Cherry echoed him. "Evil."

Nathaniel and Zane and even Jamil, raised their hands.

I raised my hand, too. "It's unanimous," I said.

Marianne laughed, and again, it was a sound equally at home in the
kitchen or the bedroom. How she managed to be both wholesome and
suggestive in the same breath puzzled me. Of course, a lot of things
puzzled me about Marianne.

"We'll be late," Roland said. His voice was deeper than I thought it
would be, low and careful, almost too old for his body. He looked
peaceful enough, but I could look at him with things other than my eyes.
You couldn't see it, but you could feel it. He was a mass of nervous
energy. It danced along his skin, breathing out into the dark like an
invisible cloud, hot, almost touchable, like steam.

"I know, Roland," she said. "I know."

"We could carry them," Jamil said.

A thrill of power flowed through the trees. It caught at my heart as if
some invisible hand had touched me.

"We must go," Roland said.

"What is your problem?" I asked.

Roland looked at me with eyes that were a nice, solid darkness. "You
are," he said. He spoke in a low voice, and it sounded like a threat.

Jamil moved between us so that my view of Roland was almost completely
blocked, and I assumed, his view of me.

"Now, children," Marianne said, "play nicely."

"We will miss the ceremony entirely if they do not hurry," Roland said.

"If you were a true lupa," Marianne said, "you could draw energy from
your wolves and give it in return like a great recycling battery." It
sounded like she'd given this lecture before. I guess every pack needs a
teacher. I know ours needed one sorely. I was beginning to realize that
we were like children that had been raised by neglectful parents. We
were grown-up, but we didn't know how to behave.

"You're psychic enough that you might be able to do it in a small way
without being lukoi," Marianne said.

"I don't think I'd call being a necromancer the same thing as being
psychic," Jamil said.

Marianne shrugged. "It's all much more alike than most people wish to
acknowledge. Many religious groups are comfortable with psychic ability
but not with magic. But call it what you will, it's either that or we
call some more wolves and throw you across our shoulders."

The real trouble was that I only knew two ways to call power. One was
ritual, the other was sex. I'd realized a few months ago that sex could
take the place of ritual for me. Not always, and I had to be attracted
to the person involved, but sometimes. I didn't really want to admit to
strangers that sexual energy was one of the ways I performed magic. Even
though no actual sex was involved, it was still embarrassing. Besides,
doing anything sexual seemed like putting out the welcome mat for
Raina's munin.

How could I explain all this to Marianne without sounding like a slut? I
couldn't think of a way to explain it that didn't make me sound bad, so
I wasn't going to try.

"Go on without us, Marianne. We'll get there on our own. Thanks,
anyway."

She stamped her foot under that flowing gown. "Why are you so reluctant
to try, Anita?"

I shook my head. "We can discuss magical metaphysics tomorrow. Right
now, why don't you take your wolf and go. We'll get there, slow but
sure."

"Let's go," Roland said.

Marianne looked to him, then back to me. "I was told to see if you were
a danger to us, and you are not, but I don't like leaving you out here
like this. The three of you are weak."

"We'll get over it," I said.

She cocked her head to one side again, hair sweeping like a white veil
to frame her face. "Are you planning some sort of magic that you don't
wish me to see?"

"Maybe," I said. Truth was, no. No way was I voluntarily touching Jason
or Cherry again, not tonight. But if Marianne thought we were going to
do something mystical but private, she might go away. I wanted her to go
away.

She stood looking at me for nearly a full minute, then finally smiled,
dim in the moonlight. "Very well, but do hurry. The others will grow
impatient to greet Richard's human lupa. You have everyone's curiosity
piqued."

"Glad to hear it. The sooner you go, the sooner we can start."

She turned without another word and started off through the trees.
Roland trailed her, then took the lead. We all stood around waiting for
Marianne's white dress to grow distant and ghostlike through the forest.

Finally, Jason said, "Start what?"

"Nothing," I said. "I just wanted them gone."

"Why?" Jamil asked.

I shrugged. "I don't want to be carried like a sack of potatoes." I
started walking, slow but sure, towards the lupanar.

Jamil fell into step beside me. "Why not try what she was suggesting?"

I walked carefully, paying a lot more attention to my feet than I
usually did. "Because outside of raising the dead, I'm still an amateur.
It will probably take less time for us to walk to the lupanar than for
me to do something mystical."

Jason agreed with me, which made me frown at him, but it was still true.
I was like someone with a loaded gun that didn't know how to shoot. I
would be struggling to figure out how to undo the safety while the bad
guys shot me a million times. About two months ago, the only other
necromancer I'd ever met had offered to teach me real necromancy, not
this voodoo dabbling I was doing. He'd ended up dead before he could
teach me much of anything. Funny how many people ended up dead after
they met me. No, I didn't kill him.

Cherry stumbled and went down again. Zane and Nathaniel were just
suddenly there, one on either side of her. They helped her stand,
hugging each other for a moment. Cherry slipped a hand around the waist
of both men, leaning her head for a second on Zane's shoulder. They
walked this way through the treacherous dark, Cherry leaning heavily on
her fellow wereleopards. There was a camaraderie between them that
hadn't been there before. Had I done that? Had just having someone to
protect them forged some sort of bond? Or had it been Richard's
prickling energy? I had a lot of questions and didn't even know if there
was anyone who would know. Maybe Marianne would know, if I decided I
could trust her.

Jamil offered me his arm. I waved him away. I knew that Raina had slept
with him, and I did not want the memory. "Help Jason," I said.

Jamil looked at me for a second, then went and offered his arm to Jason,
who refused the offer. "If Anita doesn't need help, neither do I."

"Don't be a hard case," I said.

"Now, that's the pot calling the kettle black," Jason said.

"If I offered you my arm, you'd take it," I said.

"An excuse to hang all over a pretty girl? Sure." Then he seemed to
think about it. "But maybe not tonight. I can't call the munin, but
there's something in the air tonight." He shivered, rubbing his hands
along his bare arms. "Of all the memories Raina had of me, why that
one?"

We were both slowly walking as we talked. "The three things Raina liked
best were sex and violence and terrorizing people. Making you lukoi hit
all her buttons."

Jason stumbled, fell to his knees, and just stayed that way for a second
or two. I waited with him, wondering if I should offer to help him up.
"I know you wondered why I never did any of her porno movies."

"I guess. I mean you're not exactly the shy type."

He looked up at me, and even by moonlight, there was a sorrow in his
face that was deeper and wider than most people ever saw. He was too
young for the look in his eyes, but there it was. Innocence lost.

"I'll always remember the look on her face when she killed me."

"She didn't kill you, Jason."

"She tried. It didn't matter to her whether I lived or died. It really
didn't."

That one shared memory, and I couldn't argue with him. Raina's pleasure
had been more important to her than his life. Like a serial killer.

Jason hunched in upon himself. "But she was my sponsor, and I had to
stay with her until my probation period was over. When I could, I got
away."

"Is that why you went to stay with Jean-Claude, as his lapwolf? To
escape Raina?"

Jason nodded. "Partly." He looked up suddenly and grinned. "Of course,
Jean-Claude is way cool."

I shook my head and offered him my hand.

"Think we can risk it?" he asked.

"I think so. I'm not feeling particularly muninish right now."

He took my hand and it was just a hand. His hand in mine. I helped him
stand. and he staggered just a bit on his feet, which made me wobble. We
clung to each other for a second like two drunks leaving a party. I
hugged him, and he hugged me back. It was quick. He pulled away first,
and looked almost embarrassed. "Don't tell anyone I didn't take my
chance to grope you when it was your idea."

I patted him on the back. "Not a soul."

He gave me his usual grin, and we started through the woods, walking
close enough to catch each other if we fell. A breeze blew through the
trees, rustling everything. The woods were suddenly alive with sound. I
turned my face to the wind, hoping it would be cool, but it was hot like
the air from an oven.

Jason's baby fine hair moved gently in the breeze. I heard him take a
deep breath, then he touched my arm. He spoke low. "I smell the man that
I threw into the truck yesterday."

We kept walking as if nothing were wrong. "Are you sure?" I asked.

I saw his nostrils flare as he tested the air. "He smelled like
peppermint Lifesavers and cigarettes."

"A lot of people smell like peppermint and cigarettes," I said.

We kept moving, his hand on my arm now. "I also smell gun oil."

Great.

Jamil was waiting for us just up ahead. The three wereleopards waited
among the trees. Jamil came back to us, smiling, and enveloped both of
us in a big, hearty hug. "You guys are so damned slow tonight." He
hugged us against him and whispered, "I smell two, maybe three, to our
left."

"One of them is a guy I beat up yesterday," Jason said, smiling as if we
were talking about something else entirely.

"Revenge maybe?" He made it a question.

"How far away are they?" I asked.

He drew back with a big very un-Jamil grin. He whispered, "A few yards.
I can smell the guns."

I encircled his slender waist with my arm and whispered against his
chest. "We don't have any guns. Any suggestions?"

Jason leaned in, laughing, and said, "I don't feel good enough to outrun
them."

I patted his arm. "Me, either."

"If they're here for revenge," Jamil said, "then maybe, they'll settle
for just the two of you."

I drew back from him. I wasn't sure I liked his reasoning. "So?"

"You stay here and make out. They move up to get you, and I get them."

"They've got guns. You don't."

"I'll send Zane and Cherry to the others. They'll bring reinforcements.
But we can't let them follow us to the lupanar. We can't take danger
there."

"Some werewolf rule?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"All right," I said. "But don't let them kill me, okay?"

"What about me?" Jason said.

"Sorry. Him either."

Jamil leaned into both of us. "I suggest the two of you get a lot more
cozy, fast, or they're not going to buy it."

I transferred my arm to Jason's waist, but said, "How long have they
been watching?"

"Make them think you're drunk, just in case they saw the screaming. Make
out, but get on the ground as soon as possible in case they just decide
to shoot you." With that comforting thought, Jamil went back to the
others. He walked away into the dark with the wereleopards. Zane looked
at me as they walked away, but I nodded once, and that seemed to satisfy
him. He turned and let Jamil lead him away. I really was going to have
to find the leopards a true alpha. They were all so damn submissive.

Jason pushed me up against a tree.

"Watch it," I said.

He grinned at me. "We want it to look real, don't we?"

"I thought we had a moment of real friendship bonding back there," I
said.

Jason leaned in towards me as if he were going to kiss me. "Just because
we're friends doesn't mean that I don't want to sleep with you." He
kissed me, a soft brush of lips.

I frowned at him, not kissing back. "Please tell me that you don't want
to sleep with all your female friends."

He put a hand on either side of my head, propping himself against the
tree. "What can I say? I'm a guy."

I shook my head. "That's not an excuse."

He leaned his whole body into me in a sort of standing push-up. The
muscles in his arms swelled with the effort. "How about because it's
me."

I smiled. "That I'll buy." I put my hands on his waist. He was leaning
against me but not too hard. He could have been taking a lot more
advantage of the situation than he was. I realized that he was being a
gentleman. There was a time not long ago that Jason wouldn't have made
the effort. We were friends. But we needed to get down on the ground,
and this wasn't getting us there.

I glanced, as casually as I could, at the others. I could still see
Zane, and Cherry's hair gleamed through the trees. I had a sense that
Jamil and Nathaniel was still with them, but it was all that blond hair
that made them so visible. If the bad guys had a high-powered rifle,
they could shoot us both through the tree. Once the others got out of
sight, they might do just that.

I slid my hands up Jason's chest. The skin was soft, but underneath, he
was very firm. I knew what that smooth flesh felt like shredding under
claws. It wasn't the munin coming back. It was just me flashing on the
vision. I balled my hands into fists and forced my hands to his face. I
didn't want to do anything that would remind either of us of what we'd
just shared. There was always the extra danger that it could bring Raina
back. No, I didn't want to be channeling Raina with armed goons in the
woods.

I cradled Jason's face in my hands, moving just my head towards him. As
I leaned into him, he leaned more into me. I was suddenly very aware
that his body was pressed down the length of mine. It made me hesitate,
but when his lips brushed mine, I kissed him. I ran my hand back through
his hair, until I had a handful of it.

I whispered into his mouth, "We need to get on the ground as soon as
possible."

He kissed me harder, hands dropping to my belt. He slid his fingertips
inside the belt, and knelt in front of me, pulling me down with him. I
let him. He fell back into the leaves and pulled me down on top of him.
I propped myself on my scraped forearms against his chest, sort of
startled. I just wasn't a good enough actress for this.

I could feel his heart thudding under my hands. He rolled me suddenly,
and I let out a little yip of surprise. He ended very firmly on top, and
I didn't like it.

"I want on top," I said.

He put his lips next to my cheek. "If they shoot us, I can take a bullet
better than you can." He rubbed his cheek along my face, and I realized
he was doing the werewolf greeting. Maybe it was their version of a
handshake, but I'd never been tempted to shake hands while making out.

I whispered into his ear, which was very close to my mouth, "Do you hear
them?"

"Yes." He raised his face enough to kiss me.

"How close?" I kissed him back, but we were both listening, straining to
hear. Here we were, lying on top of each other, bodies perfectly matched
up, and we were both tight enough that I could feel the muscles along
his back knotting.

"A few yards," he said. "They're good." He rested his cheek against
mine. "They move quietly."

"Not quiet enough," I whispered.

"Can you hear them?" he asked.

"No."

We were both just staring at each other. Neither of us was making much
of an effort to kiss or anything else. I could feel that his body was
happy to be pressed up against mine, but it was all secondary. Men with
guns were coming. Men who didn't like us very much.

I stared up into his eyes from inches away. I knew they were pale blue,
but by moonlight they looked almost silver. "You're not going to do
anything stupid like shield my body with yours."

He pushed just a little with his hips and grinned. "Why do you think I'm
on top?" The grin and the hip movement were to distract me from how very
serious his eyes were.

"Get off of me, Jason."

"Nope," he said. He propped himself up on his arms, pressing into me,
leaning over like we were kissing. "They're almost here."

I slid a knife out for either hand.

He whispered against my mouth. "We're supposed to look helpless,
remember? Bait doesn't go armed."

I could feel how very smooth his cheek was, smell his cologne. I stared
past the pale halo of his hair. "We just trust that Jamil and the rest
will save us, is that it?"

He licked my chin, then my mouth. I realized he was doing the submissive
greeting. He was begging me to go along. His tongue was very wet and
very warm.

"Stop licking me, and I'll do it," I said.

He laughed, but it was high with an edge of tension to it. I couldn't
resheath the knives with him pressed on top of me, so I laid them down
in the leaves. I kept my hands on them, lightly, but tried to relax and
look harmless. With Jason pressed on top of me, kissing down my neck, it
was easy to look helpless. The relaxed part wasn't going to happen.

I heard them now, moving through the dry leaves. They were quiet. If I
hadn't been listening for it, I might have thought it was wind, an
animal moving through the undergrowth. But it wasn't. It was men moving
heavy and secretively through the forest. Hunting. They were hunting.
They were hunting Jason and me.

I saw the first one round the tree, and I wasn't a good enough actress
to look surprised. I just stared up at him with Jason on top of me,
still kissing the side of my neck.

He'd looked big yesterday. From flat on my back, he was enormous, like a
two-legged tree. The rifle in his hand looked long and black and
hostile. He didn't point it at us, just held it in the crook of one arm.
A big smile split his pale face.

I heard the second man before he touched Jason's shoulder with the tip
of a double-barreled shotgun. The moment I saw the shotgun, I knew
they'd come to kill us. You didn't go after people with shotguns if you
just meant to scare them, not as a general rule, anyway.

If it were silver shot at this range, he could have killed both of us. I
wasn't scared yet. I was pissed. Where the hell was our backup?

Jason raised his face slowly. The shotgun tapped his cheek almost
gently. "My brother Mel sends his regards."

I rolled my eyes to look past the shotgun. The man was wearing a black
T-shirt with a Harley logo on it. His belly hung out over his belt.
There was a family resemblance.

I said very calmly, each word careful but not scared, "What do you
want?"

Mel's brother laughed.

The first man joined him.

They stood over us with the guns and laughed. Not a good sign. Where the
fuck was Jamil?

"Get off of her real slow," the first man said. The rifle was at his
shoulder now, snuggled against his chin like he knew what he was doing.

Jason leaned over me until I was as hidden as I could get under his
body. Being short made it hard for him to shield me completely.

I told him. "Get off of me."

"No," he said. He'd seen the shotgun, too. And I realized he understood
what it meant. I was not going to let him die a hero. I was certainly
not going to let him die by spattering his brains all over me. Some
things you recover from. Some things you don't. Wiping Jason's brains
off my face might be one of the latter.

I let go of the knife in my right hand, letting the blade lie in the
leaves. It took everything I had not to tighten my grip on the one in my
left. I tried to keep my hand very still. In the dark, they might not
notice. They hadn't, so far.

"Get off of her," the man repeated, "or I will shoot you both where you
lay."

"Off, Jason," I said softly.

He moved enough so we could see each other's eyes. I looked to my right
at the rifleman. Then I touched my chest and looked at Mel's brother. I
was trying to tell him that the rifle was his problem and the shotgun
was mine. I hoped he understood. Either he did, or he had his own plan,
because he raised very slowly and got to his knees. I sat up, not too
fast, not too slow. I kept my left hand in the leaves, knife gripped
tightly.

The rifleman said, "Hands on your head, boy."

Jason didn't argue. He just clasped his hands on his head like he'd done
it before.

No one told me to put my hands on my head, so I didn't. If we were
lucky, they'd treat me like a girl. The rifleman had been unconscious
when I hurt Mel. The one with the shotgun hadn't been there. What had
Mel told them?

The rifleman said, "Remember me, asshole?"

"Is he asking you or me?" I asked. I scooted in the leaves a little
closer to the guy with the shotgun.

"Don't get cute, chickie," the rifleman said. "We came here for both of
you, but I want my piece of this one first."

Jason flicked his eyes to me. "You must be losing some of your charm,
Anita. He wants a piece of me instead of you."

The rifleman had the rifle aimed very steadily at the middle of Jason's
chest. If it were silver ammo, he was gone. The rifleman said, "Chuck."

Chuck, the one with the shotgun, grabbed my left arm. I opened my hand
and let the knife fall before he raised my hand free of the leaves. The
rifle was too steady on Jason for me to try stabbing Chuck. If I were
lucky, I'd get another chance. If I wasn't, I was going to come back and
haunt Jamil.

Chuck's hands were big and meaty. Thick fingers dug into my arm enough
that if I lived, I'd be bruised.

"If you don't do exactly what I say, your girlfriend gets it."

I wanted to say, "Who writes your dialogue?" but I didn't. The shotgun
hovered about an inch from my cheek. Pretty clear what it was. I could
smell the oil in the gun barrels. It had been cleaned recently. Nice to
know of Chuck took care of his weapon.

The rifleman did two things almost at once: He stepped forward and
reversed his gun. The rifle butt smashed into Jason's chin. Jason swayed
but didn't fall.

The rifle stabbed at him again, catching him high on one cheekbone.
Blood spilled in a black line.

I must have moved, because the shotgun was suddenly pressed against my
cheek. "Don't do it, bitch."

I swallowed and spoke very carefully with the cool metal against my
face. "Do what?"

"Anything," he said. He jerked my arm for emphasis, grinding the shotgun
into my cheek.

The rifleman said, "The doc said you could have broken my spine. Said I
was lucky. I am going to hurt you, asshole, then I'm going to kill you.
If you take it like a man, I'll let the girl go. You wimp out, and I do
you both." He smashed the rifle into Jason's mouth. Blood and something
heavier flew shining in the moonlight. The beating began in earnest.

I'd seen people hurt on the judo mat. I'd gone to martial arts
tournaments. I'd even been knocked out a couple of times for real by bad
guys. But I'd never seen a real beating, not like this. It was
methodical, thorough, professional.

Jason made no move to protect himself. He never cried out. He just knelt
in the leaves and took it. His face was covered in blood. His eyes
fluttered, and I knew he was close to passing out. I had to do something
before he lost it.

Through it all, Chuck had kept the shotgun pressed to my face so hard I
knew I'd have the imprint of it on my skin. He never wavered, never gave
me any chance to do anything. I was beginning to think that Chuck wasn't
an amateur. I'd given up on Jamil or anyone else. It was just the four
of us in the darkened woods. Just the smack of the rifle hitting flesh.
The sound of the rifleman's grunt of effort as he tried to make Jason
cry out.

Jason finally slipped to his side. He tried to keep his hands up, but he
couldn't.

He leaned on his arms in the leaves. There was a fine, visible trembling
in his upper body. He was fighting to stay upright.

"Beg me to stop," the rifleman said. "Beg me, and maybe I'll just shoot
you. Beg me to stop, or I will fucking beat you to death."

I believed him. I think Jason did, too, because he just shook his head.
He knew if he gave the man what he wanted, he would finish it.

I felt something, a prickling rush of warmth. It was Richard. He was out
there somewhere. He opened the mark inside my body. It flowed over my
skin and across Chuck's hand. "What the fuck was that?" he asked.

I didn't move or say anything.

"Answer me, bitch, you trying some magic shit on me?" He pushed the
shotgun in even harder. If he kept it up, he was just going to shove it
through my cheek.

"Wasn't me," I said.

He jerked me to my knees, and the shotgun wasn't pressed into me
anymore. It was pointed out into the darkness for just a second. It was
one of those moments. Everything slowed down, as if I had all the time
in the world to draw the big knife down my back. The knife cleared the
sheath. The shotgun and Chuck turned back towards me. I used the
momentum of drawing the blade to swing it down and across. I felt the
tip catch Chuck's throat, and knew it wasn't a killing blow. Something
fell from the trees above us. A shadow only a little more solid than the
rest. The shotgun's barrels were like two dark tunnels pointed at my
face.

I heard the rifle behind me, but there was no time to look for Jason.
There was just the gun pointed at my face, the shadow that I didn't have
time to look up and see.

The shadow fell between us. The shadow had fur. The shotgun exploded on
the other side of that furred shadow. The lycanthrope staggered
backwards but didn't fall. The shotgun exploded again, both barrels.
Before the echoes died, I was scrambling through the leaves, around the
lycanthrope. Chuck's eyes were wild, showing white, but he had the
shotgun broken down across his left arm. The two spent shells were gone
and two more were being shoved into the breech. He was good.

I shoved the blade just under his big shiny belt buckle. A shudder ran
through him, but he slid the shells inside the breech. I shoved the
blade in until it grated on bone, spine or pelvic girdle, who knew. He
slapped the breech closed against his arm like he was skeet shooting. I
pulled the blade out of his body in a gout of blood.

He fell in slow motion, straight down to his knees. I lifted the newly
loaded shotgun from his hands, and he didn't fight me. He knelt in the
leaves and blinked out into the darkness. He didn't seem to be seeing me
now.

Someone was screaming, high and wild. I glanced behind me, and it was
the rifleman. He was sitting on the ground with one arm pointed up in
the moonlight. The arm was missing from the elbow down. Jason was lying
very still in the leaves. Zane was sitting beside him with blood on the
back of his yellow T-shirt.

I stood and moved away from Chuck. He fell face forward into the leaves.
He was alive enough to put his face to one side, but not to catch
himself with his hands. The werewolf that had saved me was lying on his
back, gasping for air.

There was a hole in his gut bigger than my two fists. There was a bitter
smell almost like vomit but ranker. His intestines had been perforated.
The smell told me that. The gut wound wouldn't kill him. Even if it was
silver shot, it wouldn't kill him right away.

The second wound was higher up in the deep, broad chest. His black fur
was wet to the touch, soaked with blood. I could have shoved my hands in
the dark, wet hole, but I couldn't see shit. I couldn't see if the heart
was damaged.

His breathing was wet, sloppy, almost strangled. I could hear bubbling
coming from the wound. At least one lung had been compromised, that's
what I was hearing. He was still struggling to breathe, so his heart had
to be working, didn't it?

Real werewolves look sort of like movie wolfmen, but the movies never
quite capture it. He, very definitely a he, lay on his back, gasping. It
was like watching a dream breathe, except this dream was dying. I
thought it was one of Verne's wolves, that I didn't know him. Then I saw
the remnants of a white T-shirt caught on one shoulder like a bit of
forgotten skin. I pulled gently on the cloth, and saw the smiley face on
it. I stared into yellow wolf eyes. Stared down at Jamil. He'd done what
a bodyguard is supposed to do. He'd taken my bullet. I took off my shirt
and packed it into the hole in his chest. It took both my hands to cover
the wound, to try and make a seal so he could breathe again. So he
wouldn't bleed to death.

I whispered, "Don't die on me, damn it," then I started screaming for
help.

Chapter 26
----------

My hands were wet with blood. The shirt had soaked up what blood it
could, but more was pouring out. It was soaking into my jeans, covering
my forearms. He stared at me with yellow eyes, mouth open, trying
desperately to keep breathing. Long-clawed hands made small convulsive
movements in the leaves. A prickling warmth spread under my hands. His
skin moved under my hands like warm, furry water.

Shapes appeared out of the darkness. They looked like people, but I knew
it was a lie. Werewolves--I was eyeball deep in werewolves.

"He needs a doctor," I said.

A dark-haired man with small, round glasses knelt on the other side of
Jamil. He opened a large brown satchel and pulled out a stethoscope. I
didn't question it. Most packs had a doctor. Never knew when you'd need
some confidential medical care.

He pushed my hands from the wound. "It's healing. It wasn't silver
shot." He shone a penlight into the wound. "What the hell is in there?"

"My shirt."

"Get it out before the skin heals around it."

The wound was healing. My hand barely squeezed into the opening. I got a
handful of blood-soaked shirt and pulled. It came out in a long wet
sloppy mess. Blood poured in a steady stream from one corner of the
shirt. I let the shirt fall to the leaves. I would not be wearing it
tonight. I had a thought that I was wearing nothing above the waist
except a black bra. I didn't care.

"Is he going to live?" I asked.

"He'll live."

"Promise," I said.

He stared at me and nodded. Stray moonlight made his glasses look like
blank silver mirrors. "I promise."

I looked down into Jamil's wolfish face. I stroked the fur across his
forehead. The fur was both rough and thick and soft. "I'll be right
back."

There were other people with Jason and Zane. Cherry with Zane, cradling
him. Nathaniel was kneeling by them, but his eyes were for me. There was
even a man leaning over the rifleman. He was tying a belt off on the
stump of his arm. Good. I wanted him alive. I had questions for him but
not yet.

I knelt by Jason. He lay in the leaves on his side. A woman was tending
his wounds. She was dressed in short shorts and a halter top, dark hair
tied back in a loose ponytail. It wasn't until she turned her head that
I realized it was Lucy. She held a penlight between her teeth and was
searching Jason's wounds with sure hands, as if she knew what she was
doing.

She answered my question before I asked. "He'll heal, but it's going to
take a couple of days." Which meant if Jason had been human, the beating
would have been fatal.

She looked at me then. Our eyes met from inches away. The makeup was a
little less severe, but the face was still pretty by moonlight.

I turned away from her first. I didn't want to see what was in her eyes.
I just didn't want to know. I knelt over Jason, started to touch his
face, then stopped because the blood was still wet on my hands.

He said something very soft. I had to lean over him to hear it. "Let me
lick the blood," he said.

I stared down at him, eyes just a little wide. "You're not dying,
Jason," I said. "Don't get cute."

Verne said, "It's fresh blood, Anita. It's pack blood. It will help him
heal."

I stared at him. The local Ulfric stood off to one side, tall and
straight and slender, letting his medical personnel do their jobs. I
started to ask him where the hell he had been while we got cut up, but
Zane made a sound.

Zane seemed to be healing just fine from a rifle blast that would have
cost a human his arm. But it hurt, and he made small pain sounds while
the doctor worked on him.

"The blood will help them heal," Verne said. "Especially blood from
someone as powerful as you are. Marianne feeds the pack sometimes."

Lucy said, "It really will help him." Her face was neutral as she said
it.

I looked down at Jason. His face was a mask of blood. One eye was
swollen completely shut. He tried to smile at me, but his lips were so
badly swollen that the smile didn't work. It was like part of his face
just didn't work right now.

I touched those wounded lips with my fingertips, brushed the fresh blood
across his lower lip. He rolled his lip under, tasting the blood. But
the movement made him wince. It hurt.

I laid two fingers against his lips and slid them gently into his mouth.
He tried to suck them, but his mouth wouldn't work right. He licked the
blood, swallowing almost convulsively. I drew the fingers out, and his
hand came up to grab my wrist. I let him guide two new fingers into his
mouth.

Richard spilled into the clearing, going to his knees in the leaves.
Shang-Da was at his back like a good bodyguard. Richard's gaze met mine,
and just the glance opened me up to him a little more. Without
Jean-Claude to act as a buffer, the marks between Richard and I were
stronger. He knelt there, his breathing coming in near-painful gasps. I
could feel his chest rising and falling, almost as if I were breathing
for him. I felt him look at the woman beside me. I saw Lucy for a second
as he saw her. I saw the rise of her breasts swelling under the halter
top.

The line of her cheek half in shadow, half in moonlight. She raised her
face to meet my eyes like she could feel me looking.

"He still wants you," I said.

She gave a very small smile. "But not as much as he wants you."

The marks between Richard and I quieted. I couldn't feel him breathe or
what he was thinking. He had cut me off. Afraid of what I'd see, maybe.
"What happened, Verne? They were supposed to be safe in your lands,"
Richard said.

Cherry answered, "Jamil sent the three of us for help. He"--she pointed
to a shadowy figure on the other side of the clearing--"wouldn't let us
pass into the lupanar. He wouldn't take our request for aid to Verne."

The man stepped forward so a patch of moonlight showed him: tall,
muscular, dark-haired, pale. "They are not pack. They have no right to
demand passage."

Verne was just suddenly there, and the tall werewolf was on the ground.
I hadn't seen him move. It was a speed that was dreamlike, impossible.
But I'd almost seen it.

"I am Ulfric. I decide who is worthy and who is not, Eric. You are only
Freki, third in the pack. You have one more battle before you can even
challenge me."

Eric touched his hand to his face and came away with something dark and
liquid. "I am not challenging you."

There was movement behind me in the leaves. Zane was crawling towards
me, the wounded arm held close to his chest with a makeshift sling. "I
came back to help while Cherry and Nathaniel argued with their
watchwolf." I could feel an intensity to his gaze, even in the dark.
"The blood's going to dry before he gets to it all." He stayed there in
the leaves, just out of touching distance. His shirt had been ripped off
one side of his slender chest. It hung in rags to one shoulder. He
stared at me and even by scattered moonlight, I could see the need, not
in his face but in his body, the way he held himself. He was asking for
more than the healing of his body. If he hadn't been there, Jason would
be dead now. Even a lycanthrope has a limit to the damage he can take.

Jason held the palm of my hand to his mouth, licking with long,
lingering movements.

"You need the other hand?" I asked.

"It will be dried before he can use it," Lucy said.

I stared at her and hated her just a little. Hated her for having been
in Richard's bed. Hated her for doing things with him that I'd never
allowed myself to do.

"The wereleopard doesn't need the blood," Richard said. "He'll heal
without it."

I just stared at him and held my hand out to Zane. He crawled to me on
his knees and his good arm. I stared at Richard while Zane took my
fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them like a hungry child licking
the last bit of cake from a spoon.

"He's mine, Richard, mine as much as Jason is. I am Nimir-ra and lupa."

Richard stood. "I know what you are, Anita."

I shook my head. "You have no idea what I am." The moment I said it, I
felt that warm, growing presence. Munin rising inside of me like a pool
of warm water, spilling upward. Richard's mark seemed to bring it on
sometimes. Or maybe it was just the way he made me feel. Lust or anger
or both. I didn't fight the munin.

Marianne had said if I stopped fighting, that it would lose some of its
control over me. I wasn't even sure I could fight it off completely. The
best I could do was control it. I let it flow over me, down my arms into
the two men.

Jason had worked his way to my wrist, tongue moving over the veins
there. He'd been hesitating over the smell of fresher blood so very
close to the surface. Now his good eye stared up at me, wide, a little
scared.

I smiled down at him, and I knew that it wasn't just my smile. I was
still here, but I wasn't exactly alone. Raina's thoughts lay over mine
like a veil. I could see out, but it colored everything I saw. Her body,
our body, wanted things, craved things that made me want to run
screaming. But if I were careful, I could use her as she used me. It was
like walking up a flight of steep, narrow stairs with a cup of scalding
coffee filled to the brim. Careful, oh, so careful or it spills over the
edge and you get burned.

The alternative to letting the munin have a little fun was what happened
in the woods earlier. I did not want another full-blown memory with
Jason and Zane hanging onto me. Not tonight, not ever. Jason couldn't
handle it, and neither could I.

I looked down at Jason. "It's all right, Jason. Enjoy the blood while it
lasts. I don't think you're going to get this offer twice."

He ran his tongue up my arm, working hard against the skin like a cat
washing its own fur. Zane had sucked my fingers clean and had raised my
hand up in front of his face, cradled in his good hand. He was licking
very slowly, very thoroughly up my palm.

There was a sound behind us. I turned to see the rifleman. He was
conscious and in some pain. The doctor with the round glasses was about
to give him a shot.

I called, "Bring him to me."

The doctor and the werewolf with him looked across the clearing to Verne
and Richard. Richard had moved across to the other Ulfric. They were
discussing how everything had gone wrong. They could discuss things all
night. I wanted answers.

"Don't look at them. Look at me. And bring him to me!" Raina's munin
swelled outward and burst over me, over Jason, over Zane. It spilled
over Lucy and brought a gasp from her throat. Everyone in the clearing
got a taste, a preview if you like. It was getting harder to hold
together. Harder to think.

They dragged the rifleman over to me. I knew what I looked like. I was
wearing a black underwire bra that hid more than most bathing suits, but
it was still a bra. I was still covered in blood. Jason and Zane were
licking blood from my naked skin. It was strange and macabre and would
work as a threat very nicely.

The doctor and the other werewolf threw the rifleman down in front of
me. Jason and Zane ignored him, mouths on my skin. Zane slid his mouth
along the edge of my skin, teeth grating ever so gently on the skin. His
eyes slid to the rifleman, and I knew we would put on a show for him.

I felt Raina's munin like a warm glow. She, it, whatever, wanted to
cover Zane's mouth with ours and taste Jamil's blood. Wanted to rip the
bandage off his shoulder and lick the wound. With the thought came the
knowledge that licking the wound would make it heal faster. Surely not.

The rifleman stared at me, his eyes showing mostly white. I could feel
his breath, smell his fear. I could smell his fear like a miasma of
sweat. I could taste in his scent how injured he was. I knew his skin
would be cool to the touch from blood loss. All this from a smell. Shit.

"What's your name?"

The question seemed too hard for him.

"We can check your wallet. What's your name?"

He made an involuntary move to his back pocket with a hand he didn't
have anymore.

"If we get him to a hospital soon," the doctor said, "they might be able
to reattach the arm."

"If he answers my questions truthfully, you can take him to the
hospital."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Terry, Terry Fletcher."

"Okay, Terry. Who sent you to kill us?"

"I wanted to pay you back for making us look bad. That's all. Nobody was
supposed to die."

Jason had cleaned my arm to the elbow. I could feel the passage of his
tongue like a cool line running over and over my skin. Hot where he
still touched me, cool where he'd just been.

"Lies won't get you to a hospital, Terry. Lies won't save your arm. Who
paid you to hurt us?" I asked.

"He'll kill me."

I looked at him and laughed. The laugh was rich and thick enough to
hold. It rolled out of my mouth and it wasn't my laugh. The sound raised
the hairs on the back of my neck and made Jason hesitate, mouth pressed
to my arm.

"Do you really think I won't kill you?"

A breeze had finally come up, hot and stale. Jason's mouth was cooler.

His mouth had healed enough to suck at my skin, but there was an edge of
swelling to the side of his mouth. I wanted to kiss the wound, lick it,
see if what I was being told was right. Could I really heal him?

I looked at Terry. "Tell me who paid you to hurt us. Tell me who sent
you to kill us. Tell me everything I want to know, and the good doctor
will take you to a hospital where they may save your arm. Lie to me, and
your arm is just so much meat. Lie to me, and you die tonight, here, in
this clearing. You think it over, Terry. I've got all night."

I leaned over Jason, drawing his mouth away from my arm. We kissed, and
I could taste Jamil's blood, my skin, the faint remnant of the perfume
on my wrist, and Jason's blood. His mouth had bled, and I could taste
that, too. But it wasn't bleeding now. It was healing, and I could make
it heal faster. It took everything I had not to press my mouth hard
against his and force that warmth into him, everything I had not to
press Jason's wounded body into the leaves and ride him.

I drew away from him, eyes closed. I opened my eyes and looked at the
man. Jason moved to my stomach, licking along the top of my jeans. They
were soaked in blood, and wouldn't really dry while I was still wearing
them. Zane curved around to my back, licking along my spine. There was
no blood there, and he had to stop at the spine sheath, but it looked
good for our captive audience.

"Talk to me, Terry. Once I start fucking one of them, I really don't
want to be interrupted." I leaned towards him just a little, and he
flinched. I drew away from Jason and Zane and crawled towards Terry. I
made the movement everything it was supposed to be: fluid, dangerous,
sexual. Even now, his eyes kept flicking to my breasts so white against
the blackness of the lingerie. Even now, he was still a man. I felt
Raina's utter disdain of men. All that sex, and it was mostly hate. How
terribly odd.

She was enjoying terrorizing the man. His wide eyes, the quick breath,
the pounding of his heart. I could hear it. Hell, I could almost taste
his skin on my tongue. Food, he smelled like food.

"Who sent you, Terry?" I made it a whisper, intimate, for his ears only.
I reached out to him, and when I trailed my finger down his cheek, he
whimpered. I leaned forward and licked a quick line the length of his
face. "You taste like food, Terry."

I could feel the others at our back. Verne's pack responding to Raina's
call. To my call. Through Richard, I was more lupa than I wanted to be.
But now, tonight, it had possibilities. They came from every side,
moving like shadows. Creeping closer, nearer, drawn by my desire and the
man's terror.

He stared at them, watched them coming closer with wide eyes. He turned
his head to watch them moving in. I kissed his cheek while he wasn't
looking, and he screamed.

"Oh, God, please don't."

Raina's laugh fell from my lips. "Names, Terry, names."

"Niley, Franklin Niley. He paid us to run you off, said the cops
wouldn't be a problem. Then he said kill you. You especially. He said
kill that bitch before she queers my deal."

"What deal?" I whispered. Frank Niley was the employer of the muscleman
Milo Hart. I hadn't seen him since. He was here for land speculation.
Was he the buyer for Greene's land?

Terry's eyes flicked around to the waiting werewolves. "I don't know,
honest to God. I don't know. He paid us five hundred apiece to hurt you.
He made it five thousand for Chuck and me to kill you."

"Five thousand apiece?" I asked.

He nodded.

"It wasn't enough," I said.

"We didn't know you was a werewolf. We didn't know what you were." One
of the shadowy throng was sniffing his leg. Terry's voice rose a little
higher with every word. His next "I didn't know" was almost a scream.

Raina's munin was like a warm pulse behind my eyes. I leaned into the
man, as if I'd kiss him. He backed away but bumped into the good doctor.
My mouth hovered over the man's, but it wasn't a kiss I wanted. I stayed
there, hovering over his mouth, frozen, fighting not to lower my mouth
to his neck. Fighting not to sink teeth into his throat and tear.
Fighting not to draw first blood and let the pack feed.

I started crawling back from him, as if I were the one that was afraid.
"Take him to the hospital."

"You can't let him live," Zane said.

"I promised him if he talked, we'd take him." I caressed Zane's face. We
stayed kneeling in the leaves, close enough to embrace when I didn't
remember moving that close. "Take him, take the arm. And Terry," I said.

The man wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the waiting wolves.

"Terry," I said again. I was still caressing Zane, one hand buried in
his short, white hair.

The man looked at me, eyes flicking back and forth madly as if he were
trying to keep all of us in sight at once. "What? What do you want? You
said I could go to the hospital."

"If you tell Niley about tonight, about what I am and what happened,
I'll kill you." I lowered Zane's face until I planted a gentle kiss on
his forehead.

"I won't tell. I won't tell anyone. Niley'd kill me if he knew I gave
him up. He'd fucking kill me."

"Good," I said. I cradled Zane against me. He began to lick down my
neck. He passed over my shoulder, licking a small line down my
collarbone. He went lower, and I pushed him away, rough enough that he
fell on his wounded shoulder. The world was narrowing down. I was losing
the fight with Raina.

"Get him out of here--now!" I felt like I was going blind. I could see,
but it was all different. I was fighting her and she didn't like it.
She'd asked for violence, and I'd refused. She'd asked for sex, and I'd
refused. Even dead, she was a hard lady to say no to.

I covered my eyes with my hands. I heard someone moving towards me.
"Don't touch me."

"It's Marianne, child. Tell me what's happening."

I lowered my hands until I could see Marianne. She was still in the
white dress with her long, pale hair. "You never met Raina, did you?"

"No, child."

I reached for her hand, and it was just a hand. There was no memory
attached to it. No horror that the munin could share. "Help me."

She gripped my hand with both of hers. "It's too late to force the munin
out. It must be made to want to leave."

I shook my head. "She won't leave."

"She's left you before."

I shook my head harder until my hair slapped my face. "You don't know
what she wants. You don't understand what she wants. I can't. I won't."

Richard was there. He started to touch my shoulder, and I fell back into
the leaves. One hand raised as if to ward off a blow. I did not want to
know what Raina had done with him or to him. That was one image I did
not need.

"What's wrong?"

"The munin will not leave until Anita does something it wants."

"You knew Raina," I said. "Tell her the kind of thing Raina enjoyed." It
was rising inside me. I couldn't stop it. It rose higher and higher
until the power spilled out of my mouth in a shriek.

He started to touch me and I crawled away from him. "No, no, no, no."

Marianne caught me, held me against her. She smelled like Ivory soap and
lilacs. I knew I could have broken her hold, but I didn't want to. I
wanted to be held. I wanted help. I needed help.

She smoothed my hair, rocking me like I was a child. "Anita, you must
give in to the munin in part. You've done it before. Richard has
discussed past events with me. When the munin leaves you this time, we
will work together to make sure this does not happen again."

I raised up enough to see her face. "Can you really stop this?"

"I can teach you how to stop it."

I stared into her pale eyes for a space of heartbeats. I could hear the
strange click of her artificial heart valve. The munin was hinting that
food would do as well as sex. Not as well, but it would do.

I pushed gently away from Marianne. "You're just food to her." I crawled
back from her, slowly.

Marianne just watched me, kneeling in the leaves in her white dress. She
was the only one in the clearing that was more than a shadow. All that
whiteness caught the moonlight and glimmered. She looked like a target.

I stood, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could taste my heart in my
throat like a ball that I could have touched and played with. I looked
around the clearing, desperate for a way out. Something that Raina would
be content with and I could live with.

Zane was staring at me. Raina wanted him. But what she wanted had very
little to do with sex. I went to him. He knelt in the leaves, staring up
at me with large eyes gone silver with moonlight.

I fell to my knees in front of him and ripped the sling off his
shoulder. He made a small grunt of pain, and Raina liked it. The problem
with doing something to get the munin out was that the munin had to be
in control enough for me to be willing to do what it wanted. Giving her
more control seemed like a bad idea. But what she wanted was to plant
our mouth over the wound in his shoulder, and I couldn't do it sober.
There wasn't enough Raina in me yet to put my tongue in an open wound.

