A Place In This Life. Chapter Four: Surrounded by monsters…
Been a while, hasn't it? I've been pretty busy, I guess. But this year's goal is to post at least one chapter of something a week, right? Well, this week, it's Damian's turn. I am still working on the rough draft of chapter six, but I think I'm close to finished. And I can promise you that it isn't the last chapter. ;)
Now without further ado, here's our next installment:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter franchise. The world and all its inhabitants belong to Laurell K. Hamilton. I’ve just borrowed her world for my own, and hopefully your, entertainment. I make no money from this work and discourage any attempts to sue me as being fiscally unrewarding.
Warnings: Legal adults only. Graphic sex, violence, adult themes, vampires and lycanthropes. Read at your own risk.
Authors Note: Ever had a character keep pestering you in the back of your skull until there was nothing to do for it, but sit down and write? Damian may be quiet, but he’s bloody persistent. Enjoy.
Chapter Four: Surrounded by monsters…
It was good to come home to such welcome as he found in her eyes. They were luminous in the light of the candles and filled with simple pleasure to find him there. Her dark hair spilled across the pillows, a little mussed with sleep, but gleaming. Her skin was faintly flushed with the return of some of her lost vitality and the beat of her heart was stronger, steadier then when he’d last touched her.
She moved gently under his touches, almost rubbing against his hands like a cat. There was so much trust in her eyes that he feared that perhaps he’d bespelled her without willing it so. But she did not act as one bespelled. Her gaze was clear and bright, focused on his face, on his body. She responded to his caresses with quiet sighs and moans, her lips half parted. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips until he felt the urge to catch her up in his arms and claim them in a fierce kiss.
No. No. Gentleness, patience. A thousand years of patience. Damian shook his head at his own eagerness. He must go softly tonight, and perhaps for some time to come. She was not yet recovered and she was frail in the way of mortals. He slowly stripped the black silk shirt from her body, comparing the warm softness of her skin to the cool smoothness of the fabric. He bent over her, letting the ends of his hair tickle her breasts and belly, drawing his hands down her sides in lingering caresses.
Her response was immediate, her nipples tightening into hard peaks, her skin running to gooseflesh wherever his hands roamed. She shivered and whispered his name. He could smell her scent, grown thicker and musky with arousal. He leaned down further, slowly, to meet those tempting lips with his own. He kissed her leisurely, thoroughly, savoring the taste and feel of her mouth under his. She reached out to embrace him, caressed his chest and shoulders, smoothed back his hair and let it slip through her fingers again and again.
He shifted, lowering himself until he stretched out to his full length beside her. He deepened the kiss and let his hands roam even further, testing the sweet silk of her thighs and the warm moistness at their apex. She cried out softly when his thumb found the small bit of sensitive flesh and pressed against it rhythmically. And again when his fingers entered her, sliding past the plump lips that guarded her innermost places. He heard her pulse speed yet again, her breathing grown sharp and quick.
“Damian…” Her hands moved over his skin, leaving trails of warmth behind. She moaned against his lips, into his mouth while her hips rocked in time with his fingers. One of her hands followed the sparse line of hair down his stomach until she could wrap her fingers around him. He groaned and kissed her deeper, thrusting shallowly against her palm. Encouraged, she began to stroke him with more authority and purpose.
In return, he intensified his efforts to please her, fingers stroking and twisting inside her warmth, thumb pressing into her flesh. She shuddered, her breath coming in gasps and pants, her stroking of his shaft losing its rhythm until she simply held him while her body writhed around his fingers. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts into the air while her head fell back, her eyes closed and face flushed with ecstasy. A low, husky, wordless cry fell from her lips.
The sound of her voice, the feel of her hand, the warm heat of her body, the soft gleam of candlelight on her skin sent desire pouring through him, fierce and demanding. There was the flavor of life and youth to her that none of his vampire lovers had been able to counterfeit, no matter how skilled or how beautiful. A yielding that he would never find in his mistress’s arms. He could not imagine Anita surrendering so much of herself to him. The thought struck him as somehow disloyal, but no less true.
He pushed thoughts of other lovers from his mind. He drew the girl up against his chest, rolling with her until she lay atop him, sweet flesh pressed against his. She gave a startled gasp, her eyes wide with surprise. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned up to kiss her. She melted into his kiss with a soft exclamation. When he drew back again, she blinked at him, eyes heavy lidded with passion.
“Damian…”
“I wish to see you above me, my lovely. To watch you in your pleasure.” She blushed fetchingly and it made him smile at her. She shook her head slightly but returned the smile. He caressed her, running his hands across her skin over and over, memorizing the shape of her, the texture of her skin. She moaned quietly and shivered.
Then she began to move over him, sliding downwards to press kisses against his skin. She nuzzled at his neck and nibbled gently over his collarbone. She bent her head to take first one nipple then the other into her mouth, sucking and biting at them until he muttered soft curses. Each movement pressed some tantalizing bit of her against him until he found himself writhing beneath her. His hands seemed to settle at her hips of their own will. She moved with him, letting him guide her, rising up on her knees to straddle him.
For a long moment, she hovered over him, the moist warmth of her so very close that he fought himself not to thrust upwards or drag her down to meet him. Or perhaps both. To do so with such force that he might do her harm. That he would not do, so he waited, watching her breasts rise and fall gently with her breath, listening to the siren’s song of her blood pumping through her veins. Watching the naked desire in her eyes and the hesitation and wonder in her expression.
“You’re…” Her voice trailed off into a breathy silence. “You’re just too perfect to be real. It’s like a dream. Hard to believe.”
“I have hardly touched you, my lovely. My sweet Erica. Let me show you how real I can be.” He tightened his grip on her hips slightly, pulling her downwards with the gentlest of pressures. She yielded to his urging, descending slowly to envelop him with her delicious warmth. He muttered an oath in the tongue of his long ago youth.
She sighed, the small sound one of satisfaction. Then she began to move above him, hips rising and falling, rocking against him. He moved with her, rising to meet her, hands guiding her until they found their rhythm together. Warmth and heat and life seemed to burn through her, almost scalding hot against his skin. The night was drawing to its end, and with it, his borrowed warmth. He wondered briefly if she could feel it fading or if it was simply his own gloomy thoughts.
Pleasure wound through him, passing between them. He watched her move, reveled in the expression of innocent abandon on her face and the sheer joy of her body wrapped around his. He let his hands move over her again, cupping her breasts and pinching carefully at her nipples until she clutched at his hands and cried out. How he wanted to suckle at those rosy peaks, to feel the pebbled flesh in his mouth. But he did not trust himself not to draw blood. Not with the sound of her heart beating so loud in his ears and the smell of it so tempting just below the skin.
He watched her as she reached her climax, her body shuddering and writhing, fighting her efforts to continue the rhythm of their fleshly dance. He steadied her with his hands while he took over the rhythm, hanging onto his own control while he prolonged her pleasure for as long as he was able. He spoke to her in every tongue he knew, telling her how lovely she looked in this moment. How alive and beautiful. Because she was.
Then at last she collapsed against him, panting, heart racing. She giggled softly, a pleasantly euphoric sound. When he brushed her hair back to see her face, her pupils were large and dark beneath heavy lids and her lips curved in a smile. He kissed her quickly, playfully, pressing his lips against her brows and cheeks, across her eyelids, and even on the tip of her nose for the simple joy of hearing her laugh again.
Then he silenced her giggles by kissing her as hard as he dared. He rolled over, taking her with him, their bodies still joined. She clung to him and moaned when he thrust himself deeper. His need, along with the threat of the coming dawn, lent urgency to his passion. In this moment, it did not seem only the consummation of a few nights’ flirtation, but as if it was the culmination of months of seduction and courtship. Had she been just another of his women only a few nights ago? Or had he simply chosen not to acknowledge what was growing between them?
She murmured his name, whispered soft words of encouragement as he moved against her, inside her. He sought to bury himself in her, wrap himself in her warmth, and bathe in the pulse of life that beat just under her skin. Had it ever been so with any woman in a thousand years? If it had been, he could not remember it.
Pleasure and desire built in him, rising like some great wave, seeming greater than he. He was aware of her shuddering beneath him, spine bowing, breasts pressed soft against him, head thrown back and neck bared almost in offering. Blood hunger tugged at his senses, but he locked it away, closing his eyes to the sight of that tender flesh. His own pulse roared in his ears while he fought his own passions lest he forget his inhuman strength. He felt her flesh tighten around him while she cried out in her release. He could hold back no more and his own climax crashed over him, setting him adrift while his body completed the most primal of acts.
He held her tightly as he spent himself inside her. He pressed his cheek against her forehead, turning his face so that he would not forget himself and his resolve to take no blood from her this night. She shuddered and sighed while his body milked itself dry. Then at last he rolled off of her to curl himself about her. She was panting, still. He could hear her heart working frantically and knew he had taxed her stamina.
“Oh God, Damian…” She whispered between breaths and he quieted her with a finger against her lips.
“You must rest now. The dawn comes soon.”
“Don’t go yet.”
