Blue Moon (40 page)

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.

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.