I crawled away from Zane and found Jason. I stared at him. He was almost
a safety zone for me when the munin had me. The munin liked him, and I
wasn't afraid of him.

I went to him, kneeling on all fours in the leaves, but knew if I
touched him and I was still fighting the munin, we'd get another rush of
horror. If I went to him, it had to be for real. I had to be willing to
give in, at least a little.

His mouth was almost completely healed. The swelling in his eye was
better. The blood or the munin--it really was working. He was healing. I
knew the munin could be used for healing on lycanthropes. I'd done it
once before, but not like this. That was back when Raina first made an
appearance, and I hadn't realized how much trouble I was in. Now I knew,
and I was scared and hated it. Raina thought that was hilarious, that
dead, she scared me more than she had when she was alive.

I could feel her pleasure like a line of warmth through my body. The
echo of her laughter chased through my mind and made gooseflesh on my
arms. Being possessed by anyone would have scared me. Being possessed by
a sociopathic nymphomaniac sadomasochist that I had killed personally
was too frightening and too ironic for words.

Jason lay back in the leaves. I was very careful not to touch him as I
crawled over his body on all fours. I knelt there on hands and knees and
stared down at him, legs and arms wide so that we didn't accidentally
touch.

His voice came hoarse, rough, as if something in his throat were still
hurting, "You have a plan?"

"If I don't fight the munin, Marianne says no memories, just power."

He stared up at me. "You going to kiss it and make it all better?"

I nodded, my hair sliding over his face. "All better." I leaned my face
towards his in a sort of push-up motion. Our lips brushed in a trembling
line, and what not an hour before had been chaste and a little
uncomfortable was suddenly changed. I broke the kiss and held my body
off of his with fingertips and toes, my body above his. I could feel the
trembling energy of his aura underneath me, pushing against the power of
my aura, the power that was munin. I stayed above him, not touching,
staring into his face. When we kissed again, the power poured from my
mouth into his in a warm breath that burned through our bodies.

I let my body drop against his in an abrupt, violent movement that
brought a cry of pain from him. The sound fell into my mouth and was
swallowed in a wave of heat and power. I poured the munin into Jason. I
poured me into him. I poured in through his mouth, down through my
pores. Everywhere that skin touched skin, I seeped into him. I felt as
if I were draining away into his body.

He behaved himself at first, hands at his sides, but the power rode us
both. His arms locked behind my back. His mouth searched mine as if he
were climbing inside. I straddled his body and felt him hard and ready
even through our jeans.

He rolled me over suddenly so that he was on top. My body did nothing to
protect itself. I locked my legs around his waist, and felt him pumping
against me. Each thrust made things low in my abdomen jerk and tighten.

I swam upward through the power and started pushing at his chest. We
were not doing this again. I was not doing this. "Off. Get off." My
voice was strangled, hoarse. I swallowed the munin back enough to
struggle inside and out.

Jason froze over me, then collapsed on top of me. His heart beat
frantically against my chest. His breathing was rushed. He swallowed and
managed to say, "If I said it was too late to stop, would you believe
me?"

I started crawling out from under him. "No," I said.

He rolled onto his back, freeing me to stand. The bruises were gone. His
face stared up at me as clean and innocent as it started. If I could
only get this shit to work without the sex.

"My turn?" Zane asked. I turned, and he was kneeling in the leaves. He'd
stripped off the remains of his shirt. I never really thought of Zane as
a guy, not like that. But now he was kneeling in a splash of moonlight
so that the shadows and light showed the muscles in his chest and
stomach. His arms were lost in darkness. His face was a pattern of
strong, clean flesh, gleaming pale, one half caught in shadows, like
pieces of darkness. His nipple ring glinted silver, like a wink of an
eye, an invitation. And that was all it took.

I stood in front of him, staring down, and did what the munin wanted. I
grabbed his wounded arm and jerked it upward, forcing the shoulder to
its fullest extension. He cried out in pain. The skin had closed over
the wound, but it was there below the surface. I pressed my mouth to the
wound and felt the muscles torn. The bone already knitting, broken. I
bit him, sinking teeth in enough to leave a mark and blew power into his
skin. I healed it and fought Raina. She wanted to take a chunk out of
his skin. A sort of joke, heal him and hurt him at the same time.

I pushed away from him before I could give in. I stumbled to my feet and
realized that each time I used it, the power was growing. It was filling
me like another person, something growing inside of me, pushing at my
skin.

I staggered to Jamil and fell beside him to my knees. He'd changed back
to human form, which meant he had been very hurt. I stared down at his
nude body and fought with Raina not to touch him. Not to do what she
wanted. Or not to do everything she wanted.

I ran my hands over Jamil's chest until I touched the wound. The skin
was closed, but soft. I knew I could force my fingers inside him. I knew
I could reach in and snatch his heart. Instead, I lowered my face to his
chest and kissed the wound, gently, softly. I closed my eyes and took in
the scent of him, the feel of his soft skin. Healing skin was always so
soft, like a baby's flesh, tender and smooth. I put my hands over the
wound and thrust that warm building power into him like a sword.

Jamil's eyes flew wide, and his spine bowed. He tried to scream, and I
stole it with a kiss. I rode his body, straddling not his groin but the
second, lower wound. I drew back from his lips and forced my hands low
on his body. I healed him. I felt it leave my body in a warm rush. My
hands slid lower. I brushed him and he was beginning to grow hard. I
threw myself off of him. She'd healed him. Raina felt somebody owed her
something for the healing.

I fought it until I fell back into the leaves and screamed. My body
writhed and it was like my left side wasn't talking to my right. Like
something was breaking inside me. That large, warm presence, that second
body was trying to rise to the surface, trying to break the surface.
Raina's beast was trying to come out. Trying to make me lupa in truth,
but my body couldn't hold it. Couldn't give it a home. I was human, and
no matter how much power you shoved into me, that didn't change.

Hands held me down. Richard's voice as if from a great height. "What's
happening to her?"

"She's fighting the munin." It was Marianne's voice. I heard her voice
close to my face, but I couldn't see her. It was like the world was
vanishing into the dark. "Don't fight, Anita. Whatever happens tonight,
tomorrow I can help you. Give in and live, or the munin will kill you."

"Anita, please, please!" Richard again.

"She will kill you if she can. She will kill you from the grave itself,
Anita. Stop fighting. Embrace it, or it will destroy you."

I screamed, "No!" Then, suddenly, I could see again. I stared up into
the tree-lined darkness. There was a sparkle of moonlight through the
leaves. It seemed as bright as sunlight, only softer. I lay very still,
blinking up at them all. Richard had my shoulders pinned. Verne had my
legs. Shang-Da had my right arm. Lucy had my left. I'd been having
convulsions. I remembered that.

Marianne was kneeling near my face, keeping my face still between her
hands. "Anita?" she made it a question.

"I'm here." My voice was quiet but clear. I felt light and empty, but
not alone. I wasn't fooled. The munin hadn't left. It wasn't finished.

"Is the munin gone?" Richard asked.

Marianne shook her head. "It's still here."

It made me think better of her that she wasn't fooled.

"Do we let her up?" Verne asked.

"Anita?" Marianne asked me.

"Let me up."

They let me go, slowly, as if almost afraid. Afraid of me or for me, I
wasn't sure which. They moved away from me. Only Richard stayed
kneeling. I leaned my back against him and let him hold me in his arms.
I closed my eyes and let him take it all away for just an instant. I'd
never had anyone's arms feel as safe as his. No one's.

My leg brushed something in the leaves. I pulled away from him enough to
find my knife. I sheathed it.

From across the small clearing, Jason said, "Here's the other one." He
held it up by the blade.

I went to him, taking the blade from his hand. I could feel all of them
watching me. Like I was something new and uncertain that had just
appeared. I sheathed the second blade.

Jason grinned up at me. "Don't take this wrong, Anita, but someday I'd
like to do that for real."

"Why not tonight?" I said.

Jason stared up at me. "What did you say?"

I walked back across the clearing. I felt their eyes following me as I
moved. I smelled of blood and power and flesh, and there was nothing
better than that for attracting werewolves.

Richard stood there in his jeans and T-shirt. His hair foamed around his
shoulders, a soft, rich brown in the moonlight.

I grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and forced his face low enough for me
to kiss. The kiss was long and full, and he tasted all the blood I'd
had. Every skin I'd touched. I pulled his shirt out of his pants in a
long motion, running my hands across his bare stomach, across the smooth
hardness of his chest.

He grabbed my arms and pulled my hands away. "What's wrong with you?"

"Is she not good enough for you either?" It was Lucy striding towards
us. Her impressive breasts strained against the white material of her
halter top. Either she had very large nipples or she was cold, because
the outline of her nipples was clear, even in this dim light.

I stared up at Richard. I'd been sleeping with Jean-Claude. He'd been
sleeping with Lucy and Mira--mustn't forget Mira. It was fair that he
had other lovers. Really. But I hated it and hated me for minding. Hated
me for wanting him. Hated me for being with Jean-Claude and not being
happy with it. Hated me for knowing that even if I'd been with Richard
instead, I'd have been missing Jean-Claude. I was fucked no matter what
I did.

I knew as I stared at her that the hands that held my arms with such
tender strength had cupped those large, round breasts. I knew that she'd
touched him, all of him. That she'd held him naked inside her. And I
knew jealousy so strong that the only word for it was hate.

I pulled away from Richard and unsheathed one of the knives.

Shang-Da moved forward as if to step between us, but Richard stopped him
and made him step back. He just stared at Shang-Da until he stepped out
of reach, but you could tell from his face that he was really unhappy
about it. I didn't blame him. Richard turned back to me, stared at me,
but made no move to protect himself. I don't know if he didn't believe
I'd hurt him or was sure I couldn't. I was sure I could.

My hand was already on the downward stroke before I could stop myself. I
sliced through his shirt, not deep, but the wound bled.

He winced, eyes so lost, hurt. Fuck him.

Shang-Da was there, and it was Richard who struggled with him. Richard
who kept him from grabbing me, disarming me, hurting me.

I put the tip of the blade against my chest and drew downward over my
heart. The pain was sharp and immediate, but it was shallow. I wasn't
hurt. The blood trickled down between my breasts like tickling fingers.
The blood was very dark against the whiteness of my skin.

Richard started towards me, and Verne caught him. "It's her choice,"
Verne said.

"It's not her. It's Raina," Richard said.

But in a way he was wrong. Raina had finally found something that called
to both of us. We both wanted him to suffer. We both felt betrayed. And
neither of us had a right to it. We'd both betrayed him in our own ways.

Words that I didn't know spilled from my lips. "Your heart to mine, mine
to yours. Lupa to your Ulfric. But not to your bed, nor you to mine." I
threw the knife into the ground so it stuck, thrumming. I could feel the
blade in the earth as if I'd disturbed some large, sleeping beast. The
power burst over me from the ground, from me, and something let loose in
a liquid rush inside me. I was dizzy and on my knees without meaning to
fall.

I stared up at Richard, still struggling, and said, "Help me." But it
was too late. I felt the munin blow outward like a wind. And every man
it touched caught the scent. I could almost feel their bodies react. I
knew what Raina had done, and if it were to be her last night in the
driver's seat, she couldn't have chosen better. Short of killing me, it
was the perfect revenge.

I fell to my knees, fighting not to finish the ritual, but I could feel
them in the dark, eager. I was giving off scent, and it wasn't just the
blood. The words were pulled from my throat as if by a hand. Each word
squeezed out until it hurt to speak.

"Claim me again if you can, my Ulfric." I stared up at him and saw the
look on his face. It was wild, and part of me was pleased. God help me.
My own jealousy had given her the keys to me. I stared around at the
shapes in the dark. I could feel them like a growing tension in the air.
It was like the air before a storm, so heavy it was hard to breathe
through the growing power. You could feel the lightning growing in the
air, coming closer, but this storm was waiting for me. Waiting for me to
move.

Marianne was beside me. "Get up," she said.

I struggled to my feet, and she helped me.

"Now, run," she said.

I stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You've declared yourself Frejya. Now, run, before they lose patience
and take you here."

I knew what she meant, but I had to have her say it out loud. "Take me?"

"If the munin does not come to the front, it will be rape, but it will
still happen. Now, go!" She pushed me towards the dark. I stumbled and
stared around the clearing one last time. Richard's face was tormented,
horrified. Shang-Da was at Richard's shoulder, and he was angry. Angry
with me. Jason's face was as neutral as I'd ever seen it as if afraid to
show me what he was feeling. I caught Roland's face, too. I'd met him an
hour or two before, but his face wasn't neutral. His face was hungry,
anticipatory. And I knew that they'd do it. That someone, somewhere
would have me unless I killed them. Two silver blades and an entire pack
of werewolves. Not good odds. And Richard would do everything he could
to save me--everything.

"Shang-Da," I said.

The tall bodyguard stared at me. I could feel the weight of his gaze in
the moonlit dark.

"Richard's life means more to me than my own safety, Shang-Da. Don't let
him die," I said.

He stared at me, then gave one sharp nod.

Marianne grabbed my arm and said, "Go!"

I went. I flung myself into the trees, into the dark beyond, and ran. I
ran as if I could see in the dark. Flinging myself into half-perceived
openings, trusting to the forest the way you trust to water, knowing it
will part before you without question. I gave myself over to the night
woods like I'd learned to do as a girl. You don't run in the dark in the
forest with your eyes. You run with the same part of your brain that
makes the back of your neck prickle. I ran and leaped and dodged, and
knew it wouldn't be enough.

Chapter 27
----------

A howl cut the night in a long, mournful line. There were growls and a
sharp whimper, cut so short I knew someone was hurt, maybe dead. Would
they really kill each other for the privilege? Real wolves didn't do
this shit. Only people could take a nice, sane animal and screw it up
this badly.

I slipped going over a log that was bigger around than a small car. I
fell, sprawling. I lay there for a moment on the ground, catching my
breath, and I didn't have the faintest idea what to do. I didn't so much
hear the werewolves as feel them in the ground under my hands. I knew
they were out there in a way I hadn't before the munin invaded. I
pressed myself against the huge log, and my hands found an opening. It
was partially hollow. I crawled into the black opening, hand with knife
in front of me, half expecting to meet a raccoon or snake, but there was
nothing but the feel of the cool, rotted wood under my bare stomach and
the weight of the great fallen tree above me.

I knew they'd find me. That wasn't the point. It would take them a
little time to get me out of the hole. I was trying to buy time. I
wasn't even sure time for what. I needed a plan, and I didn't have one.
The munin thought that Richard might save us. That thought scared me all
on its own. Richard was sort of squeamish when it came to killing. The
thought that he might get himself killed trying to save me was almost
worse than me getting caught. I would probably survive being raped. I
wasn't at all sure I'd survive Richard's death. Of course, having never
been raped, maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe I wouldn't
survive.

I heard them moving around the log. More than one, more than two. Three,
four? Shit.

Claws ripped at the rotted log, and I screamed, one of those short yips
that is almost exclusively a girl sound. I heard one of them rolling
around on the ground. I felt the rush of energy as he shifted into wolf
form. And just like that, he was out of the running. If you lost human
form before the lupa you were chasing, you couldn't mate with her. You
went furry, you lost. The rules about going Frejya had never been
written for a human who had no other shape. We'd lose the lesser wolves
to their beasts, this close to full moon with sex and violence in the
air.

We'd maybe lose half a dozen, maybe a dozen, to their beasts. Fifty
wolves in Verne's pack altogether, a dozen helped.

Something heavy hit the side of the log. I managed not to scream. At
least that was an improvement. I heard the sounds of scuffling. At least
two of them were fighting. But I was almost sure there was a third.

The fighting stopped, and there was a loud crack as if something brittle
and wet had broken. The silence was so heavy, my heartbeat was
thunderous.

The log moved. I froze as if just holding very still would save me.

The end of the log near my feet lifted into the air. The cavity that had
hidden me kept me trapped as that one end raised slowly into the air.
The fallen tree was at least six feet around. I didn't know how much it
weighed, but it was heavy. A tall, bearded man was lifting it. He pushed
it overhead, palms flat against the wood. He smiled down at me, his
teeth white against the beard.

His voice was more growl than words, "Come out, little one."

Little one? I crept very carefully out from under the huge log. It was a
crushing weight. A fine trembling ran through his body all the way to
his feet. It was not effortless to hold the fallen giant up. I stayed
crouched just beside his leg. He'd have to put the log down before he
could touch me. His smile widened, as if not moving away from him was a
good sign for him.

I shoved the knife into his belly and rolled away from him, tearing the
blade along the meat of his stomach as I moved. He looked surprised as
he fell to his knees and the tree fell on top of him. It pinned him to
the ground, and I didn't wait to see if he could get out from under it.
There were two bodies on the ground. One man's skull was smashed open,
and thicker things than blood licked onto the ground. In the dark,
everything was grey and black. The second guy might have had a pulse,
but I didn't check. I ran.

I felt the rushing of air and looked in time to see a blur of motion. A
man hit me from the side in a flying tackle. I was on my back with him
on top of me, one arm pinned between us. I had a second to recognize
Roland, then I slashed at him with the knife. He jerked back too fast to
see, and his fist was suddenly connecting with my chin.

I didn't pass out, but my body went limp. The knife fell from my
fingers, and I couldn't stop it. Part of me was screaming silently. The
other part was saying, "Oh, what pretty trees." When I could move again,
my jeans were halfway down my thighs. The only thing that kept me that
much dressed was the jeans were tight and wet with blood. Wet jeans peel
slowly.

"Roland, don't do this."

He kept pulling on my jeans like I hadn't said anything. I didn't want
him to hit me again. If I passed out, it was all over. He was having
trouble getting my jeans over my Nikes, because the jeans won't go over
my Nikes.

I raised up on my elbows and tried to be friendly, reasonable, and
wondered where the hell my knife was. "Roland, Roland, the shoes have to
come off first." Maybe if I were helpful, I'd get brownie points. At
least maybe I could stall. Where was Richard?

Roland wrapped my jeans in one hand, effectively trapping my feet. "Why
help me?" he said. His voice was still too deep for his slender chest,
his words still carefully spoken. That nervous energy still crawled
along his skin, vibrating like summer heat on a road. He was no
different, but everything else had changed.

"Maybe I just don't want you to hit me again," I said.

"I don't want to be stabbed, either," he said.

"Fair enough."

We stayed that way, staring at each other, me propped on my elbows, him
kneeling at my feet. It was almost as if he didn't know what to do next.
I think he hadn't expected me to be calm. Crying, anger, maybe even
eagerness, he was ready for, but I gave him nothing. I was friendly,
helpful, as if he'd asked me directions to a restaurant I knew. I even
felt calm, strangely. It had a faintly surrealistic air, as if it wasn't
really happening. If he touched me, it was going to seem all too real,
but as long as he stayed where he was, I was fine.

He pinned my jeans with his knee and started taking off his shirt. The
shirt was okay. I was fine with that. He had a nice chest, pleasant to
look at. As long as his pants stayed on, I was fine. Where the hell was
Richard?

He undid the snap to his pants, and my nerves just weren't that good. I
didn't want to try and contact Richard in case he was fighting. Using
the marks was distracting. But I wanted some help. I was betting that
Roland didn't wear underwear. I won my bet.

I sent out a call to Richard, and he was fighting. I saw through his
eyes for one dizzying second. He was fighting Eric. Great. I broke
contact as quickly as I could, but I knew it cost him a second of
concentration. I was on my own.

Roland pushed his jeans to his knees and seemed to think that was
sufficient, because he started to crawl up my legs. Oh, this was
romantic.

It wasn't Richard who came to the rescue. It was a man I didn't know. He
tackled Roland, much as Roland had tackled me. They rolled off me and
down a small incline into a hollow. I started pulling my pants up as
fast as I could.

There was a movement behind me, and I turned, pants just above my knees
and no weapon in sight. It was Zane, one arm held tight to his chest.
Nathaniel came out of the dark behind him. Nathaniel held out his one
good hand to me. "Hurry."

I hurried. Nathaniel took my hand and pulled me into the trees. He ran
like liquid spilling through every crack and shadow. I tried to stay
behind him, trusting that if his body could go through the openings, so
could mine. I jumped when he jumped, weaved when he weaved, even if I
couldn't see the obstacle. His night vision was better than mine, and I
didn't question it. I had a sense of Zane behind us, following like
smoke in our wake.

A chorus of howls broke out to our right. Nathaniel pulled me faster
through the trees until I fell headlong, and a jagged branch sliced my
cheek open. It missed my eye by a wish. "Shit, Nathaniel."

"They're coming," he said.

"I know." I touched my hand to my cheek and came away with blood.
"Fuck."

"I won't let them take you," Nathaniel said.

I stared up at him. He was only three inches taller than I was. He
couldn't have outweighed me by thirty pounds. It was muscle, but he was
small. Size counts if everyone you're fighting can lift large trees.

"They'll kill you, Nathaniel."

He didn't look at me, just kept staring out into the dark as if he could
hear things I couldn't.

Zane leaned against a tree, looking at me. His good hand was rubbing his
bound arm like it hurt. I bet it did.

"If they take you, you'll fight," Zane said. "They'll kill you." He
closed his eyes. "This is one time when you can't protect yourself, but
maybe we can."

"You'll both die," I said.

Zane shrugged with his one good shoulder, casual, like it didn't matter.

The thought came that it would all be over if I had sex. It would end
then, and only then. Raina came back in full force, spilling through me.
She wanted Nathaniel, and that she could not have, not with my body.
Fucking Nathaniel would be like child molesting. I wouldn't do it.

Zane. Zane would do. Raina had always been fickle. I got a sudden visual
so strong it made me blush. Was there anyone that Raina hadn't slept
with? I wasn't going to do either of them. No way.

Then they'll die. I wasn't sure if it was my thought or the munin.
Either way, we were right.

Jason limped into sight. I knew him just by the shape of his shoulders
and his hair. Either I hadn't healed him completely, or he'd been in a
fight. Maybe both. I'd broken contact before I finished. The munin was
saving the deeper healing for sex. For her it was the toll to be paid
for services rendered. No payment, no healing. Like a drug dealer giving
just a taste.

Jason gave me a very strange smile as he entered the trees near
Nathaniel and Zane. He slid down until he was sitting with his back
against a small tree trunk. He let out a sigh.

We all looked at him. A scream tore our gaze back to the woods. Out
there, close, they were fighting. Another howl rode the still, hot air.
The sound was close enough to make my scalp prickle.

The trees we had stopped at were at the bottom of a hill. It was
familiar. "Are the cabins just up there?"

"Yes," Zane said.

"If you go to the cabins, they'll follow," Jason said. "Can't have the
tourists seeing it."

"Fuck that," I said, "Some of them won't follow to the cabins because of
the tourists. I say we go and board ourselves in."

"It won't end until someone wins," Jason said. He sounded tired or maybe
discouraged.

"And up there are two vampires who are on my side." I started up the
hill. Nathaniel and Zane followed at my heels. Jason just sat there. We
were a quarter of the way up the hill before he pushed to his feet to
follow. When all this shit was over, I'd ask what was wrong. Right now,
there was no time.

Figures appeared through the trees. Zane gave a little push to my back.
"Run," he said, "I'll delay them."

Nathaniel turned with him, facing down into the dark and the danger.

"No," Zane said, "you go with her, Nathaniel." He looked at me. "I'm
learning what it means to be an alpha. Nathaniel doesn't know how to
fight."

Nathaniel looked from one to the other of us. He finally settled on me.
"What do you want me to do?"

I thought about that for a second, studying Zane's so-careful face. "I'd
say come with me, but I'm not leaving Zane behind."

I reached back and touched Zane's hand. "I won't leave you to die."

"Damn it, Anita, if you're not here, they won't kill us. They'll just
hurt us and go after you," Zane said.

"I'm sort of bait," I said.

"Yes."

"Don't die on me, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Zane said.

I squeezed his hand. "Don't do your best, just don't die. You, either,"
I said to Jason.

He shook his head. "I have to stay with you. Richard's orders."

"Why?"

He shook his head and glanced back at the dark figures moving through
the trees. Closer, always closer. "Later. Now, we move."

He had a point. We moved and left Zane alone in the dark with at least
five figures gliding through the trees. They put on a burst of speed as
we neared the crest of the hill. I cleared the hill on my knees, and we
were at a flat-out run across the gravel parking lot.

I thought, Damian. He opened the door as if I'd spoken. He was standing
there with a surprised look on his face. It isn't often you see a
thousand-year-old vampire shocked. I had a moment to think how we must
look. Me bloody, in just the black bra and blood-soaked jeans. Jason
running with a noticeable limp. Nathaniel running full out behind us.

We cleared the doorway. Damian shut the door behind us. He locked it
without being told. Smart vampire.

"What--" he started to say.

"Block the windows and door," I said.

Asher grabbed the heavy wooden desk like it weighed nothing and shoved
it over the window. "Do we have nails, or am I forced to hold it in
place."

Something struck the window, shattering glass around the edges of the
desk like glittering rain. Asher was staggered backwards. Damian joined
him, and they shoved the desk against the window. The door shuddered as
something heavy threw itself against it.

"He's not going to make it in time," Jason said.

Nathaniel stood in the center of the room like he was lost. "What now?"

The door shuddered again.

Jason went to the door, leaning against it. "Nathaniel, help me!"
Nathaniel joined him, putting his shoulder against the quaking wood.

Hands pushed past the edge of the table. Asher took one hand off the
table to break the wrist like match wood. There was a scream, and the
hand pulled back.

He spoke as if he wasn't using almost all his strength to hold the table
against the broken window. "May one ask why the local werewolf pack is
trying to kill us?"

"They're not trying to kill us," Jason said. "They're trying to fuck
her." He leaned his entire back against the door. Whatever was at the
door left abruptly, and Jason almost fell against the suddenly quiet
door.

The window cleared, too. It was suddenly terribly quiet, too quiet, as
the old saying goes.

"What is going on?" Damian said.

"Later," Jason said. His eyes looked almost wild. "Ask me why Richard
told me to stay with you."

I stared at him. "Okay, why did Richard tell you to stay with me?"

"This ends when you have sex with any of the lukoi."

I stared at him harder. "Come again."

"If it looks like someone else will get there first, he told me to do
it."

"Do it?" I said. I walked around to the nightstand. "You mean, do me."

Jason had the grace to look down. He nodded.

I opened the drawer and took out the Firestar. I tucked it down the
front of my jeans. I took the Browning out next and clicked off the
safety. "Nothing personal, Jason, but I've got a different plan."

"I didn't say I liked the plan," Jason said. "I may joke about it, and I
would love to be with you, but Jean-Claude is my master, too. He'd kill
me."

I glanced at Asher. He gave a very small nod. "Probably."

"And if you let someone else get to me because you were squeamish?" I
let it be a question.

"Richard doesn't kill easily," Jason said, "but if I let someone rape
you, for that he'd make an exception."

I waggled the gun in the air, barrel pointed at the ceiling. "Lucky for
you I'm armed."

Jason nodded.

Glass broke in the bathroom. "Shit!" We'd been stupid. "Stay at the
doors," I said. I kicked the bathroom door in, already sighting down my
arm. I had a glimpse of a man trying to squeeze a large body through the
small window. I hit the wildly swinging door with one hip and fired into
the mass of the man. He screamed and fell back through the opening.

I yelled, "I've got this window covered."

Sounds of fighting came from outside the cabin. Screams turned into
growls. I felt the rising energy and knew that people were losing human
form. I could feel them slipping away, slinking through the trees. I
could almost smell the musk of their fur. The munin swam back up so
suddenly and so purely that I staggered against the door that I was
using to steady my aim.

I turned away from the window to stare across the room at Jason. Raina
was fine with that. She didn't care who. If it caused Jean-Claude
distress or cost Jason his life, that was dandy. I slid down the door
slowly, eyes closed, the flat of the gun barrel pressed to my forehead.

"Someone else needs to do this window," I said. I hoped I'd spoken
aloud. I was having trouble telling.

Jason must have filled them in because no one asked what was wrong. I
felt Damian brush my legs as he went into the bathroom. The feel of his
passing caused things low in my stomach to clench. I glanced up at him,
and he was frozen in the doorway as if he'd felt my body's reaction.

He stared down at me with his cat green eyes, and I knew as surely as I
knew anything that if I told him to come to me, he would have done it.
What I didn't know for sure was why.

"Damian," Asher said, "the window."

Damian stayed where he was, staring down at me. "I can't."

"Order him to watch the window, Anita," Asher said.

I went to my knees, free hand sliding up Damian's pants leg. I slid my
hand up his thigh and shook my head. I grabbed a handful of his green
silk shirt and pulled him down to me. He stayed on the balls of his
feet, knees on either side of my body. I went to my knees and kissed
him.

I slid my tongue between the delicate points of his fangs. I'd perfected
the art of French kissing a vampire. Practice, practice.

He tried not to kiss me back. He drew back enough to whisper, "You taste
like blood, other people's blood." Then he locked his mouth to mine like
he would breathe me into himself. His long, pale hands cupped my face,
slid behind my head in the warmth of my hair.

I pressed my body against him. The Firestar was still in front of my
pants. The gun pressed into his groin. I ground it into him until he
made a small pain sound. The Browning was lost on the floor.

There was a sound at the bathroom window. I drew back from the kiss, and
Damian began to run his lips down my neck. I saw the man crawling
through the window as if down a long crystalline tunnel.

I tugged the Firestar from my pants and pointed it. I sighted at the
center of his forehead. His eyes widened, and he suddenly spilled
backwards into the night. Not so far gone that he didn't want to live.
The question was, how far gone was I?

Damian's mouth hovered over the big pulse in my throat. His tongue
curled over it, caressing. He was asking for permission. But it wasn't
that kind of blood I wanted to donate tonight. Raina had no interest in
just opening a vein.

I wrapped my free hand in his long, blood-red hair and jerked his face
up to me. "Don't bleed me, fuck me."

Asher yelled, "Jean-Claude will kill him."

"I don't care." The moment I heard myself say it, I swam back up. It was
like pushing aside a wet curtain that clung to my face, suffocating,
trying to mold itself to my body and keep me, drown me.

I crawled away from Damian into the room. I said, "Watch the damn
window, Damian, and stay away from me."

He stood in the doorway, uncertain.

Asher said, "You heard your mistress. Do as you're told."

I heard him walk into the bathroom. Heard his boots crunch on the broken
glass. I stayed on all fours, my head hanging down, my breath coming in
gasps. The Firestar was still gripped in one hand. I squeezed it tight
until my hand ached. I ground the feel of the gun butt into my skin.
This was real. This was real. Raina was dead. She was just another kind
of ghost, damn it.

I heard someone crawling towards me. I raised my head to find Nathaniel
staring at me with lilac eyes. I screamed and scrambled back from him.
He was a victim and Raina liked victims. I held my hand out to him as if
to ward off a blow.

I ended with my back against the bed, gun squeezed in both hands,
rocking back and fourth.

Nathaniel crawled towards me. He crawled like he had muscles in places
he shouldn't have, in a graceful roll that was almost snakelike, as if
his spine had too many parts. He put his face so close to mine that when
he spoke, I could feel his breath on my face. "I'm yours, Anita. You are
my Nimir-ra. My queen." He was very careful not to touch me. He stayed
that last fraction of an inch away, so that it was my decision. But it
wasn't mine.

I tried to tell him to get away from me, but my voice wouldn't work. I
couldn't speak. I couldn't move. All I could do was hold onto that last
ragged edge of control and not move my mouth that last space. I fought
with all I had left not to kiss Nathaniel. Because whoever I fell on
next was it. The munin was wearing me down. Even my self-control wasn't
limitless. I didn't want it to be Nathaniel. That helped me hold on.

There was a knock at the door. It was so unexpected that I screamed. The
scream pushed Nathaniel back to his knees, a little farther out of
reach, but still too close.

Asher asked, "Do you open it?"

I shook my head, not as a no, but I couldn't say. I couldn't think. I
was fighting too hard to not throw my clothes off and fuck something in
the room. That was taking about all my concentration.

Maybe Asher figured that out for himself, because he said, "Who is it?"
Very civilized.

The answer shocked us all, I think. "It's Richard."

Jason was on his feet, opening the door, before anyone could tell him to
do it. The outer surface of the door was clawed and broken. Richard
stood there in the doorway. His T-shirt was in rags, still clinging to
his shoulders but so ripped apart that you could see the bloody wounds
in his tanned skin. He walked through the door a little unsteadily. Zane
and Shang-Da came behind him.

Zane looked unhurt, but Shang-Da's face had been opened from forehead to
chin. His eye sat in a mask of blood. He closed the door and looked at
me with cool eyes.

I was glad to see all of them. But I couldn't move. If I moved, it was
over. I was putting everything I had into just staying where I was. If I
moved anything, the control was gone. A tear squeezed out of one eye and
fell in a hard, hot line down my cheek. I stared up at Richard and
wanted to say so many things and couldn't say any of them. Words would
break me into a million glittering pieces.

Richard walked to me. He stood over me, staring down. I didn't look up.
He didn't so much kneel as collapse to his knees in front of me.

I put out a hand to steady him, and the munin spilled across my skin
like a flame. The Firestar fell to the floor with a thunk. I grabbed a
handful of the torn T-shirt, balled it into both my fists, and pulled
him those last few inches into a kiss.

His lips were dry. I licked his mouth, running my tongue over his lips
until they were like wet, rubbed velvet to kiss. I slid my hand inside
one of the tears to trace the cut I'd made over his heart.

His breath came out in a sharp hiss as if it hurt. He grabbed my wrist.
I slid my other hand inside the tear and found another wound to probe.
He grabbed both my wrists in his hands. You forget how large Richard is.
He doesn't seem intimidating physically, but he could have held both my
wrists in one hand. He forced my arms back at my sides. I tried to pull
my hands free, and his grip tightened. He leaned over me, but not for a
kiss.

He licked the edge of the knife wound on my chest.

I gasped, half in pain, half in pleasure.

He ran his mouth down the wound until he came to the soft upper part of
my breast. He bit gently into my flesh, not hard enough to leave a mark,
just hard enough that I felt his teeth. I made a small moan.

He raised his face to look at me. He let go of my wrists and put a hand
on either side of my face. He trapped my face between the strength of
his hands and forced me to stare into the perfect chocolate brown of his
eyes.

"Anita, can you hear me?"

I tried to move forward for a kiss, but his hands held me trapped. My
hands found his chest, explored the smooth flesh, the torn wounds. I
tried to press my body forward against his, but his hands held my face,
and I couldn't go closer.

"Anita, Anita, talk to me. Are you in there?" The grip on my face was
almost painful.

I didn't push the munin aside. It fell back. I felt Raina leave me
enough for me to answer. "I'm here." It was a whisper.

"Do you want this?" he asked.

I started to cry; huge, silent tears slid down my face.

"Do you want me now, like this?" He shook my face between his hands, as
if he could shake me back to myself.

I slid my hands over his, cupping him against me while I cried. Did I
want him? "Yes," it was a whisper.

"Now, like this?"

The question was too hard for me. I curled my fingers against his hands,
trying to move them from my face. I started tugging at his hands. "Kiss
me, please, kiss me. Please, Richard, please!" I was crying again and
couldn't have said why.

He leaned into me, hands still on either side of my face. He kissed me.
His lips pressed against mine like heat. His tongue parted my lips, and
I tried again to move forward, but his hands held me. He leaned into me,
pressing his mouth against mine. He kissed me like he was tasting me, as
if he'd reach into my mouth with his tongue and his lips and pull me
inside out.

I shuddered in his hands from the feel of his mouth. Eyes closed, my
hands limp at my sides, letting him do it all. His hands slid, very
slowly, from my face. He never stopped kissing me as his fingertips slid
down my bare shoulders. His hands hesitated over the shoulder straps for
the spine sheath, as if he didn't know what to do with it.

I opened my eyes, started to lift my hands up to help him. He grabbed my
hands and held them down at my sides. "I'll figure it out," he said
softly.

I stared up at him. I could barely breathe around the need. I wanted his
naked skin pressed against mine. I grabbed one of the tears in the
T-shirt and ripped it wider. "Off."

He shook his head. "Not yet."

I wanted to fall on him like a ravening wolf, and he was so controlled.
I could feel his need. Feel his need as great as my own, and yet he
could kneel there, so close, so very close.

"Everyone out," Richard demanded.

I'd forgotten that we still had an audience. I hid my forehead against
Richard's chest. My hands slid behind his back, trying to press myself
against him.

Asher said, "What of the other wolves?"

"I made a pact with Verne. It's over except for this."

I stared past Richard's broad shoulder into Asher's scarred face. His
face was carefully blank, empty, unreadable. I had a thought: what was
he hiding? But most of my thoughts were the scent of Richard's skin. The
smell of fresh blood. The clinging scent of earth and pine and leaves.
The light, salty dew of sweat on his body. There was no room for
regrets. There was only the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

"If you take her like this, it will be very like rape," Asher said.

"I'm going to try very hard for it not to be," Richard said.

Asher gave a small sound that might have been a laugh. "Bon heur," he
said, and left. Good luck, he'd said. He'd said it in French, and it
made me think of Jean-Claude.

So close to the warmth of Richard's body I could feel him hard and
ready, and I thought of Jean-Claude. I wanted to wrap myself in Richard.
I wanted to pull him around me like a blanket, but what would my other
lover say? That thought pushed the munin away better than anything else
had.

Months in Jean-Claude's bed, and I still wanted Richard. I wanted
Richard, not Raina, not munin. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly I
couldn't think about anything but the feel of him in my arms. But it
wasn't fair, not like this. Not with Raina riding me.

She poured over me like a warm bath. This was her price. This. That she
be here with us for the first time. That even this would always be part
hers. My skin ached to be touched. My body hurt with a need I'd never
known.

When the door closed behind them, Richard pulled me away from his body.
He held me away from him with his hands on my forearms while I struggled
to get closer. I needed him. Needed him.

I reached for him, crying, "Richard, please, please."

He spun me around until I fell against the foot of the bed. He put a
hand in the middle of my back, keeping me turned away from him. He
slipped the shoulder straps of the spine sheath off, sliding them down
my arms. He threw the sheath across the room to bang into the wall. Then
he leaned over me, a hand on either side of the bed. He leaned his face
over until his hair brushed my face. He molded his body against mine,
arms wrapping my arms against my chest. He held me with his body and his
arms, pressing us so close I could feel his heart beating against my
back.

He whispered against my cheek. "If at any time you want to stop, say so,
and it's over. I'll go."

I made a small sound very like a whimper, and said, "Fuck me, Richard,
fuck me, please."

A shudder ran through his body from toes to head, and his breath fell
out in a long sigh. He pulled back enough to undo the back of my bra,
then he slid it slowly off my shoulders. He used the bra straps to lower
my arms to my sides again. He pushed the bra off my arms, and it fell to
the floor.

His hands slid over my waist. His hands felt hot. He slid upward slowly,
so slowly that I wanted to cry out. His hands spilled over my breasts,
cupping them, kneading them. His fingers rolled my nipples, and I did
cry out.

He turned me to face him, almost throwing me against the bed. His arms
locked under my buttocks, and he lifted me, still on his knees. His
mouth found my breasts. His tongue flicked across my nipple, fast,
quick, wet.

I leaned into him, and his mouth slid over my breast, sucking it. The
feel of his mouth on me was almost too intense. It made me want to cry
out, to squirm, to say stop, and never stop. I made a small sound like a
sob as he released my breast in one long pull so that the nipple
stretched between his teeth. He moved to the other breast, harsher this
time, using more teeth. He bit gently around the soft tissue of my
breast, then licked the nipple, rolling it with his tongue. He gave one
quick bite that hurt, and I was suddenly on the floor looking up.

He knelt over me and put his hands into the tears in his T-shirt and
ripped it open, exposing the hardness of his chest, his arms. There were
two slashing claw wounds, one high and one low. The high one had gone
over his nipple, and blood had dried on the tip of it.

I sat up and reached for him. He didn't stop me. I ran my tongue over
his chest, over the wounds, and he gasped. I licked a quick tongue over
the bloody nipple, and when he didn't chase me away, I locked my mouth
around it and fed. I sucked the wound clean, pulling hard enough that I
reopened the wound.

It was his turn to cry out. He pushed me back to the floor, gently. He
took off my shoes and socks, and I let him. My heart was beating so fast
it hurt, pounding in my throat like a trapped thing.

His hands went to the tops of my jeans. When the top button went, it
made my stomach jerk. He unzipped my pants and started sliding them down
my hips. I helped him push the drying cloth down my legs. He pulled the
jeans off in one last motion, and I was left lying, wearing nothing but
the black panties that had matched the bra.

He was on his knees, staring down at me. His hands went to his own
jeans, unsnapping them. He hesitated. "I've wanted this for so long,
Anita. Wanted you like this, but not . . ."

As much as Raina and I hated each other, her essence and I had a moment
of perfect understanding. I went to him, kneeling.

"Oh, no, you don't. Don't go all Boy Scout on me now." My hands finished
unzipping his pants.

He caught my hands, eyes searching my face. "It's you again."

"Yes," I said, "it's me." I pulled my hands out of his, and he let me.
"Undress for me, Richard; let me see you naked."

"You've seen me naked before," he said softly.

"Not like this," I said. "No stopping, no questions."

He stood up. "This will change everything for me, Anita. It has to
change some things for you, too."

I covered my eyes with my hands and gave a little scream. "Oh, for God's
sake, Richard, stop talking. I want your hands on my body. I want you
inside me so badly I can't think. How can you stand there and be
reasonable?"

Something fell across my hands and face. It was his jeans and underwear.
I sat up and found Richard naked. I just looked at him. The perfect
golden brown of his skin was uninterrupted from the curve of his calves
to the narrowness of his hips, the swelling of his groin, the flat
hardness of his chest, and the sweep of his shoulders. His hair fell
across one side of his face in a golden brown mass that left half his
face in shadow.

I stood and walked towards him. I was scared. Nervous didn't cover it.
Scared and eager. I put my hands on his chest and rose on tiptoe to
offer him my lips. We kissed, and the movement made my body fall full
against his. The feel of him hard and naked with nothing between us but
the black lace panties made me shudder and fall back from the kiss.

His hands caught me around the waist and kept us pressed together. Then
he was suddenly on his knees, hands pulling down my panties in a motion
so quick, it was violent. I was suddenly naked, with him kneeling in
front of me, staring up. There was a look in his eyes that made things
all over my body tighten.

He put his large hands on the insides of my thighs and spread my legs.
He slid his hands along my thighs until they cupped my buttocks,
bringing my groin against his face. He laid his cheek against me,
licking a quick line along my hip. My heart was beating so hard, I
couldn't get a good breath, but I could talk. "Please, Richard, please.
Please."

He slid one hand between my thighs. One finger slid inside me. I
shuddered, head back, eyes closed.

"You're wet," he said.

I opened my eyes and stared down at him. "I know." My voice sounded
breathy.

"Raina was like that."

"She still is," I said. "Make her go away."

He licked the inside of my thigh, forcing me to spread my legs just by
licking, nuzzling his mouth against my skin. The first touch of his
tongue between my legs made me gasp.