“I will stay as long as I can, my lovely. I have no desire to leave your side. But I do not think you are ready to see what remains when the dawn steals life from this body. Sleep now.”
She looked for a moment as if she would argue. But instead, she snuggled into his arms with a sigh of contentment. He held her, stroking her hair until her pulse slowed and her breathing took on the rhythm of sleep. He could feel the dawn’s approach in the heaviness of his own limbs and the fear of never waking from his rest was somehow greater than it had been for some time.
He untangled himself from her limbs reluctantly; it somehow felt as if he abandoned his own vitality when he let go of her form. He wanted to cling to her living body and fight the dawn. But that would only leave him cold and dead beside her when she woke. So he crept into his coffin to curl up with the cold comfort of his sword at his side. Then dawn broke and he was gone…
When Erica awoke, she was alone. Alone for the first time since she’d first awakened in Damian’s bed surrounded by strangers. She sat up and blinked sleepily at the quiet chamber. Her eyes were drawn to the coffin and she felt a sudden urge to go to it and lift the lid. But Damian had not wanted her to see him dead.
The night before had been so…It compared to nothing in her experience. Just thinking of it, of him, sent her drifting off into memory for a moment. She shivered as she relived his touch. If she weren’t naked in his bed, in the same room with his coffin, with the black silk shirt tossed carelessly over the arm of a chair, she would think it had been some dream. Even then, she had to give herself a little shake.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger. With that to goad her, she crawled out of bed and considered dressing. She had only the clothes from the day before, or the shirt she’d begun the night in. Unless she started digging in Damian’s things. Either way, she needed a shower. Deciding that the silk shirt would be good enough to make it to the bathroom, she slipped it on and bundled up her borrowed change of clothing. Afterwards, she padded up the stairs, debating whether to shower or eat first.
She heard the voices before she reached the kitchen. Anita’s voice and a man’s she didn’t recognize, deep and rich and not at all happy. She paused in confusion on the threshold finding the kitchen full of people, most of them strangers.
No. Not most. It was just that the three strangers massed enough between them to be more than half. The source of the voice was a tall, well built man with shoulder length brown hair pulled back from his face to show sculpted cheekbones and chocolate-brown eyes. Very handsome except for the angry expression. He stood next to Anita, who sat huddled over her coffee, drinking it with exaggerated calm.
Nathaniel was in the process of doling out food and cups of coffee around the two tables. The other two strangers stood to either side of the sliding glass doors that led to the deck, watching everything with eyes that never seemed to stop moving. The shorter one was black, his hair done in swinging braids tipped with white beads to match his crisp white tee shirt. The other man looked Asian but was taller than any Asian man she’d ever seen. Probably one of the tallest men she’d ever been in the same room with outside of a basketball game. He wore unrelieved black, from his starched looking dress shirt to his creased slacks.
“I don’t like this, Anita. You’re not answering my questions.” The man glowered down at her.
“I have answered your questions. You just didn’t like the answers.”
“You’ll have to wait your turn. Micah’s got the downstairs shower and Noah’s upstairs.” Erica jumped when Caleb reached out to take the bundle of clothing from her hands. He set it down on a bare section of counter. Then he took her elbow and steered her to a seat at the far end of the larger table from Anita. She suddenly felt terribly exposed, wearing nothing but Damian’s pajama shirt. She sat down carefully on the chair, tucking the fabric under her like a skirt.
Caleb sat down next to her, draping an arm around the back of her chair and leaning in to breathe against her ear. “They’ve been arguing since he got here. Best not to get between them.” Then he looked up at Nathaniel as the young man set plates down before them. “Any coffee left?”
“Sure.” Nathaniel bustled off, looking as serene as if he were completely unaware that an argument was taking place just a few paces away. For a brief moment the thumping of cabinet doors and the clinking of ceramics was enough to render the conversation at the other end of the table unintelligible.
“We have this under control, Richard.” Anita’s voice sounded flat, as if she were determined not to be angry. Erica chanced a glance at the pair while she gathered up a bite of omelet on her fork. It was filled with steak, cheese, and bits of vegetables. It tasted heavenly.
“You’re trying to keep me from asking my own questions.”
“I’m the cop here, if you haven’t forgotten.” She’d lifted her own fork to spear a chunk of sausage from her plate, but dropped it with an ominous sounding clink. “I think I have a better idea of what questions to ask than you do.”
“How do you know she’s not a plant, Anita? It wouldn’t be the first time you were suckered in by a pretty face.”
Erica’s eyes went wide and she struggled to swallow the lump of food in her throat that suddenly seemed far too dry. They were arguing about her? He thought she was a plant? Who was he?
“Did you want sugar and cream in your coffee?” Nathaniel stood at her elbow, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.
“Black’s just fine.” Caleb reached across her to take the mug from the young man and set it down next to his plate. Nathaniel frowned but didn’t protest. “Erica doesn’t drink coffee. Here.” He reached out to grab a glass of orange juice from an unclaimed seat and placed it in front of her.
“Thanks, Caleb.” She muttered, flustered to find that he’d been watching her close enough to pick up details like that.
“Don’t worry about it.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on the couple who were still holding a heated discussion in hushed tones. “Better eat. You need the protein.”
“He’s right.” Nathaniel gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder before hustling off again to check something on the stove. Beside her, Caleb dug into his food with the same enthusiasm she’d seen from most of the lycanthropes she’d met so far. After a moment, the two men flanking the door took two of the empty seats at the smaller table in the breakfast nook.
“Sit down and eat before your breakfast gets cold.” Anita had picked her fork back up and shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth. “Most important meal of the day and all that.”
“Fine.” He pulled out a chair across from Erica, the legs scraping harshly against the tiled floor and sat down with a scowl. Nathaniel slipped a mug of something lighter than coffee in front of him before taking a seat on Erica’s other side. He probably meant to be reassuring, but as it was, the closeness and tension in the room were beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. Everyone fell silent for a few minutes while they continued to eat.
Erica grew increasingly uncomfortable as she felt the weight of this Richard’s gaze on her. She had the ominous feeling that things were going on around her that she just wasn’t equipped to sense. The other two strangers looked at her from time to time, but it felt businesslike and impersonal. For the most part she concentrated working her way through the plate before her and listening for any indication that one of the bathrooms was free. Had she known there were strangers in the house--strange lycanthropes, she was almost certain--she’d have stayed downstairs until they were gone or someone came to get her.
“Erica, is it?” She started at being addressed directly, almost dropping her glass of orange juice. As it was, some spilled on her hand and she fumbled for a napkin.
“Yeah.”
“Anita says you’ve been one of Damian’s…donors…for months. And now he’s named you his pomme de sang.” She nodded agreement with the statement. There was nothing to argue in it. Though she didn’t like the skepticism in his tone. “So I was wondering why he hasn’t mentioned you before now. Seeing as how he ripped another vampire’s heart out over that.” He gestured at the visible mark on her neck.
“You…You’d have to ask him. I didn’t realize he…” She blanched as she thought about that. How the blood had come to be caked around his nails. “He ripped the vampire’s heart out?”
“That’s what he said. And he broke the other vampire’s neck with his bare hands. I’d think he’s bragging, but I’ve seen the kind of damage they can do.” He was watching her closely, gauging her reaction. “What do you think about that, Erica? Scare you?”
“Richard. That’s not table conversation.” Anita snapped.
“I thought you didn’t mind a little bloodshed?”
“I do when it’s over the breakfast table.” There was a quiet thump when she lowered her coffee mug to the table. “If you are angry at me, be angry at me. Not at my houseguest.”
“So she’s your houseguest now? I thought she was Damian’s pomme de sang. Of course, I also thought vampires didn’t fuck their pommes even if they do sometimes share a bed.”
“Richard!”
Erica’s face flushed crimson and she stared at her plate. Her hands shook as she methodically sliced off another bit of omelet. She felt the men on either side of her shift uneasily in their chairs. Who was this man who could attack her right in front of Anita and her people and get away with it?
“So which are you? His blood whore? Or just a roll in the hay that doesn’t mind playing snack for the vamps?”
She stared at him in shocked dismay, unable to think of a response. She’d known there would be no way to hide last night’s activities from the wereleopards. That they would smell it on her and that had been more than half the reason she’d wanted a shower before food. Her fork hovered forgotten over her plate.
“That is enough, Richard.”
“Let her answer for herself, Anita. She should know what she’s getting into and so should we.” He reached out and tapped the edge of her plate with his knife, the sound sharp enough to make Erica blink. “Answer me.”
Erica finally remembered her fork and set it down carefully, trying to still the shaking in her hands. She knew with absolute certainty now that she was the only human in the room. The memory of Nathaniel’s frank talk about lycanthropes spooled through her head. That they could smell fear. They could smell it and it excited them. She could see it in Richard’s eyes, in the flaring of his nostrils, the barely contained energy of him, even sitting still. She managed not to flinch when Nathaniel touched her thigh beneath the table.