He kissed me there like he'd kissed my mouth, all tongue and exploring.
He licked me in long, sure strokes, then he found just the right spot
and sucked. I could see his eyes staring up at me while he did it. There
was a dark light in his eyes, something more primitive than we have
words for. It had nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to
do with being a man. It was waves pulsing along my body. The sensations
were overwhelming. It felt so good it was almost too much, a pleasure so
great it was almost pain. He pulled me into his mouth until the warmth
spread from my groin upward in a golden rush that left the world hazy
and edged with white gauze like I was seeing through a mist. With the
last drop of pleasure, I felt Raina leave. The munin was gone when he
lowered me to the floor.

His mouth was glistening. He used the remains of his shirt to wipe his
mouth. He said, "I could always go brush my teeth."

I just shook my head. "Don't you dare." I held my arms out to him.

"Is she gone?" he asked.

I nodded. "Just me, just us."

"Good," he said. He moved over me and laid his naked body the length of
mine. He was too tall for missionary position. I'd have suffocated
against his chest. He propped himself up on his arms in a sort of
push-up position. He slid inside me, and it was tight and wet and I
could feel every inch of him working its way inside of me. When he was
sheathed inside of me, he stared down at me. His eyes had gone that
startling amber of a wolf. They were almost orange gold in the tan of
his face.

He worked in and out, once, twice, three times, gently, as if making
room. Then his hips caught the rhythmn. I slid my hands to his buttocks
until I could cup them while he pushed himself inside me. I dug my
fingernails into the smooth hardness of his flesh. He pumped faster,
harder, still holding most of his weight on his arms and shoulders.

I raised my hips to meet his body. Without his body trapping me under
him, I could move. A rhythm began between us, a wave of movement and
heat and muscles moving together.

Something opened inside of me, inside of him. I felt the mark that bound
us open like a door. What fell through that door was a warm, golden,
rush of power. It spilled over me, into me. It raised every hair on my
body as if it were an electric current.

Richard lifted me in his arms, still sheathed inside me. He half-carried
me, half-flung me to the bed. He collapsed on top of me, and I was lost
under the warmth of his skin and the weight of his chest. It was as if
his power rode my skin; every thrust sent a line of warmth pouring
inside of me. It was as if I were bathing in the golden warmth of his
body inside and out. It grew in golden pulses with every thrust. The
pulses turned to waves that made my body tighten around him.

He cried out, but didn't come. He raised back up on his arms, only his
hips and legs pinning me to the bed. His eyes were still amber, still
not human, and I didn't care. I watched his beast ride up through those
alien eyes. I watched it look down at me from Richard's face. I watched
thoughts slide across that handsome face that had more to do with food
than sex, and nothing to do with love.

His hands flexed in the bed on either side of me. I heard the cloth
tear, ripping. I turned my head and saw his hands lengthening, turning
into human claws. Those claws ripped the mattress with a thick, tearing
sound.

I stared up at Richard and couldn't keep the fear off my face.
"Richard," I said.

"I would never hurt you." He whispered it, and when his hands convulsed
in the bed, bits of white bedding sprang in the air.

I said, "Richard!" My voice was high, not panicked, but close.

He sliced claws down the length of the bed and pulled out, rolled off
me. He rolled onto his side into a tight ball. His hands, his claws were
long and thin with his fingernails turned into something monstrous,
dangerous.

Shit.

I smoothed my hands down his back. "I'm sorry, Richard. I'm sorry."

"I won't change during sex, Anita, but this close to the full moon, it's
hard." He turned his head to look up at me, and his eyes were still
amber. His hands began to re-form, shrinking back to human. I watched
them change, felt the rush of energy like a wave of dancing insects on
my skin.

I knew that if I left him like this, he'd never recover. It wasn't my
loss, not really. It was that this would confirm his deepest fears: that
he was a monster and only fit to be with other monsters. Richard was not
a monster. I believed that. I trusted him not to hurt me. I trusted him
more than I trusted myself sometimes.

"Roll over," I said.

He just looked at me.

I rolled his hips over, and he let me. He wasn't completely hard now.
Nothing like having your lover scream for help to take the fun out of
it. I touched him, and he shuddered, eyes closing. I held him in my
hands and stroked him until he grew warm and hard.

I slid over him, and he was almost too big from this angle, almost too
much. It was more intense with me on top, sharper somehow. A small moan
escaped him.

"I love you, Richard. I love you." I moved above him with him so deep
inside me, it felt like I should be able to taste him.

His hands slid around my waist, then to my breasts. The feeling of his
hands on me while I rode his body was almost too much. I moved my hips
gently at first, then faster. I forced him into me, hard and fast and
deep, until I wasn't sure if it felt good or hurt.

I felt the orgasm growing. I felt it filling me up like warm water in a
cup, filling from the bottom up. I felt it flow over me in small spasms.

Richard's breathing changed, quickened, and I knew he was close. "Not
yet," I whispered, "not yet."

He dug his hands into the bed on either side of me. I felt his hands go.
I felt them slip their skin. I felt it like the small release it was,
like an echo of what his body was doing inside of me. The claws tore
into the bed like nails. I heard the mattress material make that heavy
ripping sound, and it was too late.

The orgasm caught me in a burst that bowed my spine and made me cry out.
It washed over me in a skin-shifting, nerve-jumping dance as if every
part of me were trying to leave every other part behind. For a shining
second, I felt skinless, boneless, nothing but the warm roll of pleasure
and the feel of his body underneath me. Only his body anchored me, only
the feel of him going inside me in one great release reminded me where I
was, who I was.

I opened my eyes and found his eyes brown and human. He raised his hands
to me, and I fell against his body. I laid my head on his chest and felt
his heart beating against my cheek. I lay there feeling his body pulse
underneath me. His arms holding me.

He laughed, and it was joyous. He raised my face to his and kissed me
lightly and carefully. "I love you, too," he said.

Chapter 28
----------

Warm. He was so warm. He? My eyes were wide open, and sleep fell away
like a crash of glass. I was left lying in bed with my heart pounding
and a tanned arm flung across my stomach. I stared up that arm and found
Richard on his stomach, hair flung over his face like a curtain. I was
lying on my back, sheets down past my waist, trapped under Richard's
arm.

I raised my head back and found Van Gogh's Sunflowers above the bed.
Richard's cabin. We'd done too much damage to mine.

I had a very strong urge to pull the sheets up and cover my breasts.
Okay, okay, Richard had seen the whole show last night, but this
morning, I wanted to cover up. I was embarrassed. Not big, awful
embarrassed, but little, confused embarrassed.

I realized I was lying there with my arms tucked across my chest, as if
I was hiding. Richard's arm looked very dark against the pale white skin
of my stomach. Jean-Claude had remarked that my skin was almost as pale
as his. I'd had enough moral problems with premarital sex with the
undead. My one comfort had been that I was monogamous. Now I didn't even
have that. Whoredom had finally arrived just as my Grandmother Blake had
always warned. In a way, she was right. Once you have sex with anyone,
sex becomes more of a possibility with others.

The drapes in the cabin hadn't been pulled completely. Morning sunlight
fell through the white sheers and spilled over the bed. I'd never seen a
man's body by morning light. I'd never slept with a man and awakened
beside him. Oh, once with Stephen, but fully clothed with guns and bad
guys about to come through the door isn't quite the same thing.

I reached out towards Richard's arm, tentative. You'd think after what
we did last night, I'd be braver, but I was almost afraid to touch him.
I'd had sexual fantasies about Richard, but this--this was the big one.
To wake up beside him, warm and alive. God forgive me, but I valued
that.

I touched his arm lightly so that all I really touched were the small
golden hairs, no skin. I brushed upward just above the skin until there
was nothing but the bare skin of his upper arm and shoulder. I drew my
fingertips over the warmth of his skin. He was incredibly warm. Warmer
than skin temperature, almost fevered.

I felt him wake, a tension in his shoulder and back that hadn't been
there before. I turned my head, and his brown eyes were staring at me
through the thick curtain of his hair.

He rose up on one elbow and smoothed his hair back from his face. He
smiled, and it was the same smile that had melted me into my socks a
hundred times. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," I said. I had pulled the sheets up over my breasts
without thinking about it.

He wiggled closer, which made the sheets at his waist slide down to
reveal the smooth expanse of his buttocks. He kissed me, soft, tender,
then rubbed his face along my cheek until his breath was warm against my
ear, then farther back into my hair. He was giving me a wolf greeting.
He kissed lightly down my neck and stopped at my shoulder, which was
about all that was uncovered.

"You seem tense," he said.

"You don't," I said.

He laughed, and the sound made me shiver and smile at the same time. It
was a laugh I'd never heard from Richard. It was very masculine, very .
. . something: possessive, satisfied maybe.

I felt heat creep up my face. Being that embarrassed made me feel silly
for being embarrassed. "Oh, hell."

"What?" he asked. He stroked the side of my face.

"Cuddle with me, Richard. Sex is great, but when I thought of this
moment, I thought of you holding me, spooning me."

His smile was gentle, pleased. He turned on his side and even spilled
the sheets back over his waist. He raised his upper arm.

I rolled onto my side so my back faced him and snuggled against his warm
body. He was a little tall for spooning, but we wiggled around with much
giggling and stupid comments until we found a position that felt right.
I wrapped his arm around me, sinking into the warm curve of his chest
and all the rest, and let out a sigh. The feel of his naked groin
pressed against me wasn't so much exciting as it just felt right. I felt
possessive of his body, of him. I wanted to hold him like this forever.

His skin was almost hot. "You feel like you've got a fever," I said.

"It's the full moon," he said. "By tomorrow night when the moon is
completely full, my base temperature will be over a hundred and one."

He pushed my hair aside until he could nuzzle the back of my neck. It
made me break out in gooseflesh. I squirmed. "That tickles."

"Yes," he said, "it does." I could feel him growing larger against my
body.

I laughed and rolled over on my back. "Why, Mr. Zeeman, you seem happy
to see me."

He leaned in for a kiss. "Always."

The kiss grew, becoming more. I moved my body against his and had one
leg wrapped around his buttocks when he scooted back, going onto his
knees.

"What's wrong?" I asked. We'd already established last night, after it
would have been too late, that I was on the pill. He'd been nicely
horrified when he thought of it. Since werewolves can't get or carry
disease, once the pregnancy issue was addressed, you were safe. Which
also explained why I wasn't worried about licking blood off of the
lycanthropes last night. Gross, but not dangerous.

"I can't," Richard said.

I looked down the length of his body. "Oh, I'd say you're ready."

He blushed for me. "You saw me last night, Anita. One day closer to the
full moon, my control will be worse, not better."

I lay back on the bed. "Oh." I was disappointed. Minutes before, I'd
been worried that we'd given in to our lust, and now I was sad that we
couldn't do it again. Trust me to be logical about my men.

"I'm glad you're disappointed, too," he said. "For a minute there, I
thought you were going to get up out of bed, say it had all been a
terrible mistake, and go back to Jean-Claude."

I covered my eyes with my hands, then made myself look at Richard while
I said it. He sat there looking too scrumptious for words, but I
couldn't let it slide. If he was thinking this meant I'd dump
Jean-Claude, I couldn't let it slide. But I wanted to. "What do you
think last night meant, Richard?"

The smile faded around the edges but didn't disappear completely. "It
meant something to me, Anita. I thought it meant something to you."

"It did. It does. But . . ."

"But what about Jean-Claude." Richard said it softly, but it had to be
said by someone.

I nodded, hugging the sheet to my chest. "Yeah."

"Can you go back to just dating him after last night?"

I sat up and reached for his hand. He gave it to me. "I've missed you so
much, Richard. The sex is nice, but . . ."

He raised eyebrows. "Nice, just nice?"

I smiled. "It was wonderful and you know it. And you know that's not
what I meant."

He nodded, hair swinging into his eyes. He brushed it back. "I know.
I've missed you, too. I'm lost on weekends without you."

I pressed his hand to my cheek. "Me, too."

He sighed. "So you're going to be with us both?"

I let his hand fall to my lap, still holding it. "You'd go along with
that?"

"Maybe." He leaned in and kissed my forehead, ever so gently. "Notice I
didn't ask you to give him up and just date me."

I touched his face. "I know, and I'm both relieved and surprised. Thank
you for not asking."

He pulled back enough to see my face clearly. He looked very serious.
"You don't like ultimatums, Anita. If I push you, I'll lose."

"Why do you want to win, Richard? Why don't you just dump me?"

He smiled. "Now she gives me the choice."

"I've given you the choice before," I said. "I mean, I know why
Jean-Claude puts up with me. I help his power base. You'd be better off
if you picked out a nice, safe werewolf for your lupa. I hurt your power
base."

"I'm in love with you," he said simply.

"Why do I feel like apologizing for that?" I asked.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about why I couldn't hate you. Why I
couldn't let you go."

"And?" I had pulled the sheets around me like a nest so I wouldn't be
naked. If somewhere in this conversation he did dump me, I didn't want
to be naked. Silly but true.

Naked didn't seem to bother Richard. Frankly, it was distracting to me.
"I need a human girlfriend. I need someone who isn't a monster."

"A lot of humans would be happy to be your snuggle bunny, Richard."

"I found that out," he said, "but I didn't have sex with any of them."

"Why not?"

"Farther away from the full moon I have better control. The eyes don't
go, let alone the hands. I can pass for human, but I'm not human. You
know what I am, and even you almost couldn't accept it."

There was nothing I could say to that, so I didn't try.

He looked down at the bed, fingers playing along the edge of the sheet.
His voice grew very soft. "My first year in the pack, one of the other
new wolves had a human girlfriend. He crushed her pelvis while they were
making love."

My eyes widened. "A little too rough," I said.

Richard shook his head. He let his hair fall this time, hiding most of
his face. "You don't understand, Anita. Strength is strength. We can
pick up small cars and throw them. If you don't realize your own
strength, you can't control it." He looked at me suddenly, staring out
at me through his hair. It was a gesture that Gabriel had been fond of,
as if the hair were comforting or reminded them of fur. "You're the
first nonlycanthrope I've ever had sex with since I became one."

"I'm flattered, I guess."

"I was still scared I'd hurt you like my friend had hurt his girlfriend
or in a thousand other ways. During sex you lose control. That's part of
the fun. I can never lose control, not completely, unless I'm with
another lycanthrope."

I looked at him. "What are you trying to say, Richard?"

"I'm saying you date both of us. Have sex with both of us. I will hate
it, but . . ."

I stared at him. I didn't like that he didn't want to finish the
sentence. Made me nervous. "What, Richard?"

He brushed his hair back with both hands until his face was clean and
tight. "You date both of us, and I'll keep dating other lycanthropes."

I just kept staring at him.

"Say something," he said.

I opened my mouth, closed it, tried again. "You mean you'll keep having
sex with Lucy."

"Not Lucy, she's . . . You've met her. She could never be lupa of our
pack."

"So you're going to keep auditioning lupas?"

"I don't know if I am or not, but I know if you sleep with Jean-Claude,
I have the right to sleep with other people."

I couldn't exactly argue with him, but I wanted to. "You're still trying
to get me to give up Jean-Claude."

"No," he said. "I'm just saying that if you're not monogamous to me,
then why should I be monogamous to you?"

"No reason, I guess. Except . . . I thought we loved each other."

"We do. I do." He stood and picked up his jeans from the floor. "But you
don't love me enough to give up Jean-Claude. Why should I love you
enough to give up everyone else?"

I stared at him and felt tears begin to fill my eyes. "You bastard."

He nodded. He slipped into his pants without underwear, zipping
carefully. "The real bitch is that I do love you enough to give up
everyone else. I just don't know if I can share you with Jean-Claude. I
just don't know if I can stand the thought of you in his bed. The
thought of him being with you like that drives me . . ." He shook his
head. "I'm going to take a shower. I've still got trolls to study."

I couldn't even begin to think about what he'd just said. It was too
much all at once. When confused, concentrate on business.

"I need to come with you and talk to the biologists. We need to find out
if Franklin Niley is the buyer for the land. The guy who lost his arm
last night was afraid of him. It takes someone pretty scary to make a
man hesitate when he's surrounded by werewolves. Your normal real estate
types don't have that kind of juice."

Richard strode back to the bed. He picked me up around the waist and
kissed me. He crushed me against him, like he'd crawl in through my
mouth and pull me around him. I was breathless when he sat me back down
on the bed.

"I want to touch you, Anita. I want to hold your hand and do silly,
goofy grins. I want us to act like people who are in love."

"We are in love," I said.

"Then for today, let's throw all the doubts out. Just be with me the way
I've always wanted you to be. If I want to touch you today, I don't want
to be afraid not to. I want what happened last night to change things."

I nodded. "All right."

"You don't look sure," he said.

"I'd love to go around holding your hand, Richard. I'm just realizing
that . . . Oh, hell, Richard, what am I going to tell Jean-Claude?"

"I asked Jean-Claude how much difference the marks made to you, how much
harder you were to hurt physically. He figured out why I was asking. I
ended up telling him the whole sad story about my friend and his dead
girlfriend."

I looked at him. "What did he say?"

"He said, 'Trust yourself, mon ami. You are not your friend with his
so-sad tale. And Anita is not human. Through us she is more than that.
Both of us huddle around her humanity like it is the last candle flame
in a world of darkness. But by our very love, we make her less human,
and more.' "

My eyebrows went up. "You remembered all that?"

Richard looked at me, and it was a long, considering look. He nodded. "I
remembered because he's right. He's right. We both love you in our ways
for similar reasons. It isn't just power that draws him to you. You saw
him as a monster. The fact that you don't anymore makes him feel less
like one."

"It sounds like you guys have been having some long conversations."

"Yeah, it's been a real male bonding experience." He sounded bitter,
tired.

"It also sounds like you discussed whether you were going to make love
to me with Jean-Claude before you discussed it with me."

"Never directly," he said. "Never word for word."

"It still sounds an awful lot like asking permission," I said.

Richard was back in the bathroom doorway. "What would you have done if
we'd made love and Jean-Claude had tried to kill me afterwards? Would
you have killed him protecting me?"

I just looked at him. "I don't know. I . . . I wouldn't have let him
kill you."

Richard nodded. "Exactly. Whether Jean-Claude killed me or I killed him
or whether you killed one of us, even if we survived the death with the
marks dragging us down to the grave, even if you and I survived, you'd
never forgive yourself for killing him. You'd never recover from it.
We'd never have a life together. Even dead and gone, Jean-Claude would
haunt us."

"So you tested the waters," I said.

Richard nodded. "I tested the waters."

"You asked his permission," I said.

He nodded, again. "I asked his permission."

"And he gave it," I said.

"I think that Jean-Claude knows if he kills me, you would kill him. That
you'd sacrifice all of us for one of us."

It was true. It sounded sort of stupid put that way, but it was still
true. "I guess I would."

"So if I can stand it, and you want to do it, you date both of us. You
share both of our beds." His hands balled into fists at his sides. "But
if I can't have monogamy from you, you can't have it from me. Fair?"

I looked at him and gave the barest of nods. "It's fair, but I hate it.
I hate it a lot."

Richard looked at me. "Good," he said and closed the door. A moment
later, I heard water running. And I was left naked in his bed with
everything I'd ever wanted offered to me on a silver platter. So why was
I sitting there, hugging my knees to my chest and fighting not to cry?

Chapter 29
----------

I wanted to get dressed. I'd brought my suitcase over from my cabin for
just that reason, but I needed a shower. I'd had too much fighting, too
much sweating, too much blood, too much sex last night not to shower. So
I sat huddled in a nest of sheets that smelled of Richard's cologne, my
perfume, the sweet scent of his skin, and sex. I had managed not to cry.
In fact, if Richard had just admitted undying monogamy to me, I'd have
joined him in the shower. But he hadn't, and I was confused.

There was a knock on the door. It startled me, and I almost just ignored
it. Almost pretended we were still asleep or otherwise occupied, but the
second knock was more insistent. The third was so firm, the door shook.

"Police, open up."

Police? "I'm not dressed. Just a minute." I really hadn't packed a robe.
But I also had a sudden bad feeling. If he just wanted us out of town,
why come this early? Why wouldn't he give us time to pack and get out?
Unless he didn't care if we left anymore, at least not on our own. Maybe
he'd known about the hit last night. Maybe he meant to kill us. I'd
dealt with rogue cops before, once. It made everything harder. If I met
them at the door with a gun, it would give them an excuse to shoot me.
If I didn't protect myself and they shot me anyway, I'd be pissed.

"Open the fuck up, Blake."

I didn't pick up my gun, I picked up the telephone. I didn't call a
lawyer. Carl Belisarius was good, but not good enough to help me stop a
bullet. I called Dolph. What I wanted was another witness that couldn't
be shot. A cop in another state seemed a good bet.

The phone was near my pillow. The pillow had the Browning under it, but
if I had to go for the gun, I was dead.

Dolph answered with "Storr."

"It's Anita. Wilkes and his deputies are about to break down my door."

"Why?"

"Don't know yet."

"I'm putting a call through on the other line for the state cops there."

"Why? Because the cops broke down my door when I didn't open it?"

"If you don't want help, why are you calling, Anita?"

"I want to be on the phone to another cop when they come through the
door."

I could hear Dolph breathe for a second or two, then, "Don't have your
gun in your hand. Don't give them an excuse."

And the door burst open. Maiden was first through the door. He cleared
the door going low. The tall deputy with the scar took high. They both
trained guns on me. Maiden's big forty-five looked right at home in his
big hands.

I just stood there, one hand clutching the white sheet to my chest, the
phone in my other hand. I was very careful not to move. I stood frozen
with my heart beating so hard it filled my throat like air.

Dolph's voice was in my ear: "Anita?"

"I'm here, Sergeant Storr." I didn't yell it, but I made sure my voice
carried.

Sheriff Wilkes came in behind his deputies. His gun was holstered. "Put
down the phone, Blake."

"Why, Sheriff Wilkes, fancy meeting you in Richard's cabin on such a
lovely morning."

He strode across the room to me. He yanked the phone from my hand, and I
didn't fight him. I didn't think he was here to kill anyone, but he was
here to hurt. I was going to try very hard not to give him an excuse to
do it. Whatever he did today, I wouldn't make it easier for him.

He put the phone to his ear just long enough to hear Dolph, then hung it
up. "A phone call won't save you this time, Blake."

I looked up at him and gave him big brown eyes. I did everything but
flutter my lashes at him. "Do I need saving, Sheriff Wilkes?"

The phone rang. We stood there, letting it ring. Seven rings and Wilkes
picked it up and hung it up again without putting it to his ear. He was
so angry, he was shaking. A fine tremor ran through his hands, his arms.
His face was flushed with the effort not to do something violent or
regrettable.

I stood there as neutral as I could manage. Looking as harmless as I
could manage. With my long hair tousled from sleep, wearing nothing but
a sheet, it wasn't hard to look harmless.

The bathroom door opened, and Richard just stood there in nothing but a
towel. Guns turned and pointed at him. He froze in the doorway with
steam curling around him, spilling out into the room like clouds.

There was a lot of screaming. Cops yelling, "Hands up! Get on the
floor!" Richard laced his fingers on top of his head and took it all
pretty calmly. He'd heard them. He'd stepped out of the shower, knowing
they were out here. He could have gone out the window, but he hadn't.

Of course, if they really thought we were dangerous, they'd have gone in
after him. But they'd let him come out to us. They weren't treating us
like criminals. They were acting like the criminals.

Richard was on his stomach with Maiden's gun pressed to his back.
Handcuffs went on. The scarred deputy pulled him to his knees, using his
long, wet hair. The towel stayed on. Tough towel.

The phone rang. It rang three times. Each one seemed louder than the
last.

Wilkes grabbed the entire phone and jerked it out of the wall. He threw
it against the far wall, where it lay silenced. He stared down at me,
breathing so hard it looked painful.

He spoke very carefully, as if afraid to yell, afraid that if he lost
control of even his voice, it would be over. "I told you to get out of
my town."

I kept my voice very soft, very unthreatening. "You gave me until
sundown today, Wilkes. It's not even nine o'clock in the morning. What's
the rush?"

"Are you going today?"

I opened my mouth to lie. Richard said, "No."

Shit.

Wilkes grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards Richard. I tripped on
the sheet, and he dragged me the last few feet. I put most of my effort
into clutching the sheet to my chest. Bruises were okay; being naked in
front of them was definitely not okay.

Wilkes half-threw me, half-dropped me on the floor beside Richard.
Richard tried to get to his feet, and the scarred deputy hit him in the
shoulder with the butt of the shotgun.

I touched Richard's arm. "It's all right, Richard. Everyone just be
calm."

The scarred deputy said, "God, you are a cold bitch."

I just looked at Wilkes. He was the one in charge. He was the one who
would dictate how bad this was going to be. If he stayed calm, so would
the others. If he lost it, we were in deep shit.

Wilkes just stared down at me. His breathing had eased, but his eyes
were still wild. "Leave town, Mr. Zeeman. Leave town today."

Richard opened his mouth, and I squeezed his arm. He'd tell the truth
unless I made him shut up. The truth was not what we needed right now.

"We'll leave, Wilkes. You've made your point," I said.

Wilkes shook his head. "I think you're lying, Blake. I think Richard
here is planning to stay. I think you'd say anything to get us out of
this room right now."

It was the truth, and that made it hard to argue. "We'd be fools to
stay, Wilkes."

"I think Richard is a fool. A softhearted, tree-hugging liberal. It's
not you we have to convince, Anita. It's your boyfriend."

I didn't argue with the boyfriend part. I couldn't anymore. I leaned a
little into Richard. "How do you plan to convince him?"

Wilkes said, "Thompson."

The scarred deputy gave up his place in back of Richard to Maiden.
Maiden looked uncertain, as if things were moving too fast for him, but
he kept his gun out, not pointed at Richard, sort of resting against his
face.

"Thompson, we never patted Ms. Blake down for weapons."

Thompson smiled, a big, good-humored smile. "No, we did not, Sheriff."
He grabbed two handfuls of sheet and dragged me to my feet. He jerked
hard enough that I stumbled into him. He locked one arm behind me,
holding me against him. His Sam Brown belt pressed into my stomach but
kept the rest of him from touching me.

I felt more than heard Richard behind me. I looked back. Maiden had
traded his gun for his baton. He had the baton underneath Richard's
chin, pressed against his throat above the Adam's apple so he wouldn't
accidentally crush his windpipe. It looked like Maiden had had training.

Thompson said, "Don't struggle yet, lover. You ain't seen nothing to get
excited about yet."

I didn't like the sound of that at all. He grabbed the sheet and tried
to tear it out of my hands. I fought him. He stepped back from me,
holding the sheet, and yanked. It was hard enough I stumbled, but I kept
the sheet.

"Thompson," Wilkes said, "stop playing goddamn tug-of-war and do it."

Thompson slid his fingers down the front of the sheet and gave it all he
had. It pulled me to my knees in an ungraceful heap, but I won. I kept
the sheet. I was pissing him off, not my best idea, but I'm not good
naked. I never feel nude. I feel naked.

He grabbed me by the back of the head and used my hair to throw me up
against the bed. I could have pulled away if I wanted to leave a handful
of hair and blood in his hands, but it would hurt, and unless I was
willing to start killing people, this was going to happen. The more I
fought it, the worse it was going to be.

As long as it was just a little slap and tickle for Richard's benefit, I
could handle it. That's what I told myself while Thompson yanked me half
across the bed by my hair.

He held me down by my head, putting enough weight on that one arm that
it almost hurt. The sheet had pulled down from my back to my waist. He
jerked it down farther, exposing my butt.

I struggled just a bit then. He pressed down so hard on my head that my
face was pressed into the bed enough that it was difficult to get a full
breath. The mattress wasn't firm enough for this shit. I lay very still.
I did not want him to push my face down into the mattress. Passing out
would be bad. You never wake up better off than you started.

"Stay," Thompson said, "or I'll put handcuffs on you."

I did what he said. Richard could break a pair of handcuffs. I couldn't.
As much as I loved Richard, I didn't want him to be the only person free
in a room full of cops gone bad. If it really came down to having to
fight our way out it would mean killing. To my knowledge, Richard had
never killed a human being. He was squeamish enough about killing other
shapeshifters.

Thompson pulled my arms out from under my chest and spread my arms to
either side on the bed. He slid his hands over my hands, my arms, as if
bare skin could hide any weapons. His hands slid down my bare back,
sloping along my waist and lower. His hands slipped over my buttocks and
between my thighs. spreading my legs. It was too reminiscent of last
night with Richard, too intimate.

I raised up. "What is this, a rape theme down here?"

Thompson slapped me on the back of the head. "Be still, or I'll make you
be still." But his hands weren't playing with my thighs. He could hit me
more and harder if his hands didn't wander lower.

"This can all stop, Richard," Wilkes said. "This can all be over. Just
leave."

"You'll kill the trolls," Richard said.

I turned to look at Richard. I wanted to scream at him, "Just lie!" We'd
figure it out later, but I wanted him to just lie now. I couldn't say
that out loud. I stared at him and did something I had rarely attempted.
I tried to open the bond between us. I reached out to him not with my
hands or with my arms, but it felt like reaching. I moved out towards
him with things I couldn't see but could feel. I opened something inside
him. I felt it give. I saw the widening of his eyes. I felt the beat of
his heart.

Thompson grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back to the bed. It broke my
concentration.

There was a knock on the door. The other deputy, who had been with
Thompson that first day, stepped into the doorway. He gave the room a
once-over, eyes lingering on me on the bed, but his face stayed neutral.
"There's a crowd gathering, Sheriff."

"A crowd?" Wilkes said. "The tree-huggers are out studying their
precious trolls. If it's just the bodyguards, fuck them."

The deputy shook his head. "It's a shit load of people, Sheriff."

Wilkes sighed. He looked at Richard. "This is your last warning,
Zeeman." He walked over to me, and Thompson backed off. He squatted so
we'd be eye to eye. I gathered the sheet and turned to meet his gaze.

"Where are Chuck and Terry?" he asked.

I blinked and kept my face neutral. Once, not long ago, I wouldn't have
been able to do it. Now my face gave nothing away. I was as blank and
empty as the white sheet around my body.

"Who?"

"Thompson." Wilkes stood.

I felt Thompson move in from behind me.

"Does he do all your dirty work, Wilkes? You aren't man enough to abuse
an unarmed woman?"

Wilkes hit me a backhanded slap that rocked me against the bed. I tasted
blood. I probably could have blocked the slap, but that would have made
the second blow harder. Besides, I'd asked for it. I don't mean I
deserved it. I mean I preferred Wilkes to Thompson for abuse. I never
wanted to be at Thompson's mercy without Wilkes there to rein him in.
Thompson wasn't a cop. He was a goon with a badge.

The second blow was a slap, the third was another backhand. The blows
were quick and hard and left my ears ringing. I saw spots of light
against my vision. The proverbial stars, and he hadn't even closed his
fist.

Wilkes stood over me, breathing too hard, hands in fists at his side.
That fine trembling was back again, as if he was fighting not to close
his fists. We both knew if he did, he wouldn't stop. If he hit me even
once with his fist, it would be over. He'd hit me until someone pulled
him off. I wasn't a hundred percent sure that there was anyone in the
room who would pull him off.

I stared up at him with a trickle of blood at the corner of my mouth. I
licked at the blood with my tongue and stared into Wilkes's brown eyes.
I saw the abyss down at the end of his gaze. The monster was there,
barely caged. I'd underestimated how close to the edge Wilkes was. I
knew in that moment that this last warning was just that: a last
warning. A last chance, not just for us, but for Wilkes. A last chance
for him to walk away without any actual blood on his own lily-white
hands.

The deputy by the door said, "Sheriff, we've got over twenty people
outside here."

"We can't do this with an audience," Maiden said.

Wilkes kept staring down at me, and I held his gaze. It was almost like
we were both afraid to look away, as if even that small movement would
uncage the monster. Maybe it wasn't Thompson I should be afraid of.

"Sheriff," Maiden said softly.

"In twenty-four hours," Wilkes said, voice squeezed down until it was
almost painful to hear, "we'll file a missing person's report on Chuck
and Terry. Then we'll be back, Ms. Blake. We'll be back, and we'll take
you in for questioning regarding their disappearance."

"What are you going to write down in the report as to why you thought I
might know where they are?"

He went back to staring at me, but at least the fine trembling had
stopped.

I kept my voice neutral but said, "I'm sure some of the tree-huggers
called the cops last night. But no one came. You're the law in this
town, Wilkes. You're all these people have between them and the bad
guys. Last night, you didn't come because you thought you knew what was
happening. You thought Chuck and Terry had gotten carried away. So you
come by this morning to pick up the bodies, but there aren't any
bodies."

"You killed them," he said, his voice soft and tight.

I shook my head. "No, I didn't." Which was technically true. I hadn't
killed them. I'd killed Chuck but not Terry.

"You're saying you never saw them last night."

"I didn't say that. I just said I didn't kill them."

Wilkes glanced behind at Richard. "The Boy Scout didn't do them."

"Never said he did."

"That little guy you were with, Jason? Schuyler? He couldn't have taken
both of them."

"Nope," I said.

"You are pissing me off, Blake. You don't want me angry."

"No, I don't, Sheriff Wilkes. I really don't want you angry. But I am
not lying. I did not kill them. I don't know where they are." That at
least was totally true. I was beginning to wonder if Terry had ever made
it to the hospital, and I was beginning to think he probably hadn't. Did
Verne's pack kill him after I promised him we wouldn't? I hoped not.

"I've been a cop for longer than you've been alive, Blake. You make my
bullshit meter go off. You're lying to me, and you're good at it."

"I didn't kill your two friends, Sheriff. I don't know where they are
now. That's the truth."

He hunkered back down beside me. "This is your last warning, Blake. Get
the fuck out of my town, or I am going to drop-kick you into the nearest
hole. I've lived here a long time. If I hide a body, it stays hid."

"A lot of people go missing around here?" I asked.

"Missing people are bad for tourism," Wilkes said. He stood. "But it
happens. Don't let it happen to you. Get out now, today. If you're not
gone by dark, it's over."

I stared up at him and knew he meant it.

I nodded. "We're history."

Wilkes turned to Richard. "What about you, Boy Scout? You agree? Is this
enough? Or does it have to get worse?"

I looked across the room at Richard and urged him to lie. Maiden still
had a baton stretched across his throat. The towel had slipped down, and
he was naked, with his wrists still in cuffs behind his back.

Richard swallowed, then said, "It's enough."

"You're out by dark?" Wilkes made it a question.

"Yes," Richard said.

Wilkes nodded. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that, Mr.
Zeeman. Come on, boys."

Maiden very slowly took his baton away from Richard's throat and stepped
back. "I'll take the cuffs off if you promise to behave yourself."

"It's over, right, Richard?" Wilkes said. "Take the cuffs off. They
won't give us any more trouble."

Maiden didn't look as convinced as Wilkes seemed to be, but he did what
he was told. He took the cuffs off.

Richard rubbed his wrists but didn't bother grabbing at the fallen
towel. Without clothes, Richard was nude, not naked. He was comfortable.
Most lycanthropes were.

Maiden followed Wilkes to the door, but he kept an eye on both of us, as
if still expecting trouble. A good cop never turns his back completely.

Thompson was the last to move towards the door. He said, "Lover's thing
is almost as big as you are."

Nothing else he'd done had made me blush, but that did. I hated it but
couldn't stop it.

He laughed. "I hope you don't leave town. I hope you stay, because I
really do want another chance to be alone together."

"My new goal in life, Thompson, is to never be alone with you."

He laughed again. He laughed while he walked out the door. The deputy
that kept complaining about the crowd left. Only Maiden waited in the
door for Wilkes.

The sheriff said, "I hope we never meet again, Blake."

"Ditto, Sheriff," I said.

"Mr. Zeeman." He gave a nod as if he'd just pulled us over for a traffic
stop and let us go with a warning. His entire body language changed as
he moved through the door. Just a good ol' boy talking to some strangers
about that disturbance last night.

When the door closed behind them, Richard crawled to me. He started to
touch my face, then stopped, fingers hovering helplessly around my face.
"Are you hurt?"

"A little."

He hugged me, pulling me gently in against his body. "Go home, Anita. Go
back to Saint Louis."

I pulled away enough to meet his eyes. "Oh, no. If you stay, I stay."

He cradled my face in his hands. "They'll hurt you."

"Not if they think we really left. Can Verne's people hide us?"

"Who do you think is outside in the crowd?"

I looked up into his open face. "Did they kill the other man? Did
Verne's people kill Terry after they left?"

"I don't know, Anita." He hugged me again. "I don't know."

"I promised him he'd live if he told us what he knew."

He pulled back, holding my face in his hands. "You could have killed him
during the fight last night and not blinked, but because you promised
him safety, you're upset."

I pulled away from Richard, standing, tugging the sheet out from under
his knees. "If I give my word, it means something. I gave my word that
he'd live. If he's dead now, I want to know why."

"The cops are on the other side. Don't piss Verne and his pack off,
Anita. They're all we have."

I knelt by the suitcase on the other side of the bed and started getting
out clothes. "No, Richard, we have each other and we have Shang-Da and
Jason and Asher and everyone we brought with us. If Verne's people went
behind my back last night and killed Terry, we don't have them. They
have us. Because we need them, and they know it."

I stood with an armful of clothes and shuffled towards the bathroom with
the sheet still around me. For some reason, I just didn't want to be
naked in front of anyone right now, not even Richard. I made one stop on
the way. I got the Browning out from under my pillow and piled it on top
of the clothes. No more going unarmed for the rest of the trip. If
someone didn't like it, they could lump it. That included my nearest and
dearest. Though, to Richard's credit, he didn't say a word about the gun
or anything else as I closed the door.

Chapter 30
----------

I wanted a long, hot shower. I settled for a brief, hot shower. I'd
called Dolph back first to let him know I wasn't dead. But all I managed
to do was leave a message. I was hoping to give him the name Franklin
Niley and see if there was any criminal connection. Dolph didn't usually
share police info with me unless we were involved in a case together,
but I was hoping he'd make an exception. Dirty cops are one of Dolph's
least favorite things. He might help just to spite Wilkes.

I put on white jogging socks, blue jeans, and a royal blue tank top. I'd
put a short-sleeved dress shirt over the tank top to camouflage the
Browning. The holster would chafe a little around the edges, but when it
comes to summer wear for concealed carry, the options are not limitless.
I'd have worn shorts if I hadn't planned on tramping through the woods
after trolls and biologists. I was trading being cooler for protection
from the underbrush.

I smeared hair goop through my curls while they were still damp, combed
it, and the hair was done. Since I didn't bother with makeup, it was a
quick shower. I stared into the oval of mirror that I'd cleaned off with
the towel. The rest was still lost to steam. The bruises from the
original beating were gone, swallowed into my skin as if they'd never
been. But my mouth was slightly puffy on one side, and a spot of red sat
on my skin near my mouth like a wound. At this rate, I could have a
beating a day and be healed in time for the next one.

There were voices on the other side of the door. One of the voices was
Richard. The other voice had a low bass rumble to it that sounded like
Verne. Good; I needed to talk to him. There were more voices. I heard
Nathaniel's voice, high and clear: "I didn't know what else to do."

The gang was all here. I wondered what the topic of conversation was. I
had a few ideas.

I put the Browning down the front of the jeans. As long as I didn't sit
down, I was okay. The barrel was too long for comfortable sitting. I
opened the door, and the conversation stopped like I'd pulled a switch.
Guess I was the topic of conversation.

Nathaniel was standing the closest to me. He was wearing silky jogging
shorts and a matching tank top. His long hair was in a thick braid down
his back. He looked like an ad for an upscale gym. "I was on guard,
Anita, but they're cops. I didn't know what to do." He looked away,
turned away, and I had to catch his arm to turn him back to me.

He turned those big lilac eyes to me.

"Next time, just yell a warning. That's all you could have done
differently."

"I suck as a bodyguard," he said.

This was sort of true, but I didn't want to say it to his face. There
really wasn't much he could have done.

I looked across the room at Shang-Da. He was sitting with his back to
the wall, balanced effortlessly on the balls of his feet. He was dressed
in black slacks and a white, short-sleeved shirt. The claw marks on his
face had turned to angry red welts. What should have been scars that he
would carry for the rest of his life would be healed in a couple of
days.

"If you'd been on duty, Shang-Da, what would you have done differently?"
I kept hold of Nathaniel's arm while I asked it.

"They would not have gotten past me without your permission."

"Would you have fought them if they tried to handcuff you?"

He seemed to think about that for a second or two, then looked up at me.
"I don't like being handcuffed."

I pulled Nathaniel into a half-hug. "See, Nathaniel, there are
bodyguards who would have given them an excuse to start shooting. Don't
worry about it." But secretly, I planned on Nathaniel never doing guard
duty alone again. I also planned on the same for Shang-Da. For very
different reasons, I didn't trust either of them alone.

Verne sat in the big chair by the window. Except for the T-shirt being
different, he was dressed as I'd first seen him. Maybe that was all he
had. Jeans and an endless supply of different T-shirts. He'd tied his
long, greying hair in a loose ponytail.

Richard had put on a pair of jeans and blow-dried his hair, but that was
it. He'd go an entire day wearing nothing but jeans or shorts, slipping
on shoes only if he had to go outside. The shirt only appeared when he
was going out. Richard is comfortable with his body. Of course, when
you've got a body like his, why wouldn't you be?

"Are you okay?" Verne asked.

I shrugged. "I'll live. Speaking of living, how is ol' Terry? Did the
hospital get his arm reattached?"

Richard reached his hand out to me. I hesitated, then took his hand. I
let him draw me to my knees beside him. I took the Browning out from my
jeans so I could sit between his legs. He folded me back against his
bare chest, jean-clad knees on either side of me. His arms were warm and
very solid. I leaned my head back against his chest. I kept eye contact
with Verne the entire time.

It didn't hurt that I had the Browning naked in my hand.

Richard kissed my damp hair. He was trying to remind me to be a good
girl. To not start another fight. He was right, in a way. We certainly
had enough fights on our plate without starting another one.

"Answer me, Verne," I said.

"Most of my pack passes for human, Anita. Do you really think some
shithead would have kept his mouth shut?" He leaned forward in the
chair, hands clasped together. Mr. Sincere.

"He was our only link to the other bad guys, Verne. The only one that
was willing to talk to us."

Richard's arms wrapped just a little tighter around my arms. I realized
that if he squeezed, I wouldn't be able to point the gun. "I'm not going
to shoot him, Richard. Chill, okay?"

"Couldn't I just be hugging you?" he asked, voice so close to my ear I
could feel his breath.

"No," I said.

His arms slid to either side, loosely around my waist, which put his
hands almost in my lap, since I had my knees up. Under other
circumstances, it would have been an interesting position, but when I
have a point to make, I don't distract.

"The pack is my priority, Anita. It has to be."

"I would never do anything to endanger your pack, Verne. But I gave my
word that if he told us what he knew, we'd take him to the hospital and
let them try to reattach his arm. I gave my word, Verne."

"You take your word that seriously," he said.

"Yes."

"I respect that," he said.

"You killed him, didn't you?" I asked.

"Not personally, but I gave the order."

Richard's arms tightened around me. I felt him struggling to relax
against me. He rubbed his chin against my wet hair, hands rubbing up and
down my bare arms like you'd soothe a dog that you were afraid was going
to bite someone.

"And I gave my word," I said.

"What can I do to make this right between us?" Verne asked.

I wanted to say, "Nothing," but Richard was right. We needed them. Or we
needed someone, and they were all we had. What could he do to make this
right? Raising the dead was my department, and bringing him back as a
zombie wouldn't be the same thing, anyway.

"Truthfully, Verne, I don't know. But I'll think of something."

"You mean, I'll owe you a favor," he said.

"A man's dead, Verne. It would have to be one hell of a favor."

He looked at me for a long, measuring moment, then nodded. "I guess so."

"Okay," I said, "okay. We'll leave it there for now, Verne, but when I
come up with something to ask for or of you, disappointing me again
would not be a good idea."

He gave a quick smile. "I don't know if I'm looking forward to you and
Roxanne meeting or dreading it."

"Who's Roxanne?" I asked.

"His lupa," Richard said.

Verne stood. "Richard said you and Roxanne would like each other if you
didn't kill each other first. I know what he meant now." He walked over
to us. He held his hand down, as if offering to help me off the floor.
But call it a hunch, I thought it was more than that.

Richard's arms opened, and I took Verne's hand. He didn't so much pull
me to my feet as just hold my hand while I stood. The other hand still
held the Browning.

"If you ask for something that harms my pack, I can't promise that. But
short of that, you have my word. Ask it of me, and it's yours." He
grinned suddenly, then looked past me to Richard. "God, she is a tiny
thing."

Richard, wisely, did not comment.

Verne knelt in front of me. "To seal my word, I'm going to offer you my
neck. You understand the symbolism?"

I nodded. "If I were a wolf, I could tear your throat out. It's an act
of trust."

He nodded and bent his head to one side so the big vein in his neck was
just below the surface stretched tight under the skin of his throat. He
kept hold of my hand the entire time.

I glanced back at Richard. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Kiss the big pulse in his neck, or bite gently over it. The harder you
bite the less you trust the person, or the more dominant you see
yourself to them."

I stared down at Verne. He was being very good. No trickle of power
escaped him, and I was holding his hand, skin to skin. I'd felt how
powerful he was; he could have made my skin crawl if he'd wanted to.

I squeezed his hand and moved to stand behind him. I tossed the Browning
on the bed. I ran my hand along his neck, finding the big pulse with my
fingertips.

I looked at Richard. You could almost see the "no" on his face--the
near-warning not to do what I was thinking of. Which in a way made it
all the more tempting.

Verne drew me down towards him, pulling my hand across his chest like I
was hugging him. It brought my mouth down to his neck, as if he'd done
this before.

He smelled warm, as if he'd been out in the sun. The scent of trees and
the ground itself clung to his skin. I ran my nose just above his skin.
I could smell the blood. It was as if the skin on his neck was growing
thinner and thinner, until there was nothing between the smell of sweet
blood but a pliable warmth, as if the skin itself almost didn't exist.

My mouth hovered over that pulsing warmth. I was drowning in the smell
of his body. The need to place my mouth over that pulsing, living thing
was almost overwhelming. I didn't trust myself to do it, or rather,
didn't trust myself not to do too much. Did Richard go through life
tasting other people's blood? Could he feel their life like something
fragile and touchable?

Maybe I hesitated too long. Maybe Verne felt the power that was trying
to overwhelm me. His power broke over my body in a shivering rush that
made me gasp. And it was too much. Too tempting a drink to offer a
starving man.

My teeth closed over that evaporating warmth. The meat of his neck
filled my mouth. My tongue found his pulse, and I bit down, trying to
carve that jumping, beating thing out of the flesh.

His power roared over me, and something inside of me poured back like
two tidal waves crashing, churning, destroying. Far below, there was a
land and a beach, and it was all washed away in the pounding, drowning
depths.

I felt eyes open, and they weren't my eyes. Jean-Claude opened his eyes
all those miles away, surprised from a sleep that should have lasted
hours yet. Shocked awake by his hunger, my hunger, our hunger, being
fed.

Hands dragged me off of that pulsing warmth. Hands prying me away. I
came to myself with Richard pulling me into the air, completely
helpless. Verne still had my hand. He was holding on, trying to drag me
back. His neck was bleeding. A near perfect imprint of my teeth sat in
his flesh. His hand fell away as Richard pulled me off of him.

Verne's eyes looked heavy-lidded. He drew in a large, shaking breath and
laughed. The low chuckle made my body react. "God, Jesus, girl, what the
hell was that?"

I didn't fight to get back to him. I didn't fight to finish it. I lay
passive in Richard's arms, blinking in a spill of morning light, staring
at what I'd done to Verne's neck and not understanding.

When I could talk, I asked, "What the hell was that?"

Richard cradled me in his arms like I was a child. Since I wasn't sure I
could stand, I wasn't bitching about it. I felt distant and light and
horrible.

He hugged me against him, kissing my forehead. "Us being together has
strengthened the marks. Jean-Claude thought it might."

I stared up at Richard. I was still having trouble focusing. "Are you
saying that us having sex strengthened his hold on both of us?"

Richard seemed to think about that for a second or two. "It strengthened
our hold on each other."

"Put me down."

He did what I asked. I slid to my knees, unable to stand, and pushed his
hands away when he tried to help. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

"Would it have made a difference last night?" he asked.

I stared up at him, tears threatening, and I wanted to say yes, but I
didn't lie. "No," I said, "no." Last night it would have taken a hell of
a lot more than the knowledge that the marks would strengthen to keep me
out of Richard's bed. Of course, last night I hadn't understood what it
meant. Last night I hadn't just tried to eat my way through a man's
throat.

I got to my feet and fell a second time. It wasn't lack of energy. It
was almost like being drunk. But it wasn't a downer. It was defiantly an
upper. "What is wrong with me?"

Shang-Da answered, "I've seen vampires do this. If they drink someone
powerful or drink too much . . . power."

"Shit."

"I'm feeling pretty damn good, myself," Verne said. He touched the bite
on his neck. "I've never let a vampire do me before. If it feels that
good, maybe I've been missing out."

"Better," Nathaniel said. "It can feel much better than that."

"It wasn't vampire," Richard said, "it was power. Verne's power, mine,
Anita's, and Jean-Claude's."

"Sort of a preternatural suicide cocktail," I said and giggled. I lay on
the floor, hiding my face behind my hands and fighting an urge to roll
in the afterglow. I wanted to take the feeling and wrap it around my
body like a blanket. And down the long, glowing warmth, I felt a
darkness. I felt Jean-Claude like a black hole sucking in all our
warmth, all our life. And in that moment, I knew two things. One, that
he'd known when Richard and I made love. That he'd felt it. Two, that as
he ate from our lives, we ate of his darkness. We drank that still, cold
death as surely as he tasted the sun-warmed flesh and pulse of our
bodies. And we all drew power from it. The light and the dark. The cold
and the hot. Life and death. As the marks drew us closer, the lines
between life and death would blur. I felt Jean-Claude's heartbeat
earlier than it had ever beat in over four hundred years. I felt his
gladness, his joy in it. At that moment, I hated him.

Chapter 31
----------

Two hours later, Richard, Shang-Da, and I were tramping through the
woods in search of biologists and trolls. We had until dark to get out
of town, and since we really weren't getting out of town, we might as
well continue with our original plans. We left everyone else behind
scurrying like ants, packing, packing, packing. We would pack and leave.
In fact, we were supposed to call the sheriff when we were ready to
leave. Wilkes had kindly offered us an escort out of town--before dark.
After dark, I think the offer was a bullet and a hole somewhere.

I followed Richard through the woods. He moved among the trees like he
could see the openings or as if, as he moved forward, the trees moved
around him. I knew that wasn't true. I'd have felt the presence of that
much preternatural energy, but Richard made it look easy. It wasn't
being a werewolf. It was being Mr. Outdoorsman. His hiking boots were
nicely broken in. His T-shirt was blue green with a picture of a sea
cow, a manatee, swimming on front and back. I had the identical T-shirt
at home, a gift from Richard. He'd been disappointed that I hadn't
packed mine. Even if I had, I wouldn't have worn it. I wasn't much into
the Bobbsey Twin look for couples. Besides, I was still angry with him
in a vague sort of way. I should not have been the only one of the three
of us who didn't know what it would mean for Richard and me to have sex.
I should have been told that it would bind us all closer.

Of course, it was hard to be mad at him when the T-shirt clung to his
body like a thin, second skin. His thick hair was tied back in a loose
ponytail. Every time he passed through a bar of sunlight, his hair
glowed with streaks of copper and gold. It was hard to be angry when the
sight of him made my chest tight.

Richard moved smoothly ahead of us. I followed in my Nikes, not doing
too bad a job. I'm okay in the woods. Not as good as Richard, but not
bad.

Shang-Da, on the other hand, was not a woodsman. He moved through the
woods almost daintily, as if afraid of stepping in something. His black
dress slacks and fresh white shirt seemed to catch on things that didn't
bother either Richard or me. Shang-Da's shoes had started the trip black
and polished to a fine sheen. They didn't stay that way. Dress shoes,
even men's dress shoes, aren't meant for walking in the woods. I'd never
met a city werewolf before, but no amount of physical grace made up for
his total lack of familiarity with the out-of-doors.

There was a breeze today. The trees rustled and hushed with the wind. It
was a cool sound high up in the trees, but the wind never came near the
ground. We moved through a world of green heat and solid brown tree
trunks. Sunlight glittered on the leaves, hitting the ground in shining
yellow patches before we moved into heavier shade. The shade was a few
degrees cooler but still heavy with heat. It was almost dead-up noon,
and even the insects had fallen quiet with the heat.

Richard stopped just ahead of us. "Do you hear that?" he asked softly.

Shang-Da said, "Someone crying. A woman."

I didn't hear a damn thing.

Richard nodded. "Maybe a woman." He eased through the trees in a
movement that was almost a run. Crouched, hands almost touching the
ground. His power spilled back from him like the bubbling wake of a
ship.

I followed him. I tried to look where I was going, but I stumbled and
fell. Shang-Da helped me to my feet. I jerked away from him and ran. I
stopped looking at my feet or the trees. I stared only at Richard's
back, his body. I mimicked his movements, trusting that if he could make
the openings, so could I. I leaped over logs that I didn't see until he
moved over them. It was almost hypnotic. The world narrowed down to his
body speeding through the trees. Again and again I almost careened into
trees, pushing my body to move too fast. I was moving faster than my
mind could work. If Richard had jumped off a cliff, I'd have followed,
because I was just moving. It was like I'd given up everything to my
body. I was just muscles working, legs running. The world was a blur of
green and light and shade and Richard's body sliding at a run through
the trees.

He stopped like a switch had been thrown. One minute running, the next
stopped, no in between. But I didn't bump into him. I was stopped, too.
It was like a part of my brain I couldn't access had known he would
stop.

Shang-Da was at my back. He stepped close enough for me to smell his
faint, expensive aftershave. He whispered, "How did you do that, human?"

I glanced at him. "What?"

"Run."

I knew that run meant more to the lukoi than the word said. I stood
there, covered in a light dew of sweat, barely breathing hard, and knew
that something had happened that hadn't before. Richard and I had tried
to jog together before, and it hadn't worked. He was two inches shy of
being an entire foot taller than me. A lot of that was leg. His speed
for jogging was running to me, and even then, I couldn't keep up with
him. Add the fact that he was a lycanthrope, and, well, he was too fast
for me. The only other time I'd kept up with him had been with him
holding my hand, with him pulling me along with the marks and his power.

I turned to look at Shang-Da. There must have been something on my face,
some soft astonishment, because his expression softened to something
almost like pity.

Richard moved away from us, and we both turned back to follow his
progress. As my pulse slowed, I could hear what they had heard ages ago:
crying--though that was too soft a word for it. Someone was sobbing as
if their heart were breaking.

Richard moved toward the sound, and we followed him. There was a huge
sycamore in the middle of a clearing. On the other side of the tree's
large, (patchy) trunk, a woman huddled. She had squeezed herself down
into a small, tight ball, her arms hugging her knees. Her face was
thrown up to the sparkling sunlight, eyes squeezed shut, blind.

She had brunette hair so dark it could have passed for black, cut very
short. She was white with a fringe of dark lashes pasted to her pale
cheeks. Her face was small and triangular, but beyond that I couldn't
describe it. Her face was ravished with tears, eyes swollen, skin
reddened. She was small, dressed in heavy khaki shorts, thick socks,
hiking boots, and a T-shirt.

Richard knelt in the leaves beside her. He touched her arm before he
said anything, and she screamed, eyes flying wide. There was a moment of
utter panic on her face, then she threw herself against his chest,
wrapped her arms around him, and fell into a fresh bout of sobbing.

He stroked her hair, murmuring, "Carrie, Carrie, it's all right. It's
all right."

Carrie. Could it be Dr. Carrie Onslow? It seemed likely. But what was
the head biologist on the troll project doing having hysterics in the
woods?

Richard had slid completely down into the leaves. He'd pulled her into
his lap like she was a child. It was hard to judge, but she seemed tiny,
smaller than I was.

The crying eased. She lay cuddled in his lap, held in his arms. They'd
dated. I tried to feel jealous, but I couldn't manage it. Her distress
was too extreme.

Richard stroked the side of her face. "What's wrong, Carrie? What's
happened?"

She took a deep breath that shuddered as it escaped her lips, then she
nodded and blinked up at Shang-Da and me.

"Shang-Da." Her eyes turned to me. She seemed embarrassed that we'd seen
her lose control. "I don't know you."

"Anita Blake," I said.

Her cheek rested against Richard's chest, so all she had to do was roll
her eyes upward to look at him. "You're his Anita?" She made it a
question.

He looked up at me. "When we're not mad at each other, yes."

I watched her rebuild herself, gathering her personality back around her
like layering clothes against winter weather. Her eyes filled while I
watched until her face burned with intelligence, with a force,
commitment, a determination that shone so fiercely it seemed to thrum
through her skin. I watched her and knew instantly why Richard had dated
her. Staring down at her, I was glad she was human, glad he wouldn't be
having sex with her. Because just a few moments in her presence, and I
knew that this one, this one could be trouble. That was the real danger
with not being monogamous. It wasn't really the sex, though that bugged
me a lot. It was the fact that it meant the other person wasn't
satisfied, that they were still looking. If you're still looking,
sometimes you find it, whatever it is.

I didn't like staring down at this woman who was obviously in pain and
thinking about my own problems. I didn't like the fact that I was a
little afraid of her. I mean, I was human, and he'd had sex with me. I
hated that this was what I was thinking before anything. Hated it a lot.

She started to push away from Richard's arms.

I said, "Don't move on my account." It came out dry and sarcastic. Good,
better than wounded and confused.

Richard looked up at me. I couldn't read his expression, and I made sure
mine was pleasant and gave him nothing.

Dr. Carne Onslow glanced up at Richard, frowned, then finished pushing
away. She slid out of his lap to lean against the tree trunk. Small
frown lines had formed between her eyes, and she kept glancing from
Richard to me, as if she were confused and didn't like it.

"What's happened, Carrie?" Richard asked again.

"We went out today just before dawn, as usual." She stopped talking,
staring at her lap, then took a deep, shaking breath. Three breaths and
she seemed better. "We found a body."

"Another hiker?" I asked.

Her eyes flicked to me, then back to her lap, as if she didn't want any
eye contact for the story. "Maybe, it was impossible to tell. It was a
woman, beyond that . . ." Her voice failed her. She looked up at us,
small eyes shimmering with fresh tears. "I have never seen anything so
horrible in my life. The local police are saying that our trolls did it.
That this is proof that that hiker was a troll kill."

"Lesser Smokey Mountain trolls don't hunt and kill humans," I said.

She looked at me. "Well, something did. The state police wanted my
expert opinion on what could have done it if it wasn't trolls." She
buried her face in her hands, then raised her face like someone coming
out of deep water. "I looked at the bites. They were made by something
with a primate jaw structure."

"Human?" I offered.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so. I don't think a
human mouth could do that kind of damage." She hugged herself, shivering
in the heat. "They'll use this to try and call in some bounty hunters
and kill our trolls, if they can prove that the trolls did this. I don't
see how we can stop them from either killing them all or shipping them
to zoos."

"Our trolls did not kill a human being," Richard said. He touched her
shoulder when he said it.

"Something did, Richard. Something that wasn't a wolf or a bear or any
large predator that I've ever seen."

"Did you say that the state cops are on site?" I asked.

She looked up at me. "Yes."

"Did you call them?"

She shook her head. "They arrived shortly after the local police."

I'd have loved to know who called them, though if the local cops
suspected it was either a homicide or a preternatural kill, it was
standard op for them to call either the staties or the local vampire
hunter, though admittedly only if they thought the kill was some form of
undead.

"Was the body found near a cemetery?" I asked.

Dr. Onslow shook her head.

"Why?" Richard asked.

"It could have been ghouls. They're cowards, but if she'd fallen and
knocked herself unconscious, ghouls would have fed on her. They are
active scavengers."

"What's that mean?" Dr. Onslow asked. "Active scavenger?"

"It means if you're wounded and reduced to crawling, you don't want to
be in a ghoul-infested cemetery."

She stared up at me, then finally shook her head. "No graves. Just in
the middle of our land. In the middle of the trolls' territory."

I nodded. "I need to go see the body."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Richard asked. He kept his voice as
neutral as he could.

"They're expecting her," Dr. Onslow said.

It surprised us all. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"The state police found out you're in the area. Evidently, your
reputation is good enough that they wanted you to see the body. They
were trying to reach you at your cabin when I left."

How convenient. How weird. Who had called the staties? Who had put my
name in front of them? Who, who, who?

"I'll go look at the body then."

"Take Shang-Da with you," Richard said.

I looked up at the tall man's face. The claw marks were still red and
sort of gruesome looking on his face. I shook my head. "I don't think
so."

"I don't want you going alone," Richard said.

Funny how he wasn't offering to come with me himself. He was going to
stay here and comfort Dr. Onslow. Fine. I was a big girl.

"I'll be okay, Richard. You stay here with the good doctor and
Shang-Da."

Richard stood. "You're being childish."

I rolled my eyes and motioned him over away from Dr. Onslow. When I was
sure she couldn't overhear us, I said, "Look at Shang-Da's face."

He didn't glance back. He knew what it looked like. "What about it?"

I stared up at him. "Richard, you should know as well as I do that if
you have someone eaten to death by a mysterious critter, werewolves are
always top of the hit list to blame."

"They try to blame a lot of things on us," he said.

"So far, Wilkes and his men don't know what you are. If we show up with
Shang-Da cut up like this and then he turns up healed, they'll figure it
out. With a body on the ground, you don't want them to figure it out."

"Shang-Da won't be healed by nightfall," Richard said.

"But he'll be more healed than he is right now. It isn't human to heal
that fast. If Wilkes finds out that we haven't really left town, he'll
use everything he has. He'll out you or charge you with this crime."

"What could have killed this woman?"

"Won't know until I see the body."

"I don't want you going there alone. I'll go with you."

"The police don't like it when you bring your civvie boyfriends to crime
scenes, Richard. Stay here; comfort Dr. Onslow."

He frowned at me.

"I'm not being catty, Richard." I smiled. "All right, not very catty.
She's shook. Hold her hand. I'll be okay."

He touched my face gently. "You don't need much hand-holding, do you?"

I sighed. "One night with you and I nearly eat Verne's neck. One night,
and I just ran through the woods like . . . like a werewolf. Just one
lovemaking session, and you say you knew it was a possibility. You
should have at least tried to tell me last night, Richard."

He nodded. "You're right, I should have. I don't have any excuse good
enough. I'm sorry, Anita."

Staring up into his so-sincere face, it was hard to be angry. But it
wasn't hard to be distrustful. Maybe Richard had been learning more from
Jean-Claude than just how to control the marks. Maybe lying by omission
was contagious.

"I need to go see a body, Richard."

Dr. Onslow pointed me in the right direction. I started off through the
woods. Richard caught up with me. "I'll walk you."

"I'm armed, Richard. I'll be okay."

"I want to go with you."

I stopped and turned and stared up at him. "I don't want you with me.
Right this moment, I need you to be somewhere else."

"I didn't mean to hide things from you. Everything happened so fast last
night. I just didn't have time. I didn't think."

"Tell it to someone who cares, Richard. Tell it to someone who cares." I
walked away into the trees, and he stayed where I'd left him. I felt him
watch me as I moved through the trees. I could feel the weight of his
gaze like a hand on my back. If I looked back, would he be waving? I
didn't look back. I loved Richard. He loved me. I was sure of those two
things. The one thing I wasn't sure of was whether that love would be
enough. If he slept with other women, it wouldn't be. Fair or not, I
wouldn't survive it.

Richard said he hadn't asked me to give up Jean-Claude. He hadn't. But
as long as I shared my bed with Jean-Claude, Richard would sleep with
other women. As long as I wasn't monogamous, he wouldn't be, either. He
hadn't asked me to give up Jean-Claude. He'd just made sure that I
wasn't going to be happy in either bed. I could have them both as long
as Richard slept around. I could have Richard all to myself, as long as
I gave up Jean-Claude. I wasn't ready to make the second choice, and I
couldn't live with the first. Unless there were a third choice, we were
in trouble.

Chapter 32
----------

The murder scene was in the middle of the woods. Five miles from the
nearest road good enough to take even a four-wheeler, according to Dr.
Onslow. It was a great place for trolls, but not for conducting a police
investigation. They were going to have to hike everything in, and when
the time came, hike the body out. Not pleasant, not fast.

One good thing about the isolated location was no gawkers. I'd been to a
lot of murder scenes, but the only ones without an audience were either
at really odd hours or in the middle of nowhere. The odd hours weren't
enough if there were people nearby. People would climb out of their beds
before dawn to see a corpse.

Even without the civvies, there was a crowd. I spotted the uniforms of
Wilkes and one of his men. I was really looking forward to seeing them
again today. The state troopers were thick on the ground along with some
plainclothes state detectives. I didn't have to be introduced to them to
know they were cops. They moved around the scene with little plastic
gloves on, squatting on the balls of their feet rather than kneeling on
the evidence.

Yellow crime scene tape wrapped around it all like a ribbon on a
package. There was no uniform on this side of the tape because no one
expected company from the direction opposite the road. I was wearing the
Browning and the Firestar and the knife down my spine, so I dug out my
license and held it aloft as I ducked under the tape. Eventually,
someone would see me and some uniform would get yelled at for letting me
cross the perimeter without being spotted.

A state trooper spotted me before I'd come down the hill very far.
They'd made a wide circle of tape, and he'd been standing near the upper
edge of it. He had brown hair and dark eyes and a sprinkling of freckles
across his pale cheeks. He walked towards me, hand out, "I'm sorry,
miss, but you can't be in here."

I waggled the license at him. "I'm Anita Blake. I heard you guys were
looking for me. Something about a body you want me to take a peek at."

"A peek," he said. "You want to take a peek at the body." He said it
sort of soft, not like he was teasing me. His dark eyes stared past me
for a second, then he seemed to remember where he was. He held his hand
out for my license.

I let him take it, look at it, read it twice. He handed it back to me.
He looked down the hill to the knot of people. He pointed. "The short
man in the black suit, blond hair, that's Captain Henderson. He's in
charge."

I just looked at him. He should have taken me to the man in charge. No
way would a cop who didn't know me let me walk a crime scene
unaccompanied. Vampire executioners aren't civilians, but most of us
aren't detectives, either. I'm one of the very few who deals so
intimately with the police. In Saint Louis where most of the cops knew
me by reputation or on sight, I could see it. But here, where no one
knew me, no way.

I read the trooper's nameplate. "Michaels, is it?"

He nodded, and again his eyes weren't looking at me. He wasn't acting
like a cop. He was acting scared. Cops don't spook easily. Give them a
few years on the job, and they perfect jaded indifference: been there,
done that, wasn't impressed, didn't bother to get a T-shirt. Michaels
had sergeant bars on his uniform. You didn't get sergeant stripes in the
state troopers by getting shook at every crime scene.

"Sergeant Michaels," he said. "Is there something I can do for you, Ms.
Blake?" He seemed to be rebuilding himself before my eyes. It reminded
me of the way Dr. Carne Onslow had recovered. His eyes lost that vague,
glassy look. He looked at me straight on, but there was still a
tightness around his eyes, almost like something hurt. What the hell was
down at the bottom of this hill? What could make a seasoned cop look
like this?

"Nothing, Sergeant, nothing. Thanks." I kept my license out because I
was almost sure to be stopped again without a police escort. A woman was
throwing up by a small pine tree. She and the man holding her forehead
wore Emergency Medical Services uniforms. It's a bad sign when the EMS
techs are throwing up. A very bad sign.

It was Maiden who stopped me. We stood there for a second or two just
looking at each other. I was standing uphill, looking down at him.

"Ms. Blake," he said.

"Maiden," I said. I left off the officer on purpose, because as far as I
was concerned, he wasn't an officer. He'd stopped being a cop when he
became a bad guy.

He gave a small, odd, smile. "I'll take you through to Captain
Henderson. He's in charge."

"Fine."

"You might want to prepare yourself, Blake. It's . . . bad."

"I'll be all right," I said.

He shook his head, looked at the ground. When he looked back up, his
eyes were empty, cold cop eyes. "Maybe you will, Blake, maybe you will.
But I won't be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who the hell is she?" It was Captain Henderson. He'd spotted us. He
came up the hillside in his dress shoes, sliding just a bit. But he was
determined and knew how to walk in the leaves even in the wrong shoes.
He was about five-eight. with short, blond hair. He had odd eyes that
changed color as he moved through the dappled sunlight. One moment pale
green, the next grey. He came up to stand between the two of us. He
looked at Maiden. "Who is this, and why is she inside my perimeter?"

"Anita Blake, Captain Henderson," Maiden said.

He looked straight at me, and his eyes were cool and grey with swirling
flecks of green. He was handsome in a clean-cut, ordinary sort of way.
He might have been more than that, but there was a harshness to his
face, a sourness, that robbed him of something likeable and pleasant.

No matter how funky the eye color when he looked at me, the eyes were
distant, judging, cop eyes. "So you're Anita Blake?" His voice was
almost angry.

I nodded. "Yes." I didn't let the anger get to me. He wasn't angry at
me. Something was wrong. Something beyond the crime itself. I wondered
what.

He looked me up and down, not sexual, but as if he were taking my
measure. I was used to that, though it was usually a little less
blatant. "How strong's your stomach, Blake?"

I raised eyebrows at that, then smiled.

"What in the hell is funny?" Henderson said.

"Look, I know it's bad. I just left your sergeant at the top of the hill
so spooked he wouldn't come near it a second time. Maiden here's already
told me it's awful. Just take me to the body."

Henderson stepped up, invading the hell out of my personal space. "You
that confident that you can take it, Blake?"

I sighed. "No."

The no seemed to take some of the anger away. He blinked and took a step
back. "No?" he said.

"I don't know if I can take it, Captain Henderson. There's always the
chance that the next horror will be something so awful, I'll never
recover. Something that stains my mind and sends me screaming. But so
far, so good. So, take me to see the grisly remains. The foreplay is
getting tiresome."

I watched the emotions play over his face: amusement, then anger, but
finally, amusement won. Lucky me. "The grisly remains. Are you sure
you're not a reporter?"

That made me smile. "I'm guilty of a lot of sins, but that's not one of
them."

That made him smile. When he smiled, he looked ten years younger and was
more than just ordinarily handsome. "Okay, Ms. Blake, follow me. I'll
take you to see the grisly remains." He laughed soft, low, and deeper
than his speaking voice, as if when he sang he might be a bass. "I hope
you're as amusing after you've seen the show, Ms. Blake."

"Me, too," I said.

He gave me a strange look, then led the way down the hill. I followed
because it was my job. An hour ago, I'd have said the day couldn't get
much worse. I had a sinking feeling it was about to get worse--much
worse.

Chapter 33
----------

The body lay in a small clearing. I knew it was human because they told
me it was. It wasn't that the body didn't look human, exactly. The shape
was there enough that I could tell it was lying on its back. It was more
that my mind refused to acknowledge that this could have been a human
being. My eyes saw it, but my mind kept refusing to put the pieces
together, so it was like looking at one of those pictures where you
stare and stare until the hidden shapes spin out in 3-D relief. It
looked as if there had been an explosion of blood and flesh, and the
body had been at the center of it. Dried blood spread out from the body
in every direction, as if when the body were moved there'd be a
body-shaped clean spot, like an ink blot.

I could see all that, but still my eyes couldn't make sense of it. My
mind was trying to protect me. It had happened before--once or twice.
The smart thing would be to turn and walk away. Let my mind have its
confusion because the truth was going to be one of those mind-blasting
moments. I'd jokingly told Henderson at the top of the hill that some
things stain the mind. It wasn't funny now.

I forced myself to look at it, forced myself not to look away, but the
summer heat wavered around me in a sickening rush. I wanted to cover my
eyes with my hands, but I settled for turning away. Covering my eyes
would look silly and childish, like blotting out the worst of a horror
movie.

Henderson turned when I did. If I wasn't going to look at the body, then
he wouldn't, either. "You okay?"

The world stopped spinning like a ball that had slid to a stop. "I will
be." My voice sounded breathy.

"Good," he said.

We stood that way for a few seconds more, then I took a shallow breath.
I knew better than to take a deep one this close to the body. I had to
do this. Trolls didn't do this. No natural animal did this. I turned
slowly around to face the body. It hadn't gotten any better.

Henderson turned with me. He was the man in charge. He could take it if
I could. I wasn't sure I could, but since I was out of other choices . .
.

I'd borrowed surgical gloves. Someone had offered me heavier plastic
gloves to go over. AIDS, you know. I declined. One, my hands would
sweat. Two, if I had to feel the body for clues, I wouldn't be able to
feel shit. Three, with three vampire marks on me, I didn't sweat AIDS
anymore. I was free from blood-borne disease, so I'd been told. I
believed Jean-Claude on this one because he wouldn't want to lose me. I
was a third of his triumvirate. He wanted me safe. In the back of my
head a voice said, He loves you. The voice in the front of my head said,
Yeah right.

"Can I track up the blood pattern?" I asked.

"You can't get close to the body unless you step in the blood,"
Henderson said.

I nodded. "True. So you've videotaped it, gotten all your pictures?"

"We know how to do our job, Ms. Blake."

"I'm not questioning that, Captain. I need to know if I can move the
body around, that's all. I don't want to fuck up the evidence."

"When you're done with it, we'll be bagging it up."

I nodded. "Okay." I stared down at the body and suddenly could see it.
All of it. I hugged my arms across my stomach to keep my hands from
covering my eyes. The nose had been bitten off so that it was just a
bloody hole. The lips were torn away until teeth and the bones of the
jaw were visible under the drying blood. The muscles of the jaw were
missing on the side facing me. Whatever had done this hadn't just taken
a quick bite. It had sat down and fed.

So many bites, so much missing flesh, but most of it too shallow to
kill. I said a short prayer that most of the bites were postmortem. Even
as I prayed, I was pretty sure I wouldn't get a good answer; there was
too much blood. She'd been alive through most of it. Intestines spilled
out of the ripped jeans in a dried nest covered in thicker things than
blood. The outhouse smell of her lower intestines being ripped would
have faded by now. One smell dies, but there's always another. Her body
had started to ripen in the summer heat. It is a smell that is hard to
describe, both overwhelmingly sweet and bitter enough to gag. I took
shallow breaths and stepped onto the dried splatter.

Something moved through me like a phantom blow. The hair on the back of
my neck tried to crawl down my spine. That part of my brain that had
nothing to do with cars or indoor plumbing and everything to do with
running and screaming and not thinking at all, was whispering now. It
was whispering that something was wrong. Something evil had been
here--not just dangerous, evil.

I waited to see if the feeling would grow stronger, but it faded. It
faded like a bad memory, which probably meant I'd walked through the
edge of some kind of spell--or rather, the remnants of one, a nasty one.

You didn't call something this evil without a circle of protection
either for the sorcerer to stand in or for the beastie to be put inside
of. I searched the ground, but there was nothing but blood. The blood
didn't form a circle of protection. It was just splatter, mess, no
pattern.

I should have known there wouldn't be anything that obvious. The police
aren't practitioners of the arts, though that is beginning to change,
but you can't be a cop long and not look for signs of magic when the
shit is this strange.

The scene looked undisturbed, but that didn't mean it was undisturbed.
If someone were really good at magic, they could make you not see
something. Not true invisibility. Humans don't do that. Physics is
physics. Light hits a solid object and bounces. But they can make the
eye reluctant to see, so that you keep looking past something and your
mind doesn't register it. Like looking for a set of car keys that is
sitting in plain sight, lost for two days.

I squatted beside the body. I didn't have the coveralls I usually wore
at murder scenes and didn't want the blood to soak into my jeans. I was
still hugging myself. There were things here that someone didn't want us
to see. But what?

Henderson called, "We found the wallet. Do you want the ID?"

"No," I said. "No." I wasn't being clever. I just didn't want a name, an
identity for the thing at my feet. I'd done the trick of turning the
body into an it. It wasn't real. It was just something to be studied,
examined. It had never been real. To think anything else at that moment
would have had me vomiting all over the evidence. I'd done that only
once, years ago. Dolph and the gang had never let me live it down.

The eyes had been clawed out and left to dry into blackened lumps on the
cheeks. Long hair was plastered along the side of the face, stuck to one
shoulder. Maybe blond hair from the color. But it was hard to tell with
all the soaked blood. The long hair made me think female. My eyes
traveled down and found the remains of clothing. The blouse had been
reduced to a lump of cloth under one arm. The chest was bare. One breast
torn completely off. The other deflated like a balloon as if something
had eaten the flesh out of the middle, like a kid sucking the jelly out
of a donut.

It was an unfortunate choice of metaphors, even in my own head. I had to
stand up. I had to walk away, blowing air out very fast and too shallow.
I went to stand beside one of the trees that edged the clearing. I had
to take deep breaths, but that meant the odor went down strong. That
sweet, sweet smell slid along my tongue and coated the back of my throat
until I couldn't stand the thought of swallowing but didn't know what
else to do. I swallowed, and the smell slid down, and my morning coffee
inched up.

I had two comforts. One, I'd managed to get outside the blood pattern to
vomit. Two, I didn't have much in my stomach to come up. Maybe this was
one reason that I've stopped eating breakfast. I get a lot of
early-morning body viewing.

I knelt in the dry leaves and felt better. I hadn't thrown up at a crime
scene in a long time. At least Zerbrowski wasn't here to rib me about
it. I wasn't even embarrassed. Was that a sign of maturity?

Male voices behind me. Sheriff Wilkes saying, almost yelling, "She's
just a civvie. She shouldn't be here. She isn't even licensed for this
state."

"I'm in charge here, Sheriff. I say who stays and who goes." Henderson
wasn't yelling, but his voice carried.

I grabbed the tree trunk to help me stand, and my arm tingled so hard it
almost went numb. I stood, pushing away from the tree, nearly falling,
but I kept my feet. I looked up the smooth trunk. About eight feet up
was a pentagram carved into the bark of the tree. The cut had been
darkened with blood. With the dried blood rubbed into it, it was almost
invisible against the dark grey bark, but there was also a spell of
reluctance on it. So that no one had looked, not even me. Only when I
touched the tree did I sense it. Like all illusion, once you see it, you
know it's there.

I looked at the other trees and found a bloody pentagram carved into
each one. It was a circle of power, of protection. A circle formed of
blood and the land itself. Wiccans--witches--can use their power for
evil if they're willing to pay the price in karma. Whatever you do, good
or ill, comes back to you threefold. But even a wiccan gone bad wouldn't
carve up a tree. Had the trees, the land, themselves, been invoked? That
might mean an elemental. They could be nasty. But they didn't feel evil.
They felt angry if you messed with their land, but they weren't evil,
more angry-neutral. I'd gotten that whiff of evil as I passed through
the circle. Evil with a capital E. There just aren't that many
preternatural critters that trip that particular wire.

"Captain Henderson," I said. I had to say it twice before they stopped
arguing and looked at me.

They both looked at me. Neither looked friendly, but at least I knew who
they were mad at: each other. Local cops don't like anybody horning in
on their turf. It was normal for the local police to resent outsiders.
But I knew that Wilkes had more to protect than his turf. He must be
frantic having real cops here now. But now wasn't the time to spill the
beans. I had no proof. Accusing a policeman of corruption tends to upset
the other cops.

"Did you see the pentagrams on the trees?"

The question was strange enough that they both stopped being angry and
paid attention. I pointed the pentagrams out, and like all good
illusion, once I showed them, they could see it. The emperor has no
clothes.

"So?" Wilkes said.

"So, this was a circle of protection, of power. Something was called
here to kill her."

"The marks on the trees could have been here for days," Wilkes said.

"Test the blood on the pentagrams," I said. "It won't be hers, but it
will be fresh."

"Why isn't it the victim's?" Henderson asked.

"Because they used the blood to seal the circle. They had to have the
blood before the death."

"It was a human sacrifice then," Henderson said.

"Not exactly," I said.

"This was a troll kill," Wilkes said. He didn't sound sure; he sounded
desperate.

Henderson turned to him. "You keep saying that, Wilkes. You keep saying
it was trolls."

"That biologist herself said it looked like primates. It sure as hell
wasn't a person. There aren't that many primates running around the
Tennessee hills."

"She said humanoid," I said.

They both looked at me again.

"Dr. Onslow said humanoid. A lot of people assume humanoid means
primate, but there are other options."

"Like what?" Wilkes said. His beeper went off. He checked the number,
then looked at me. "Excuse me, Captain Henderson."

Henderson looked at me. "Do you and the sheriff have some sort of
history, Ms. Blake?"

I frowned. "History? How?"

"He was very certain that you shouldn't be anywhere near this body. He
was also very certain that this was a troll kill. Very certain."

"Who called you guys then?"

"An anonymous tip."

We looked at each other. "Who suggested I get to join the fun?"

"One of the EMS crew. The man's usual partner met you last night."

I shook my head. "I don't know him."

"His regular partner is a girl. Lucy something."

That explained Lucy's medical knowledge, and why she wasn't working on
the day of the full moon. Don't want to be around fresh blood with the
moon almost full. Too tempting. Too chancy.

"I remember her vaguely, I guess." I remembered her more than vaguely,
but the last time I'd seen her was just after I'd murdered someone, so I
was going to be fuzzy on the details. For one awful moment, I wondered
if Henderson had been trying to trick me and the body was really Lucy.
But the height was wrong. The woman had been tall, not my size. Most of
the women that Richard dated were short. I guess if you've got a body
type you like, you stick to it. My choice of victims seemed to be a lot
wider.

"Why did they need a power circle, Ms. Blake?" Henderson asked.

"To keep in what they called."

He frowned at me. "Like you said before, the foreplay is getting
tiresome. Just tell me what the fuck you think it was."

"I think they called a demon."

His eyes widened. "A what?"

"A demon," I said.

Henderson just looked at me. "Why?"

"When I crossed the circle, I got that feeling of evil. No matter how
monstrous the critter, it doesn't feel the same as something dedicated
to evil and no other purpose."

"You see many demons while you're out slaying vampires, Ms. Blake?"

"Once, Captain, just once. It was . . ." I stepped out of the circle of
power, and I felt better. They'd done their best to hide the traces, but
things like this have a tendency to cling. "I was called into a case
that they thought was a vampire, but it was demonic possession. The
woman . . ." I stopped again because I didn't have words for it, or no
words that wouldn't seem silly, melodramatic. I tried to tell the story
by sticking to the facts. Me and Sergeant Friday.

"The woman had been an ordinary housewife, mother of two. She'd been a
diagnosed schizophrenic, Captain. Her particular brand of craziness was
almost a multiple personality disorder, but not that clear-cut. She was
like the little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead. When she
was good, she was very, very good. A model churchgoer, teacher of Sunday
school. She canned her own vegetables, sewed doll clothes for her girls.
But when she was bad, she slept around, abused the kids, hung the family
dog from a tree."

Henderson raised an eyebrow at that. For a cop, it was pure shock. "Why
wasn't she in a hospital?"

"Because when she took her medicine, she was the good mother, the good
wife. I talked to her when she was 'well,' and she was a very nice
person. I saw why the husband tried to hold on to her. It was tragic in
the true sense of the word that her own brain chemistry was destroying
her life."

"It's sad, but it's not demonic," Henderson said.

"Neighborhood pets were vanishing, showing up drained of blood. I traced
it to the woman. Her history of mental illness had raised flags with the
cops. So far, just sad, right." I stared off up the hill at the cops and
the techs and everyone. They were not looking down the hill. No one
wanted to hang around this one. Even if you aren't truly sensitive to
the psychic, we all have survival instincts that work better than we do.
Everyone would be reluctant on this one, and they wouldn't know why.

"You still with me, Blake?" Henderson asked.

"Sorry. The night we arrested her, two uniforms had had to drag her out
of another man's bed, handcuffed. They didn't have another female on
site that night, so I rode in back with her. She was loud and
boisterous, flirting with the men, being snotty with me. I don't even
remember what I said, but I remember the look on her face when she
turned to me. We're riding in this dark police car, and as she turns her
head to look at me, the hair on my body stood up. There were no glowing
eyes, no smell of sulfur, Captain Henderson, but I felt evil rise off of
her like some disturbing perfume." I looked at him, and he was
scrutinizing my face like he was trying to memorize it. "I don't scare
easy, Captain, but for that instant, I was scared. Scared of her, and it
showed on my face, and she laughed, and the moment was gone."

"What did you do?"

"I recommended they do an exorcism."

"Did they?" he asked.

"Not the police, but her husband signed the papers for it."

"And?" Henderson said.

"And it worked. If she stays on her medication, the mental illness is
under control. The possession didn't cause the schizophrenia."

Henderson nodded. "We all get the lecture in training that mental
illness can open a person up to demonic possession, Ms. Blake. It's like
PCP but weirder."

"Yeah," I said. "PCP doesn't cause people to levitate."

He frowned at me. "Did you witness the exorcism?"

I shook my head. "I won't talk about it. I especially won't talk about
it here and now. Words have power, Captain. Memories have power. I won't
play into it."

He nodded. "Are you positive humans didn't do this?"

I shook my head. "They ate her to death. It ate her to death. A person
might be able to bite your throat out and do some of this damage, but
not all of it."

"If you told me this was a possession, I'd call my chain of command and
start looking for a priest; but Blake, do you know how rare overt
demonic attacks are?"

"Probably better than you do, Captain. I get called in for all sorts of
weird shit."

"Have you ever seen a demon kill a person by straight attack, not
trickery?"

"No."

"Then how can you be so sure?" he asked.

"I told you why I'm sure, Captain. Once you've been in the presence of
the demonic, you don't forget what it feels like." I shook my head and
fought the urge to take another step away from the body.

"But I'm not an expert on demons, Captain Henderson. I suggest you
contact a priest. I'm also not an expert on this kind of magic. Call a
local witch to look it over. They may be able to give you more
information. The best I can do is general stuff."

"Could you have called a demon and made it kill her?"

I frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Just answer the question, Ms. Blake."

"I raise the dead, Captain. I don't do demons."

"A lot of people don't see that big a difference between the two."

"Great, just great. You call me down here. I tell you it's black magic,
and now you're going to blame me. I don't feel like being the toasty end
of a witch hunt, Captain Henderson."

He smiled. "Just answer the question. Could you do it?"

"No, I could not do this. Trafficking with the demonic taints the soul.
I may not be a perfect Christian, but I am trying."

"Fucking vampires taints the soul, too, Blake."