“How Damian killed them doesn’t scare me half so much as the idea of him leaving them alive. One of them rolled me so deep that I actually enjoyed letting them kill me.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. She shivered involuntarily at the thought. “If Damian hadn’t killed him, he could have called me any time and I couldn’t have stopped myself. Wouldn’t have even wanted to.” Her hand crept up to the bite wound, pressing against it as if to shield it. She swallowed hard and tried to shove the fear down and steady her voice. “What happened between Damian and me is between us. Nobody’s business but ours.”
“It is if it puts my people in danger.” There was no sympathy in those brown eyes. Nothing but hard anger. She didn’t think she’d done anything to earn it. “How do we know that wasn’t one of your vamp boyfriends getting carried away? Or maybe it was a set up and you didn’t bargain on Damian’s reaction.”
“No.” The first trickle of anger sprang up somewhere amidst the fear. “No. Damian is the only vampire I’ve ever let bite me. They attacked me. They…They had no right. None.” She pulled her hand from her neck and pressed it flat against the table to keep herself from balling it up into a fist. “I don’t know who you are. But you aren’t leopards. What are you? Werewolves?” It had just been a guess. Something about the way they acted and the knowledge that werewolves were much more common than leopards…
“Who told you?” Richard snarled rising from his seat and leaning over the table toward her, one hand reaching for her. She let out a small noise, almost a squeak, and shoved herself back from the table. Several things happened at once, too quickly for her human reflexes to follow.
She felt herself bang into the chair behind her and start to stumble. The men on either side of her moved so fast that it seemed unreal. Nathaniel rose from his seat and pulled her chair aside before she could finish her stumble. Caleb simply seemed to appear at her elbow, catching her by the arm and pulling her bodily behind him. He backed up until she was nearly pressed against the glass of the patio doors.
“Richard!”
“Ulfric! Remember she is human.”
“I didn’t touch her.”
Everyone seemed to be talking at once, almost shouting. It all became a roar of noise in her ears as she found herself clinging to Caleb’s back. She was trembling with fear and after stealing a few glances past his shoulder, she hid her face in the back of his neck. His hair brushed her face, still damp from the shower and smelling of shampoo. His grip on her arm tightened and loosened in pulses of nervous tension.
It was too much. All too much. She was surrounded by monsters and didn’t know who was friend and who was foe. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking and each time she dared a glance, she caught at least one set of eyes on her. Eyes that held a hunger that wasn’t human. Richard’s nameless companions seemed to be trying to calm him down but danced around him as if afraid of becoming the next target for his anger. Anita had placed herself firmly between the werewolves and everyone else and was trading heated jibes with Richard. Nathaniel hovered nervously just behind her.
Caleb caught her looking, craning his neck to meet her eyes. His were wide and she could feel his chest rising and falling too quickly. In fact, he looked slightly startled.
“You smell like food.” His voice held a base growl to it and his eyes had grown lighter, the brown fading to a yellow-gold as she watched until she was staring at leopard eyes in a human face. Her gut twisted with a new fear. She started to pull away from him, but he pulled her arm around his waist and pinned her hand against his stomach. “Don’t run.”
He turned his face away from her again, watching the other lycanthropes anxiously. She swallowed hard against the lump of fear in her throat and hid her face again. She leaned into the warmth of his body, dressed once more in nothing but jeans so that she was pressed against bare skin. She struggled to slow her breathing, to take in the scent of his skin, his cologne, and that odd, acrid musk that she’d noticed on Cherry and Zane. With a pang, she wondered where they were. Why hadn’t they been in the bed when she woke this morning?
Strange how that scent helped settle her nerves. It took some of the edge off and she breathed more deeply, slowly. She wrapped her arms around Caleb’s torso. She could still feel the tension in him, could feel his small movements as he watched the others move around the room. She almost looked up again when she heard Micah’s calm tones join the conversation, but still the words didn’t register over the pounding of her heart in her chest.
She was making it worse. Her fear had made it worse. He’d probably been reacting to her fear as much as anything else when he’d started in on her. She leaned into the warm body in front of her, tried to blot out everything else. She spread her fingers; let herself feel the play of strong muscle over ribs, the slight contracting of his abs as he breathed in and out. She let herself think back to that first meeting in the hall, to the way he’d been watching her, to the way he’d touched her when they danced.
It had made her nervous, disturbed her, and confused her. Now she let the reason why he troubled her so much creep into her awareness. She coaxed it out, encouraged it, used it to drown out the fear, replacing it with the nervous butterflies that came with a new attraction. Because that’s what it was. And it confused her because while Damian had given her permission to do so, she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being free to do something about it.
She pushed thoughts of Damian aside. He was dead for the day. He couldn’t help her now. She breathed in again and the fear faded further beneath the mingled scents of skin, cologne, and musk. Her hands moved restlessly and the trembling stopped. She suddenly realized she was caressing Caleb’s stomach, playing with the barbell that pierced his navel, when he stopped the motion by covering her hand with his own. He made no other move to discourage her or push her away. She half expected him to say something salacious, or grin over his shoulder, but it seemed a mark of how tense the room still was that he didn’t.
The arguing had quieted to the point where she could begin to follow the conversation again. The man in front of her began stroking the backs of her forearms and hands. It wasn’t really a caress, more as if he were soothing himself by touching her. Maybe he was.
“You’re right as usual, Anita.” Richard’s voice hovered between disgust and sarcasm. “I came on too strong.”
“Too strong? That’s the understatement of the year. She was almost murdered two nights ago. She’s been living ever since with strangers. Nonhuman strangers. How did you expect her to react?”
“She was afraid to answer my questions.”
“No. She was afraid of you.”
“She is still standing over there, listening.” Micah’s voice was quietly reasonable, chiding. “And from the look and smell of things, she wasn’t the only one who thought your threat was real.”
“You know I wasn’t going to hurt her. If I’d meant to hurt her, none of you could have stopped me.”
“But we would have had to try.” Nathaniel added quietly. “We’re supposed to be guarding her.”
All eyes had turned to Caleb and Erica still huddled behind him. A tremor of tension ran through the wereleopard’s body.
“Hey. Everyone knows I’m a chickenshit.” Caleb shrugged. “If I thought you were serious, do you really think I’d have gotten in your way? Just trying to rack up some brownie points.”
Erica made a small sound of disagreement close to his ear. He squeezed the hand that still rested over his navel in warning. Erica could see the sharp look that Micah gave him, though she didn’t think anyone else but Caleb could. Again, she felt like she was missing something.
The room was silent for a moment and she watched Richard composing himself. He still looked stiff and unhappy, but the scowl smoothed from his features and he unclenched the hands that had been fisted at his sides. One of his men, the taller one, leaned close to him without touching him and spoke quietly in his ear. Richard nodded curtly, then directed his gaze to her. She found herself tightening her hold on Caleb and he responded by pressing her hand more tightly against his stomach.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Erica. I lost my temper, but it’s not you I’m angry with.” He paused, waiting for some sort of response, but Erica remained silent, watching. “Anita told me what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you, myself.”
“I…” Everyone was staring at her. All she really wanted to do was hide in Damian’s basement until they all left. Or go home. She looked from face to face for some hint of support. She sure as hell didn’t want to answer more of his questions. Her eyes came to rest on Anita’s face. “Do I owe him anything?”
“Owe him?” Anita looked puzzled by the question.
“The Master of the City says I’m one of his people because I’m Damian’s pomme de sang. Damian answers to you. You answer to the Master. Does he…” She loosened her hold on Caleb enough to gesture tentatively in Richard’s direction. “Have any authority over me?”
“We are technically equals, partners when we aren’t fighting.” Anita sighed heavily and glanced at the man. “I have some authority over his people, the werewolves. You guessed right, there. But he does not have authority over my leopards. And certainly not over my vampire servant. So, no. You don’t owe him anything.”
“I have as much right to demand answers as you do, Anita.”
“You do not have the right to bully my people. And this is vampire business, not lycanthrope, Richard. At least so far. Take it up with Jean Claude if you have a problem.”
“You are using the pard to play babysitters for her. That makes it lycanthrope business.”
“The pard is mine. And some of them happen to live here, with me. Most of my leopards are already out of the closet. I was under the impression none of the other safe houses were willing to take in a strange human because they were afraid of someone being outed. Am I wrong?”
“I wouldn’t…” Erica began to protest.
“Shh…” Caleb hissed at her. He was still tense. And when she glanced at Nathaniel, he seemed tense as well.
“No. You’re not wrong.” Richard scowled again. “But you could have asked. And there are members of the pack who aren’t in hiding.”
“Unlike you.” Anita’s voice was heavy with meaning. “I wasn’t trying to keep you in the dark, Richard. I was respecting your wish to protect your identity.”
“If you’re finished with breakfast, the showers are free.” Micah’s voice was quietly neutral while he peeled a lock of wet curls from his chest to toss it over his shoulder. He’d obviously skipped drying his hair in his effort to join them in the kitchen as quickly as possible. His voice remained calm and friendly, but his look at Caleb was pointed. “Why don’t you show Erica where the guest bathroom is?”