I stared up at him. I looked at him for several long seconds, because
what I wanted to do was hit him or scream at him. No, hit him. But I
couldn't do that. I settled for one of those smiles you get sometimes
when what you really want to do is hurt someone.

"Fine, Captain, fine. This was powerful magic, and I have a reputation
for powerful magic. It's not your fault that you don't understand the
vast difference between the two schools of magic. Lack of education,
can't hold that against you." My voice said plainly that I wanted to.
"But if I were going to kill someone, I'd probably just shoot them. That
would at least put me near the middle of the suspect list, not the top."

"I heard that about you. That you were a shooter."

I looked at him. "Heard from whom?"

"Cops talk to one another, Ms. Blake. If she'd shown up with a bullet in
her head, then I might believe you did it."

"Why would I kill some unknown woman?"

"But she isn't unknown, Ms. Blake." He was watching me very closely.

I glanced back at the body. I looked down the length of it. There was
nothing that I recognized. Of all the women I'd met since I came here,
none were tall enough for the body. Except one.

I turned back to him and felt the blood drain from my face. "Who is it?"

"Betty Schaffer, the woman who accused your lover boy of rape."

The world swam in stripes of color and heat. Someone was holding my
elbow, and only that kept me standing. When my vision cleared, Henderson
had my arm, and Wilkes was back. "Are you all right, Ms. Blake?" Wilkes
asked.

I looked him right in the eyes and didn't know what to say. Betty
Schaffer had been worse than murdered. If the ritual was done right and
the person was in jeopardy, not pure, like being a traitor or a liar or
lecherous, then the soul could be taken with the life. I'd only seen one
body that had been killed in ritual for a demon, and it had been nothing
like this. The sacrifice had been killed with a knife, but the soul had
been taken. And I couldn't raise the body. If a demon was involved with
the death, then the body was just so much clay. I had no power here.

Wilkes couldn't have called a demon. None of his men had the power. Who
could have done it? No one I'd met since I arrived had that kind of
power and that kind of taint.

Before I could think of anything to say, Wilkes spoke first. "You've got
a call. I think you should take it."

He was afraid I'd talk. Trouble was, I didn't have any proof of
anything. Hell, I didn't even know what was going on. What was on this
ordinary looking land that was worth killing over? Why did the trolls
have to be gotten rid of? Was it just so the land could be sold? Or was
there a darker purpose? Someone had called a demon to try to make it
look like a troll kill. I knew why they'd done it, but not who. I even
knew why it was Betty. She'd compromised herself, put herself at risk
for that kind of ceremony.

Movies try to give us shit about needing virgins and purity for
sacrifice, but true evil doesn't want to kill and send purity to heaven.
True evil wants to corrupt good, and once the good are dead, they are
beyond the devil's reach. But the impure, to sacrifice them, to kill
them--well, the devil gets his due.

Wilkes took my arm as if to help me.

"Don't touch me, Wilkes. Don't ever touch me again."

He let his hand fall. Henderson was watching us like he was seeing more
than we were telling. Cops are good about that. Give them anything
suspicious, and they'll put two and two together and make ten to
twenty-five to life.

Wilkes looked at me. "Could it be werewolves?" His voice was quiet.

I couldn't keep the shock off my face. I fought to regain my nice, blank
face, but it was enough. Wilkes knew what Richard was--somehow he
knew--and he'd try to blame Betty's death on Richard. Werewolves were a
good scapegoat, and a lot more fun to believe in than demons.

He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He punched up a number. "She's
right here." He handed the phone to me.

Henderson was watching us like we were entertaining. I took the phone.
The voice on the other end was a man, and I didn't know him.

"I am Franklin Niley, Ms. Blake. I think it is time we meet
face-to-face."

"I don't think so," I said.

"Wilkes told me that you have spoiled our little plan about blaming
those pesky trolls for the death. But it is not too late to blame your
lover. How many people will believe his innocence once they find out he
is a werewolf?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

I had to turn my back on Henderson's alert eyes. His attention was a
little too intense. Wilkes wasn't watching me. He was watching
Henderson. Unfortunately, turning around put me back to staring at the
corpse. I turned to the side and stared off through the trees.

The voice on the phone was cultured, almost too well-mannered for
comfort. "Come, Ms. Blake, let us not play games, the two of us. I know
what Mr. Zeeman is, and once he's accused, a simple blood test in the
jail will prove me right. He'd lose his job, his career, and perhaps be
executed. You have hired an excellent attorney; my congratulations. But
if he is convicted, then it is an automatic death sentence. Juries have
a strong tendency to convict monsters."

"I'm listening."

"Meet me at the diner in town. A public place, so you'll feel safe."

"Why do you want to meet?" My voice was growing progressively lower,
whispering.

"To beg you one last time to leave town, Ms. Blake. I have no wish to
come against you. The spirits say that to come against you is death."

"Spirits?" I whispered.

"Meet me, Ms. Blake. You and Mr. Zeeman. Meet me, and I promise you it
will all be over. You will leave town and all will be well."

"I don't trust you."

"Nor should you," Niley said. He laughed, deep and rich. "But meet me at
the diner, Ms. Blake. I'll answer your questions. I'll tell you why I
want the land. Once my people have made sure you're not wearing a wire,
I'll answer any direct question you have. Surely that tempts you."

"You sound like a man who knows a lot about temptation, Mr. Niley."

He laughed again. "Money tempts many people, Ms. Blake, and I have a
great deal of it."

I'd been walking slowly away from Henderson. "You going to offer me
money?"

"No, Ms. Blake, that is what won a certain officer of the law to my
camp--and his men. I do not think money is the key to your soul."

I didn't like the way he said that. "What do you want, Niley?"

"To talk, that is all. I would swear to you or promise you your safety,
but I do not think you would believe me."

"You got that right."

"Come to me, Ms. Blake. Let us talk. After I have answered your
questions, then you can decide whether to leave or stay. Now, would you
be so kind as to put the sheriff back on the phone?"

I turned back to the waiting men and held up the phone. "He wants to
talk to you again."

Wilkes came for the phone. It was just the two of us by the body when he
tried to take the phone. I held onto it. I leaned in close to him and
said, "Money doesn't spend in hell, Wilkes. The devil deals in a
different coin."

He jerked the phone from my hand and walked away into the trees,
listening to the voice in his ear. The voice that had offered him money
to sell out everything he was or might have been. The motive I
understood least of all for murder or betrayal was greed. But damned if
it wasn't a popular motive for both.

Chapter 34
----------

Richard hadn't said a word since we started the drive to the diner. He'd
pulled the rubber band out of his hair and played with it, stretching it
wide, letting it relax, open, close, open, close. He didn't usually have
nervous habits. It wasn't a good sign. I pulled into the parking lot and
shut off the engine. Richard was sitting in the middle with his long
legs drawn up. He'd wanted me to drive. Something about being more
easily distracted this close to the full moon. Shang-Da sat on the other
side, his face calm. Every time I looked at him, the horrible claw marks
seemed to be smoothing out. By nightfall tomorrow, he'd be clean. It was
impressive, and it would mark him in everyone's eyes who saw him as what
he was: a shapeshifter.

We sat there a moment, listening to the engine tick. "You're not going
to do anything stupid, are you?" I asked Richard.

The rubber band broke with a snap, jumping for the floorboard. "Whatever
makes you think that?"

I touched his arm. He looked at me. His eyes were perfect chocolate
brown, human, but there was something in the depths of those human eyes
that was other. His beast crawled just behind those true, brown orbs.

"Can you sit through this without losing it?" I asked.

"I can."

"Will you?" I asked.

He gave me a tight smile, and I didn't like the look on his face. "If I
let this much anger out in public with the moon overhead, I might shift.
Don't worry, Anita. I know how to deal with my rage." He seemed very
self-contained, as if he'd pulled back into himself, behind walls of
careful construction. But behind those walls was a vibrating, menacing
thing. If Niley's sorcerer were inside, he or she would recognize
something was wrong. Of course, they knew what Richard was, so it was
all right, I guess.

Shang-Da handed Richard a pair of black wraparound shades. He took them
and slipped them on, running his hands through his hair, fluffing it
around his shoulders. Another nervous gesture.

"I've never seen you wear sunglasses," I said.

"It's in case my eyes change," Richard said.

I glanced at Shang-Da and his naked eyes. "What about you?"

"I didn't date the girl. I didn't even like her."

Ah. "Great, let's go."

The men walked at my back like bodyguards. Their energy swirled behind
me like some kind of psychic wall. It made the skin along my back tight
and itchy. I pushed through the glass doors of the diner and stood there
for a moment, searching for Niley.

The diner was a 1950s throwback, long and narrow in front, with a wider
area to one side that looked like a later addition. There was a long
counter with little, round stools. The place was full of locals and
families that matched the out-of-state license plates in the parking
lot.

The waitresses wore pink uniforms and small, useless aprons. A blond
waitress came up to us, smiling. "Richard, Shang-Da, haven't seen you in
here all week. Knew you couldn't stay away from Albert's hash browns."

Richard flashed her that smile of his that has been known to melt women
into little quivering puddles. The fact that he's unaware of the effect
makes it all the more devastating.

Shang-Da nodded at her, which for him was a rousing hello.

"Hi, Aggie," Richard said. "We're meeting someone. Frank Niley."

She frowned, then nodded. "They're over there at the big table around
the corner. You know the way. I'll bring water and menus in just a sec."

Richard led the way through the crowded tables. We went around the
L-shape, and at the end of it, against a bank of windows that overlooked
a very pretty mountian view, was our party.

The African American bodyguard, Milo, was one of three men at the table.
He stood when he saw us. He was still tall, leanly muscled, with
square-cut hair, handsome in a cold sort of way. He had a long coat on,
and it was too hot for long coats.

I grabbed Richard's arm, slowed him. "Please," I said.

Richard stared down at me from behind black lenses, his eyes lost. I'd
never realized how much of his expression was in his eyes. I couldn't
read what he was thinking. With some effort, I might have found out, but
the last thing I wanted to do was activate the marks in front of Niley's
people.

Richard let me walk a little ahead of him. Shang-Da had put a sport
jacket on over the white shirt and black slacks. He'd surprised me by
having a snub-nosed thirty-eight, chrome-plated. It had a paddle holster
and fit at the small of his back without breaking the line of his
jacket. When I'd questioned the gun, he'd said, "These are not
policemen."

The logic was sound, and he'd checked the gun automatically to see it
was loaded. He handled the gun like it was habit. He was the first
lycanthrope I'd ever met who carried and seemed comfy with it.

It was actually nice to not be the only person on our side with a gun.

There were two men still sitting. One was under twenty-five, with curly
brown hair cut short and a wide, almost surprised face. Not Niley. The
other one was well over six feet and must have weighed close to three
hundred pounds. He gave the impression of size without being exactly
fat. His hair was black and receeding sharply in front. He'd done
nothing to hide this fact. Rather, the rest of his hair had been buzzed
very close to his head, making it all the more obvious. The lack of hair
made his face seem too small for his broad shoulders.

The dark pin-striped suit sat over his white shirt, smooth and costly.
He wore a vest but no tie. The wide, white collar showed a curl of
greying chest hair. He smiled as he watched us move through the tables
of tourists and their screaming children.

His eyes were pleasant and empty like an amused snake. He waved large
blunt-fingered hands. Gold rings glittered from every finger. "Ms.
Blake, so good of you to come." He didn't stand for me, which made me
wonder what was in his lap. A sawed-off shotgun, maybe. Or maybe his
overly mannered speech was an affectation, and he didn't know the
actions that went with it. Or maybe he didn't consider me a lady. Maybe.

Shang-Da had moved to one side so that he and Milo were facing each
other. I narrowed my focus to Niley and the younger man. He looked
benign, like he should have been sitting at one of the other tables,
surrounded by normal people doing normal things.

Niley offered me his hand. I took it. His handshake was too quick,
barely touching. "This is Howard."

Howard didn't offer me his hand, which made me offer my hand to him. His
big brown eyes got even bigger. And I realized that Howard was afraid of
me. Interesting.

"Howard doesn't shake hands," Niley said. "He's a rather powerful
clairvoyant. I'm sure you understand."

I nodded. "I've never met a strong clairvoyant that would willingly
touch a stranger. Too much crap to pick up."

Niley nodded, small head bobbing on his wide shoulders. "Exactly, Ms.
Blake, exactly."

I sat down. Richard slid into the chair beside me.

Niley's eyes moved from me to Richard. "Well, Mr. Zeeman, we meet at
last."

Richard stared at him from behind dark glasses. "Why did you kill her?"

The abruptness of it made even me wince.

I must have made some movement, because Richard said, "I didn't come
here to play games."

"Nor did I," Niley said. "If you will accompany me to the men's room, I
will check you for listening devices. Milo will check your bodyguard."

"Shang-Da," Richard said. "His name's Shang-Da."

Niley smiled even more broadly. If his smile kept getting wider, soon
his face would just split open.

"Of course."

"Who gets to search me?" I said. "Howard?"

Niley shook his head. "My other associate is running a little late
today." He stood and there was nothing in his lap. Paranoia. "Shall we,
Mr. Zeeman? May I call you Richard?"

"No," Richard said, voice deep and low, as if he wanted to say more.

I touched his arm as he moved past me. I looked up into his face, trying
to tell him with a look not to do anything stupid.

Niley took Richard's other arm, slipping it through his like you'd walk
arm and arm with your lover. He patted Richard's arm. "My, aren't you a
handsome fellow."

Richard gave me a look as Niley led him away. I'd have given a great
deal to see his eyes at that moment. Usually the bad guys make moves on
me.

Shang-Da moved back so Milo could come out from behind the table. They
moved off together, not touching, the tension between them thick enough
to swing on.

I was left with Howard and my back to the door. I changed chairs,
sitting where Milo had been, so I could see the entrance. It put me
closer to Howard, and he didn't like that much. I smelled a weak link.

"How good are you?" I asked.

"Good enough to be scared of you," he said.

I frowned at him. "I'm not one of the bad guys, Howard."

"I can see your aura," he said in a voice that I could barely hear above
the murmur of voices and silverware.

The waitress came with glasses of water and menus. I assured her the
others were coming back to the table, but I wasn't sure if all of us
were ordering. She left with a smile.

I turned back to Howard. "So you can see my aura. So what?"

"I know how powerful you are, Anita. I can feel it."

"I can't see your aura, Howard. I can feel a little of your power, but
not much. Dazzle me. Show me what you can do."

"Why?"

"Maybe I'm bored."

He licked his lips. "Give me something benign. No weapons, nothing
magic."

That sort of cut down on my options. I finally took the cross around my
neck off and handed it to him. I pooled the chain into his hand. "Don't
touch my skin with your hand," he said.

I let the last of the chain spill into his hand and was careful not to
touch him. He closed his hand over the cross. He didn't close his eyes,
but he wasn't seeing the restaurant. He looked past it all, and I felt
his power ripple over me like a tiny electric current.

"I see a woman, older, your grandmother." He blinked and looked at me.
"She gave you this when you graduated high school."

I nodded. "Impressive." I'd started wearing this particuliar cross just
recently. I valued it, and I'd had a lot of crosses taken from me over
the years. But lately, I'd felt the need of something special.
Grandmother Blake had given it to me with a note that said, "May your
faith be as strong as this chain and as pure as this silver." Lately, I
needed all the purity I could get.

Howard's eyes went past me, staring at something at the end of the room.
His breathing had stopped for just a second, like an inaudible gasp.

I turned to see what had captured his attention so thoroughly. The man
was close to seven feet tall and had to weigh over five hundred pounds.
His face was totally hairless, not just clean shaven. He had no
eyelashes, nothing; smooth and unreal. His eyes were a nearly colorless
grey too small for his large face. He wore a black shirt untucked over
black slacks, black shoes. The skin of his arms and face were
unbelievably white as if the sun never touched him.

The man didn't make my skin creep with power. In fact, he was too empty,
walking towards us, as if he were shielding himself.

I stood up. Partly it was his size. Partly it was the lack of anything
from him, like he wasn't there. I didn't like it when someone worked
that hard to shield themselves. It usually meant they had something to
hide. If this was the sorcerer that had killed Betty, I knew exactly
what he was hiding.

The man stopped in front of us. Howard hugged himself and made
introductions. "Linus, this is Anita Blake. Anita, this is Linus Beck."
Howard's voice was higher than it should have been, like he was scared.
He seemed to be afraid of a lot of people.

Linus Beck smiled down at me. His voice, when it came, was shocking, a
delicate soprano of a voice. "So happy to meet you, Anita. So seldom do
I meet a fellow practitioner of the arts."

"We don't practice the same brand, Linus."

"Are you so sure?" he asked.

"Positive." Even standing, I had to crane my neck upward to see his
face. "Why does Niley need a first-rate clairvoyant and a sorcerer?"

Linus Beck smiled, and it looked genuine. "You know the correct term. I
am pleased."

"Glad to hear it. Now, answer the question."

"When I have checked you for wires, then all will be answered."

I looked at those large, white hands and didn't want him to touch me.
There was almost no hair, even on his arms. It was like a golden down,
like the arm of small child. Something clicked in my head, and I stared
up at him. Maybe it showed on my face. Maybe he read my mind, though I
don't think so.

"My manhood was sacrificed many years ago so I could better serve my
master."

I blinked at him. "You're a eunuch."

He gave a small nod.

I wanted to ask why but didn't. There was no answer that would make
sense, so why bother? "What flavor are you, sociopath, psychopath, or
schizophrenic?"

He blinked small eyes, the smile fading. "Misguided people have told me
I was crazy, Anita. But I did hear voices, my master's voice."

"Yeah, but were the first voices your master or just bad brain
chemistry?"

His frown deepened. "I don't know what you mean."

I sighed. He probably didn't. Sorcerers were people who got their magic
through demonic--or worse--power. They bargained for what they got and
bartered their souls for money, comfort, lust, power. But some were a
version of possession. People weakened by some flaw: mental illness or
even a flaw of character. The right kind of flaws can attract evil.

Niley led the other men back around the corner. He and Richard were not
holding hands anymore. Richard's face was tight and angry. Shang-Da and
Milo's faces gave nothing away as if nothing had happened. Niley looked
happy, pleased with himself. He clapped Linus Beck on the back, and the
eunuch raised the other man's hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Maybe I didn't know as much about eunuchs as I thought I did. I thought
it meant sexless. Maybe I was wrong.

"Linus will search you for wires, then we can talk."

"I don't want him touching me. Nothing personal, Linus."

"You fear my master," he said.

I nodded. "You bet."

"I must insist it be Linus, in case you have some magic or other about
your person that would disturb us."

I frowned at him. "Like what? The holy hand grenade?"

Niley waved the comment away. "Linus must search you, but if you like,
you can have one of your men accompany you."

I didn't like it, but it was probably the best offer we were going to
get. The waitress came to take our order, and I realized I was hungry.
You learn to be able to eat in the midst of disaster and gore, or you
get another line of work. They served breakfast all day. I ordered
pancakes and maple-cured bacon.

Richard looked shocked. "How can you eat?"

"You either learn to eat in the middle of disaster and gore, or you get
another day job, Richard."

"Very practical, Ms. Blake," Niley said.

I looked at him and felt a small, unpleasant smile curve my lips. "Just
of late, Mr. Niley, I've become very, very practical."

"Good," he said, "very good. Then we understand each other."

I shook my head. "No, Mr. Niley, I don't understand you. I know what you
are, and what you'll do, but I don't understand why."

"And what am I, Ms. Blake?"

The smile grew. "A bad guy, Mr. Niley; you're a bad guy."

He nodded. "Yes, I am, Ms. Blake. I am a very, very bad guy."

"Guess that makes us the good guys," I said.

Niley smiled. "I know what I am, Ms. Blake, and I am content with it.
Are you content?"

We looked at each other for a long moment. "My state of mind isn't
really any of your business."

"Answer enough," he said.

"Let's order," I said.

Everyone ordered, finally even Richard. When the waitress walked away,
Linus, Richard, and I headed for the rest room so he could search me for
listening devices and magical booby traps.

I only had one question. "Which bathroom are we going to use?"

Chapter 35
----------

We used the men's room. Linus's hands felt strangely soft as if there
were no muscles under his skin, just bones and flesh. Maybe he'd given
up other things to serve his master. He was creepy, but he was thorough.
He even ran his fingers through my hair, which most people forget to do.
He behaved himself, even when his hands were on delicate areas. He
didn't give Richard any reason to grump at him. Me, either.

We all trooped back out to the table. The food hadn't arrived yet, but
my coffee had. Everything goes down better with coffee.

We were again in the chairs with our backs to the door. If we'd gotten
there first, they'd have had these chairs, so it was hard to bitch.
Linus sat on Niley's right. I realized why we weren't in a booth. Linus
wouldn't have fit.

"You wanted to talk, Niley. Talk." I sipped coffee. It was bitter and
had been on the burner too long, but there's no such thing as
undrinkable coffee. I did hope the food was better.

"I want you to leave town, Anita."

"Wilkes and his men already covered that. We told them we were leaving
by sundown," I said.

"I know what you told the good sheriff," Niley said. He wasn't smiling
now. His eyes were cool, the humor dying from his face like the sun
sinking away, leaving the world to darkness.

"I don't think he believes we're leaving, Richard," I said.

"I don't care what he believes," Richard said.

I glanced at Richard. He was sitting with his arms crossed, staring at
Niley. It would have been more unnerving without the manatee T-shirt,
but he got the point across. So much for Richard playing clever repartee
with me. I left him to his quiet anger and plowed ahead alone.

"Why is it so important that we get out of town, Niley?"

"I told you. The spirits say to come against you is death."

I shook my head. "What spirits?"

"Howard uses the Ouija board as well as his other gifts. The spirits
warned of a Lady Death. A woman that would be my undoing. We were warned
of this in connection to this purchase. When I heard your name
mentioned, I suddenly knew who Lady Death was. The spirits say that if I
come against you directly, you will slay me."

"So you sent Wilkes and his bully boys around to scare me off."

"Yes, and I hired two locals to kill you. Are they dead?"

I smiled. "I didn't search you guys for wires, now did I?"

He seemed to find that amusing. "I suppose not. But I assume the two men
will not be coming back for the second half of their payment."

"You can assume that," I said.

The waitress came with our food. We were all utterly quiet as she set
the plates down. She put syrup in front of me and asked if we wanted
anything else. We all shook our heads, and off she went.

I stared down at my pancakes and bacon and wished I hadn't ordered them.
I wasn't in the mood to spar anymore. I just wanted this over.

"If you're not supposed to confront me directly, then why the change of
plans? Why this meeting?"

He smiled and cut a piece of his country omelet. "Anita, do not be coy.
I think we both know that Wilkes does not have the stomach for this
work. He may work himself up to shooting you, but he is not up to truly
scaring you away. His threat, shall we say, lacks a certain fright
factor." He took his bite of omelet and chewed.

"Is the threat next?" I said, pouring syrup on my pancakes.

He smiled, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and shook his head. "Let
us save that for last. Now, ask your questions."

"Why do you want this piece of land?"

Richard shifted in his chair, leaning forward. He'd been wondering about
that particular question longer than I had.

"There is a relic on that land somewhere. I need to own the land so I
can tear it up and search for the relic."

"What relic?" I asked.

He smiled. "The lance that pierced Christ's side."

I stared at him. I stared at him longer. He didn't seem to be kidding.
"That is a myth, Niley."

"You don't believe in Christ?"

"Of course I do, but a Roman lance doesn't last for thousands of years.
It was lost long ago."

"Do you believe in the Grail?" he asked.

"The Grail is a historical fact. It's been found and lost twice in
recorded history. The spear has never been authenticated. It's passed
around like the bones of some saint, but it's just bait for the
gullible."

"Do I look gullible, Anita?"

"No," I said. "How did it get to the mountains of Tennessee?"

"The spear was given as a private gift to President James Madison."

I frowned at him. "I don't remember that from history class."

"It is listed among the gifts from a certain Mideastern principality.
One spear. Roman. Unfortunately, it was one of the items that went
missing after the British burned and sacked Washington, D.C., in 1815."

"I remember reading about the burning of the White House during the War
of 1812. Valuables went missing. So, say you're right. How did it end up
here?" I asked.

"Howard has chased it here through his psychic gifts. The spirits have
led us to this place. We hired a diviner, and he traced off the
boundaries of our search area. That area lies within Greene's land."

"Search the land," Richard said. "You don't have to buy it to do that.
You don't have to disturb the trolls to search for a spear."

"It could be buried anywhere on the land, Richard. I don't think Greene
would appreciate us tearing up his property unless we owned it."

"I'm amazed that Greene is still alive," I said.

"We looked into his father's will. Did you know that if the man's son
dies, the land becomes an animal preserve? He was enamored of your
trolls, Mr. Zeeman, was the late Farmer Greene."

"I didn't know that," Richard said.

"Why should you? John Greene, the man's son, is trying to sell to us. He
told us all the provisions of his father's estate. He was complaining
about them, but it saved his life. So we must buy the land, and the
trolls must be gone for that--unless you will simply stop fighting the
sale in court." Niley smiled at Richard. "Would you do that for me,
Richard? Would you just let us buy the land? I promise we will disturb
your trolls as little as possible."

Richard leaned over to me and whispered, "Are you running your foot up
and down my leg?"

I looked at him. "No."

Richard scooted his chair back with a loud scrape. He moved closer to
me, one arm going around the back of my chair. "Once you own the land,
Niley, you can bulldoze it, and we can't stop you. The only thing we can
do is stop your purchase."

"Richard, you disappoint me. After our little tte--tte in the
bathroom, I thought we were friends."

Richard blushed almost purple from his neck to the roots of his hair.
"Why did you kill Betty?"

"Why, to frame the trolls for the death of a person. I thought you would
have figured that out by now."

"Why Betty?"

Linus answered in his high, musical voice. "She was a liar, a
traitoress, and a wanton thing. She opened herself to evil."

Power breathed off of Richard from the arm against my back. An almost
visible aura of heat rose around him. It clicked with something deep
inside of me. I put a hand on his thigh. He jumped until he realized it
was me, then settled back. I thought soothing thoughts at him. But what
he was thinking of was Betty, and the thought was strong enough that he
made me flash on her body. I had one quick visual of her torn breasts,
and he stood so abruptly his chair fell to the floor. His hands were on
the table, and he swayed softly. I thought he might faint.

I started to touch him, but was afraid to, afraid he'd see more.
Shang-Da came to take his arm.

The voices around us had quieted, hushed. Everyone was looking. "Please,
Richard, sit down," I whispered.

Shang-Da helped him sit. We all waited quietly, watching each other
until the voices around us rose and everyone went back to eating. Howard
whispered, "Your auras converged for a moment. They became one piece and
flared. What are you to each other?"

Richard's voice squeezed out, "Betty wasn't perfect, but she didn't
deserve to die like that." He leaned his face down toward the table, and
I realized he was crying.

I touched his back, tentatively, rubbing it in small circles. "Your plan
to blame her death on the trolls is a bust. Now what?"

"It doesn't matter what we're going to do next, Anita. You will be out
of town."

"We told Wilkes we were leaving," I said.

Richard took off the sunglasses and wiped at his eyes with his palms.

"Look at me, please, Richard," Niley said.

Maybe it was the please; for just an instant, Richard looked across the
table. For an instant, Niley saw his eyes. "Such pretty brown eyes. You
are a lucky woman, Anita."

Richard started to push to his feet. I laid a hand on his arm. His
muscles were hard and so tense they thrummed with, I think, a desire to
jump across the table and hurt Niley.

"I want to make sure that you are gone. Lately, the spirits have told
Howard of a beast that will aid the lady. I think I am looking at the
beast."

"How did you find out?" I asked.

Richard slid the glasses back in place and slid his chair back into the
table. His shoulders were hunched so hard, the T-shirt was straining at
the seams.

"The local vampires don't like you much," Niley said. "I approached
them, trying to gather information about the spear. Some of them have
been in this area for long enough to have witnessed the event. Sadly,
they had not, but they told me interesting things about you and Richard
and the Master of the City in Saint Louis. They said you were a mnage 
trois, though Richard seems reluctant to admit an interest in men."

"Don't believe everything that you're told, Niley, especially from
people who don't like us. Your enemies always make up better rumors than
your friends."

Niley pouted. "Oh, dear. Then my advances have been very unwanted
indeed." He laughed. The smile faded. "I think it is time for the
threat."

"Knock yourself out," I said.

"I think a tranquillizer dart from a distance for Richard. When he
wakes, he will be bound by silver chains and on his stomach, naked. I
will rape him, and I will enjoy it. Then I will let Linus slit his
throat, and Linus will enjoy that." He turned cold eyes to me. "You,
Anita, I will give to Linus for his master."

Linus turned to me. He looked the same, but the skin on my back tried to
detach itself and crawl away and hide. Every hair on my arm stood up in
nervous rows. Evil whispered through that bright diner.

Howard gasped, hugging himself.

I stared at Linus and didn't try to hide it. I was scared of him and
what lay inside him.

Niley laughed, deep and pleasant. "I think we understand each other at
last, Anita."

Richard turned and looked at Linus. The hair on his arms was standing at
attention, too. He spoke, looking directly at the sorcerer. "How you are
fallen from Heaven, O Day Star, son of Dawn!"

At the first line, that awful power receded, the skin creeping a little
less. Linus's face was no longer pleasant.

Richard said, "How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the
nations low! You said in your heart, 'I will ascend to Heaven; Above the
stars of God I will set my throne on high.' Isaiah." With the last line,
the scent of evil retreated. It lingered like perfume in an empty room,
but it was closed down for now.

"Impressive, Richard," Niley said. "So you are a true believer."

Richard rose slowly from his chair. He put a hand flat on the table and
leaned across it. I felt the prickling rush of energy like a hot thread
pulled across my skin. He lowered his sunglasses just enough for Niley
to see his eyes, and I knew what he was doing. I knew that Niley was
watching those brown eyes change to wolf amber.

Richard spoke low and carefully. " 'And the light shineth in darkness;
and the darkness comprehended it not.' " He slid his glasses back over
his eyes, stood, and stepped away from the table. He held his hand out
for me. I took it. I let him lead me out of the restaurant. Shang-Da
followed at our backs.

I risked a glance back. I didn't turn to a pillar of salt, but I saw
Niley's face. And I knew, knew without doubt, that he would see us dead.

Chapter 36
----------

I didn't even ask Richard if we were leaving town for real. I knew the
answer, and frankly, I was with him. On the off chance that Niley was
right and the spear was here, we couldn't let him have it. But it was
more than that. Richard had drawn a line in the sand; good versus evil.
Good can't tuck tail and run. It's against the rules.

It took about three hours for us to pack and pretend to leave town. We
put Jamil in the back of the van with a coffin on either side of him to
keep the stretcher from sliding around. Nathaniel had managed to get his
lower back sliced up defending my honor. Though he admitted that he
hadn't been fighting so much as getting in the way of an eager werewolf.
However it happened, he got to ride in the back with the injured,
probably stretching on top of a coffin, for all I knew. Cherry rode in
back with them--I think to act as a peace officer. Jamil didn't seem to
like Nathaniel much. I drove the van. Richard followed in his
four-by-four with Shang-Da, and all the equipment he'd brought for an
entire summer of camping and studying large primates. Everybody else
rode with me.

Sheriff Wilkes sent Maiden and Thompson to escort us out of town in a
black and white, or in this case, a blue and white, but the effect was
the same. Thompson waved merrily as we drove past them out of the city
limits. It would have been childish to give him the finger, so I didn't
do it. Zane did it for me. Jason blew them a kiss.

We drove for over an hour to a prearranged rendezvous with Verne. We
couldn't all stay at one house. Too many new people might raise
suspicions, so we divided up. I didn't like it, but I had to agree that
all together we made too good a show.

I ended up driving to Marianne's house. I rode in the back of her truck
with Zane, Cherry, and the coffins. Nathaniel got to ride in the truck
cab because of his claw wound. Zane's gunshot wound seemed to be healing
a lot faster than the claw marks. I wasn't sure if it was because
Nathaniel was a slow healer or if bullet wounds just healed faster than
claws.

The open bed of the truck was a very rough ride. I wedged myself in the
corner near the cab, with Damian's coffin pressed against my ribs. If I
pressed my head back against the truck to brace my neck, my teeth
rattled. If I sat up more, my neck snapped with every pothole. It was
like an endless beating, until my bones thrummed with it and I had a
headache the size of Idaho in the middle of my forehead. The sun was
like a smear of yellow fire in the sky. It beat down unblinking,
unrelenting, until sweat ran down my face and arms.

Zane was in the corner opposite me, shoved against Asher's coffin. His
black T-shirt had molded to him like a sweaty second skin. Cherry had
chosen a white T-shirt today. The reddish dust of the road clung to the
white material and mingled with the sweat until it was like dried blood.

My hair had turned into a mass of sweaty ringlets. Not those cute
Shirley Temple ringlets. Nothing that neat, just a curled mess. Zane and
Cherry's hair just lay slick and flat against their heads.

The three of us made no effort to talk. We settled into the heat and
bone-jarring ride like it was a kind of coma, something to be endured
rather than shared.

The road spilled onto a paved road, and the sudden smoothness was almost
startling. I could hear again.

"Thank God," Cherry said.

Marianne yelled back to us, "Car coming, hide."

We all wiggled under the top layer of the tarp covering the coffins.
There was a second tarp and ropes underneath me. The tarp smelled musty
and dry. It was a toss-up whether it was cooler because of the shade or
hotter because of the lack of air. I thought I heard a car go by in a
spill of gravel, but Marianne didn't tell us to get up, so I didn't. I
could see Zane through the hot dimness. We looked at each other with
dull eyes; then I smiled. He smiled. It all started to be funny. You
just reach a level of discomfort where you either scream or laugh.

The truck lurched to a rattling stop. In the sudden silence I could hear
Zane laughing. Cherry's voice came clearly, "What in hell is so funny?"

"We're home, boys and girls," Marianne said. "You can come out now."

Zane and I crawled out into the open air, still giggling. Cherry frowned
at both of us. "What is so funny?"

We both shook our heads. You either got the joke, or you didn't. It
could not be explained, not even to ourselves.

Marianne came to stand near me. "I'm glad to see you're in a better
mood."

I ran my hands through my hair and could almost squeeze the sweat out of
it. "Might as well be in a good mood. The day's not going to improve."

Marianne frowned. "Pessimism is unbecoming in one so young."

She stood there, looking cool and collected, wearing a sleeveless white
shirt tied off at the waist. It wasn't a midriff but gave the illusion
of one. A pair of pale blue shorts and flat, white tennis shoes
completed the outfit. Her pale hair was in a bun. The hair was all
streaks: silvery grey, pale blond, and white. Fine lines showed at her
eyes and mouth that hadn't been visible last night. Over fifty, but like
Verne, her body was still thin and firm. She looked cool, comfortable,
and far too clean.

"I need a shower," I said.

"I second the motion," Cherry said.

Zane just nodded.

"Welcome to my home," Marianne said.

The truck was parked in a gravel driveway of a two story white house.
The house had yellow shutters and a pink climbing rose up one side of
the front porch. There were two tubs of white and pink geraniums at the
bottom of the wide porch steps. The flowers were lush and well watered.
The yard was brown and dying in the summer heat. Actually, I approved. I
didn't believe in watering grass. A small flock of speckled hens pecked
in the dry dirt of the yard.

"Nice," I said.

She smiled. "Thank you. The barn is over that way, hidden by the trees.
I've got some dairy cows and horses. The garden's behind the house.
You'll be able to see it from your bedroom."

"Great, thanks."

She smiled. "Why do I think you don't care about my tomato crop?"

"Let me take a shower, and I'll care," I said.

"We can unload the coffins, then your two wereleopards can take a bath.
I hope there's enough hot water for three baths. If two of you could
double up, it would conserve water."

"I'm not sharing," I said. I looked at Cherry.

She shrugged, "Zane and I can share."

It must have shown on my face, because she added, "We aren't lovers,
Anita. Though we have been. It will be . . . a comfort to touch each
other. It's not sexual. It's . . ." She looked at Marianne, as if for
help.

Marianne smiled. "One of the things that binds a pack or a pard into a
unit is touch. They touch each other constantly. They groom each other.
They care for each other."

I shook my head. "I'm not sharing a bathtub."

"No one is asking you to," Marianne said. "There are many ways to forge
a pack bond, Anita."

"I'm not part of the pack," I said.

"There are many ways to be part of the pack, Anita. I have found my
place among them, and I am not lukoi." She left Zane, Cherry, and me to
unload the coffins while she took Nathaniel off to lie down. Cherry and
Zane helped stow the coffins in the basement, then went off to take
their communal bath.

The entrance to the basement was outside, like an old-fashioned storm
cellar. The back door was all screen and wood. It clanged loudly as the
wereleopards went inside. Marianne met me at that door, stepped through
that door, and blocked my way.

She was smiling and calm and seemed at peace in the center of her
universe. Just seeing that content look on her face made me itchy and
uncomfortable. Made me want to scream and lash out until her universe
was as messy as my own. How dare she be content when I was so confused?

"What is so very wrong, child? I can hear your confusion like bees
buzzing in the walls."

There was a stand of pine trees near the back of the house like a line
of soldiers. The air smelled like a perpetual Christmas. I usually like
the smell of pine, but not today. I just wasn't in a Christmas mood. I
leaned against the weathered boards of the house, while she stayed on
the small back porch looking down at me.

The Firestar dug into my back. I pulled it out and shoved it down the
front of my jeans. Fuck it if somebody saw.

"You saw Verne," I said.

She looked at me, grey eyes calm, unreadable. "I saw what you did to his
neck, if that is what you mean."

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Your mark on his neck proves two things to all of us. That you consider
yourself his equal--no small boast--and that you are not happy with his
hospitality to date. Are either of these untrue?"

I thought about that for a moment, then said, "I don't acknowledge
anyone as dominant to me. Maybe they can beat the shit out of me or kill
me, but they're not better than I am. Stronger doesn't mean better or
more dominant."

"There are those who would argue with you, Anita, but I am not one of
them."

"And no, I'm not happy with the hospitality to date. I destroyed most of
Colin's vampires for you guys. Verne was pleased as punch, but he still
didn't let me have my guns last night. If I'd had my guns last night,
then the bad guys wouldn't have nearly killed Jamil and Jason and
Zane--hell--and me."

"Verne regretted last night or he would not have offered himself to
you."

"Great, fine, but I didn't mean to mark him. I didn't mean to do it. Do
you understand, Marianne? I didn't do it on purpose. Just like last
night with the munin, this morning I wasn't in control. I was seduced by
the scent of blood and warm flesh. It was . . . creepy."

She laughed. "Creepy? Is that the best word you can come up with, Anita?
Creepy. You are the Executioner and a force to be feared, but you are
still so . . . young."

I looked up at her. "You mean naive."

"You are not naive in the sense that it is usually meant. I am sure you
have seen more blood and death than I have. It stains your power, this
violence. You both attract it and pursue it. But there is something
about you that stays fresh and somehow perpetually childlike. No matter
how jaded you grow, there will always be a part of you that would be
more comfortable saying 'golly' than 'goddamn.' "

I wanted to wiggle under the intensity of her gaze, or run. "I am losing
control of my life, Marianne, and control is very important to me."

"I would say that control is one of the most important things to you."

I nodded, my hair catching on the peeling paint of the house. I pushed
away from the boards to stand in front of her in the dusty yard. "How
can I get back control, Marianne? You seem to have all the answers."

She laughed again, that wholesome-bedroom sound. "Not all the answers,
but the answers you seek, perhaps. I know that the munin will come for
you again. It may be when you least expect it or when you need your
precious control the most. It may overwhelm you and cost the lives of
people you hold dear as it could have last night. All that saved Richard
from having to kill to get to you was Verne's intercession."

"Raina would love that, to drag one of us down to the grave."

"I felt the munin's pleasure in destruction. You are attracted to
violence, but only as it serves a greater purpose. It is a tool that you
use well. Your old lupa was attracted to violence for its own sake, as a
destructive thing. Destroying was what she was about. It is nicely
ironic that someone so dedicated to negativity was also a healer."

"Life is just full of little ironies," I said. I didn't try to keep the
sarcasm out of my voice.

"You have a chance to make her munin, her essence, into something
positive. In a way, you might help her spirit work through some of its
karma."

I frowned at her.

She waved her hands. "My apologies. I'll keep the philosophy to a
minimum. I believe I can help you call and tame the munin. I believe
that together we can begin to harness all the different kinds of power
you are being offered now. I can teach you to ride not just the munin
but this master vampire of yours, and even your Ulfric. You are their
key to each other, Anita. Their bridge. Their feelings for you are part
of the binding that has been wrought between the three. I can make you
the rider and not the horse."

There was a fierceness in her face, a force that made my skin react. She
meant what she said; she believed it. And strangely, so did I.

"I want to control it, Marianne, all of it. I want that more than almost
anything right now. If I can't stop it, I want to control it."

She smiled, and it made her eyes sparkle. "Good; then let's begin with
our first lesson."

I frowned at her. "What lesson?"

"Come into the house, Anita. The first lesson is waiting for you if your
heart and mind are open to it." She went back inside without waiting for
me.

I stood there for a moment in the summer heat. If my heart and mind were
open to it. What the hell did that mean? Well, as the clich goes, only
one way to find out. I opened the screen door and walked inside. Lesson
number one was waiting for me.

Chapter 37
----------

Marianne led me to the room where she'd settled Nathaniel. It was a
large bedroom downstairs. Hours earlier, the room would have been filled
with morning light, but now, at nearly three o'clock in the afternoon,
the room was dim, almost dark. The window was open, and a breeze had
finally found us, spilling the white lacy curtains into the room. A
small oscillating fan sat on a kitchen chair so the fan could cool the
bed. The wallpaper was off-white with a fine line of pink flowers. There
was a large brown water stain in the corner of the ceiling like a giant
Rorschach ink blot.

The bed was a brass four-poster that had been painted white. The
bedspread was quilted and looked homemade with a lot of purple- and
pink-flowered fabric. Marianne had folded the bedspread and placed it on
top of a large cedar chest that was under the window. "Too hot for
quilts," she'd said.

Nathaniel lay naked on the pink sheets. Marianne tucked the sheets to
the tops of his thighs, patting his shoulder in a motherly sort of way.
I would have protested his state of undress, but I could see the wounds
clearly for the first time.

Something with claws had swiped him wide and deep, starting about the
middle of his back and slashing downward across the right side of his
buttocks. The wound was deep and ragged on his back, growing more
shallow as it worked down his body. It must have hurt to have clothes
over it, hurt a lot.

I was surprised that Nathaniel hadn't flashed me his wounds earlier. He
usually went to great lengths to show me his body. What had changed?

Marianne pointed to the phone beside the bed. "In case your police
friend calls you. I've got a cordless phone for normal calls, but I use
the bedside phone for pack business."

"So no one can accidentally monitor the cordless phone," I said.

Marianne nodded. She walked to the vanity, which had a heavy oval mirror
and marble knobs on the drawers. "When I was a little girl and I was
hurt or lonely, especially when it was so hot, my mother would unbraid
my hair and brush it. She'd brush it until it lay like silk down my
back." She turned with a brush in her hands. "Even now, when I am low,
one of my greatest pleasures is for some friend to brush my hair."

I looked at her. "Are you suggesting I brush your hair?"

She smiled, and it was bright and charming, and I didn't trust it. "No,
I am suggesting you brush Nathaniel's hair."

I kept staring at her. "Come again?"

She walked towards me, offering me the brush, that too-cheery smile on
her face. "Part of what makes you vulnerable to Raina is your own
squeamishness."

"I'm not squeamish."

"Prudishness, then," she said.

I frowned at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that every time one of the lycanthropes disrobes, you get
embarrassed. Every time one of them touches you, you take it sexually.
That isn't always what they mean. A healthy pack or pard is built up of
a thousand gentle touches. A million small comforts. It's like building
a relationship with a boyfriend. Every touch builds and strengthens it."

My frown deepened. "I thought you said it wasn't sexual."

It was her turn to frown. "A different metaphor then. It is like
building your relationship with a newborn baby. Every touch, every time
you feed him when he's hungry, change him when he's wet, comfort him
when he's frightened--the everyday intimacies forge a bond between you.
True parenthood is built over years of interdependency. The bond between
the pack is built much the same way."

I glanced back at the bed. Nathaniel was still lying there naked except
for the sheets on his legs. I turned back to Marianne. "If he was a
newborn baby, I'd be fine with him being naked. I might be afraid I'd
drop him, but I wouldn't be embarrassed."

"And that is precisely my point," she said. She held the brush out to
me. "If you could control the munin, you could heal his wounds. You
could take his pain."

"You're not suggesting that I purposely try to call Raina?"

"No, Anita. This is the first lesson, not the graduation exercise.
Today, I simply want you to begin to try and be more comfortable around
their nudity. I believe that if you can desensitize yourself to the more
casual sexual situations, that Raina will have less hold on you. You
draw away from situations like this, and that leaves a void, a place
where you will not go willingly. So Raina spills into that void and
forces you to go much farther than you would have gone on your own."

"And what good will brushing Nathaniel's hair do?"

She held the brush inches from me, arms folded. "It is a small thing,
Anita. A thing to give him comfort while we wait for Dr. Patrick to
come. Patrick will give him a local for the pain, but sometime before he
is finished stitching him up, the painkiller will wear off. Their
metabolism is too fast for a local, and giving more than that can be
tricky. It can be deadly in one with such a low aura of power as
Nathaniel."

I stared up at her, meeting those calm, serious grey eyes. "You're
saying that he'll be stitched up without a painkiller."

She just looked at me.

"And that's my fault because I could heal him if I could control the
munin."

Marianne shook her head. "It is not your fault, Anita, not yet. But the
munin is a tool like your guns or your necromancy. Once you learn how to
control it, it can do wonderful things. You must look at the ability to
call the munin not as a curse but as a gift."

I shook my head. "I think you've exceeded the lesson for the day,
Marianne."

She smiled. "Perhaps. But take the brush, do this one small thing. Not
for me. Not for Nathaniel, but for yourself. Take back that piece of you
that looks away from his body. Give Raina less ground in your heart."

"And if I can't help being embarrassed or thinking sexual thoughts and
Raina comes up and tries to eat me, what then?"

Marianne's smile widened. "Then I will help you, child. We will all help
you. That is what a pack is for."

"Nathaniel isn't lukoi any more than I am," I said.

"Lukoi or pard, it makes no difference to you, Anita. You are queen of
both castles. Growing comfortable with one will help with the other."

She actually took my hand and pried it out from under my elbow. She put
the hairbrush in my hand and closed my fingers over it. "Be with him,
child. Wait for your phone call. Answer only the bedside phone. Only
pack will call that number. You can't possibly answer my other phone
because you are in another state. Do not answer the door, either."

"You sound like you're going somewhere," I said.

"You must learn to be comfortable around your people, Anita. That means
without me looking over your shoulder."

She pulled me towards the bed by the arm. She tried to make me sit on
the bed, but I just didn't bend with it. Short of pushing me onto the
bed, she had to leave me standing.

She tsked at me. "Stand here and do nothing. It is your choice, child,
but at least stand here." She left.

I was left standing in the middle of the room where I'd followed her,
like a child not wanting to be left alone on the first day of school.
The brush was still in my hand. The brush looked as antique as the rest
of the room. It was wooden but painted white with a shine of varnish.
The varnish had a webbing of cracks but held. I ran the pale bristles
over the back of my other hand. They were as soft as they looked, silken
like a baby's brush. I had no idea what the bristles were made out of.

I glanced back at Nathaniel. He was watching me out of those eyes of
his. His face was neutral as if it didn't matter, but his eyes weren't
neutral. They were tight, waiting for the rejection, waiting for me to
leave him alone in the strange room, naked and waiting for a doctor to
come and stitch him up. He was nineteen, and lying there with that raw
look in his eyes, he looked it. Hell, he looked younger. The body was
great. When you're a stripper, you've got to take care of yourself. But
the face . . . the face was young and in the same gaze old. Nathaniel
still had the most jaded eyes of anyone I'd ever met under the age of
twenty. No, not jaded, lost.

I walked around to the far side of the bed. I laid the hairbrush on the
pillow on the empty side of the bed.

Nathaniel moved just his head, turning to look at me. No, to watch me.
He watched me like every movement was important. It was a level of
scrutiny that made me want to squirm or blush or run. It wasn't exactly
sexual, but it wasn't exactly not sexual, either.

No matter what metaphores Marianne used, this was not the same thing as
caring for an infant. Nathaniel was young, but he was definitely not a
child. At least not childlike in the way that would have made this
comfortable.

I slipped off the short-sleeved shirt. There was no one to see the
shoulder holster, and it would be cooler. Of course, it would really be
cooler if I took off all the guns and the spine sheath, but I wasn't
that hot. I did lay the Firestar under the pillow. It had a short enough
barrel to sit or lie down with it, but there is no such thing as a truly
comfortable gun to wear if you're lounging around. Guns aren't designed
for comfort. It's one of the few things that are worn, mostly by men,
that are as uncomfortable as a pair of high heels.

I crawled onto the bed, kneeling, still not within touching distance. He
was so easily hurt that I had to say it out loud. "I'm not upset with
you, Nathaniel. I just don't like playing student."

"You like Marianne, but you resent her," he said.

That made me blink a couple of times and stare at him. He was right, and
it was more perceptive than I'd ever expected from Nathaniel. Hearing
him say something that smart made me feel better. If there was a brain
in that body, then he wasn't just a submissive mess. And maybe, just
maybe, he was salvageable, saveable. It was the most positive thought
I'd had all day.

I crawled to Nathaniel's side, brush in hand. I stared down at him
stretched across the bed, eyes watching me. The look in his eyes stopped
me. It was too intense.

Maybe he sensed it, because he turned his head back so that I couldn't
see his face. All I could see was all that long, auburn hair. Even in
the dim light, it was an incredibly rich color. The darkest auburn I'd
ever seen that was still truly auburn and not brown.

I smoothed my hand through his hair. It was like heavy silk, warm to the
touch. Of course, that could have just been the room. The fan swept over
the bed, ruffling the sheets, passing like a cool hand over my back.
Nathaniel's long hair stirred in the fan's caress, the sheet over his
thighs blowing like a hand had moved them. He shifted as the fan passed
over his bare body. Then stillness. His hair, the sheet, everything
utterly still while the fan made its circuit. It swept back, spilling
over everything in reverse; the pink sheets, Nathaniel's hair, my chest
this time, blowing my own hair back from my face, then past us, and the
heat wrapped around us like a suffocating hand.

The breeze from the window had died. The white curtains lay like a
painting until the small fan spilled over them. I knelt in the hot room
with the only sound the whir of the fan and the small tick it made every
time it came to the end of its cycle.

I stroked the hairbrush through his hair, and the stroke ended long
before I got to the end of the hair. I'd had hair down to my butt once
upon a time when I was about fourteen. But Nathaniel's hair was knee
length. If he'd been a woman, I'd have said his hair fell like a dress
around him. The hair lay in a soft, silken pile beside his body so it
wouldn't brush the wound. I lifted the hair in my arms, and it was like
holding something alive. The hair poured through my hands with a sound
like dry water, a rushing noise.

I had enough trouble taking care of shoulder-length hair. I couldn't
imagine the amount of effort that just washing it must take. I was
either going to have to divide the hair to either side and actually get
up and move from side to side, or sweep the hair back behind his head so
it spilled across the bed. I voted for that.

I pulled his hair behind his back and spilled it behind his head. He
moved his head as if snuggling into the pillow, but other than that made
no movement and said nothing.

"How you doing?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said. His voice was soft, neutral, almost empty.

"Talk to me, Nathaniel," I said.

"You don't like it when I talk to you."

I leaned over him, smoothing the hair back so I had a clear view of his
face. "That's not true."

He turned his face enough to look up at me. "Isn't it?"

I leaned back from that direct gaze. "It's not you talking I mind,
Nathaniel. It's your choice of topics."

"Tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it."

"I can tell you what not to say," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"Don't talk about pornographic movies, sadomasochism, sex in general." I
thought about it for a second or two. "That hits the usual things you
say to piss me off."

He laughed. "I don't know what else to talk about."

I started combing his hair across the bed. The stroke was firm and
flowing, then I actually had to pick the hair up to finish the stroke.
The fan hit me with an armful of hair, and the hair spilled around my
face in a vanilla-scented cloud that tickled my face and neck.

"Talk about anything, Nathaniel. Talk about yourself."

"I don't like to talk about myself."

"Why not?" I asked.

He raised up enough to look at me. "You talk about yourself."

"Okay." Then I didn't know what to say. I just suddenly couldn't think
of where to start. I smiled. "Good point, forget I said it."

The phone rang, and I gave a little yip. Nervous? Who me? It was Dolph.
"Anita?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Franklin Niley, unless it's a different guy with the same name, is an
art dealer. He specializes in mystical artifacts. He's not picky about
how he gets them, either."

"How not picky?" I asked.

"He's based out of Miami. The cops there would like to tie him to at
least half a dozen homicides but don't have enough proof. Every town he
visits on business, people disappear or turn up dead. Chicago P.D.
nearly got him on the death of a wiccan high priestess last year, but
the witness went into a mysterious coma and hasn't come out yet."

"Mysterious coma?" I made it a question.

"The doctors think it was magic of some kind, but you know how hard that
is to prove."

"What do you have on his associates?"

"One hasn't been with him long, a psychic named Howard Grant, young, no
criminal record. There's a black bodyguard, Milo Hart. He's got a
second-degree black belt in karate and has been in the pen once for
attempted murder. He's been beating people up for Niley since he got out
of prison five years ago. The third is Linus Beck. He's been in twice.
Once for assault with a deadly, second time for murder."

"Lovely," I said.

"It gets better," Dolph said.

"Better?" I asked. "How much better can it get?"

"Beck's murder conviction was a human sacrifice."

I let that sink in for a second or two. "How was the victim killed?"

"Knife wound," Dolph said.

I told him about the body I'd just finished seeing.

"Direct attack by demons went out with the middle ages, Anita."

"They wanted to make it look like a troll attack."

"You've talked to them," he said.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"They wanted to threaten me," I said.

I heard papers rustling on the other end. "Why did they want to threaten
you?"

I told Dolph almost everything. I also told him I couldn't prove a damn
thing.

"I talked to a cop in Miami. He said that Niley admitted two murders to
him, told him details, but not under Miranda and not useable in court.
He likes to taunt."

"He thinks he's untouchable," I said.

"But the spirits say you're going to kill him."

"So his pet psychic says."

"When I put out the name and asked for info, police all over the country
and out of it are willing to give me anything they got, if we can just
nail this guy," Dolph said.

"A bad guy's, bad guy," I said.

"He's not above doing his own killing, Anita. At least two of the dead
men down in Miami, they think were Frank's personal kills. You watch
your ass like a son of a bitch. If you have anything that even looks
like proof of a crime, call me."

"You don't have any jurisdiction here," I said.

"Trust me on this, Anita. You come up with some proof, and I can get you
somebody down there with jurisdiction, ready and willing to put this guy
away."

"He on the blue hit parade?"

"He's made a career out of breaking the law and has never seen the
inside of a jail cell for more than twenty-four hours. A lot of people
in a lot of states would like to see him gone."

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

"I don't mean dead, Anita. I mean arrested."

"I knew what you meant, Dolph."

He was quiet for a second. "I know you knew what I meant, but I thought
I should say it, anyway. Don't kill anyone."

"Would I do something so illegal?"

"Don't start, Anita."

"Sorry. Thanks for all the info. It's more than I'd hoped for. After
meeting him, I'm not exactly surprised by any of it. He is a very creepy
guy."

"Creepy--Anita, he's a hell of a lot more than creepy."

"You sound worried, Dolph."

"You're down there without a safety net, Anita. The cops are not your
friends."

"That's an understatement," I said. "But the state cops are down here on
the murder now."

"I can't come down there," Dolph said.

"I would never ask you to."

He was quiet so long that I said, "Dolph, you still there?"

"I'm here." He didn't sound happy. "You know how I told you not to kill
anyone?"

"Yeah," I said.

"I'll deny this in court, but don't hesitate, Anita. If it comes down to
him or you, make the right choice."

My mouth was hanging open. "Dolph, are you telling me to murder him if I
get the chance?"

Dolph was quiet again. Finally, he said, "No, not murder, but I am
saying don't let him get the drop on you. You do not want to be at this
man's mercy, Anita. Some of the bodies they've found have been tortured.
He's real creative about it."

"What's in that file that you haven't told me about, Dolph?"

"They found one man's head floating in his pool. There were no marks of
a weapon, like the head had been pulled off. They never found the body.
It all reads like that, Anita. Not just violent but weird shit."

"You going to post bail if I nail him and get caught?"

"You get caught, we never had this conversation."

"Mum's the word," I said.

"Watch your back, Anita. Niley doesn't have any limits. That's what all
this paperwork means. He's a total fucking sociopath, Anita, and Beck
and Hart are the same thing."

"I'll be careful, Dolph. I promise."

"Don't be careful, be ruthless. I don't want to be identifying what's
left of your body after he gets through with it."

"You trying to scare me, Dolph?"

"Yeah," he said, then he hung up.

I hung the phone up and sat on the bed in the hot, hot room, and I was
afraid. I was suddenly more afraid than I had been since we got here.
Dolph didn't spook easily. I'd never heard him like that, not about
anything or anybody.

Nathaniel touched my leg. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. I couldn't shake the bad feeling. Dolph, Mr. Law and
Order, had encouraged me to kill someone. Unprecedented. The police were
telling me to break the law. Too weird. But underneath the wonderment of
it was the fear, a fine, trembling sense of unease. Demons. I didn't
like demons. They didn't give a shit about silver bullets or much of
anything else. Richard felt strong in his faith. I envied him that. I
was having a crisis of faith right now. I mean, I was sleeping with the
undead and had cheated on one lover with another. I also had a few more
kills to my credit than the last time I'd been touched by the demonic. I
wasn't feeling particularly pure and holy right now. You needed that
against demons. You needed surety.

Nathaniel laid his head on my thigh. "You look like you've seen a
ghost."

I stared down at the naked man with his head in my lap. No, if I ran up
against a demon now, my house was made of glass, and nothing throws
stones like the demonic. They know just where to hit so that the whole
damn thing comes crashing down around your ears. I was really not in the
mood to find out how far from grace I'd actually fallen.

Chapter 38
----------

Cherry came into the room. She'd slipped into a pair of jean shorts, and
a white midriff tank top. Her small breasts were pressed against the
thin material. I was a little too well-endowed to ever dream of going
without a bra, but small or not, in that top she needed a bra. I was a
prude.

Her short yellow hair was still damp. She stalked into the room on those
long legs, managing to look both slutty casual and unnaturally graceful.

Just watching her walk into the room made me want to move Nathaniel's
head out of my lap. Force of will alone kept me from scooting away from
him. We weren't doing anything wrong. But it bothered me.

"Your turn," Cherry said. "I'll wait with Nathaniel."

"Is Zane out yet?"

I caught movement in the hall, and it was Zane. He was wearing jean
shorts, too, and nothing else. The ever-present nipple ring was the only
thing on his pale, thin chest.

"Don't you ever take that thing out of your chest?" I asked.

He smiled. "If I take the ring out, the hole will close up and I'll have
to get it pierced all over again. I might get the other nipple pierced,
but I don't want to have to redo the first one."

"I thought you liked pain," I said.

He shrugged. "In some situations with naked women, yeah." He touched the
ring, pulling on it until the nipple stretched just a little. "The
actual piercing hurt like a son of a bitch."

I looked at the slender, too-thin chest, especially the part right next
to his right arm. There was a dark area where the shoulder attached to
the chest, but that was all.

"Is that all that's left of the bullet wound?" I asked.

Zane nodded and sat down at the foot of the bed, crawling onto the
covers so he was beside Nathaniel and far too close to me. "You can
touch the wound if you want."

I frowned. "No, thanks." I started to back off the bed on all fours,
spilling Nathaniel's head gently to the covers. I stopped myself.
Marianne said that Raina fed on my embarrassment, my prudishness, that
if I could be more comfortable around small stuff, Raina would lose some
of her power over me. Was it true?

I wasn't attracted to Zane. That moment last night had been pure Raina.
She seemed to have been attracted to anything that had a pulse and some
things that didn't. I gritted my teeth and reached out towards Zane.

He went very still, face suddenly serious, as if he had some clue how
much it cost me to reach out to him. I ran my fingertips over the wound.
The skin was smooth, shiny like a scar but softer and more pliable. I
found myself running my hand over the wound, exploring it. It felt
strangely plastic, and at the same time soft, like baby's skin.

"This feels . . . cool."

Zane grinned. It reminded me of Jason and that one thought relaxed a
tension in my shoulders that I hadn't even known was there.

Cherry came up behind him to slide her hands over his shoulders,
massaging them. "I never get over being amazed at how we heal."

I wanted to take my hand back, just because Cherry had touched him, too.
I forced myself to keep my hand on the wound, but I'd stopped exploring
it, just touching it was all I could manage.

"The muscles can get tight when it's healing," Cherry said. "You get
spasms around it, like the body heals too fast for the muscles to keep
up."

I took my hand away slowly. I sat on the bed watching Cherry massage
Zane's shoulders. Nathaniel nuzzled my leg, rolling his eyes up to me. I
didn't move away from him, and he seemed to take that as permission to
roll his head onto my thigh. He nestled against me with a contented
sigh.

Zane rolled onto his back on the other side of me, not touching me, but
watching me. His eyes were very careful.

Cherry stayed kneeling on the foot of the bed, watching my face. They
all watched me like I was the center of their world. I'd seen dogs in
obedience trials watch their owners that way. In dogs it was a good
thing. In people it was unnerving. I didn't have a dog because I didn't
feel responsible enough to take care of one. Now I suddenly had three
wereleopards, and I knew I wasn't responsible enough for them.

I laid my hand on Nathaniel's warm hair. Zane stretched his full
six-foot frame, fingers and toes straining, spine bowing like a big cat.

I laughed. "What am I supposed to do, rub your tummy?"

Everyone laughed, even Nathaniel. I realized with a shock that it was
the first time I'd ever heard him laugh. The laughter was young,
high-schoolish. Lying naked in my lap with claw marks on his butt, and
he was laughing, a full-throated, happy sound.

I was happy to hear it, and nervous. They were trying to make me their
home. Because that was what an Ulfric was supposed to be, and a
Nimir-ra, or Nimir-raj, for a guy, was the equivalent. Strangely, there
didn't seem to be a werewolf equivalent of a queen wolf. Sexism? Or some
arcane shit I didn't understand yet? I'd ask Richard later.

"I've got to go take my bath, guys."

"We could help," Zane said. He licked my arm, grimaced. "I like the
taste of sweat, but the gravel dust . . ."

Nathaniel raised his face enough to lick my other arm. His tongue ran
down my arm in a long slow glide. "I don't mind the dust," he said,
voice low and soft.

I slid off the bed, calmly, slowly. I did not go yuck, or scream. I was
very calm and very relieved to be standing on the floor. The bed had
suddenly become crowded. "Thanks, but the bath will be fine. Don't
answer any phone but the one by the bed, and don't open the door to
anyone but Dr. Patrick."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Zane said.

I slid the Firestar down the front of my jeans and picked up my suitcase
from against the wall. I glanced back at the three of them from the
doorway. Zane had lain down on the other side of Nathaniel, only propped
on his elbow, one hand touching Nathaniel's back. Cherry had curled at
the foot of the bed. She was running her hand up and down his thigh.
Either the sheet had slid off or she'd moved it so she could touch him.
There was nothing sexual on their faces, nothing overt.

They looked like the opening scene for a porno movie to me, but I was
sure that when I left the room, nothing would happen. There was no
anticipation between them, no eagerness to have me gone so they could be
alone. Their eyes still followed me. They touched each other for
comfort, not for sex. The discomfort was mine, not theirs.

"I'm sorry I went with Mira," Nathaniel said suddenly.

That stopped me in the doorway. "You're a big boy, Nathaniel. You had
every right to find someone. It was just your choice of partners that
was bad."

Zane began to rub his hand up and down Nathaniel's back, like you'd pet
a dog. Nathaniel lowered his head so his hair slid around him like a
veil, hiding his face. "I thought you were going to be my mistress, my
top. I thought for a long time that you understood the game. That you
were telling me not to have sex with anyone. I was so good. I didn't
even touch myself."

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it, and didn't have a damn thing to
say.

"When you finally gave me permission to have sex with you, it could have
been straight vanilla. It was the waiting, the build-up, the teasing
that would have made it enough."

I found my voice. "I don't know what vanilla means, Nathaniel."

"Straight sex," Zane said, "normal stuff."

I shook my head. "Whatever, I am not playing with you, Nathaniel. I
would never do that."

He looked at me sort of sideways as if afraid to look me full in the
face. "I know that now. It was this trip that I realized you didn't even
know we were playing a game. You aren't teasing me. You don't think
about me at all."

That last sounded sort of pitiful, but I couldn't help that. "I keep
having to apologize to you, Nathaniel. Half the time I don't even know
what I'm apologizing for."

"I don't understand how you can be my Nimir-ra and not be my top, but I
know now that you see it as two separate things. Gabriel didn't."

"What is a top?" I asked.

Zane answered for him again. "A dominant to Nathaniel's submissive. A
submissive is called a bottom."

Ah. "I am not Gabriel," I said.

Nathaniel laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Would you get mad if I
said sometimes I wish you were?"

I just blinked at him. "I'm not mad, Nathaniel, you just puzzle the hell
out of me. I know I'm supposed to be taking care of you, but I don't
know how to do it." He was like some exotic pet that I'd been given as a
gift, but the instructions didn't come in the box.

He lay back down on the pillow, head turned so he could see me. "I went
with Mira when I realized you weren't there for me."

"I am there for you, Nathaniel, but not in that way."

"Is this where you tell me we can still be friends?" He laughed, and it
was harsh.

"You don't need a friend, Nathaniel, you need a keeper."

"I thought you were going to be my keeper."

I looked at Cherry and Zane. "How about you guys?"

"Nathaniel is the most . . ." Cherry hesitated, "the most broken of us.
Gabriel and Raina made sure we were all bottoms; it was all we were
trained for. They were the tops, always, but . . . but Nathaniel . . ."
She finally shrugged.

I knew what she meant. Nathaniel was the weakest of them. The one who
needed the most care.

I set the suitcase down and went to kneel by the bed. I brushed his hair
from his face so I could see his eyes. "We'll all be there for you,
Nathaniel. We are your pard. Your people. We'll take care of you. I'll
take care of you."

Tears filled his eyes. "But you won't fuck me."

I took a deep breath and stood. "No, Nathaniel, I won't fuck you." I
shook my head and picked up my suitcase. I'd had all I could take for
one afternoon. If Marianne wasn't happy with this little lesson, then
screw her. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be sexual, but thanks to the way
Gabriel and Raina had treated the wereleopards, sex did keep coming up.
I was almost afraid to hear what Marianne's solution to that one would
be.

Chapter 39
----------

I ran out of hot water before I filled the tub, and I didn't care. The
small white-tiled room was hot enough that a truly hot bath seemed a bad
idea. The single window was set high in the wall, so if I was careful, I
wouldn't flash. So I kept the window open, even the drapes, hoping for a
stray breeze. I sank down into the lukewarm water without a bubble in
sight. There was nothing but Ivory soap and a partially burned white
candle on the corner near the faucet. I put the Firestar on the small
corner beside my head. I'd tried the Browning there, but it was too big
and kept trying to slide into the water.

I was completely underwater, rinsing off my hair, when I heard the door
crash open. I surfaced, sputtering, groping for the Firestar. I had the
gun pointed before I even saw what was coming through the door. Even
when I could see, it didn't make any sense.

There was a woman in the doorway. Physically, she was small, about my
size, but she seemed to fill the room as if she took up more space than
the eye could see. Her hair was long and brown. The bangs had been
allowed to grow and were thinned until the hair covered her face past
her nose like a veil. The hair was tinted ever so slightly blue. She
wore a jean jacket with no sleeves. One bare, muscular, tatooed arm was
holding the door so that the force of its being kicked in didn't send it
flying back in her face. Under other circumstances, I'd have been sort
of disdainful, except for the roil of power pouring from her. She looked
like she'd gotten lost on her way to a punk biker bar. Psychically, she
felt like a wind from the mouth of hell, hot and unfriendly.

There was so much power in the tiny room, I felt like the bathwater
should start to boil. I kept the gun very steadily pointed at her chest.
I think it was the only thing that kept her just inside the door. The
look on her face was pure rage.

Water dripped down my face from my hair, tangling in my eyelashes. I
blinked, resisting the urge to wipe the water away with my hands. "One
step, just one, and I will pull this trigger," I said.

Roland appeared behind her in the doorway. This just got better and
better. He was still tall, tanned, with his short, curly hair. His brown
eyes swept the room and stayed on me, crouching naked in the tub. I kept
the gun on the woman, but it was tempting.

He touched the woman's shoulders. He spoke in that low, rolling voice of
his. "Roxanne, trust me, she will kill you."

It made me not want to shoot him after all.

A second man peeked into the room. He was taller than Roland, which made
him over six feet. I had enough of a glimpse to know he was Native
American and had long, black hair. Then he ducked back, eyes averted, a
gentleman. He said, "Roxanne, this is not appropriate."

Roxanne shook off Roland's hands and started to walk farther into the
room.

I fired the gun inches from her head. The sound was thunderous. The
bullet took a bite out of the door and buried into the wall behind. It
was a Glazer Safety Round, so the wall stopped it. I wasn't afraid of it
going through the wall.

My ears rang with the shot in this tiny, tiled room. For a second, if
someone spoke, I couldn't hear it. I kept my eyes on Roxanne. She had
stopped moving. I had the barrel of the gun sighted in the middle of
that pretty face. It took a second or two of staring to realize that
under all the tatoos, the funky hair, and the power, she was pretty. It
was a traditional, girl-next-door pretty. Maybe it was the reasons for
the tatoo and the hair. When nature makes you look wholesome, there are
ways to cheat.

"Come on, Roxanne," Roland said, "back away."

She just stood there. Her power breathed around me like a warm cloud. It
was continuous and nearly suffocating. I'd never been around any
shapeshifter that had this kind of raw power. Or never around one this
powerful who didn't even try to pass for human. Roxanne didn't vibrate
with power. She was power. And I was about two seconds away from
snuffing it out.

"You would really kill me," she said.

"In a heartbeat," I said. I was getting tired of crouching in the water.
Made it hard to be tough. Of course, being naked didn't help, either.

"Why didn't you kill me just now?"

"You're the lupa for Verne's pack. Killing you would rain all sorts of
crap down. But I will do it, Roxanne. Now, back out of the room, close
the door, and let me get dressed. If you still want to talk, fine, but
don't ever, ever pull shit like this again."

"Without that little gun you wouldn't be so confident."

"Yeah, it's a real confidence booster. Now, get the fuck out of the
room, or I will shoot you."

Marianne was suddenly in the doorway. "Roxanne, let's go have some tea
and let Anita get dressed." I don't know what Marianne did, but even I
felt calmer. It was like she projected calm and peace into the room.

Roxanne let Roland and Marianne drag her back through the door. Roxanne
pointed a finger at me. "You insulted my Ulfric, and you will pay for
that, with or without the gun."

"Fine," I said.

The door closed behind them. The lock had shattered in a pile of
splinters. Cherry's voice came through the door. "I'll stay outside the
door until you're out. I can give you a warning if any more bad guys
come."

Bad guys. Was Roxanne a bad guy or just psycho? I was betting on the
latter.

Chapter 40
----------

I got dressed in record time. Black jean shorts, red short-sleeved knit
top, white jogging socks, black Nikes. Normally, I'd have left off the
shoulder holster inside a house, but I threaded it through the belt and
slipped it on. The black holster looked very stark against the red
shirt. I put the Firestar down the front of the shorts in the Uncle
Mike's Sidekick holster that it usually rode in. I left off the spine
sheath. The leather was beginning to smell like sweat. I was going to
have to let it dry out before I could wear it again.

I smeared hair goop on the hair and let it go. It'd dry on its own. Call
it a hunch, but I didn't think Roxanne was the patient type. If I took
the time for makeup or blow-drying my hair, she might come looking for
me. I don't normally fuss, anyway. In truth, the only reason I'd planned
on it was the fact that Richard was coming with Dr. Carrie Onslow, and I
was feeling insecure. Me, insecure. How sad.

Richard had spent a great deal of the day with Dr. Carrie Onslow. I was
jealous and hated it.

Of course, first I needed to go confront a pissed-off werewolf. I could
figure out what the hell I was going to do with Richard after I talked
to Roxanne. One thing I was pretty sure of, if I killed her, it would be
war between the two packs. I did not want to bring that on our people,
not if it could be avoided. Anita, the politician--now, that was sad.

I opened the door. Cherry looked up at me from her seat on the floor.
There was something on her face, a hesitation, that made me say, "What?"

She pushed to her feet, using the wall. "You just look . . .
aggressive."

"You mean the guns?"

"The guns, the red and black. It's all very stark and out there."

"You think I should be wearing pink and something frilly to cover the
guns?"

Cherry smiled. "I think that Roxanne is almost psychotically dominant,
and if you go down there dressed like that, she'll take it as a sign
that she's got to be just as aggressive."

"You don't even know her," I said.

She said, very simply, "Do you think I'm wrong?"

Put that way . . . "I don't have anything pink and frilly in my
suitcase."

"How about something not black, not red?"

I frowned at her. "Will purple do?"

"It would be better," she said.

I went back in and changed into a top that was identical cotton knit,
scoop necked, but royal purple. I had to admit that the purple was
softer. I kept the shoulder holster on but transferred the Firestar to
the small of my back. Theoretically, I could draw it from there, but it
was not my favorite position. The only shirt I could find to match the
purple and cover the shoulder holster was thin and black and nylon,
which half defeated the point of wearing the cotton shirt to begin with,
but I had to admit that it looked better. It was still black and not
cheery, but it wasn't so aggressive. You couldn't see the guns. I could
have walked into any mall in the country and not gotten a second glance.
Of course, if I moved fast, the shirt would blow back and flash, but
hey, I wasn't planning to go jogging.

I opened the door a second time and said, "Better?"

Cherry nodded, smiling. "Much better. Thank you for listening to me. I
know it's not one of your best things."

"I am not going to drag Richard's pack into a war because I couldn't
tone it down a little."

The smile widened into something gentle and almost heart-warming. "You
are a good lupa, Anita, a good Nimir-ra. For a human, you're positively
excellent."

"Yeah, but the human part is still true."

She touched my shoulder. "But we don't hold it against you."

I looked at her to see if she was kidding me, but I just couldn't tell.
"I think Roxanne will hold it against me."

Cherry nodded. "Probably. They're all waiting in the kitchen."

The kitchen was tiled in black and white with some cracks starting in
the high-traffic areas, but the floor was mopped within an inch of its
existence. The tile gleamed softly in the indirect light that touched
the windows. Like the bedroom Nathaniel was staying in, it would get
morning light but not afternoon. Roxanne sat with her back to the door.
The edges of the white tablecloth trailed in her lap. There was a
stiffness to the way she held herself that said she knew I was there,
but she didn't turn around.

Marianne sat across from her with a china teacup and saucer in front of
her. She looked at me like she was trying to tell me something with her
eyes, but I didn't know what that something was.

Roland stood in the corner next to a hutch that held the china that
matched the cup. He had his arms crossed and looked very bodyguardish.

The other man I'd glimpsed stood in the opposite corner like a second
bookend. His arms were crossed, and he looked very bodyguardish.

That was the only thing that was similar. Okay, one other: They both had
great tans. But I suspected, like Richard, that the new guy wasn't just
tanned. His skin was a rich brown, his brown eyes almost perfectly
almond shaped. They were almost too small for the rest of that face. It
was all angles, high cheekbones, broad forehead, hooked nose. Every
feature he had was aggressively male and ethnic. His hair was long and
black and moved like silky water as he looked at me. The hair was a
solid blackness like my own, that black that has blue highlights in the
sun.

He was also at least six foot two, maybe an inch taller, with shoulders
to match. He leaned against the wall, exuding a sort of easy physical
energy like someone who knew his potential and didn't sweat proving it.

"That's Ben. He's your replacement Skll until Jamil is healed."

I wanted to turn down the offer of putting my life in a stranger's
hands, but was almost sure it would be considered an insult. I nodded.
"Hi."

He nodded back. "Hello."

Roxanne turned in the chair, sliding her legs so she was sitting
sideways in the chair. "Verne meant our wolf to be an apology for
allowing your people to be injured on our lands." She looked full at me
and those brown eyes were not friendly. "I think it is you who owes us
an apology."

"Apology for what?" I asked.

She stood, and that energy spilled through the room like water, swirling
around the ankles, rising to the knees. Her power spilled outward,
upward, as if she would fill the room with the breathing warmth of her
presence.

She was so powerful, it made my throat tight just standing this close to
her. "Shit," I whispered.

"You marked Verne as if he were the least of us and not the greatest."

"You mean the neck thing," I said.

She slammed the chair back into the floor. It fell with a loud crash.

I didn't go for a gun, but it was an effort.

Roxanne stood there breathing far too fast and far too shallow. Strong
emotion makes the energy spill worse, and her anger made the power bite
and dance over my skin in a tight, electric dance.

Cherry moved up a little behind me. Zane appeared in the doorway and
flanked her. They stood to either side and a little back like
bodyguards. They'd do their best, but I didn't want to test them against
Roland and Ben. I was pretty sure who would win, and it wouldn't be us.

"I am sorry that I marked Verne," I said.

"Lies," Roxanne said.

"I truly didn't mean to do it."

She took a trembling step forward. I didn't step back, but maybe I
should have. She was too damn close. At this range, I might get the
Browning out, but if I did, I'd have to use it, because she'd be on top
of me in seconds.

"Can someone please explain why she's so pissed, and what we can do
about it that won't end with one of us dead?"

Marianne stood slowly. Roxanne's head pivoted, and the intensity in that
gaze, even turned to another, made my skin jump. Marianne held her hands
palm out and advanced slowly around the table towards her lupa.

"Roxanne sees the marking as an insult to Verne and the entire pack,"
Marianne said.

"I got that," I said. "I didn't mean it to be insulting. I didn't mean
to do it at all."

Roxanne's head turned slowly until she was staring at me. Her eyes bled
from brown to a rich, startling yellow while I watched.

I put my hand on the butt of the Browning. "Ease down, wolf-girl."

A low, rumbling growl crawled out of that slender throat.

Marianne said, "If you truly didn't mean to be insulting, then would you
be willing to make amends?"

I kept my gaze on Roxanne but answered, "How would I make amends?"

"We could fight," Roxanne said.

I looked into her nearly glowing yellow eyes. "I don't think so."

Marianne was standing sort of between us without actually standing
between us. "You could offer your neck to Roxanne in a public ceremony."

My eyes slid to Marianne, then back to the werewolf. "I am not letting
her near my neck in public or private, not on purpose."

"You don't trust me," Roxanne said.

"Nope."

She took another painfully slow step forward. Marianne did step between
us then. If Roxanne moved forward another inch, her shoulder would bump
Marianne.

"There is another ceremony," Marianne said.

"I am not offering Roxanne my neck," I said.

"No neck offering, but you do exchange blows."

I felt my eyes widen. I stared at the nearly snarling woman across from
me. "You must be joking. She'd kill me."

"I'll let you hit me first," Roxanne said.

"I've read this story. No thanks."

Roxanne frowned. "Story?"

"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," I said. She still looked puzzled.
"The Green Knight lets Sir Gawain have the first blow. Gawain cuts off
his head. The Green Knight picks up his head under one arm and says, 'My
turn, a year from now!' "

"Haven't read it," she said.

"It's not top twenty reading list, I guess. Anyway, the point is the
same. I can hit you as hard as I can, and it won't hurt you. You can
flick your fingers in my direction and break my neck."

"Then we fight," she said.

My hand was still resting on the Browning. "I'll kill you, Roxanne, but
I won't fight you."

"Coward!"

"You bet," I said.

I felt Richard brush over me, through me, like wind. He'd recognized
Roxanne's car and was letting me know he was about to bring a human into
the mess. A human who didn't know who the monsters were.

I looked away to see his shape outside the kitchen door, and I shouldn't
have. I didn't so much see Roxanne's fist as sense the movement. My hand
was already on the Browning, only seconds to pull it, but that blur of
movement caught me in the chin. I had the sensation of falling, but I
didn't remember hitting the floor or didn't feel it.

I was on the floor looking up at the white ceiling. Marianne was beside
me. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out. Sound finally came
through with an almost audible pop like a small sonic boom.

Screaming. Everyone was screaming. I heard Richard's voice and Roxanne's
and others. I tried to sit up and couldn't.

Marianne touched my shoulder. "Don't try to move."

I wanted to see what was happening, but I couldn't make my body move. I
could feel it, but it was like a great weight along my body, as if what
I really wanted to do was sleep.

I flexed my right hand, and it was empty. I'd dropped the Browning
somewhere. Frankly, I was just happy to be able to move my hand. I
wasn't joking when I'd told Roxanne she could break my neck without
trying hard.

I kept flexing things, waiting to be able to stand up. I was finally
able to move my head enough to see the rest of the room. Richard had
Roxanne around the waist, feet completely off the ground. Roland and Ben
were trying to pull Richard off of her. Shang-Da was trying to get Dr.
Carrie Onslow to go back outside the kitchen door.

Roxanne squirmed out of Richard's arms. She strode over to me, and Zane
and Cherry moved like a wall between us. She shoved between the two of
them, screaming, "Your turn, bitch! Your turn!"

She was standing there, sideways, with the two wereleopards trying to
hold her without hurting her. Her right leg was flexed forward. I think
only Marianne heard me say, "My pleasure."

I kicked Roxanne just below the kneecap, aiming up. The kneecap popped
out of its socket, and she went down shrieking. I kicked her twice in
the face. Blood blossomed from her nose and mouth.

I got to my feet. No one tried to help me. The room had suddenly fallen
so quiet, you could hear Roxanne's breathing, too loud, too fast. She
spat blood on the floor. I walked around her and the wereleopards until
I was close to the table. Ben and Roland still held Richard, but it was
like they'd forgotten why they were doing it. Shang-Da picked Carrie
Onslow up and carried her out the door with her yelling, "Richard!"

It was one of those moments when time seems to slow and stretch and
happen too fast all at the same time. I heard Roxanne say, "I will kill
you for that!" But I don't honestly remember whether I picked the chair
up before or after she said it. I only remember having the chair and
when she leaped at me, I smashed the chair into her like you'd use a
baseball bat, taking the arms way back, throwing my shoulders and back
muscles into it. The shock of the blow left my fingers and hands
tingling, but I kept the grip on the chair.

Roxanne was on all fours on the floor, but she wasn't down. I raised the
chair for another blow as her power flowed over me like a scalding wind.
I smashed the chair down with everything I had. She caught it and tore
it out of my hands.

I backed up and pulled the Firestar.

Roland yelled, "No guns!"

I glanced at Richard. He said, "No guns." The look on his face was
enough. He was scared for me. So was I.

No guns. Were they kidding? Roxanne tried to get to her feet, but the
knee wouldn't hold. She fell, and the chair thudded into the floor. She
screamed and threw the chair at me. I had to dive for the floor to avoid
it.

She came for me on hands and one leg in a movement almost too fast to
follow. I had plenty of time to shoot her, but I wasn't supposed to
shoot her. I crab walked backwards, trying to stay away. The Firestar
was still in my hand. I yelled, "Richard!"

The marks suddenly opened between us like a floodgate. I was bathed in
the scent of his skin and the distant musk of fur.

Roxanne hesitated in that maniac, skittering crawl. Her pretty face
began to stretch outward as if a hand were pushing out from the inside.
A muzzle bloomed in the middle of that human face, covered in human skin
with a line of lipstick where lips used to be.

I reached down that line of power between Richard and myself. I wrapped
the scent of him, the feel of him, the jittering play of energy. I could
suddenly feel the moon in the daylight sky, and knew--knew in every cell
of my body--that tomorrow night was it, tomorrow night I would be free.
And for an instant, I wasn't sure whose thought that was, Richard's or
his beast's.

I left the Firestar on the floor and got to my feet with the window
behind me. I knew Richard wouldn't let her kill me, but I also knew she
was going to hurt me. I'd thrown a werewolf through a window once upon a
time. It had stopped the fight. It was all I could think of. Of course,
Roxanne had to cooperate and run at me like a maniac to set herself up
for the throw. If she came at me slower, it wouldn't work.

She came at me slower, in a limping run. I was out of ideas. One thing I
knew: If she touched me with those claws or that mouth, I might be a
lupa for real next month. Time was in that crystalline run, slow and
fast, slow and glitteringly fast. I thought of several things to do and
wouldn't be fast enough to do any of them. But I'd go down trying.

Richard was yelling, "No claws, Roxanne, no claws."

I don't think Roxanne heard him. She swiped at me with those monstrous
claws, and I ducked under the swinging arm. I ducked blows that were too
fast to see, avoided her like I knew where she'd be. It was Richard, the
marks, but it was too confusing, too new for me to be able to fight with
it. I could use it to avoid her, but only for so long.

I ended up on my back, on the floor, pointing the Firestar up at her.
She was coming with claws and teeth, and I was out of options.

The door burst open, and Verne yelled, "Roxanne, no!" I felt his power
crash through the room like the lid on a boiling pot, something thrown
over the heat, to hold it, contain it, but it didn't stop it.

Ben and Roland were suddenly hanging onto Roxanne, dragging her back
from me. If Verne had given an order to them, I hadn't heard it. Roxanne
was cutting them up, slicing their arms open, and they were taking it.

Verne was still yelling, "I lied, Roxanne. I lied. She didn't
proposition me."

Roxanne went very still in their arms. She spoke around that only partly
human mouth, "What did you say?"

Lucy came in behind Verne, through the still-open door. She shut the
door and leaned against it, smiling, enjoying the show.

"I said, I lied," Verne said. "I'm an old man, and you are beautiful and
powerful and thirty years younger than I am. I told you when she marked
my neck that she propositioned me. She didn't."

Roxanne relaxed in the grip of her bleeding bodyguards. You could feel
the tension seep away, and with it her flesh. Her face, her hands,
flowed until she stood human again. Her nose was bloody where I'd kicked
her.

"You can let me go," she said. "I won't hurt her."