“Sure. Come on.” Caleb eased around the edge of the room, putting an arm around her waist and keeping himself between her and the werewolves. Richard had given Micah an unfriendly look when he spoke, but otherwise seemed prepared to talk with Anita in more civil tones. They were halfway to the door when Erica remembered her clothes.
“I need my clothes.” She hesitated, but Caleb pushed her forward.
“I’ll find you something to wear. We’ve always got extra clothes around. Never know when somebody will shift and ruin theirs.” They were just a few steps from Micah, now. “How about I drive her over to her place and let her grab some things when she’s done?”
Micah stepped back into the living room and gestured for them to follow. Erica looked around and saw the clean-cut young man who’d been introduced as Noah making his way down the stairs.
“I’d feel much better if I had my own clothes. And I don’t trust Candace to take care of Shadow for more than a day or two.” A note of pleading crept into her voice. “She’s not very…patient.”
“Not alone.” Micah reached out and brushed Noah’s arm as he passed. The young man stopped. “Noah will go with you. Pack for about a week.”
“A week?” Erica’s voice rose in alarm. “I can’t miss a week of work! They’ll fire me. And I’ll have to make arrangements for my cat. Candace will call Animal Control.”
“We’ll bring the cat.” Caleb shrugged. “If you lose your job, it’s no big thing. Jean Claude owns half the District.”
“It is to me…”
“Your safety is more important.” Micah frowned. “Do you have anyone to keep the cat? There’s a reason most lycanthropes don’t keep pets.”
“No. I’m afraid not. Could I maybe keep her in the basement until I figure it out?”
“Anita won’t like it.” Noah shook his head.
“I’ll deal with Anita.” Micah sighed and peeled another lock of wet curls from his chest. “Get what you need and rescue your cat. We’ll sort the rest out later.” His chartreuse eyes flicked back toward the kitchen doorway and he frowned. Then he waved Erica and Caleb up the stairs before returning to the kitchen with Noah in tow.
“Where are Cherry and Zane?”
“Cherry was needed at the hospital. Zane’s playing overprotective boyfriend…I mean bodyguard.” Caleb snorted, his hand on the small of her back as they walked up the stairs. “Bathroom’s right in there.” He pointed to an open door a half dozen paces down the hall.
“What about clothes?”
“I’ll raid the rag pile and find you something. Bedroom at the end of the hall when you’re done.”
“OK. Thanks.”
He nodded to her and slipped through a third door, leaving her alone in the hallway. Anxious to wash the scent of sex and fear from her skin before anything else happened to embarrass her, she scurried inside and locked the door. This bathroom was smaller, but well equipped. Someone had been thoughtful enough to leave a new toothbrush and a fresh stack of towels on the vanity, along with a hairbrush and a couple of scrunchies.
The tile was still slick and the rug in front of the shower stall damp, but everything was neat and tidy. She slipped out of the pajama shirt, stuffing it into the nearby hamper and climbed into the shower. A few moments later she was scrubbing away under the hot water, hoping it wouldn’t run out with so many people using it. Fortunately, it didn’t and she was soon clean and scrubbed.
She stalled a little, brushing out her hair and pulling it back in a loose braid, fastened with scrunchies. She was hoping the strangers would leave before she finished so that she wouldn’t have to face them again. She tried not to think what being absent from her own life for more than a week would mean. What would Candace think when she showed up with two strange men? She already disapproved of Erica’s lifestyle. That was clear. This might be the final straw.
Damn. Maybe she’d better not leave anything she valued behind. If she lost her job, Candace would probably dump her things on the sidewalk before you could say “late rent.” Was Caleb’s assumption that the Master would find her a job real? Or was that a nice way of saying “hush money?” She still wasn’t sure how deep in it she was.
The sound of footsteps passing in the hall outside made her jump. She was stalling. Hoping that Caleb had managed to find her something presentable, she wrapped the largest towel she could find around herself and ventured back out into the hall. She padded barefoot toward the open door at the end.
The room was empty, the room furnished with a queen sized bed, a simple wooden dresser and a couple of night tables. Several garments were spread out across the bed and holding her towel close, she stepped forward to see them more closely. She jumped when the door behind her closed with a soft click.
“What?” She whirled around to see who had closed the door.
“Just me.” Caleb stood just inside the door. She heard a second click as he locked it. “They’re still downstairs.” His voice was soft, low. Nothing in it to alarm her, but the look in his eyes was too intense for comfort.
“I uh…Need to change.” She looked again at the clothes on the bed, taking another step back. She almost stumbled over a pair of worn sneakers she had missed. When she looked back, he had drawn closer, moving with a gliding walk that reminded her of a cat stalking its prey. “Caleb? I’ve had enough scary today without you going weird on me.”
“Just wanted to talk to you in private.” He kept coming and she backed further away until she met a wall and had nowhere else to go. He didn’t stop until he could reach around her and press his palms against the wall, neatly corralling her without quite touching her. “I don’t scare you do I?”
“I…Yes. You do.” Her voice quavered and her body seemed to run hot and cold as his eyes traveled an invisible path up and down her towel-clad form. “A little.”
“But you want me.” He closed his eyes briefly and drew in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. “I can smell it. Every time I get close to you. Fear and sex. I love it.” He opened his eyes and smiled.
“Jesus, Caleb!” She pressed her palms against his chest. Still bare and very warm. “Why me? Don’t you get enough at the club? I’ve seen you.”
“I told you. I like the way you smell.” He slowly leaned in against her palms, leaning closer until she had to strain to try to keep him away. “Besides, the girls at the club are off limits now. Security.”
“So I’m just convenient?” She pushed a little harder. He didn’t back up, but he stopped moving.
“No.” He smiled at her just as her towel began to slip. She had to choose between clutching at it and holding him at bay. She let the towel go and it slid to the floor in slow motion. Caleb’s eyes followed it’s progress, then traveled slowly back up her body. “Not with Damian ready to shove that giant sword of his up my ass if I piss him off. Or with half the pard playing chaperone. ‘Convenient’ isn’t the word.”
“Damian told you to back off?”
“Nope.” Caleb’s smile widened and his eyes returned to her face. “Just doesn’t want me rubbing his face in it. No problem. Plenty of daylight.”
“What if I tell you to back off?”
“What if you do?” He began to lean in again, slowly. “Come on, Erica. You want me. What was all that back there in the kitchen?”
“I…” She blushed furiously. “I’m not going to…Not now. Not with them here…I…”
“Shh…” He moved his hands from where they rested on the wall and cupped her face. “I just want a kiss or two. You’re not up to what I want to do to you yet.”
“What you…” She didn’t get to finish what she was saying because he kissed her then. His lips were firm and warm and demanding on hers. His tongue slid along her lips, begging entrance. She reacted without thinking, letting him in with a soft moan. It wasn’t until his hands slid around her, pressing her against his chest and trapping her hands between them that she realized she’d stopped holding him back somewhere along the way.
He held her tight, almost tight enough to make it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the way he was kissing her that left her breathless. He began to nibble his way along her jaw, down her neck. A soft rumbling, suspiciously like a purr, began to vibrate through his chest. He pressed her against the wall, letting her go in order to pull her hands from between them, pressing them back against the wall beside her head. He pressed the full length of his body against her, his breath hot against her neck. She could feel the roughness of his jeans against her skin and hardness of his erection beneath the fabric.
“God you smell so good.” His voice was little more than a growl. He pressed harder against her, denim clad flesh grinding against her. She whimpered in protest.
“Caleb. Please.” She gasped, trying not to struggle against his grip. She could feel the inhuman strength of him. Knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“You never said stop.” His mouth moved slowly over the skin of her neck, his breath so very hot and close. The scent of musk seemed stronger and his curls tickled her chin. “I want to fuck you until you scream my name. Jesus…”
“I…” Her throat seemed dry. Her voice was shaky and not quite sounding like her own. “I’m saying stop now. Just…Stop.”
“Stop.” He froze for a moment, only the soft brush of his curls on her skin and the warm rush of his breath showing that he was alive and not some statue. “OK. OK.” He pushed away abruptly, hands raised in the air. His lips curved in a smile, baring his teeth. His eyes gleamed yellow-gold, dilated and inhuman looking.
She gasped, pressing a hand to her breast, watching him wide-eyed. He backed away further, still smiling, hands still raised in the air. Somehow, it didn’t really reassure her.
“You’re right. We should stop now.” His smile widened and he blinked his leopard eyes. Then he turned his back to her and crossed the room to the dresser and began opening drawers, searching. “Yeah. Stop while we can.” He ran a hand through his hair, tumbling the curls wildly.
“What do you mean, while we can?”
“Have you heard us talk about our beasts? It’s always there, not just when the moon is full. Feeding, fucking, fighting…that’s what our beasts understand. If it’s not one, it’s the other. If you can’t fuck it, then it’s either food or an enemy.”
“But what about the pard? You seem so close…”
“Real leopards aren’t pack animals like wolves.” He half turned his head, not quite looking over his shoulder. “Get dressed. Somebody will come looking for us soon.”