They didn't let her go. They looked at Verne.

"How about me, darling?" he said. "You going to hurt me?"

"When we get home, I'll kick the shit out of you, but not here, not
now."

Verne smiled. Roxanne smiled. And both smiles were the same. It was more
than lust, though that was mixed in with it. It was a look that couples
have, like a secret language, a look that excludes everyone else and
cannot be explained.

I looked at Richard. "They be crazier than we are."

He smiled at me, and the smile warmed me down to my Nikes. I smiled
back, and realized with a jolt that tingled through my entire body that
we had our own secret look. God, I'd missed him.

Lucy stalked into the room on a pair of platform shoes, purple
short-shorts, and what looked like a lavender bra but probably wasn't.
She sashayed up to Richard, slipping both of her arms through one of
his.

"He's rejected me for you, sweetie," she said in a voice that was too
pleasant for the anger in her eyes.

I looked at Richard. "I don't think he dumped you because of me."

She pushed away from Richard to stand in front of me. I had the gun in
my hand. I figured I was safe. The marks with Richard faded, pulled
back, replaced with the knowledge that we were a couple again. I valued
that a hell of a lot more than the marks.

"I can do things for him in bed that your human body could never do. I
can take every ounce of strength, every thrust, and it just feels good.
It doesn't have to be gentle with me, careful with me."

Which hit a little close to home, which is my only excuse for what I
said next. "Gee, Lucy, I don't know. He spends one night with me and
drops you like yesterday's news. Either you're not that good a lay, or
I'm better."

Her face narrowed down, eyes wide; for a second, I thought she might
cry. I didn't want her to cry. That would spoil it and make me feel like
a shit.

Lucy turned away from me, bringing her hands to cover her face. Damn.

I looked past her to Richard. The look on his face was not happy with
me. I couldn't blame him on this one.

I didn't see Lucy turn, I felt it. I felt the air move as she whirled.
Her hand caught me across the face. I had the sensation of falling, but
if I hit the ground, I didn't remember it.

Chapter 41
----------

I woke to darkness and the smell of clean sheets. I blinked at the
strange windows and the spill of moonlight on the floor. I didn't
recognize the room. Once I realized I wasn't anywhere I'd ever been,
tension filled me like water. I heard someone behind me, and that raised
the tension another notch. I tried to lie still, but I knew my breathing
had changed. If they were human, they might not have noticed, but I just
didn't know that many humans right now.

"Anita, it's Damian."

I rolled over onto my right side, and it hurt. My right arm was bandaged
from my palm to about the middle of my forearm. It didn't hurt that
much, but I couldn't remember how I'd injured it. The vampire was
sitting in a chair by the door. His long, red hair looked a strange pale
brown in the dark. He was wearing the vest and pants of a very nice,
probably tailored, business suit. It might have been black or navy or
even dark brown. His skin glowed pale against the darkness of the cloth.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"You're the only one wearing a watch," he said.

I raised my left hand in front of my face and hit the little button that
made it glow. The glow seemed brighter than it should have because of
the darkness. "God, it's after eleven. I've been out for hours." I lay
back on the bed. "Did it occur to anyone to take me to a hospital?"

"The sun's only been down for a little over two hours, Anita. I don't
know what choices were made. When Asher and I woke, we were in the
basement here. We fed, then I took Richard's place here by your bed."

"Where is Richard?"

"I think he's at their lupanar, but I'm not certain."

I glanced at him. He seemed somehow distant. "You didn't ask any
questions?"

"I was told to stay here and guard your rest. What more did I need to
know?"

"You aren't a slave, Damian. You're allowed to ask questions."

"I got to sit here in the dark and watch you sleep. What more could your
pet vampire ask?" That last had a bitter edge to it.

I sat up slowly because I still felt wobbly. "What's that supposed to
mean?" I tried to prop my back against the heavy wooden headboard but
needed more pillows under me. I tried to push them under me with my
right hand, and it hurt. It was a nice, sharp ache.

"I remember Lucy hitting me, but what happened to my arm?"

Damian put one knee on the bed and helped prop the pillows under my
back. He even found an extra one for me to lay my right arm on. "Richard
said Lucy tried to pull your arm off."

That bit of knowledge left me cold and scared. "Jesus, a woman scorned."

"Pillows better?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

He got to his feet and started to move back to the chair.

I said, "Don't." I held my left hand out to him.

He took my hand. His skin was warm to the touch. There was a light dew
of sweat on his palm. Vampires can sweat, but they don't do it often. I
squeezed his hand, staring up into his face. The moonlight was strong,
so I could see his face. His skin was pale, almost luminous. Those
brilliant green eyes were just liquid darkness by moonlight. I drew him
to sit beside me.

"You've fed tonight or your skin would be cold, so why the sweat?"

He drew his hand out of mine, turning his face away. "You don't want to
know."

"Yeah, I do." I touched his chin with my fingertips, turning his face
back to me. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you have enough to worry about without bothering with me?"

"Tell me what's wrong, Damian. I mean it."

He let out a long, shaking breath. "There; you've done it. A direct
order."

"Tell me," I said.

"I was happy to sit here in the dark and watch you sleep. I think if
Richard had known just how happy, he would have made Asher do it."

I frowned at him. "You've lost me."

"You feel it, too, Anita. Not as strongly as I do, but you feel it."

"Feel what, Damian?"

"This." He placed his hand against my face, and I wanted to rub my face
against his skin. I had a momentary urge to pull him down on the bed
beside me. Not for sex, necessarily, but to touch him. To run my hands
over that pale skin, to bathe in the power that animated his flesh.

I swallowed hard and drew back from his hand. "What is going on,
Damian?"

"You're a necromancer, and I'm the walking dead. You've raised me from
the dead twice. You've called me once from my coffin and once back from
the edge of true death. You've healed me with your powers. I am your
creature. I have made vows of loyalty to Jean-Claude as my Master of the
City, and I honor them, but you I would follow into hell itself. Not out
of duty, but out of desire. I can think of nothing better than to be by
your side. Nothing pleases me more than doing what you ask. When I'm
near you, I find it very hard to do almost anything large, like feeding
or leaving your presence, without asking your permission."

I just stared at him. I didn't know what to say, not uncommon for me
today. But with him sitting so close in the dark room, I had to say
something. "Damian, I . . . I didn't mean for anything like this to
happen. I don't want you to be some sort of undead servant."

"I know," he said. "But I also understand why the vampire council made
it a habit to kill necromancers. I don't serve you out of fear. I want
to do it. When I am with you, I am happier than without you. It's a
little like being in love, but . . . much more frightening."

"I knew we had a connection. I even knew why we had it. I just didn't
have any idea it was this strong for you," I said.

"I didn't realize you felt drawn to me as I am to you until last night.
You could have chosen Asher. He adores you, and you remember being in
his bed. But you chose me to kiss. Me to hold. I don't think it was an
accident."

I shook my head. "I don't know. I don't remember everything clearly from
last night. The munin is sort of like being drunk."

"Do you remember what you said to me?"

"I said a lot of things." But my voice was soft, and I was very afraid I
did remember the phrase he was searching for.

"You said, don't bleed me, fuck me."

Yep, that was the phrase. Just remembering it was so embarrassing, I
squirmed. It was my turn to look away. "It was the munin talking," I
said. "You're one of the few males that I hang around with that Raina
never had sex with. Maybe she wanted something different."

He touched my face, turned me back to meet his eyes. "That isn't it, and
you know it."

I pulled back from his hand. "Look, my plate is like full to overflowing
with guys right now. I'm flattered, thanks for the offer, but no
thanks."

"And how happy are you with the two men in your bed right now?" he
asked. "You've had sex with Richard now, and the marks are binding you
tighter than ever."

"Did everyone know that was a possibility but me?" I asked.

"Jean-Claude forbade me from telling you. I thought you had a right to
know."

"I felt Jean-Claude wake this morning before ten. I felt him wake,
Damian. I felt the fierceness of his joy, his triumph." I tried to cross
my arms over my chest, and the right one wouldn't cooperate. "Damn it to
hell."

"I was the servant of my original mistress for a very long time, Anita.
The thought of being your servant, anyone's servant, terrifies me." He
touched the bandages on my right arm. "But I see them using you, Anita.
I see them withholding information from you." He cradled my bandaged
hand in both of his. "I swore oaths to Jean-Claude, but it's your power
that makes my heart beat, your pulse I can taste like cherries on my
tongue."

I drew my hand out of his. "What are you saying, Damian?"

"I'm saying that you shouldn't be the only one of the three that doesn't
know what's going on."

"And you can tell me," I said.

He nodded. "I can answer your questions. In fact, if you make them
orders, I can't refuse to answer them."

"You're handing me the keys to your soul, Damian. Why?"

He smiled, teeth a dim whiteness in his face. "Because I serve you
before I serve anyone else. I tried fighting it, but I can't. So I'm
through fighting. I give myself to you willingly, even eagerly."

"If you mean what I think you mean, didn't Asher say something last
night about if I had sex with you, Jean-Claude would kill you?"

"Yes," he said.

I looked at him. "I may be good, Damian, but no one's worth dying for."

"I don't think he'd kill me. Jean-Claude has questioned me about the
bond I feel with you."

"He has, has he?"

"Yes, and he's pleased. He thinks it's another sign of your increasing
powers as a necromancer. He's right."

"Jean-Claude knew you were obeying me without wanting to, and he didn't
tell me?" I said.

"He thought it would upset you."

"When was he going to mention this little fact to me?"

"He's the Master of the City. He doesn't answer to me. I don't know what
he plans to tell you or when."

"Okay, what other powers can I expect to gain through the marks?"

He lay down on the other side of the pillow he'd gotten for my injured
arm. He propped himself up on one elbow, long legs stretched out the
length of the bed. "Their physical strength, their sight, hearing. You
could gain almost every power they have without giving up your humanity.
Though you'd probably have to take the fourth mark to gain the full
powers."

"No, thanks," I said.

"Eternal life without having to die for it, Anita. It's tempted many
over the centuries."

"I've had too many surprises in the last two days, Damian. I'm not tying
myself any closer to Jean-Claude."

"You say that now, but let a few more years pass, and you may change
your mind. Eternal youth, Anita. It's not a small offering."

I shook my head. "What else can I expect from the marks?"

"Theoretically, any power they possess."

"That's not typical for a human servant, is it?"

"They all gain some strength, stamina, healing, resistance to injury,
immunity to disease and poison. Though again, without the fourth mark,
I'm not sure how much of that you've gained. I'm not sure Jean-Claude or
Richard know, either, until you pull another rabbit out of your hat."

"Was the munin a surprise to them?"

"Oh, yes," Damian said. He lay his head on the edge of the pillow I
wasn't using. He rolled onto his back so he was looking up at me.
"Jean-Claude knew of the munin, but hadn't really thought that they were
the spirits of the dead and what that would mean for you. Even
necromancers of legend don't control the munin."

"The necromancers of legend don't have a bond with an alpha werewolf," I
said.

"That's what Jean-Claude thinks, too."

I settled lower in the nest of pillows. "It's so great that he's talking
about me to everyone but me."

Damian rolled so that he was staring up at me. "I know how much you
value honesty, and in all honesty, Jean-Claude could not have known that
you would gain these powers. A human servant is a tool to be used, so it
is good if it is a powerful tool, but you seem to be gaining such power
that it may, at some point, be questionable who is master and who is
servant. Perhaps it is the fact that you are a necromancer."

"Jean-Claude told me before I took the marks that he wasn't sure who
would be master and who would be servant because of my necromancy. But
he didn't really explain it. I guess I should have asked."

"If he'd told you all this before the marks were offered, would you have
taken them upon yourself?"

"I took the marks to save both their lives, not to mention my own."

"But if you'd known, would you have done it?" He rolled onto his side,
face so close to my arm, I could feel his breath against my skin.

"I think so. I couldn't let them both die. One, maybe, I could have lost
one of them, but not both. Not both, if I could have saved them."

"Then Jean-Claude has kept all this from you for nothing. He's angered
you for nothing."

"Yeah, I'm pissed."

"It makes you not trust him." Damian moved that one inch closer until
his cheek rested against my upper arm.

"Yeah, it makes me not trust him. Worse yet, it makes me not trust
Richard." I shook my head. "I never thought he'd keep anything from me,
let alone things this important."

"It makes you doubt them," Damian said.

I stared down at the vampire. Just his cheek rested against my arm. The
rest of his body stretched down the length of the bed but didn't touch
me. "This doesn't seem like you, Damian."

"What doesn't seem like me?" he asked. His hand slid from where it
rested on his side to the sheets. That one pale hand lay between our
bodies, not touching, just . . . waiting.

"This, all this, it's not you."

"You don't know anything about me, Anita. You don't know what I'm like,
not really."

"What do you want from me, Damian?"

"Right now, to put this hand around your waist."

"And if I said yes?"

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

What would Richard say? What would Jean-Claude say? Fuck them. "Yes," I
said.

He slid his hand over my waist until his arm rested across my stomach.
It would have been natural to cuddle the body after the arm, but he
didn't. He kept that artificial distance between us.

I ran my left hand up and down that pale arm, playing over the small
hairs on his arm. It felt terribly right to touch him, as if I'd been
wanting to do it for a very long time. I didn't want him to hold me. I
wanted to hold him. It was a very different feeling than what I felt for
Richard or Jean-Claude. Damian was right; it was the necromancy. It
wanted to touch him, explore the edges of the power that bound us, the
power that animated him.

My own personal power is closer kin to Jean-Claude's than to Richard's.
It is a cool power, like an unfelt wind that plays over the mind and
body. I let that cool thread spill out through my hand, down Damian's
arm. I thrust it into him like an invisible hand, shoved it into that
pale body and felt an answering spark deep inside him. I felt my power
flare and recognize a piece of itself. Whatever had animated Damian
before was gone. I animated Damian now. He was truly mine, which, of
course, was not possible.

He slid his body that last inch so that the length of him lay against me
from my waist to my feet. He slid one leg over my legs, pressing himself
against me.

"You're trying to seduce me," I said. But my voice was too soft, too
private.

He laid a soft kiss on my arm. "Am I seducing you, or have you already
seduced me?"

I shook my head. "Get up and get out, Damian."

"You want me. I can feel it."

"The power wants you, not me. I don't want you the way I want Richard or
Jean-Claude."

"I'm not asking for love, Anita, just to be with you."

I wanted to run my hands down his body. I knew that I could explore that
body, touch every inch of it, and he wouldn't stop me. It was both
inviting and frightening.

I slid off the bed, letting Damian have the whole thing to himself. I
could stand, no dizziness; great. "We are not doing this Damian. We are
so not doing this."

Damian propped himself up on his elbows, watching me. "If you give me a
direct order, I must obey you, Anita. Even if that order contradicts one
that Jean-Claude has given me."

I frowned at him. "What are you saying?"

"Don't you wonder what else he's forbidden me to tell you?" Damian
asked.

"You little bastard."

He sat up, swinging his long legs off the side of the bed. "Don't you
want to know?"

I stared down at him for a heartbeat. "Yes, damn you, yes, I want to
know."

"You have to order me to tell you. I can't do it otherwise."

I almost didn't do it. I was afraid of what he would say. Afraid of what
else Jean-Claude had been hiding from me. "I order you, Damian, to tell
me all the secrets that Jean-Claude has forbidden you to tell me."

His breath came out in a long sigh. "Free at last. Jean-Claude, Asher,
and even my master are all descended from the line of Belle Morte,
Beautiful Death. She is our council master. Have you ever wondered why
hundreds of years ago, most personal accounts of vampires said they were
hideous monsters, walking corpses?"

"No, and what does that have to do with anything?"

"I've waited a long time to tell you this, Anita. Let me tell it."

I sighed. "Fine, tell me."

"No one thought of a vampire as a sexual object in the seventeen
hundreds. There were a few tales of beautiful vampires, but they were
all tricks, not real. But then things changed. Most personal accounts
speak of beauty and great sexual allure." He slid off the bed, and I
backed up. I didn't want him too close. I wasn't sure who I trusted
less: him or me.

When I backed up, he stopped moving and just stood there, looking at me.
"The Council decides which of them will send their vampires out to make
more. For thousands of years, it was the Queen of Nightmares, our
leader; or Morte d' Amour, the lover of death, and the Dragon; but they
grew tired of the games and retreated inside the council chambers. You
rarely see them. She-Who-Made-Me took me to court with her more than
once. It's where I met Jean-Claude. Belle Morte, Beautiful Death, sent
forth her people to populate the world with vampires. Jean-Claude,
Asher, and I descend from her line. Even her blood cannot make the ugly
beautiful, though all is improved by her touch, but it is more than
that. Some in her line have the power of sex. They live on it, breathe
on it. They feed on it like Colin and my old master fed on fear. They
can gain power through sex and use it as a second lure for mortals." He
stopped and looked at me.

"Finish it, Damian," I said.

"Jean-Claude is one of these. In another time, he would be considered an
incubus. Asher and I are not like him. It is a rare power, even among
those who descend more directly from Belle Morte."

"So Jean-Claude can feed off of sex like Colin can feed off fear. So
what?"

Damian moved towards me, and I let him touch my shoulder. "Don't you
understand? Jean-Claude gains power through sex, not just intercourse,
but sexual energy, lust. It means that every time you have sex, it is
power. That every intimate act between the three of you binds the marks
tighter and increases your power."

I felt almost faint. "When was he going to tell me?"

"In Jean-Claude's defense, he says it didn't work this way the first
time he marked you. The sex wasn't such a strong power focus. You were
three marks deep before you broke away, and it didn't work like this
between you. He thinks it's the addition of Richard that's pushed it
over the edge."

"What do you get out of this, Damian? What do you get out of telling me
all this?" I stared up at him in the dark.

"My mistress controlled me for centuries with her fear and her sex. You
deserve the truth, all of it."

I pulled away from him, turned my back on him. It made perfect sense.
Jean-Claude gave off sex like other people wore cologne. It explained
why his first business was a stripper club--lots of sexual energy to
feed off. Did it change anything? I wasn't sure. I just wasn't sure.

I stared out the window, forehead pressed to the cool glass. The
curtains blew gently in the night breeze. "Does Richard know that
Jean-Claude is some kind of incubus?"

"I don't think so," Damian said.

Power breathed on the wind. I could almost smell it like ozone in the
air. It raised the hair at the back of my neck. It wasn't vampire or
shapeshifter. I recognized it for what it was: necromancy. Somewhere
close by, someone was using a power very similar to mine.

I turned to Damian. "Colin's human servant, is she a necromancer?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Shit." I cast outward, searching for Asher. My power touched him and
was thrown backwards, out, away. I ran for the door.

Damian followed me, asking, "What is it? What's wrong?"

I had the Browning naked in my hand when I hit the yard. Damian saw them
before I did, and he pointed at them. Colin's human servant stood at the
edge of the trees, almost lost in shadows and darkness. Asher stood a
few yards in front of her. He was on his knees.

I fired at her as I ran. The shots went wild, but it broke some of her
concentration and I could feel Asher again. His life was being pulled
out of him like a fish on a string. I could feel his blood thundering
against his skin. His heart leaped in his chest like a caged thing
struggling to get out, and it was her his heart was trying to get to, as
if she could pull his heart from his chest from a distance.

I forced myself to stop running. I stood there and sighted down my arm.
I felt movement from above. I looked up in time to see Barnaby's pale
face coming at me like some giant bird of prey, then Damian was off the
ground and the two vampires rolled into the sky, struggling.

I was close enough to see Asher's face now. He was bleeding from every
opening; eyes, mouth, nose. He was a mask of blood; his clothes were
soaked in it. He fell forward onto all fours.

I shot the woman. I shot her in the chest twice. She fell slowly to her
knees, looking at me. She looked surprised. I heard her say, "We're not
allowed to kill each other's human servants."

"If Colin hadn't known I'd kill you, he'd have come himself."

That made her smile for some reason. She said, "I hope he dies with me."
Then she collapsed facedown on the ground. Even by moonlight I could see
the exit holes in her back like great gaping mouths.

Asher stayed on all fours, blood dripping from his mouth. I knelt by
him, touched his shoulder, and the shirt was blood-soaked. "Asher,
Asher, can you hear me?"

"I thought it was you," he said, in a voice thick with things that
should never be in a living throat. "I thought it was you calling me."
He coughed blood onto the ground.

I looked up into the sky, and there was no sight of Damian and Barnaby.
I screamed for help, and no one answered.

I put my arms around Asher, and he collapsed into my lap. I cradled as
much of him into my lap as I could get. I had to lean over him to hear
his voice.

"I thought you had called me out into the night for a rendezvous. Isn't
that ironic?" He coughed so hard that it was hard to hold him. Thicker
things than blood spilled from his mouth. I held him while he bled his
life away on the ground and screamed, "Damian!"

I heard a distant scream, but that was all. "Don't die, Asher, please,
don't die."

He coughed until something dark and black came out his mouth. Blood
poured out of his mouth in a near steady stream. I touched his skin, and
it was cool to the touch.

"If you fed off of one of the lycanthropes, would it be enough to save
you?"

"If it's soon, perhaps." His voice was soft and thick.

I touched his forehead and came away with chill sweat. "How badly are
you hurt?"

He ignored me, speaking very softly, "Know this, Anita, that seeing
myself through your eyes has healed my heart."

My throat was tight with tears. "Please, Asher, don't."

A drop of pure blood slid out of his eye. "Be happy with your two beaus.
Don't make the same mistakes that Jean-Claude and I made all those long
years ago." He touched my face with a hand that was slick with blood.
"Be happy in their arms, ma cherie."

His eyes fluttered. If he passed out, we might lose him. There was
nothing in the night but the sounds of cicada and the wind. Where the
hell was everyone?

"Asher, don't pass out."

His eyes fluttered open, but he was having trouble focusing. I felt his
heart hesitate, skip a beat. He could live without his heart beating,
but I knew that this time, when the heart went, it was over. He was
dying. Nikki had broken him inside too badly for healing.

I put my right wrist, encased in white bandages, in front of his mouth.
"Take my blood."

"To drink from you is to give you power over any of us. I do not want to
be your slave any more than I already am."

I was crying, tears so hot they burned. "Don't let Colin kill you.
Please, please!" I held him against me and whispered, "Don't leave us,
Asher." I felt Jean-Claude all those miles away. I felt his panic at the
thought of losing Asher. "Don't leave us, not now, not now that we've
found you again. Tu es beau, mon amour. Tu me fais craquer."

He actually smiled. "I shatter your heart, eh?"

I kissed his cheek, kissed his face, and cried, hot tears against the
harsh scars of his face. "Je t'embrasse partout. Je t'embrasse partout.
I kiss you all over, mon amour."

He stared up at me. "Je te bois des yeux. "

"Don't drink me with your eyes, damn it, drink me with your mouth." I
tore the bandages away from my right wrist with my teeth and put my
bare, warm flesh against his cold lips.

He whispered, "Je t'adore." Fangs sank into my wrist. It was sharp and
deep. His mouth locked against my skin. His throat convulsed,
swallowing. I stared into his pale eyes and felt something in my head
part like a curtain, some shield shattered. One moment it was one
continuous ache almost nauseating, then there was nothing but the
spreading warmth. I didn't even have time to panic. Asher rolled over my
mind like a warm lip of ocean, pleasurable, caressing. It burst over me
in a skin-tingling, breath-stealing rush that left me gasping and wet.
Then Asher was kneeling above me, laying me gently on the ground.

I lay, staring at nothing, riding the sensations up and down my body.
I'd never let any vampire do me like this, never let them steal my mind
while they stole my blood. I hadn't even known he could do it. Not to
me.

He kissed me on the forehead. "Forgive me, Anita. I did not know that I
could embrace your mind. I did not know that any vampire could." He
stared down at my face, searching for some reaction. I couldn't give him
one yet. He drew back enough to see my face clearly. "I feared you would
possess me as you possess Damian if I fed from your blood without using
any of my powers. I did try to scale your shield, break your barriers,
but I did it to protect myself from your power. I did not dream that I
could breach such impenetrable walls." He started to touch my face, then
stopped, his hand falling to his lap. "The marks that bind you to
Jean-Claude protect you from him embracing your mind. But he was never
as good at this as I was. I should have thought of that before."

I just lay there, half-floating. Nothing was real yet. I couldn't think,
couldn't speak.

He raised my hand and pressed it against his scarred cheek. "I drew back
as soon as I realized what I had done. It was just, how do you say, a
quickie. It was only a small taste of what it could have been, Anita.
Please, believe me." He stood, and I couldn't follow the movement. I lay
on the ground and tried to think.

Jason knelt beside me. I was aware enough to wonder where the hell he'd
come from. He wasn't staying at Marianne's. Or was he? "It's your first
time?" he asked.

I tried to nod but couldn't.

"Now you know why I stay with them," he said.

"No," I said, but my voice was distant as if it wasn't my voice at all.
"No, I don't."

"You felt it. You rode him. How can you not love it?"

I couldn't explain it. It had felt wondrous, but as the glow began to
fade, the fear welled up big and black enough to swallow the world. It
felt amazing, and that had been a "quickie," as he put it. I never
wanted anything more from Asher. Because if it was much better than
this, I might chase the rest of my days for another taste. And
Jean-Claude could not give it to me. The marks prevented him from
rolling my mind. It was one of the things that made the difference
between servant and slave. I would never get this with Jean-Claude,
never. And I wanted it. I hadn't wanted Asher to die. Now I wasn't so
sure.

Asher came back to stand over me. We stared at each other. There were
people in the dark now. Someone had a flashlight. They flared it over
me. I was left staring in the brightness, nearly blind. The light stood
harsh on Asher's face, highlighting the reddish tracks of tears. "Don't
hate me, Anita. I could not bear it if you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Asher." My voice still sounded thick and heavy with
that golden edge of pleasure. "I fear you."

He just stood there, tears sliding down his face. The tears slid in
reddish lines down the smooth skin of his left side. The tears got lost
in the scars on the other side, and were beginning to collect in a
reddish stain on the stiff skin. "Worse," he whispered, "worse, I
think."

Chapter 42
----------

I kicked everyone out except Jason. He got to stay because they started
arguing that I couldn't be left completely alone. Had I forgotten that
people were trying to kill me? Had I forgotten that Jean-Claude had said
he'd kill them all if I died? That last did not win friends and
influence people with me. My comment had been, "If we all died, I guess
that'd solve everything." Which sort of put an end to the arguments.

Jason lay on the bed propped in the nest of pillows. He tried to roll
onto his side, then stopped in midmotion with a small sound of pain. He
moved stiffly, like things hurt, which was what had gotten him a place
on the bed instead of the chair.

I was pacing the room. I had a little circuit mapped out. Foot of the
bed, windows, far wall, near wall with the door.

"You know that you've walked past the foot of the bed twenty times, and
that's just since I started counting," Jason said.

"Shut up," I said. I'd put all my guns back on, not because I thought I
needed them, but because they were familiar. The tightness of the
shoulder holster, the digging of the Firestar in its inner-pants holster
made me feel more like myself. I was the only one of the three of us who
carried guns. It was one thing I knew that I hadn't gotten from either
of them. It was mine. Guns, this particular brand of violence, was all
mine. I needed something that was all mine right now.

Jason moved over on his side, slowly, an inch at a time. It took him
until I'd made the circuit and was back at the foot of the bed before he
made it to his side with a look of relief. He and Jamil had been moved
to this house so that all the injured could be in one place. Roxanne was
just down the hall with Ben sitting guard. Apparently, I'd been
channeling enough of Richard's power that they thought she might have a
concussion. I wasn't sure if Ben was supposed to be guarding her from me
or the other way around. Dr. Patrick was down in the kitchen stirring
the stew that Marianne had left us. Zane and Cherry were here, but all
the other shifters had gone to the lupanar. They were going to finish
the ceremony that had been interrupted last night. Bully for them.

Asher was somewhere in the house. I didn't know where and didn't want to
know. Too much was happening too damned fast. I needed some time to
regroup. And I wasn't going to get it.

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Damian."

"Go away."

"There's a vampire down here with one of Sheriff Wilkes's deputies. They
say they have to talk to you or Richard. They aren't treating this like
police business."

That got my attention. I stopped pacing and went to the door. Damian
stood there, still wearing the vest that Barnaby had ripped all the
buttons off of. When Colin's human servant died, Barnaby had given up
the fight and flown away. Damian's suit was black in bright light and
made his skin look unbelievably white.

"What did they say exactly?" I asked.

"Just that they had a message for the two of you from Frank Niley."

"Fuck," I said, softly.

"They're sitting in the kitchen with Dr. Patrick and Asher."

"Tell Roxanne and Jamil that the bad guys are here. I'll go down and
talk to them."

"The man has a gun," Damian said.

"So do I," I said. I walked down the hall, and Damian fell in step
behind me.

Jason called from the door. "Wait for me."

"Follow at your own pace, Jason. I'm not waiting for you to trip down
the stairs."

"Don't let her get killed, Damian," he said.

I called back over my shoulder, "He'll do what I tell him to do." An
hour or so of thinking about everything I had learned had not improved
my mood.

I clattered down the stairs. Damian followed like a soundless shadow at
my back. Why hadn't Wilkes and his men stormed the place? I'd really
expected them to just start shooting if they found out we hadn't left
town. What message could they have from Niley? And where did the vampire
come in? Dolph hadn't mentioned anything about Niley traveling with a
vamp. Dolph hated vamps enough that he would have mentioned it. So many
questions, and for once, I was going to get them answered almost as soon
as I thought of them. How refreshing.

The kitchen looked normal. They'd scrubbed the blood off the linoleum
and placed a fresh lace tablecloth on the table. Deputy Thompson sat in
one of the kitchen chairs. He was in civvie clothes, no uniform. A tall,
thin vampire that I'd never seen before sat in the chair beside him. Dr.
Patrick sat in the chair facing them with his back to the hallway, to
us. Nathaniel took up the last chair. He was staring at the vampire.

Zane stood with his back against the sink. Asher leaned against the
china cabinet close enough to Thompson that he could have touched him
and certainly could prevent him from pulling the gun. The gun in
question was a Berretta 10 mil in a shoulder holster. Same gun as on
duty, just in a different holster. Letting Asher that close was
careless, but Thompson didn't seem to think that.

He smiled at me, and the smile was confident, arrogant, like he had me
where he wanted me, and I couldn't do anything about it. What was going
on?

"How'd you find me?" I asked.

He stuck a thumb in the vampire's direction. "The local Master of the
City told us he could still feel you in town. They helped us hunt you
down. Evidently, you're easier to find than your boyfriend. Something
about your power attracts them."

I stared at the vampire. His face was unreadable, pale and empty. His
eyes were dark grey, his hair straight and black. It was cut short and
smoothed back over his forehead in a pompadour. That was what they'd
called it in the fifties. The hairdo matched the feel of him in my head.
He wasn't fifty years dead yet.

"What's your name?"

"Donald."

"Hi, Donald, missed you at the wienie roast."

Anger flared across the vampire's face. He wasn't old enough to hide it.
"You told my master that you were here just to get your third out of
jail. Once you had accomplished that, you should have gone home. You
pretended to leave town but did not. If you had simply left, we would
have accepted the murder of our people. By staying, you show that you
intend to possess our lands and my master's power."

"Have you talked to your master lately?" I asked. "Or more importantly,
has he talked to his human servant lately?"

The vampire glared at me, but there was no power to it. "Colin is
injured but not yet dead. But the Council will slay you for . . .
killing his servant."

Asher said, "A human servant gives up their safe conduct if they attack
another vampire directly. That is Council law. Anita did nothing that
the Council will hunt her for. If Colin persists in trying to harm us,
it is he the Council will hunt down and destroy."

"Enough of the vampire crap," I said. I turned back to Thompson. "So,
what's the message? I thought if we were still here after dark, Frank
was going to do us all personally."

"Ol' Frank seems scared shitless of you. Howard keeps mumbling that the
signs are real bad, that they need to leave town now. That if they stay,
you'll kill them all."

I raised an eyebrow. "Having met Niley and his crew, I'm flattered at
being their bogeyman. Now, what the fuck is the message?"

Thompson brought a small white box out of his pocket. It was like
something you'd buy an inexpensive necklace in. He held it out to me
with a smile that was so unpleasant, it made me afraid to take the box.

"It won't bite," he said.

I glanced at Asher. He shrugged.

I took the box. It was tacky on the bottom. I raised it to see a
brownish stain on the white cardboard. The box was light but not empty.
"What's in here?"

"Don't want to spoil the surprise," Thompson said.

I took a deep breath and lifted the lid off. There was a lock of hair,
curled over some cotton. The hair was long and thick and chestnut brown,
tied with a bit of red ribbon like you'd use on a present. I lifted the
lock of hair and it fell across my palm. The cotton it had been resting
on was stained at one corner. Stained reddish brown.

I fought to keep my face blank. "So?" I said.

"Don't you recognize it? Zeeman's baby brother donated that."

"You didn't get blood cutting Daniel's hair," I said.

"No," he smiled, laughed, squirming in his chair like a kid who couldn't
wait for the rest of the joke, "There's another little present in the
box. Lift up the cotton."

I laid the hair on the table. It lay there curled and gleaming. I didn't
want to lift the cotton. I didn't want to see what else they'd cut off
of Daniel. The one consolation I had was that of the many awful
possibilities that flashed through my mind, most of them were too big to
fit into the box.

I lifted the cotton and fell to my knees like someone had struck me. I
knelt there, staring down at the tip of a little finger that was far too
delicate to be Daniel's. The nail polish on the finger was still
perfect, smooth, pale. Nothing dclass about Richard's mother.

Dr. Patrick had to leave the table and throw up in the sink. Soft touch
for a doctor and a werewolf.

"What is it?" Cherry asked.

I couldn't speak.

Asher answered because he could see over my shoulder into the box. "It's
a woman's finger."

Jason had just entered the room. "What did you just say?"

The vampire, Donald, said, "What have you done, human?"

"We have Richard's brother and his mother," Thompson said. "I thought
we'd just kill you, but Niley's paying the money. He wants to give you a
way out besides killing. He seems to think if he doesn't try to kill
you, you won't try and kill him. Funny, ain't it?"

I finally looked up, away from Charlotte Zeeman's finger. "What do you
want?"

"You leave town tonight. We release Richard's mother and brother
tomorrow morning, when we're sure you really are gone. If you don't
leave this time, Niley will keep trimming pieces off of Zeeman's family.
Maybe an ear next time, maybe something bigger." He was grinning as he
said it. Thompson was a sadistic brute, but he didn't understand me at
all, or he wouldn't have been smiling.

There was a look on Donald the vampire's face that said he did
understand me.

I stood up very slowly. I laid the box on the table beside the lock of
hair. My voice was amazingly calm, almost empty of inflection. "Where
are they?"

"We left them safe and sound," Thompson said.

"I did not know what they had done," the vampire said. "I did not know
they had mutilated your third's family."

I shook my head. "You see, that's the problem, Donald. When you play
with bad guys, you can't control how bad they are. You both just left
Daniel and Charlotte, just left them there."

"Yeah," Thompson said. "Ol' Don here picked me up in his car."

I was staring at the finger. I couldn't seem to not look at it. I raised
my eyes to Donald the vampire. "So, you both know where they are," I
said.

Donald's eyes went wide. He whispered, "I didn't know."

Asher moved forward and laid hands on Thompson's shoulders.

Thompson wasn't worried. "If anything happens to us, they'll do worse to
both of them. Richard's mom is a real attractive woman. Be a shame to
change that."

Donald said, "I am sorry about what they did, but my orders are the
same. You must leave our territory tonight."

"Use the kitchen phone. Tell them we give. Tell them don't hurt them,
and we're out of here."

Thompson smirked. "No, no phone calls. They're giving us two hours.
Then, if we're not back, they'll start cutting things off that will
affect a lot more than her typing."

I nodded and pulled the Browning. I pointed it and shot it in one
motion. I didn't even remember aiming. The vampire's head exploded in a
cloud of blood and brains. The body rocked back and fell, taking the
chair with it.

Asher held Thompson in his seat. Some of the blood had splattered
Thompson's face. A glob of something thicker than blood was trailing
down his forehead. He was trying to bat at the piece of flesh, but Asher
held him.

I took the gun out from under his arm and pointed the Browning at his
forehead.

Thompson stopped fighting and glared up at me. I had to give him credit.
Covered in blood and brains, held down by a vampire, staring at the
barrel of a gun, and he was putting on a brave show. "Kill me, it won't
get you anything but them cut to pieces."

"Tell me where they are, Thompson, and I'll go get them."

"Fuck you! You're going to kill me, anyway."

"I give you my word that if you tell us where they are, and we get them
out alive, you get to live."

"I don't believe you, bitch."

"Problem with being a traitorous, untrustworthy, wretch, Thompson, is
you begin to believe everyone else is the same way." I put the safety on
the Browning and reholstered it. He watched me do it, puzzled. "I keep
my word, Thompson. Do you want to live or not?"

"Niley and Linus Beck are a hell of a lot scarier than you will ever be,
chickie."

He'd called me bitch and chickie. He was either stupid, or . . . "You're
trying to get me to kill you."

"If I talk, my life is over. And Niley won't just shoot me." Thompson
stared up at me, and there was a knowledge in his eyes that he was
already dead. It was only a matter of how and who. And he preferred me,
now, to Niley, later.

"He doesn't fear death," Asher said softly.

I shook my head. "No, he doesn't."

"We could call the cops," Jason offered.

"If he's not scared of you guys, he won't be scared of the state cops."
I stood staring down at Thompson. "I don't know what I'm going to do
with you, Thompson, but I'll tell you what I won't do. I won't sit here
for two hours and watch the time tick away. I won't let Daniel and
Charlotte die."

"Then leave town," Thompson said.

"I've met Niley, Thompson. Do you really expect me to believe that he's
going to let them go?"

"He said he would."

"You believe him?" I asked.

Thompson just looked at me.

"I didn't think so."

Asher's fingers kneaded the man's shoulders almost like he was massaging
them. "There are other things to fear besides death, Anita. If you have
the stomach for it."

I looked into that beautiful, tragic face and couldn't read it. "What do
you have in mind?"

"An eye for an eye, I think," the vampire said.

I stared into crystalline blue eyes and let the idea grow in my head
like a horrible flower. A lot of people who could face being shot, quick
death, blanched at torture. I was one of them. And that's what we were
talking about.

"I believe the deputy will tell us where they are within the next half
hour, if we are ruthless," Asher said. "I will do the dirty work, as it
were. You need only permit it."

Thompson looked worried. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Jason," I said.

He came to stand beside me. He stared down at what lay on the table. He
didn't say anything, but tears slid silently down his face. He'd been
over at the Zeeman house for a lot of Sunday dinners.

"Help hold Thompson," I said.

Jason went to stand on the other side, pinning one arm to the top of the
table. Asher still held his shoulders.

I looked at Asher and nodded. "Do it."

"Damian, if you would be so kind as to fetch me a knife. One with a
serrated edge would be best. It will go through bone better."

Damian just turned and walked across the kitchen. Zane and he started
opening drawers.

"What are you going to do?" Thompson said.

"Guess," I said.

"I didn't cut anything off of that bitch. I didn't touch them. It was
that strange goon that Niley has. Linus Beck. He cut the finger off. He
did it. I didn't do anything."

"Don't worry, Thompson. We'll get to Linus. But right now, you're all
we've got."

Damian had a big serrated butcher knife. He stalked towards the table
with it.

Thompson was struggling now. It was hard to hold him sitting. "Better
take him to the floor," I said.

Nathaniel helped. They held him facedown, one on each arm, Nathaniel
pinning his legs. Thompson was a big, strong man, but he couldn't fight
them. They were too strong. Far too strong.

Thompson was screaming. "Fuck you!"

Damian held the knife out to Asher. "I'll hold him."

I touched Damian's arm and shook my head. "No, I'll do it."

Damian looked at me.

"The rule is never ask anyone to do something you won't do yourself. If
I can't do this, then we won't do it at all. We'll find another way."

Jason looked up from holding the struggling man. "There is no other
way." I'd never seen such rage in his eyes.

"Could you do it?" I asked. "Could you chop him up?"

Jason gave a slow nod. "I could bite his fucking fingers off one by one
for what's in that box." He seemed to mean it, and it made me think I
didn't know Jason at all.

"We can do this, Anita," Asher said, "and it will cost us nothing."

"It should cost, Asher. If we're going to do something this evil, it
should bother whoever does it."

"It isn't evil," Asher said. "It is practical. It is even justice."

I held my hand out for the knife. "It's evil, and we all know it. Now,
give me the knife. Either I can do this, or we do something else."

Damian just stood there, holding the knife. "Let me do this for you,
Anita, please."

"Give me the damn knife."

He gave it to me because he couldn't do anything else. I knelt down by
Thompson. "Where are they, Thompson?" I asked.

"No, no, Niley told me what they'd do to me if I helped you. He's
fucking crazy."

"Wait," Zane said. He had found a small cleaver. "This will work
better."

"Thanks." I took it, checked it for balance. I wasn't sure I could do
it. I wasn't even sure I wanted to be able to do it. In fact, I knew
that I hoped I couldn't do it. But if we were really going to do this, I
had to be the one. I did it, or we found another way. Charlotte Zeeman's
finger was lying in a box. In less than two hours, they'd cut something
else off. I'd killed the vampire, splattered Thompson with blood and
brains, and he wasn't talking. He was a mean son of a bitch, but he was
tough, too. Charlotte and Daniel didn't have time for him to be tough.
We had to break him, and we had to break him fast. I gave myself all the
reasons. They were good reasons, real reasons. And still, I didn't know
if I could do it.

"We'll start with a finger, Thompson. Just like Linus did," I said.

He was screaming, "Don't, please, don't! Oh, God, don't!"

Asher was leaning almost his full weight on the flat of the man's palm,
forcing his fingers to spread wide. "Tell me where they are, and it
won't happen," I said.

"Niley said they'd cut me open and make me eat my own intestines. Says
he did it once in Miami. I believe him."

"I believe him, too, Thompson. And you don't believe we'll do it, do
you? You don't believe we're as crazy as Niley."

"No one is as crazy as Niley."

I raised the cleaver up. "You're wrong." I stayed frozen for one long
moment. I couldn't make myself start the stroke. I couldn't do it.
Daniel, Charlotte.

"Has Niley raped Daniel yet?" I asked it in a voice that was so empty,
it was like I wasn't there.

Thompson stopped struggling. He lay very still. He rolled his eyes
upward. "Please don't."

I stared into his eyes when I said the next, "Did you rape Charlotte
Zeeman?" I saw the fear in his eyes. That flash that said he'd done it.
It was enough. I could do it. God forgive me. I got the little finger
and the tip of the next one, because he moved. But they got better at
holding him down, and I got better at cutting. Thompson told us where
they were keeping Daniel and Charlotte Zeeman. In less than fifteen
minutes he would have told us the ingredients to the secret sauce or
anything else. He'd have confessed to killing Hoffa, or dancing with the
devil. Anything, anything to make it stop.

I threw up in the corner until there was nothing but bile, and my head
felt like it was going to explode. And I knew that I'd finally done
something that I wouldn't recover from. Somewhere in the first blow or
the second, I'd broken something inside myself that would never heal.
And I was content with it. If we got Daniel and Charlotte back, I was
content with it. A hard, cold knot filled me. It was beyond hate. I
would make them pay for what they'd done. I would kill them. I would
kill them all.