“Did I do something wrong?” She moved tentatively to the bed and began to sort through the clothing picking out another sports bra and a pair of panties.
“No.” He pulled a black tee shirt over his head and tugged it downwards. “No. You did something smart. Did Nathaniel tell you to do that?”
“Do what?” She suddenly wanted very badly to be dressed and began to tug the borrowed clothing on. A red tee that had faded to nearly pink, a little too tight and a pair of worn and faded jeans with holes in the knees and frayed hems.
“In the kitchen. From food to sex.” He sat down on the bed to pull on a pair of boots. He stopped with one boot in his hand and turned to face her. “Smart.”
“I...” She was blushing furiously again and bent to put on the scuffed tennis shoes without socks.
“There’s always a chance one of us will lose control of his beast.” His voice was slightly muffled and she heard him stomping his feet to settle the boots. “You can’t fight a lycanthrope. You’re human.”
“So it’s feeding or…” She hesitated.
“Fucking. Yeah.” She felt rather than saw him stand up. She straightened and met his eyes. She was relieved to see them brown and very human again. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“OK.”.
Now without further ado, here's our next installment:
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter franchise. The world and all its inhabitants belong to Laurell K. Hamilton. I’ve just borrowed her world for my own, and hopefully your, entertainment. I make no money from this work and discourage any attempts to sue me as being fiscally unrewarding.
Warnings: Legal adults only. Graphic sex, violence, adult themes, vampires and lycanthropes. Read at your own risk.
Authors Note: Ever had a character keep pestering you in the back of your skull until there was nothing to do for it, but sit down and write? Damian may be quiet, but he’s bloody persistent. Enjoy.
Chapter Four: Surrounded by monsters…
It was good to come home to such welcome as he found in her eyes. They were luminous in the light of the candles and filled with simple pleasure to find him there. Her dark hair spilled across the pillows, a little mussed with sleep, but gleaming. Her skin was faintly flushed with the return of some of her lost vitality and the beat of her heart was stronger, steadier then when he’d last touched her.
She moved gently under his touches, almost rubbing against his hands like a cat. There was so much trust in her eyes that he feared that perhaps he’d bespelled her without willing it so. But she did not act as one bespelled. Her gaze was clear and bright, focused on his face, on his body. She responded to his caresses with quiet sighs and moans, her lips half parted. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips until he felt the urge to catch her up in his arms and claim them in a fierce kiss.
No. No. Gentleness, patience. A thousand years of patience. Damian shook his head at his own eagerness. He must go softly tonight, and perhaps for some time to come. She was not yet recovered and she was frail in the way of mortals. He slowly stripped the black silk shirt from her body, comparing the warm softness of her skin to the cool smoothness of the fabric. He bent over her, letting the ends of his hair tickle her breasts and belly, drawing his hands down her sides in lingering caresses.
Her response was immediate, her nipples tightening into hard peaks, her skin running to gooseflesh wherever his hands roamed. She shivered and whispered his name. He could smell her scent, grown thicker and musky with arousal. He leaned down further, slowly, to meet those tempting lips with his own. He kissed her leisurely, thoroughly, savoring the taste and feel of her mouth under his. She reached out to embrace him, caressed his chest and shoulders, smoothed back his hair and let it slip through her fingers again and again.
He shifted, lowering himself until he stretched out to his full length beside her. He deepened the kiss and let his hands roam even further, testing the sweet silk of her thighs and the warm moistness at their apex. She cried out softly when his thumb found the small bit of sensitive flesh and pressed against it rhythmically. And again when his fingers entered her, sliding past the plump lips that guarded her innermost places. He heard her pulse speed yet again, her breathing grown sharp and quick.
“Damian…” Her hands moved over his skin, leaving trails of warmth behind. She moaned against his lips, into his mouth while her hips rocked in time with his fingers. One of her hands followed the sparse line of hair down his stomach until she could wrap her fingers around him. He groaned and kissed her deeper, thrusting shallowly against her palm. Encouraged, she began to stroke him with more authority and purpose.
In return, he intensified his efforts to please her, fingers stroking and twisting inside her warmth, thumb pressing into her flesh. She shuddered, her breath coming in gasps and pants, her stroking of his shaft losing its rhythm until she simply held him while her body writhed around his fingers. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts into the air while her head fell back, her eyes closed and face flushed with ecstasy. A low, husky, wordless cry fell from her lips.
The sound of her voice, the feel of her hand, the warm heat of her body, the soft gleam of candlelight on her skin sent desire pouring through him, fierce and demanding. There was the flavor of life and youth to her that none of his vampire lovers had been able to counterfeit, no matter how skilled or how beautiful. A yielding that he would never find in his mistress’s arms. He could not imagine Anita surrendering so much of herself to him. The thought struck him as somehow disloyal, but no less true.
He pushed thoughts of other lovers from his mind. He drew the girl up against his chest, rolling with her until she lay atop him, sweet flesh pressed against his. She gave a startled gasp, her eyes wide with surprise. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned up to kiss her. She melted into his kiss with a soft exclamation. When he drew back again, she blinked at him, eyes heavy lidded with passion.
“Damian…”
“I wish to see you above me, my lovely. To watch you in your pleasure.” She blushed fetchingly and it made him smile at her. She shook her head slightly but returned the smile. He caressed her, running his hands across her skin over and over, memorizing the shape of her, the texture of her skin. She moaned quietly and shivered.
Then she began to move over him, sliding downwards to press kisses against his skin. She nuzzled at his neck and nibbled gently over his collarbone. She bent her head to take first one nipple then the other into her mouth, sucking and biting at them until he muttered soft curses. Each movement pressed some tantalizing bit of her against him until he found himself writhing beneath her. His hands seemed to settle at her hips of their own will. She moved with him, letting him guide her, rising up on her knees to straddle him.
For a long moment, she hovered over him, the moist warmth of her so very close that he fought himself not to thrust upwards or drag her down to meet him. Or perhaps both. To do so with such force that he might do her harm. That he would not do, so he waited, watching her breasts rise and fall gently with her breath, listening to the siren’s song of her blood pumping through her veins. Watching the naked desire in her eyes and the hesitation and wonder in her expression.
“You’re…” Her voice trailed off into a breathy silence. “You’re just too perfect to be real. It’s like a dream. Hard to believe.”
“I have hardly touched you, my lovely. My sweet Erica. Let me show you how real I can be.” He tightened his grip on her hips slightly, pulling her downwards with the gentlest of pressures. She yielded to his urging, descending slowly to envelop him with her delicious warmth. He muttered an oath in the tongue of his long ago youth.
She sighed, the small sound one of satisfaction. Then she began to move above him, hips rising and falling, rocking against him. He moved with her, rising to meet her, hands guiding her until they found their rhythm together. Warmth and heat and life seemed to burn through her, almost scalding hot against his skin. The night was drawing to its end, and with it, his borrowed warmth. He wondered briefly if she could feel it fading or if it was simply his own gloomy thoughts.
Pleasure wound through him, passing between them. He watched her move, reveled in the expression of innocent abandon on her face and the sheer joy of her body wrapped around his. He let his hands move over her again, cupping her breasts and pinching carefully at her nipples until she clutched at his hands and cried out. How he wanted to suckle at those rosy peaks, to feel the pebbled flesh in his mouth. But he did not trust himself not to draw blood. Not with the sound of her heart beating so loud in his ears and the smell of it so tempting just below the skin.
He watched her as she reached her climax, her body shuddering and writhing, fighting her efforts to continue the rhythm of their fleshly dance. He steadied her with his hands while he took over the rhythm, hanging onto his own control while he prolonged her pleasure for as long as he was able. He spoke to her in every tongue he knew, telling her how lovely she looked in this moment. How alive and beautiful. Because she was.
Then at last she collapsed against him, panting, heart racing. She giggled softly, a pleasantly euphoric sound. When he brushed her hair back to see her face, her pupils were large and dark beneath heavy lids and her lips curved in a smile. He kissed her quickly, playfully, pressing his lips against her brows and cheeks, across her eyelids, and even on the tip of her nose for the simple joy of hearing her laugh again.
Then he silenced her giggles by kissing her as hard as he dared. He rolled over, taking her with him, their bodies still joined. She clung to him and moaned when he thrust himself deeper. His need, along with the threat of the coming dawn, lent urgency to his passion. In this moment, it did not seem only the consummation of a few nights’ flirtation, but as if it was the culmination of months of seduction and courtship. Had she been just another of his women only a few nights ago? Or had he simply chosen not to acknowledge what was growing between them?
She murmured his name, whispered soft words of encouragement as he moved against her, inside her. He sought to bury himself in her, wrap himself in her warmth, and bathe in the pulse of life that beat just under her skin. Had it ever been so with any woman in a thousand years? If it had been, he could not remember it.
Pleasure and desire built in him, rising like some great wave, seeming greater than he. He was aware of her shuddering beneath him, spine bowing, breasts pressed soft against him, head thrown back and neck bared almost in offering. Blood hunger tugged at his senses, but he locked it away, closing his eyes to the sight of that tender flesh. His own pulse roared in his ears while he fought his own passions lest he forget his inhuman strength. He felt her flesh tighten around him while she cried out in her release. He could hold back no more and his own climax crashed over him, setting him adrift while his body completed the most primal of acts.
He held her tightly as he spent himself inside her. He pressed his cheek against her forehead, turning his face so that he would not forget himself and his resolve to take no blood from her this night. She shuddered and sighed while his body milked itself dry. Then at last he rolled off of her to curl himself about her. She was panting, still. He could hear her heart working frantically and knew he had taxed her stamina.
“Oh God, Damian…” She whispered between breaths and he quieted her with a finger against her lips.
“You must rest now. The dawn comes soon.”
“Don’t go yet.”
“I will stay as long as I can, my lovely. I have no desire to leave your side. But I do not think you are ready to see what remains when the dawn steals life from this body. Sleep now.”
She looked for a moment as if she would argue. But instead, she snuggled into his arms with a sigh of contentment. He held her, stroking her hair until her pulse slowed and her breathing took on the rhythm of sleep. He could feel the dawn’s approach in the heaviness of his own limbs and the fear of never waking from his rest was somehow greater than it had been for some time.
He untangled himself from her limbs reluctantly; it somehow felt as if he abandoned his own vitality when he let go of her form. He wanted to cling to her living body and fight the dawn. But that would only leave him cold and dead beside her when she woke. So he crept into his coffin to curl up with the cold comfort of his sword at his side. Then dawn broke and he was gone…
When Erica awoke, she was alone. Alone for the first time since she’d first awakened in Damian’s bed surrounded by strangers. She sat up and blinked sleepily at the quiet chamber. Her eyes were drawn to the coffin and she felt a sudden urge to go to it and lift the lid. But Damian had not wanted her to see him dead.
The night before had been so…It compared to nothing in her experience. Just thinking of it, of him, sent her drifting off into memory for a moment. She shivered as she relived his touch. If she weren’t naked in his bed, in the same room with his coffin, with the black silk shirt tossed carelessly over the arm of a chair, she would think it had been some dream. Even then, she had to give herself a little shake.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger. With that to goad her, she crawled out of bed and considered dressing. She had only the clothes from the day before, or the shirt she’d begun the night in. Unless she started digging in Damian’s things. Either way, she needed a shower. Deciding that the silk shirt would be good enough to make it to the bathroom, she slipped it on and bundled up her borrowed change of clothing. Afterwards, she padded up the stairs, debating whether to shower or eat first.
She heard the voices before she reached the kitchen. Anita’s voice and a man’s she didn’t recognize, deep and rich and not at all happy. She paused in confusion on the threshold finding the kitchen full of people, most of them strangers.
No. Not most. It was just that the three strangers massed enough between them to be more than half. The source of the voice was a tall, well built man with shoulder length brown hair pulled back from his face to show sculpted cheekbones and chocolate-brown eyes. Very handsome except for the angry expression. He stood next to Anita, who sat huddled over her coffee, drinking it with exaggerated calm.
Nathaniel was in the process of doling out food and cups of coffee around the two tables. The other two strangers stood to either side of the sliding glass doors that led to the deck, watching everything with eyes that never seemed to stop moving. The shorter one was black, his hair done in swinging braids tipped with white beads to match his crisp white tee shirt. The other man looked Asian but was taller than any Asian man she’d ever seen. Probably one of the tallest men she’d ever been in the same room with outside of a basketball game. He wore unrelieved black, from his starched looking dress shirt to his creased slacks.
“I don’t like this, Anita. You’re not answering my questions.” The man glowered down at her.
“I have answered your questions. You just didn’t like the answers.”
“You’ll have to wait your turn. Micah’s got the downstairs shower and Noah’s upstairs.” Erica jumped when Caleb reached out to take the bundle of clothing from her hands. He set it down on a bare section of counter. Then he took her elbow and steered her to a seat at the far end of the larger table from Anita. She suddenly felt terribly exposed, wearing nothing but Damian’s pajama shirt. She sat down carefully on the chair, tucking the fabric under her like a skirt.
Caleb sat down next to her, draping an arm around the back of her chair and leaning in to breathe against her ear. “They’ve been arguing since he got here. Best not to get between them.” Then he looked up at Nathaniel as the young man set plates down before them. “Any coffee left?”
“Sure.” Nathaniel bustled off, looking as serene as if he were completely unaware that an argument was taking place just a few paces away. For a brief moment the thumping of cabinet doors and the clinking of ceramics was enough to render the conversation at the other end of the table unintelligible.
“We have this under control, Richard.” Anita’s voice sounded flat, as if she were determined not to be angry. Erica chanced a glance at the pair while she gathered up a bite of omelet on her fork. It was filled with steak, cheese, and bits of vegetables. It tasted heavenly.
“You’re trying to keep me from asking my own questions.”
“I’m the cop here, if you haven’t forgotten.” She’d lifted her own fork to spear a chunk of sausage from her plate, but dropped it with an ominous sounding clink. “I think I have a better idea of what questions to ask than you do.”
“How do you know she’s not a plant, Anita? It wouldn’t be the first time you were suckered in by a pretty face.”
Erica’s eyes went wide and she struggled to swallow the lump of food in her throat that suddenly seemed far too dry. They were arguing about her? He thought she was a plant? Who was he?
“Did you want sugar and cream in your coffee?” Nathaniel stood at her elbow, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.
“Black’s just fine.” Caleb reached across her to take the mug from the young man and set it down next to his plate. Nathaniel frowned but didn’t protest. “Erica doesn’t drink coffee. Here.” He reached out to grab a glass of orange juice from an unclaimed seat and placed it in front of her.
“Thanks, Caleb.” She muttered, flustered to find that he’d been watching her close enough to pick up details like that.
“Don’t worry about it.” He nodded, his eyes fixed on the couple who were still holding a heated discussion in hushed tones. “Better eat. You need the protein.”
“He’s right.” Nathaniel gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder before hustling off again to check something on the stove. Beside her, Caleb dug into his food with the same enthusiasm she’d seen from most of the lycanthropes she’d met so far. After a moment, the two men flanking the door took two of the empty seats at the smaller table in the breakfast nook.
“Sit down and eat before your breakfast gets cold.” Anita had picked her fork back up and shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth. “Most important meal of the day and all that.”
“Fine.” He pulled out a chair across from Erica, the legs scraping harshly against the tiled floor and sat down with a scowl. Nathaniel slipped a mug of something lighter than coffee in front of him before taking a seat on Erica’s other side. He probably meant to be reassuring, but as it was, the closeness and tension in the room were beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. Everyone fell silent for a few minutes while they continued to eat.
Erica grew increasingly uncomfortable as she felt the weight of this Richard’s gaze on her. She had the ominous feeling that things were going on around her that she just wasn’t equipped to sense. The other two strangers looked at her from time to time, but it felt businesslike and impersonal. For the most part she concentrated working her way through the plate before her and listening for any indication that one of the bathrooms was free. Had she known there were strangers in the house--strange lycanthropes, she was almost certain--she’d have stayed downstairs until they were gone or someone came to get her.
“Erica, is it?” She started at being addressed directly, almost dropping her glass of orange juice. As it was, some spilled on her hand and she fumbled for a napkin.
“Yeah.”
“Anita says you’ve been one of Damian’s…donors…for months. And now he’s named you his pomme de sang.” She nodded agreement with the statement. There was nothing to argue in it. Though she didn’t like the skepticism in his tone. “So I was wondering why he hasn’t mentioned you before now. Seeing as how he ripped another vampire’s heart out over that.” He gestured at the visible mark on her neck.
“You…You’d have to ask him. I didn’t realize he…” She blanched as she thought about that. How the blood had come to be caked around his nails. “He ripped the vampire’s heart out?”
“That’s what he said. And he broke the other vampire’s neck with his bare hands. I’d think he’s bragging, but I’ve seen the kind of damage they can do.” He was watching her closely, gauging her reaction. “What do you think about that, Erica? Scare you?”
“Richard. That’s not table conversation.” Anita snapped.
“I thought you didn’t mind a little bloodshed?”
“I do when it’s over the breakfast table.” There was a quiet thump when she lowered her coffee mug to the table. “If you are angry at me, be angry at me. Not at my houseguest.”
“So she’s your houseguest now? I thought she was Damian’s pomme de sang. Of course, I also thought vampires didn’t fuck their pommes even if they do sometimes share a bed.”
“Richard!”
Erica’s face flushed crimson and she stared at her plate. Her hands shook as she methodically sliced off another bit of omelet. She felt the men on either side of her shift uneasily in their chairs. Who was this man who could attack her right in front of Anita and her people and get away with it?
“So which are you? His blood whore? Or just a roll in the hay that doesn’t mind playing snack for the vamps?”
She stared at him in shocked dismay, unable to think of a response. She’d known there would be no way to hide last night’s activities from the wereleopards. That they would smell it on her and that had been more than half the reason she’d wanted a shower before food. Her fork hovered forgotten over her plate.