I felt strangely light and empty, and I wondered if this was what it was
like to be crazy. It didn't feel too bad. Later, when the shock wore
off, I'd feel worse. Later, I'd wonder if there had been another way to
get Thompson to talk. Later, I'd remember that I wanted to hurt him,
wanted him to crawl and beg. That I wanted to take all the hurt that had
happened to Charlotte and Daniel and carve it out of his flesh. Now we
had to go rescue Daniel and Charlotte. Oh, one last thing. Thompson was
screaming, high and piteously, like a wounded rabbit.

I shot him in the head. The screaming stopped.

Chapter 43
----------

I was driving the van down narrow gravel roads in the dark. I'd insisted
on driving because I wanted something to do. I didn't want to just sit
and stare out the window. But I was beginning to think I should have let
someone else drive, because I didn't seem to be too real yet. I felt
light and empty, shocky, but not guilty. Not yet. Thompson had earned
his death. He'd raped Richard's mother. They'd tortured Richard's
mother. They'd raped Daniel. They'd tortured Daniel. They all deserved
to die.

Jamil and Nathaniel were in the back of the van with Roxanne and Ben.
The lupa would not be left out of the fight, even though she'd had to be
carried out to the van by her bodyguard. I didn't have time to fight
with Roxanne, so she got to come.

Jason and Dr. Patrick got to ride up front with me. Zane and Cherry had
been sent to the lupanar to get Richard and the rest. But we weren't
waiting. I didn't trust Niley not to get creative. No, I didn't trust
Linus and his master. How much control did Niley have over his pet
psychopath? They'd already raped them. What else had happened to them by
now? Niley had no rules. I knew that.

I was gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt. The headlights cut a
golden tunnel through the blackness. Trees crowded the road so close
that they scraped at the van's roof with thick, clawing fingers. The
trees seemed to squeeze down around us like a fist. The headlights
glowed over the dirt road, but it wasn't enough light. It would never be
enough light. There wasn't enough light in the world to chase away this
darkness.

"I can't believe you did that," Patrick said. He was on the far side,
pressed against the passenger-side door as if afraid to get too close to
me.

Jason was in the middle. "Let it go, Patrick," he said.

"She chopped him up like an animal, then she shot him."

This was the third time he'd said pretty much the exact same thing.

"Shut up," Jason said.

"I will not. It was barbaric."

"I'm not having a good night, Patrick. Drop it," I said.

"The fuck you say," he said.

"Thompson was screaming, in pain," I said.

"And you killed him," Patrick said.

"Someone had to finish it," I said.

"What the hell are you talking about? Finish it!" His voice was rising,
and I was beginning to debate how angry Roxanne would be if I shot him.
After what I'd already done tonight, it didn't seem like such a big
deal.

"How long have you been lukoi?" Jason asked.

The question gave us a moment of surprised silence, then, "Two years."

"And what's the rule about hunting?" Jason asked.

"Which one?"

"Don't be coy, Patrick," Jason said. "You know which one."

Patrick was silent long enough that the only sounds were the whir of the
engine, the wheels on the road. The van rocked softly over the rutted
road. Was it just my imagination or was there a sound underneath the
engine's roar, a high, keening, scream? Naw, my imagination. My
imagination was not going to be my friend for a while.

Patrick finally said, "Never begin a hunt unless you mean to kill."

"That's the one," Jason said.

"But this wasn't a hunt," Patrick said.

"Yes, it was," Jason said. "We just weren't hunting the deputy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

I answered, "It means we're hunting the people in that house."

Patrick turned a pale face to me in the dark. "You can't mean that we
are to kill all of them. Only one man cut off her finger. Only one man
is guilty."

"They watched. They did nothing to prevent it. It's the same as doing it
in the eyes of the law," I said.

"You are not the law," he said.

"Oh, yes, I am."

"No, you're not. Damn it, no, you are not!"

"Anyone who harms the pack without just cause is our enemy," I said.

"Don't quote pack law to me, human."

"How do we deal with our enemies?" I asked.

Jason answered, "Death."

"Most packs don't hold to the old laws anymore, and you both know it,"
Patrick said.

"Look, Patrick, I don't have time to explain it all, so here's the
Reader's Digest version. Niley and crew raped and tortured Richard's
mother and brother. We are going to kill them for that. All of them."

"What about Sheriff Wilkes and his men?"

"If Thompson helped rape Richard's mom, then he wasn't the only one.
Anyone who touched either of them is dead. Do you understand that,
Patrick? Dead."

"I can't do it," he said.

"Then stay in the car," I said, "but shut the fuck up or I'm going to
shoot you."

"See," he said, "see, your conscience is bothering you."

I glanced at him huddled in the dark. "No, my conscience isn't bothering
me. Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe not. But now, tonight, I don't feel bad
about what I did. I wanted Thompson to hurt. I wanted to punish him for
what he did. And you know what, Patrick? It wasn't enough. It will never
be enough, because I killed him too fucking quick." Tears were
threatening at the back of my throat again. When the numbness and anger
wore off, I was going to be in trouble. I had to hold onto the
adrenaline, the rage. It would see me through the night. Tomorrow, well,
we'd see.

"There had to be another way," Patrick said.

"I didn't hear you offering any suggestions at the time."

"What's bothering the good doctor," Jason said, "is that he didn't say
anything. He didn't do anything to stop us."

I appreciated the "us."

"I didn't hold him down," Patrick said. "I didn't touch him."

"All you had to do was say, 'Stop, don't,' but you kept quiet. You let
us chop him up. You let us kill him and didn't say a damn word," Jason
said. "Your conscience wasn't working so hard while he was still alive."

Patrick didn't say anything for a long time. We bumped over the road,
avoiding tree branches and dirt-filled holes. There was nothing but the
darkness, the golden tunnel of headlights, and the engine-filled
silence. I wasn't sure silence was my favorite thing right now, but it
was better than listening to Patrick tell me what a monster I was. I
agreed with him, which made it harder to hear.

Then something filled the silence that was even harder to hear. Patrick
was crying. He huddled against the far door, as far from both of us as
he could get, and cried softly. Finally, he said, "You're right. I did
nothing, and that will haunt me for the rest of my days."

"Join the club," I said.

He peered at me through the darkness. "Then why did you do it?"

"Someone had to."

"I will never forget the sight of you chopping him up. This little girl
. . . The look on your face when you killed him. God, you looked blank
like you weren't even there. Why did you have to be the one to do it?"

"Would it have been better if one of the guys had done it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Please don't tell me this is some macho shit. That you're this upset
because a girl did it?"

Patrick snuffled. "I guess it is. I mean, I guess it wouldn't seem so
horrible if one of the others had done it. You're this pretty little
thing. You shouldn't be chopping people's fingers off."

"Oh, please," I said.

"I will go to my grave seeing the look on your face at the last."

"Keep it up, and you'll go sooner than later," I mumbled.

"What did you say?" Patrick asked.

"Nothing," I said.

Jason made a small sound that might have been a laugh. If he only knew
how unfunny the comment had been. I was having enough trouble with what
I'd just done. I didn't need a sobbing Jiminy Cricket to emphasize the
fact that I'd fallen into the abyss. The monster wasn't breathing down
my neck; it was inside my head. Inside my head, fat and well-fed. What
made me so sure the monster was home was the fact that I didn't feel
guilty. I felt bad because I was supposed to feel bad and didn't. I had
to have some personal line that could not be crossed, and I'd thought
torture was it. And I'd been wrong.

Tears tightened my throat, but I'd be damned if I'd cry. It was done. I
had to let it go--or at least push it back long enough to get the job
done. The job was to rescue Daniel and Charlotte. If I didn't get them
out, then it had all been for nothing. I'd added a new nightmare for
nothing. But it was more than that. I couldn't face Richard if I let
them die. I'd been angry with him, pissed, but now I wasn't. I'd have
given a great deal for him to hold me right now. Of course, he'd have
probably agreed with Patrick. Richard would be a very wise man if he
didn't attempt to lecture me tonight.

But it wasn't just Richard. I'd met the entire Zeeman clan. They were so
close to perfect that it made my teeth ache. The family might never
recover from a loss like this. My family hadn't. I was counting on
Daniel and Charlotte to recover from the torture. I was counting on them
being strong enough to not let that alone be enough to destroy them. I
hoped I was right. No. I prayed I was right.

Thompson had told us what room they were keeping them in. It was in the
back, near the woods, as far from the road as possible. Not a surprise.
There might have been information that Thompson had that could have been
useful. Maybe I should have used less torture and more threat. Maybe
that would have gotten us more detailed info faster. Maybe, maybe not. I
was new at interrogation by torture, lacked the proper technique, I
suppose. I would have said I'd get better with practice, except I wasn't
doing it again. I might have the screaming meemies forever from just
this one incident, but if I did it again, it was over. They'd have to
wrap me up and put me away. I kept flashing on the feel of the cleaver
biting into the floor. I remembered thinking that I didn't feel it go
through the bone. I just felt it bite into the floor underneath. I saw
the fingers go in a wash of blood, but not as much blood as you'd think,
for some reason.

"Anita, Anita, the turnoff."

I blinked and slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone forward. I was
the only one wearing a seat belt. I usually remember to have everyone
buckle up. Careless of me.

Jason peeled himself off the dashboard, pushed back to the seat, and
said, "Are you okay?"

I backed the van up slowly. "I'm fine."

"Liar," he said.

I eased the van back until I could see the white sign that said, "Greene
Valley House." You didn't expect to find a house with a name at the end
of a dirt road, but there you are. Just because the road isn't paved
doesn't mean the people don't have style or maybe pretensions. Sometimes
it's awfully hard to tell the difference.

This road was gravel. The gravel pinged against the underside of the
van, even at less than twenty miles an hour. I slowed down further.
Roxanne knew the house. She'd grown up with the Greenes' son. They'd
been best friends until the hormones kicked in and he started trying to
play boy to her girl. But she knew the house. There was a clearing about
halfway down the road where we should park the van. The clearing was
right on schedule. I pulled the van into the weeds. They whisked against
the metal, whipping the tires. The black van was sort of invisible,
parked in the trees. It was also sort of wedged. We wouldn't be moving
it quickly. Of course, I wasn't planning on us having to make a run for
it. My priority was to get Daniel and Charlotte out as unharmed as
possible. I had no other priority. It made things simple. We secured the
hostages, then we killed everybody. Simple.

Part of me hoped that Richard got here in time for the assault. Part of
me didn't. One, I wasn't sure how he'd take the news about his family.
Two, I wasn't sure how he'd take my game plan. And I didn't want to
argue. I'd paid the price to get here. We'd play it the way I wanted it.

Someone touched my arm, and I jumped so badly I couldn't speak for a
second. My heart filled my throat until I couldn't breathe. "Anita, it's
Jason. You okay?"

The passenger-side door was open, and Patrick wasn't in sight. I heard
movement coming up on my side of the van. It was Nathaniel. He tapped
softly on the window. I lowered it.

"Everyone's out of the back," he said.

I nodded.

"Give us a few minutes," Jason said.

Nathaniel went back to the rear of the van without another word. He did
follow orders well.

"Talk to me, Anita."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"You keep staring off into space for minutes at a time. You're not even
here. We need you for this to work. Daniel and Mrs. Zeeman need you."

My head turned slowly of its own accord, and I glared at him. "I have
done my best for them tonight. I have gone above and beyond my personal
best for them tonight."

"Until they're safe, it's not over."

"I know that. Don't you think I know that? If I don't get them out
alive, then what I did was for nothing."

"And what do you think you did?" he asked.

I shook my head. "You saw."

"I helped hold him down."

"I'm sorry about that."

Jason put a hand on each shoulder and shook me gently. "Damn it, Anita,
get a grip. It isn't like you to wallow in the horror. You're a good
soldier. You kill and keep going like you're supposed to."

I pushed him away from me. "I tortured a man, Jason. I reduced him to
something that writhed on the floor, mewling with terror and pain. And I
wanted to do it. I wanted him to hurt because of what they'd done to
Charlotte and Daniel. I wanted to do it." I shook my head. "I'll do my
bit tonight, but forgive me if it's a little harder to keep going than
normal. Forgive me if I'm not superwoman, after all."

"Not superwoman?" he exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest in mock
surprise. "You've lied to me all these years!"

It made me smile, and I didn't want to smile. "Stop it."

"Stop what? Cheering you up? Or is life supposed to stop because you did
something horrible? I'll tell you the real horrible truth, Anita. No
matter what you do or how bad you feel about it, life just goes on. Life
doesn't give a fuck that you're sorry or upset or deranged or tormented.
Life just goes on, and you gotta go on with it, or sit in the middle of
the road and feel sorry for yourself. And I don't see you doing that."

"I am not feeling sorry for myself."

"You aren't all broken up about Thompson. You're broken up because of
what you did to Thompson and how it makes you feel. You don't give a
rat's ass about him. You're just weeping and gnashing your teeth about
how much of a monster you are. Well, I get enough of that from Richard.
I don't need it from you. So get your act together. We've got people we
care about to save."

I stared at him. "You know what's really bothering me?"

"No, what?"

"I don't feel bad about cutting Thompson up. I think he deserved it."

"He did," Jason said.

"No one deserves to be tortured, Jason. No one deserves what we
did--what I did--to him. That's what the front of my brain keeps telling
me. It keeps telling me I should feel sorry about it, horrified. This
should be something that breaks me. But you know what?"

"What?" Jason asked.

"It won't break me, because right now the only thing I regret is that I
didn't have enough nerve to cut off his dick and keep it as a souvenir
for Richard's mom. Killing him, even torturing him, wasn't enough. The
Zeemans are like the fucking Waltons. To think that anyone could come in
and take that away--spoil it forever--just makes me so angry--so angry
that all I can do is kill them. Kill them all. There's no regret in me."
I looked at him in the dark. "There should be regret for something,
Jason. I can kill and not blink. Now I can torture and not regret it.
I've become one of the monsters, and if it will save Richard's family, I
am happy to be one."

"Feel any better?" Jason said.

"Yeah, I do. I'm a monster, but it's for a good cause."

"To save Richard's mom, I'd do a hell of a lot worse than cut a few
fingers off," Jason said.

"Me, too," I said.

"Then let's do it," he said.

We got out of the van and went to do it.

Chapter 44
----------

Everyone had melted into the woods like stones thrown on the surface of
some dark lake. Even Ben, who was carrying Roxanne, had vanished. I
moved through the trees at a slower, more human pace. Nathaniel stayed
with me like a well-trained dog. I almost wished he'd gone off with the
others. His company was not comforting because though he was able-bodied
and a wereleopard, I wasn't sure I should be taking him into a fight.

He crouched beside me, hand on my arm, pulling me down. I went to my
knees beside him, gun ready. He pointed to our right, and I heard it:
someone crashing through the underbrush. It wasn't one of us.

I put my mouth near his ear. "Get behind whoever it is. Drive them
towards me."

He nodded and slipped into the trees. I got behind a large tree, using
it as a shield. My plan was to shove the Browning into whoever it was
and find out what was happening in the house.

Someone gasped, and now they were running full-out. I felt the movement
in the trees without really seeing it. The shape-shifters were driving
him towards me. Nathaniel had found the others and spread the word. If
it was some innocent hiker . . . I couldn't think of an apology strong
enough. Oh, well.

A figure crashed through the trees and right past me. I had to grab his
arm and spin him around into the tree to get his attention. I shoved the
gun barrel under his chin and only then realized who I had. It was
Howard the psychic.

"Don't kill me," he gasped.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I can help you."

"Start talking," I said.

"Milo and Wilkes's deputies are up there, arguing about who gets to kill
the man."

I pressed the gun barrel into his throat until he had to go on tiptoe.
He was making a wild sound high in his throat. "Did you enjoy Charlotte
Zeeman? Was she a good lay?"

He tried to talk but couldn't do it around the gun barrel. I thought
about shoving the barrel through his throat until he gagged on his blood
and died. I took a deep breath and eased down enough for him to speak
instead. "Dear God, I didn't touch the woman. I didn't touch either of
them. I'm a clairvoyant, for God's sake. I couldn't bear to touch
someone during a rape or torture," Howard said.

I believed him. And I knew if later I found out he was lying, the world
wasn't big enough to hide him. I knew with a cold certainty that if he
were guilty, he would pay. "You said Daniel's at the house? Where's
Charlotte?"

"Niley and Linus have taken her to use her blood to call up his demon.
They're going to have the demon search the land for the lance. Niley
plans on leaving tonight."

"You can't send a demon to find a holy relic," I said.

"Linus thinks the blasphemy of it will appeal to his master."

"Why are you running away, Howard?"

"There is no spear. I lied."

I eased up on the gun more and blinked at him. "What are you talking
about?"

"You know how hard it is to make a living as a clairvoyant. So many
horrible memories, and you usually end up working with the police for no
money. I'd been using my powers to get myself in good with wealthy
people who weren't so careful about the law. I'd promise them something,
but it wouldn't be real. Then they'd be too embarrassed to go to the
police about it. Or couldn't complain that they got cheated out of a
stolen object. It worked. I only swindled crooks. It worked."

"Until Niley," I said.

"He's crazy. If he ever finds out I tricked him, he'll kill me and have
Linus feed my soul to that thing."

"They're going to kill Charlotte to try and find something that isn't
even here, you asshole."

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry. I am really, really sorry. I didn't know
what he was capable of. Oh, God, let me go. Let me run away."

"You're going to get us into that house. You're going to help us rescue
Daniel."

"There isn't time to rescue them both," Howard said. "They're going to
kill the man and sacrifice the woman now. If I get you into the house,
the woman will be dead before you can get to her."

Roxanne appeared on the other side of the tree, just there, like magic.
Howard gasped. "I don't think so," she said. She opened a mouth full of
fangs and snapped them near his face. Howard screamed.

She pressed clawed hands into the bark of the tree on either side of him
and clawed long furrows in the bark. Howard fainted.

I left him with Roxanne and the vampires and Ben. When he came to, he'd
get them into the house and they'd rescue Daniel. I'd take the rest and
rescue Charlotte. There would be no choosing. No either/or. We would
save them both. I had to believe it as I threw myself into the black
woods. I unleashed that power inside me and sent it outward, casting
like a net to catch . . . a faint, ruffling scent of evil. They'd know I
was coming now, but it couldn't be helped. I ran like I'd run earlier in
the day with Richard. I ran as if the ground told me where to go, and
the trees opened up like welcoming hands. I ran in the dark and couldn't
see and didn't need to. I felt Richard running, running towards us. I
felt the hard edge of his panic and ran faster.

Chapter 45
----------

They'd chosen the top of a hill that had once been meadow, but some time
today they'd bush-hogged all the grass and meadow flowers so that the
hill was bare and broken under the moonlight.

In the movies there would be an altar and maybe a fire or two, at least
a torch. But there was nothing but darkness and a silver wash of
moonlight. The palest thing in the clearing was Charlotte Zeeman's skin.
She was tied naked to stakes driven into the ground. I thought at first
she was unconscious, but her hands flexed and strained against the
ropes. I was both happy to see her still fighting and sorry that she
hadn't passed out.

Linus Beck was wearing the proverbial black hooded robe. I guess if it
saved me from seeing him naked, I could live with it.

Niley stood by Linus. He was dressed in the same suit I'd seen him in
earlier. They'd drawn a circle on the ground with something dark and
powdery. Charlotte was inside the circle. She was food for the demon,
bait.

Wilkes stood not eight feet from me, to my right. He had a high-powered
rifle and was searching the darkness.

Linus's voice rose in a singsong rhythmn that filled the night with
echoes and movement as if the darkness itself shivered at the words.

Nathaniel and I lay on the ground at the line of trees, watching. Jason
and Jamil were supposed to be on the other side of the clearing. A
moment of concentration told me where they were. The marks with Richard
were open and roaring. I'd never been so aware of the scent and sounds
of a summer night. It was like my skin expanded outward, touching every
tree and bush. I was liquid and barely contained within my skin.

I felt Richard and the others moving through the trees like a solid
wind. The lukoi were coming. But they were miles away, and the spell was
almost complete. I could feel it growing, swelling, like a dank, unseen
fog. The evil was coming.

There were shots from the house, echoing up the hill. Wilkes turned
towards them and I went to one knee and sighted down my arms. The first
shot hit him in the middle of his back. The second shot took him a
little higher up the back because he was falling to his knees. He stayed
motionless on his knees for one of those seconds that lasted an
eternity. I had time to put a third bullet in his back.

A bullet hit the tree next to my head, and I rolled back into the
underbrush. Three more shots hit the bushes where I had been. Niley had
a gun, a semiauto that might hold eighteen bullets if he'd modified the
clip. Not good. Of course, it might hold only ten. Hard to tell in the
dark from this distance.

I sidled up to a tree, leaned my arm against it, and sighted on his
shape in the bright darkness. I pulled off one careful shot and he went
down. I wasn't sure how badly he was hit, but I'd hit something. He
fired back, and I hit the ground.

Nathaniel crawled to me on his belly. "What do we do?"

Niley yelled, "You cannot cross the circle, Anita. If you kill us, all
you can do is watch Charlotte die."

I risked a peek. Niley had taken cover. I could shoot Linus, but I
wasn't a hundred percent sure what that would do to Charlotte. I didn't
know what the spell entailed. I just didn't know that much about
sorcery.

"What do you want, Niley?"

"Throw your gun out."

"You throw yours out, too, or I shoot Linus."

"What happens to Charlotte if Linus dies in midspell?"

"I'll take my chances. Throw out the gun."

He stood and tossed the gun off the side of the hill. I couldn't hear it
hit over Linus's chanting, but he'd done it. I moved out of the trees
and tossed the Browning away. I still had the Firestar.

"The other gun, too," Niley said. "Remember that Linus searched you
earlier today."

I tossed the Firestar away into the broken grass. It was all right. This
wasn't about guns anymore.

I felt the spell close. Linus's last word reverberated on the night like
a great brass bell that had been struck slightly off-key, but it echoed
for all the flatness of the note. It echoed and grew until the skin on
my body tried to crawl away and hide, creeping as if every insect in the
world were under my skin. For a second, I couldn't breathe or move. Then
Niley's voice came, "You are too late, Anita. Too late."

Charlotte was screaming through the gag on her mouth. Screaming, over
and over again, as fast as she could draw breath.

I stared across the meadow and found that there was something else in
the circle. I wasn't sure if it was the blackness of it that made it
hard to see, or if it was like smoke, never exactly one shape. It seemed
to be about man height, maybe eight feet, not much more. It was so thin
that it looked like it was made of sticks. Its legs were longer than
they should have been, bent wrong somehow. I realized that the longer I
stared at it, the more solid it was growing. The neck was a long
serpentine, bent back on its shoulders like a heron, and it had a beak
for a mouth. If it had eyes, I couldn't see them. The face looked blind
and only half-formed.

"You are too late," Niley said again.

"No. I'm not." I stood and walked out of the trees. Niley seemed
terribly confident now that the demon was here.

"Only Linus can send it back to whence it came. If you harm him, then it
will certainly devour the fair Charlotte."

I ignored him because I knew the plan was for the thing to eat
Charlotte. Let them think I believed they intended to save her. Let them
think she was still useful as a hostage. I wanted to get close enough to
see the circle of entrapment they'd put up.

Charlotte had stopped screaming. I could hear her voice trapped behind
the gag, but she was speaking now, not screaming. A strong woman, a very
strong woman.

The demon paced the edge of the circle, flicking a long, thin, whiplike
tail. It was becoming progressively more agitated, moving around the
circle like a prisoner trying its cell.

"The circle is complete," Linus said. "You are mine to command."

The demon hissed at him, and the sound made the inside of my skull ache.
It turned and gazed at me, though it had no eyes. I was on the edge of
the circle now. I could see that Charlotte had closed her eyes, and I
knew now what she was doing. She was praying.

I dropped to my knees beside the circle. I didn't feel anything from it.
Which meant it wasn't meant for me. Whatever it was meant to keep in or
out, I wasn't one of them. "She's pure, Linus. She's pure of heart and
soul. She isn't a fit sacrifice for this thing."

"The pure are a rare and fine treat for my master."

"No, you can't feed her soul to it, Linus. Her soul is spoken for, and
this thing cannot touch her."

The demon moved as far away from Charlotte as the circle would allow. It
wasn't happy. "Give it its orders, Linus," Niley said.

"I offer you a sacrifice of flesh and blood and soul. Take this my
offering and do my bidding."

The demon moved to stand over Charlotte. It snapped its beak next to her
face, and she shrieked. The prayers stopped, and it laughed, a sound
like grinding metal.

"It's a circle against evil, isn't it, Linus? Just evil."

"You're a necromancer," Niley said. "You are evil."

"Don't believe everything you hear or even read, Niley."

The demon raised fingers to the moonlight, fingers that ended in black
knives. Charlotte opened her eyes and screamed. The Lord's Prayer would
have been reasonable, but I blanked. All I could think of was Christmas.
"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field,
keeping watch over the flock by night." I stepped over the circle. It
was nothing to me. It was meant to keep out and in evil. I wasn't evil.

"And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them and the glory of the Lord
shone round about them: and they were sore afraid."

The demon was chattering, snapping at me, razor claws slicing around me
like fan blades, but it didn't touch me. "And the angel said unto them.
Fear not; for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall
be to all people." I knelt and started untying Charlotte. When I pulled
her gag away, she started to recite with me. "For unto you is born this
day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord."

I cradled Charlotte's naked body in my arms. She clung to me and cried,
and I was crying, too. And I knew I had to get us out of that circle
because I only remembered about three more verses.

"And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in
swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." Charlotte couldn't stand, and I
had to half carry her. We stumbled near the edge of the circle, and the
demon rushed us in a wave of clattering, snapping, horror. "And suddenly
there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God,
and saying . . ." I stared down at the circle as I prayed, that
carefully constructed circle . . . "glory to God in the highest, and on
earth, peace, goodwill toward men." I erased the circle with my hand. I
broke Linus's circle of protection.

The demon threw back its head and shrieked. The sound was like a
rooster's crow or maybe a growl or maybe something else. It was as if
even hearing it, I couldn't hold it in my mind.

It rushed out of the circle and fell on Linus. It was his turn to scream
and scream as fast as he could draw breath. Blood flew in a wash,
sprinkling us like rain.

And suddenly, there were flashlights and men yelling, "FBI. Don't move."
FBI?

The flashlights found the demon. The light glistened on the beak, and
blood shimmered on it as if it had bathed in it. If they hadn't tried to
shoot it, I think it would have left them alone. But they fired into it,
and I pushed Charlotte to the grass, hiding her body under mine.

The demon rushed into the feds, and they started dying. I yelled,
"Bullets won't work! Pray. Pray, damn it, pray!"

I tried to lead by example and found finally that I could remember the
Lord's Prayer. A man's voice echoed mine, then another. I heard someone
else doing the 'Bless me, oh, Lord, for I have sinned' liturgy. Someone
else was praying, and it wasn't Christian. Hindu I think, but every
religion has demons. Every religion has prayers. All it takes is faith.
Nothing like a real, live demon to give you some of that old-time
religion.

The demon stood with a man's body raised to its mouth. The neck was cut
and it was lapping the blood with a long, sticky tongue. But at least it
wasn't killing anyone else.

Prayers rose up into the darkness, and I bet none of them had ever
prayed so hard, in church or out. The demon stood on its crooked legs
and walked back to me. Charlotte was muttering a new prayer. I think it
was the Song of Solomon. Funny what you'll remember under stress.

It pointed a long finger at me and spoke in a voice that was deep and
rusted as if it wasn't much used. "Free," it said.

"Yes," I said, "you're free."

The beak and the blind face seemed to waver. For just an instant I
thought I saw a man's face, pure and almost shining, but I would never
be sure. It said, "Thank you," and vanished.

Feds were everywhere. One of them gave Charlotte his coat that said
F.B.I. on the back. I helped her sit up and slip the coat over her. It
hit her at midthigh.

Sometimes, it was good to be small. One of the feds turned out to be
Maiden. I just stared up at him in shock.

He smiled and knelt beside us. "Daniel is all right. He's going to make
it."

Charlotte grabbed his coat sleeve. "What did they do to my boy?"

His smile vanished. "They were going to beat him to death. I'd called
for backup, but . . . They're dead, Mrs. Zeeman. They won't ever hurt
you again. I am so sorry that I wasn't there earlier today to help you,
both of you."

She nodded. "You saved my boy's life, didn't you?"

Maiden looked at the ground, then nodded.

"Then don't apologize to me," she said.

"What is a federal agent doing posing as a small-town deputy?" I asked.

"When Niley came nosing around down here, they put me under with Wilkes.
It worked."

"You called the state cops," I said.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Another agent came over, and Maiden excused himself.

I felt Richard arrive. Felt them slip through the trees. And I knew that
some of them at least weren't in human form.

I called the agent over that had given Charlotte his coat. "There are
some werewolves in the woods. They are friends. They were coming to
help. Don't let anyone shoot them, okay?"

He stared down at me. "Werewolves?"

I looked at him. "I didn't know the FBI was going to show up. I needed
the backup."

That made him laugh, and he started telling everyone to put their
weapons up and not to shoot the werewolves. I don't think everyone was
happy about it, but they did what they were told.

A woman in EMS gear knelt by us. She started looking Charlotte over,
shining lights in her eyes and asking silly questions, like did she know
the date and where she was.

Richard was suddenly there, still in human form, though he'd stripped
down to jeans and his hiking boots. Charlotte flung herself from my arms
to his, crying all over again. I stood up and left Charlotte to her son
and the medical crew.

Richard grabbed my hand before I could wander off. He stared up at me,
tears shining in the moonlight. "Thank you for my mother."

I squeezed his hand and left them to it. If I didn't leave them alone, I
was going to cry again.

Another EMS came up to me. "Are you Anita Blake?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Franklin Niley wants to speak with you. He's dying. There's nothing we
can do for him."

I went with him to talk to Niley. He was lying on his back. They'd set
up an IV bag and tried to stop the bleeding, but he was cut up pretty
bad. I stood so that he could look up at me without straining.

He licked his lips, and it took him two tries to speak. "How did you
pass the circle?"

"It was meant to trap evil inside or keep it out. I'm not evil."

"You raise the dead," he said.

"I'm a necromancer. I was kind of doubting where that put me on the
scale of good and evil, but apparently God's okay with it."

"You stepped into the circle not knowing if you would be safe?" He was
frowning, clearly puzzled.

"I couldn't just sit there and watch Charlotte die."

"You would have sacrificed yourself for her?"

I thought about that for a second or two. "I didn't think about it that
clearly, but I couldn't let her die, not if I could save her."

He winced, closed his eyes, then looked at me. "No matter what the cost
to you personally?"

"I guess so," I said.

He looked past me, eyes starting to lose their focus. "Extraordinary,
extraordinary." His breath sighed outward, and he died. The EMS crew
fell on him like vultures, but he was gone. They never got him breathing
again.

Jason was suddenly beside me. "Anita, Nathaniel's dying."

"What are you talking about?"

"He caught two bullets in the chest when people were shooting at the
demon. The feds were using silver shot because they knew what Linus
was."

"Oh, God." I took Jason's hand. "Take me to him."

There were paramedics on either side of him. There was another IV, and
they'd set up a lamp. Nathaniel's skin was pale and waxy in the light.
Sweat covered him like dew. When I knelt beside him and tried to push my
way past the paramedics, his pale eyes didn't see me.

I let the paramedics push me out of the way. I sat there in the weeds
and listened to Nathaniel try to breathe through two holes in his chest.
The bad guys hadn't shot him. He'd gotten caught in stray fire from the
good guys. It was just a stupid accident. He was going to die because
he'd been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, I would not
let an accident take him. I would not lose another person I knew to bad
timing.

I looked up at Jason. "Is Marianne here?"

"I'll look." He went running into the chaos.

Nathaniel's back bowed upward. His breath rasped out. He lay back on the
ground, horribly still. One of the paramedics shook his head and got up.
He took some of the equipment and went to help someone else.

I crawled around to take his place at Nathaniel's side. I looked across
at the other paramedic. It was a woman with a blond ponytail.

"Is there anything you can do?"

She looked at me. "Are you a friend?"

I nodded.

"Close?"

I nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said.

I shook my head. "No, I won't let him die." I wasn't evil. Everything
that I'd done, and my faith was still pure. When I spoke the words, they
were just as real to me as when I'd memorized them all those years ago
for the Christmas pageant. The words still moved me. I never doubted
God. I doubted me. But maybe God was a more generous God than I allowed
him to be. Jason was there with Marianne.

I grabbed her hand. "Help me call the munin."

She didn't argue, just knelt beside me. "Remember the feel of his body.
Remember his smile. The smell of his hair and skin."

I nodded. "He smells like vanilla and fur." I knelt by him, touching his
skin, but it was already growing cool to the touch. He was dying. I
didn't feel sexy in the least. I felt sad and frightened. I bowed my
head and prayed. I prayed to be opened to Raina. I prayed to open my
eyes and look at Nathaniel and feel lust. It was a weird thing to be
praying for, but it was worth a try. I felt that measure of calm that I
sometimes got when I prayed. It doesn't mean you'll get what you asked
for, but it does mean that someone is listening.

I opened my eyes slowly and stared down at Nathaniel. There were leaves
in his long, unbound hair. I pulled them away. I held his hair in my
hands and buried my face in it. It still smelled like vanilla. I rubbed
my cheek against his, burying my face behind his ear into the silk of
his hair. I laid a hand over the wounds with my face still buried in his
hair. He made a small pain sound when I touched him. I don't know if it
was the pain sound, the familiar smell of his body, or the prayer, but
Raina spread through my body like flame. The munin rode me, and I opened
to it, no fighting, no struggle. I embraced it, and her laughter rolled
out of my lips. I rose up on my knees and stared down at Nathaniel.

I wasn't horrified anymore. Raina thought it would be a grand thing to
fuck him as he died. I laid my lips against his, and his lips were cool,
dry. I pressed my mouth over his and felt that fire pour into his mouth
from mine.

My fingers found the wounds in his chest and stroked them, pushing my
fingers into the wound. The paramedic tried to pull me off of him, and
Jason and someone else pulled her away. I dug into the wound until
Nathaniel's eyes opened and he moaned with pain. His eyes fluttered,
pale, pale lilac in the artificial light. He looked up but didn't see
me, didn't see anything.

I covered his face in soft kisses, and each touch burned. I went back to
his mouth and breathed into him. When I drew back, his eyes focused. His
breath eased out in something too low to be a whisper. "Anita."

I straddled his body and laid my hands on his bare chest. I covered the
wounds with my hands, but I touched the inside of his chest with
something other than my hands. I could feel the damage. I could roll his
damaged heart in the heat that fell from my hands, that sank into his
skin, that filled his flesh.

I was burning alive. I had to feed the heat into him. Had to share this
energy. My hands left the wound on his chest and fumbled at my shirt.
The dress shirt came off and vanished into the grass, but the tank top
was trapped under the shoulder holster. Hands helped me slip the holster
off my shoulders. It flopped heavy and awkward over my hips. I undid the
belt and I think it was Marianne who helped me slip the belt out of the
loops. I know it was Marianne who stopped me from undoing my pants.
Raina snarled in my head.

Hands caressed up my bare back and I knew it was Richard. He knelt
behind me, legs straddling Nathaniel's legs, but putting no weight on
them. He cradled me back against his body. I was suddenly aware that we
were the focus of the pack. They surrounded us like a wall of faces and
bodies.

Richard's hands slipped off the spine sheath and the blade down my back.
His hands found my bra strap and undid it. I started to protest, started
to hold it, and he kissed my shoulders, sliding his lips down my back
and sliding the bra away. He whispered, "Bare skin is best for this."
That prickling rush of energy filled the watching lukoi, filled them and
spread into me. The energy of the munin fed on that power, grew until I
thought my skin would burst with it.

Richard guided my body to Nathaniel's. My bare breasts touched
Nathaniel's chest, a brush of velvet skin against the torn flesh of his
smooth chest. I shuddered against him, and that heat spilled from my
bare skin. At first it was as if my naked flesh rode above his skin on a
pool of sweat, then I felt the flesh give. My body fell against his with
a sigh, and it was as if our bodies became plastic, liquid. Our bodies
melded together into one flesh, one body, as if I were sinking into his
chest. I felt our hearts touch, beating liquid against one another. I
healed his heart, closed his flesh with mine.

Nathaniel's mouth found mine, and the power flowed between us like
breath until it raised the skin from my body, and there was nothing but
his arms around me, his mouth on me, my hands on his body, and distant
like an anchor I felt Richard, and beyond him the rest of the pack. I
felt them offer their energy, their power, and I took it. And beyond
that, distant as a dream, I felt Jean-Claude. I felt his cool power join
with ours and strengthen; life from death. I took it all and thrust it
into Nathaniel until he tore his mouth from mine and cried out. I felt
his body give under mine, and his pleasure rushed over my skin, and I
threw it out into the waiting pack. I took their energy and gave them
back pleasure.

The munin left me in that rush of startled voices. Raina had never been
able to take power from others. That was my doing. So even the bitch of
the west had never pleasured this many people at once.

I sat up, still straddling Nathaniel. He looked up at me with his lilac
eyes and smiled. I ran my hands over his chest, and there was no wound,
only a healing scar. He still looked pale and awful, but he'd live.

Richard offered me the dress shirt I'd dropped. I slipped it over my
breasts and buttoned it. I didn't know what had happened to the rest of
the clothes. Jason had my shoulder holster and knife. The important
stuff.

When I tried to stand, I stumbled, and only Richard's arms kept me
standing. He helped me through the crowd. They touched me as we moved
through, running their hands along me. I didn't mind or didn't care. I
put my arm around Richard's waist and accepted it for tonight. I'd worry
about what it all meant tomorrow, or maybe even the next day.

Verne stepped out of the crowd. "Damn girl, you are good."

Roxanne was at his side. "I'm healed. How did you do that?"

I smiled. "Talk to Marianne." I kept walking.

The paramedics were rushing forward. I heard the woman say, "Holy shit!
It's a miracle." And maybe it was.

Richard said, "I won't be looking for another lupa."

I hugged him. "No more auditions?"

"You are my lupa, Anita. Together we could be the most powerful mated
pair I've ever seen."

"It's not just the two of us that make us powerful, Richard. It's
Jean-Claude."

He kissed me on the forehead. "I felt him when you called the power. I
felt him give his power to us."

We'd stopped walking. I turned to look at him in the moonlight. "We are
a threesome, Richard, like it or not."

"A mnage  trois," he said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Not unless you've been doing more than just
talking with Jean-Claude."

Richard laughed and hugged me. "He hasn't corrupted me quite that far."

"Glad to hear it." We walked down the hill, holding each other.
Charlotte was lying at the bottom of the hill on a stretcher.

She reached her hands up to both of us. One of the hands was thickly
bandaged. She smiled up at us. "Why didn't you tell me, Richard?"

"I thought it would make a difference. I thought you would stop loving
me."

"Silly ass," she said.

"That's what I told him," I said.

Charlotte started to cry softly, pressing Richard's hand to her lips. I
just smiled and held her hand. Life wasn't perfect, but standing there
watching Richard and his mother, holding their hands, it was close.

Chapter 46
----------

Daniel's nose was badly broken. The perfect profile isn't quite as
perfect. He says the women love it, makes him look tough. Daniel has
never spoken to me about what happened. Neither has Charlotte, but on
the first Sunday dinner after they both got out of the hospital, she
broke down and cried. I was the one who went into the kitchen first. She
let me hold her while she cried, saying how silly she felt, that
everything was all right. Why should she be crying?

If I could do resurrection for real, I'd bring Niley and all the rest
back and kill them more slowly.

Richard's family thinks I can do no wrong, and they are not being subtle
about their plans. Marriage--we should get married. Under other
circumstances, not a bad idea. But we aren't a couple. We're a trio.
Hard to explain that to Richard's folks. Hard to explain that to
Richard.

Howard Grant, the psychic, is in jail for fraud. He confessed to some
things he'd done in the past. I told him if he didn't spend some time in
jail, I'd kill him. His greed had started everything. He didn't touch
Charlotte or Daniel. He was horrified at what Niley was and what was
happening, but his lies set it all in motion. He couldn't get away scot
free. I just gave him a choice of punishments.

The police think Deputy Thompson fled the state. They're still looking
for him, and none of us are talking. I don't know what Verne's pack did
with the body. Maybe it's hanging on their tree waiting for a Christmas
that will never come. Maybe they ate him. I don't know, and I don't want
to know.

The Vampire Council didn't send anyone to kill us. Apparently Colin
overstepped his bounds. We were within our rights to kill him, and his
people. He didn't survive his servant's death. There is no new Master of
the City yet. Verne and his pack are in no hurry for Colin's
replacement.

I wake from dreams that aren't my own. Thoughts, feelings, not my own.
It is overwhelming enough to be in love, in that first heat of lust, but
the marks are sucking me inside both of them. They're swallowing me up.
Every act of sex makes it worse. So . . . no more sex. I have to get
control of the marks first.

When I was sleeping with both of them, Richard catted around. Now that
I've gone celibate, so has he. Jean-Claude, I think, knows I'm still
looking for a good excuse to say, "Hah, see, you don't really love me."
So he's behaving himself like some dark angel.

I took a month off and went back to Tennessee to learn from Marianne.
Learning to control the munin is helping me to control the marks.
Jean-Claude as my only teacher is just not a good idea. He has too much
invested in me. I'm learning to put up barriers. Barriers so tall, so
wide, so solid, that I'm safe from both of them. Safe behind my walls.

But sex brings all the barriers crashing down. It's like drowning. I
think if I allowed it, and they allowed it, we could become like one
organism with three parts.

Richard doesn't seem to see the danger. He's still naive, or perhaps I
just don't understand him. I love him, but even thinking his thoughts,
feeling his emotions, he's still a mystery to me.

Jean-Claude knows the danger. He says he can keep it from happening, but
I don't trust him. I love him, sort of, but I don't trust him. I've felt
his chortling joy as the power of the triumverate grows.

He told me once he loved me as much as he was able. Maybe he does, but
he loves power more.

So, celibate again, damn it. How to be chaste with the two preternatural
studs of all time at my beck and call? Be out of town.

I've taken every animating job out of town that I could for three
months. I spend weekends with Marianne. I have a great deal of power
inside me, not the marks, but me. I've avoided confronting that power as
much as possible, but Jean-Claude has forced me to face it. I have to
learn how to control the magic.

It sounds silly that someone who raises the dead for a living has been
ignoring that she has magic inside her, but I have. I've always learned
the minimum to get by. That's over.

Marianne tells me that I have the tools to survive in the triumverate.
Until I feel confident in those tools, I'm avoiding the boys. Three
months of not touching either of them. Of no one sharing my bed. Three
months of not being lupa. I had to leave the pack to leave Richard. But
I couldn't leave the wereleopards. They don't have anyone else but me.
So I'm still Nimir-ra. Marianne is even teaching me how to forge the
leopards into a healthy unit. She and Verne.

I've abandoned as much of the preternatural stuff as I can. I have to
find out what's left of who I thought I was.

I faced a demon with my faith and prayer. Does that mean God has
forgiven me my sins? I don't know. If He has forgiven me, He's more
generous than I am.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

REVISION HISTORY

v4.0 wg

-conversion to standard HTML format

-added chapter links

-proofread without DT, but merits a v4 due to quality