“That is enough, Richard.”
“Let her answer for herself, Anita. She should know what she’s getting into and so should we.” He reached out and tapped the edge of her plate with his knife, the sound sharp enough to make Erica blink. “Answer me.”
Erica finally remembered her fork and set it down carefully, trying to still the shaking in her hands. She knew with absolute certainty now that she was the only human in the room. The memory of Nathaniel’s frank talk about lycanthropes spooled through her head. That they could smell fear. They could smell it and it excited them. She could see it in Richard’s eyes, in the flaring of his nostrils, the barely contained energy of him, even sitting still. She managed not to flinch when Nathaniel touched her thigh beneath the table.
“How Damian killed them doesn’t scare me half so much as the idea of him leaving them alive. One of them rolled me so deep that I actually enjoyed letting them kill me.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. She shivered involuntarily at the thought. “If Damian hadn’t killed him, he could have called me any time and I couldn’t have stopped myself. Wouldn’t have even wanted to.” Her hand crept up to the bite wound, pressing against it as if to shield it. She swallowed hard and tried to shove the fear down and steady her voice. “What happened between Damian and me is between us. Nobody’s business but ours.”
“It is if it puts my people in danger.” There was no sympathy in those brown eyes. Nothing but hard anger. She didn’t think she’d done anything to earn it. “How do we know that wasn’t one of your vamp boyfriends getting carried away? Or maybe it was a set up and you didn’t bargain on Damian’s reaction.”
“No.” The first trickle of anger sprang up somewhere amidst the fear. “No. Damian is the only vampire I’ve ever let bite me. They attacked me. They…They had no right. None.” She pulled her hand from her neck and pressed it flat against the table to keep herself from balling it up into a fist. “I don’t know who you are. But you aren’t leopards. What are you? Werewolves?” It had just been a guess. Something about the way they acted and the knowledge that werewolves were much more common than leopards…
“Who told you?” Richard snarled rising from his seat and leaning over the table toward her, one hand reaching for her. She let out a small noise, almost a squeak, and shoved herself back from the table. Several things happened at once, too quickly for her human reflexes to follow.
She felt herself bang into the chair behind her and start to stumble. The men on either side of her moved so fast that it seemed unreal. Nathaniel rose from his seat and pulled her chair aside before she could finish her stumble. Caleb simply seemed to appear at her elbow, catching her by the arm and pulling her bodily behind him. He backed up until she was nearly pressed against the glass of the patio doors.
“Richard!”
“Ulfric! Remember she is human.”
“I didn’t touch her.”
Everyone seemed to be talking at once, almost shouting. It all became a roar of noise in her ears as she found herself clinging to Caleb’s back. She was trembling with fear and after stealing a few glances past his shoulder, she hid her face in the back of his neck. His hair brushed her face, still damp from the shower and smelling of shampoo. His grip on her arm tightened and loosened in pulses of nervous tension.
It was too much. All too much. She was surrounded by monsters and didn’t know who was friend and who was foe. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking and each time she dared a glance, she caught at least one set of eyes on her. Eyes that held a hunger that wasn’t human. Richard’s nameless companions seemed to be trying to calm him down but danced around him as if afraid of becoming the next target for his anger. Anita had placed herself firmly between the werewolves and everyone else and was trading heated jibes with Richard. Nathaniel hovered nervously just behind her.
Caleb caught her looking, craning his neck to meet her eyes. His were wide and she could feel his chest rising and falling too quickly. In fact, he looked slightly startled.
“You smell like food.” His voice held a base growl to it and his eyes had grown lighter, the brown fading to a yellow-gold as she watched until she was staring at leopard eyes in a human face. Her gut twisted with a new fear. She started to pull away from him, but he pulled her arm around his waist and pinned her hand against his stomach. “Don’t run.”
He turned his face away from her again, watching the other lycanthropes anxiously. She swallowed hard against the lump of fear in her throat and hid her face again. She leaned into the warmth of his body, dressed once more in nothing but jeans so that she was pressed against bare skin. She struggled to slow her breathing, to take in the scent of his skin, his cologne, and that odd, acrid musk that she’d noticed on Cherry and Zane. With a pang, she wondered where they were. Why hadn’t they been in the bed when she woke this morning?
Strange how that scent helped settle her nerves. It took some of the edge off and she breathed more deeply, slowly. She wrapped her arms around Caleb’s torso. She could still feel the tension in him, could feel his small movements as he watched the others move around the room. She almost looked up again when she heard Micah’s calm tones join the conversation, but still the words didn’t register over the pounding of her heart in her chest.
She was making it worse. Her fear had made it worse. He’d probably been reacting to her fear as much as anything else when he’d started in on her. She leaned into the warm body in front of her, tried to blot out everything else. She spread her fingers; let herself feel the play of strong muscle over ribs, the slight contracting of his abs as he breathed in and out. She let herself think back to that first meeting in the hall, to the way he’d been watching her, to the way he’d touched her when they danced.
It had made her nervous, disturbed her, and confused her. Now she let the reason why he troubled her so much creep into her awareness. She coaxed it out, encouraged it, used it to drown out the fear, replacing it with the nervous butterflies that came with a new attraction. Because that’s what it was. And it confused her because while Damian had given her permission to do so, she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being free to do something about it.
She pushed thoughts of Damian aside. He was dead for the day. He couldn’t help her now. She breathed in again and the fear faded further beneath the mingled scents of skin, cologne, and musk. Her hands moved restlessly and the trembling stopped. She suddenly realized she was caressing Caleb’s stomach, playing with the barbell that pierced his navel, when he stopped the motion by covering her hand with his own. He made no other move to discourage her or push her away. She half expected him to say something salacious, or grin over his shoulder, but it seemed a mark of how tense the room still was that he didn’t.
The arguing had quieted to the point where she could begin to follow the conversation again. The man in front of her began stroking the backs of her forearms and hands. It wasn’t really a caress, more as if he were soothing himself by touching her. Maybe he was.
“You’re right as usual, Anita.” Richard’s voice hovered between disgust and sarcasm. “I came on too strong.”
“Too strong? That’s the understatement of the year. She was almost murdered two nights ago. She’s been living ever since with strangers. Nonhuman strangers. How did you expect her to react?”
“She was afraid to answer my questions.”
“No. She was afraid of you.”
“She is still standing over there, listening.” Micah’s voice was quietly reasonable, chiding. “And from the look and smell of things, she wasn’t the only one who thought your threat was real.”
“You know I wasn’t going to hurt her. If I’d meant to hurt her, none of you could have stopped me.”
“But we would have had to try.” Nathaniel added quietly. “We’re supposed to be guarding her.”
All eyes had turned to Caleb and Erica still huddled behind him. A tremor of tension ran through the wereleopard’s body.
“Hey. Everyone knows I’m a chickenshit.” Caleb shrugged. “If I thought you were serious, do you really think I’d have gotten in your way? Just trying to rack up some brownie points.”
Erica made a small sound of disagreement close to his ear. He squeezed the hand that still rested over his navel in warning. Erica could see the sharp look that Micah gave him, though she didn’t think anyone else but Caleb could. Again, she felt like she was missing something.
The room was silent for a moment and she watched Richard composing himself. He still looked stiff and unhappy, but the scowl smoothed from his features and he unclenched the hands that had been fisted at his sides. One of his men, the taller one, leaned close to him without touching him and spoke quietly in his ear. Richard nodded curtly, then directed his gaze to her. She found herself tightening her hold on Caleb and he responded by pressing her hand more tightly against his stomach.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Erica. I lost my temper, but it’s not you I’m angry with.” He paused, waiting for some sort of response, but Erica remained silent, watching. “Anita told me what happened, but I’d like to hear it from you, myself.”
“I…” Everyone was staring at her. All she really wanted to do was hide in Damian’s basement until they all left. Or go home. She looked from face to face for some hint of support. She sure as hell didn’t want to answer more of his questions. Her eyes came to rest on Anita’s face. “Do I owe him anything?”
“Owe him?” Anita looked puzzled by the question.
“The Master of the City says I’m one of his people because I’m Damian’s pomme de sang. Damian answers to you. You answer to the Master. Does he…” She loosened her hold on Caleb enough to gesture tentatively in Richard’s direction. “Have any authority over me?”
“We are technically equals, partners when we aren’t fighting.” Anita sighed heavily and glanced at the man. “I have some authority over his people, the werewolves. You guessed right, there. But he does not have authority over my leopards. And certainly not over my vampire servant. So, no. You don’t owe him anything.”
“I have as much right to demand answers as you do, Anita.”
“You do not have the right to bully my people. And this is vampire business, not lycanthrope, Richard. At least so far. Take it up with Jean Claude if you have a problem.”
“You are using the pard to play babysitters for her. That makes it lycanthrope business.”
“The pard is mine. And some of them happen to live here, with me. Most of my leopards are already out of the closet. I was under the impression none of the other safe houses were willing to take in a strange human because they were afraid of someone being outed. Am I wrong?”
“I wouldn’t…” Erica began to protest.
“Shh…” Caleb hissed at her. He was still tense. And when she glanced at Nathaniel, he seemed tense as well.
“No. You’re not wrong.” Richard scowled again. “But you could have asked. And there are members of the pack who aren’t in hiding.”
“Unlike you.” Anita’s voice was heavy with meaning. “I wasn’t trying to keep you in the dark, Richard. I was respecting your wish to protect your identity.”
“If you’re finished with breakfast, the showers are free.” Micah’s voice was quietly neutral while he peeled a lock of wet curls from his chest to toss it over his shoulder. He’d obviously skipped drying his hair in his effort to join them in the kitchen as quickly as possible. His voice remained calm and friendly, but his look at Caleb was pointed. “Why don’t you show Erica where the guest bathroom is?”
“Sure. Come on.” Caleb eased around the edge of the room, putting an arm around her waist and keeping himself between her and the werewolves. Richard had given Micah an unfriendly look when he spoke, but otherwise seemed prepared to talk with Anita in more civil tones. They were halfway to the door when Erica remembered her clothes.
“I need my clothes.” She hesitated, but Caleb pushed her forward.
“I’ll find you something to wear. We’ve always got extra clothes around. Never know when somebody will shift and ruin theirs.” They were just a few steps from Micah, now. “How about I drive her over to her place and let her grab some things when she’s done?”
Micah stepped back into the living room and gestured for them to follow. Erica looked around and saw the clean-cut young man who’d been introduced as Noah making his way down the stairs.
“I’d feel much better if I had my own clothes. And I don’t trust Candace to take care of Shadow for more than a day or two.” A note of pleading crept into her voice. “She’s not very…patient.”
“Not alone.” Micah reached out and brushed Noah’s arm as he passed. The young man stopped. “Noah will go with you. Pack for about a week.”
“A week?” Erica’s voice rose in alarm. “I can’t miss a week of work! They’ll fire me. And I’ll have to make arrangements for my cat. Candace will call Animal Control.”
“We’ll bring the cat.” Caleb shrugged. “If you lose your job, it’s no big thing. Jean Claude owns half the District.”
“It is to me…”
“Your safety is more important.” Micah frowned. “Do you have anyone to keep the cat? There’s a reason most lycanthropes don’t keep pets.”
“No. I’m afraid not. Could I maybe keep her in the basement until I figure it out?”
“Anita won’t like it.” Noah shook his head.
“I’ll deal with Anita.” Micah sighed and peeled another lock of wet curls from his chest. “Get what you need and rescue your cat. We’ll sort the rest out later.” His chartreuse eyes flicked back toward the kitchen doorway and he frowned. Then he waved Erica and Caleb up the stairs before returning to the kitchen with Noah in tow.
“Where are Cherry and Zane?”
“Cherry was needed at the hospital. Zane’s playing overprotective boyfriend…I mean bodyguard.” Caleb snorted, his hand on the small of her back as they walked up the stairs. “Bathroom’s right in there.” He pointed to an open door a half dozen paces down the hall.
“What about clothes?”
“I’ll raid the rag pile and find you something. Bedroom at the end of the hall when you’re done.”
“OK. Thanks.”
He nodded to her and slipped through a third door, leaving her alone in the hallway. Anxious to wash the scent of sex and fear from her skin before anything else happened to embarrass her, she scurried inside and locked the door. This bathroom was smaller, but well equipped. Someone had been thoughtful enough to leave a new toothbrush and a fresh stack of towels on the vanity, along with a hairbrush and a couple of scrunchies.
The tile was still slick and the rug in front of the shower stall damp, but everything was neat and tidy. She slipped out of the pajama shirt, stuffing it into the nearby hamper and climbed into the shower. A few moments later she was scrubbing away under the hot water, hoping it wouldn’t run out with so many people using it. Fortunately, it didn’t and she was soon clean and scrubbed.
She stalled a little, brushing out her hair and pulling it back in a loose braid, fastened with scrunchies. She was hoping the strangers would leave before she finished so that she wouldn’t have to face them again. She tried not to think what being absent from her own life for more than a week would mean. What would Candace think when she showed up with two strange men? She already disapproved of Erica’s lifestyle. That was clear. This might be the final straw.
Damn. Maybe she’d better not leave anything she valued behind. If she lost her job, Candace would probably dump her things on the sidewalk before you could say “late rent.” Was Caleb’s assumption that the Master would find her a job real? Or was that a nice way of saying “hush money?” She still wasn’t sure how deep in it she was.
The sound of footsteps passing in the hall outside made her jump. She was stalling. Hoping that Caleb had managed to find her something presentable, she wrapped the largest towel she could find around herself and ventured back out into the hall. She padded barefoot toward the open door at the end.
The room was empty, the room furnished with a queen sized bed, a simple wooden dresser and a couple of night tables. Several garments were spread out across the bed and holding her towel close, she stepped forward to see them more closely. She jumped when the door behind her closed with a soft click.
“What?” She whirled around to see who had closed the door.
“Just me.” Caleb stood just inside the door. She heard a second click as he locked it. “They’re still downstairs.” His voice was soft, low. Nothing in it to alarm her, but the look in his eyes was too intense for comfort.
“I uh…Need to change.” She looked again at the clothes on the bed, taking another step back. She almost stumbled over a pair of worn sneakers she had missed. When she looked back, he had drawn closer, moving with a gliding walk that reminded her of a cat stalking its prey. “Caleb? I’ve had enough scary today without you going weird on me.”
“Just wanted to talk to you in private.” He kept coming and she backed further away until she met a wall and had nowhere else to go. He didn’t stop until he could reach around her and press his palms against the wall, neatly corralling her without quite touching her. “I don’t scare you do I?”
“I…Yes. You do.” Her voice quavered and her body seemed to run hot and cold as his eyes traveled an invisible path up and down her towel-clad form. “A little.”
“But you want me.” He closed his eyes briefly and drew in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. “I can smell it. Every time I get close to you. Fear and sex. I love it.” He opened his eyes and smiled.
“Jesus, Caleb!” She pressed her palms against his chest. Still bare and very warm. “Why me? Don’t you get enough at the club? I’ve seen you.”
“I told you. I like the way you smell.” He slowly leaned in against her palms, leaning closer until she had to strain to try to keep him away. “Besides, the girls at the club are off limits now. Security.”
“So I’m just convenient?” She pushed a little harder. He didn’t back up, but he stopped moving.
“No.” He smiled at her just as her towel began to slip. She had to choose between clutching at it and holding him at bay. She let the towel go and it slid to the floor in slow motion. Caleb’s eyes followed it’s progress, then traveled slowly back up her body. “Not with Damian ready to shove that giant sword of his up my ass if I piss him off. Or with half the pard playing chaperone. ‘Convenient’ isn’t the word.”
“Damian told you to back off?”
“Nope.” Caleb’s smile widened and his eyes returned to her face. “Just doesn’t want me rubbing his face in it. No problem. Plenty of daylight.”
“What if I tell you to back off?”
“What if you do?” He began to lean in again, slowly. “Come on, Erica. You want me. What was all that back there in the kitchen?”
“I…” She blushed furiously. “I’m not going to…Not now. Not with them here…I…”
“Shh…” He moved his hands from where they rested on the wall and cupped her face. “I just want a kiss or two. You’re not up to what I want to do to you yet.”
“What you…” She didn’t get to finish what she was saying because he kissed her then. His lips were firm and warm and demanding on hers. His tongue slid along her lips, begging entrance. She reacted without thinking, letting him in with a soft moan. It wasn’t until his hands slid around her, pressing her against his chest and trapping her hands between them that she realized she’d stopped holding him back somewhere along the way.
He held her tight, almost tight enough to make it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the way he was kissing her that left her breathless. He began to nibble his way along her jaw, down her neck. A soft rumbling, suspiciously like a purr, began to vibrate through his chest. He pressed her against the wall, letting her go in order to pull her hands from between them, pressing them back against the wall beside her head. He pressed the full length of his body against her, his breath hot against her neck. She could feel the roughness of his jeans against her skin and hardness of his erection beneath the fabric.
“God you smell so good.” His voice was little more than a growl. He pressed harder against her, denim clad flesh grinding against her. She whimpered in protest.
“Caleb. Please.” She gasped, trying not to struggle against his grip. She could feel the inhuman strength of him. Knew it wouldn’t do any good.
“You never said stop.” His mouth moved slowly over the skin of her neck, his breath so very hot and close. The scent of musk seemed stronger and his curls tickled her chin. “I want to fuck you until you scream my name. Jesus…”
“I…” Her throat seemed dry. Her voice was shaky and not quite sounding like her own. “I’m saying stop now. Just…Stop.”
“Stop.” He froze for a moment, only the soft brush of his curls on her skin and the warm rush of his breath showing that he was alive and not some statue. “OK. OK.” He pushed away abruptly, hands raised in the air. His lips curved in a smile, baring his teeth. His eyes gleamed yellow-gold, dilated and inhuman looking.
She gasped, pressing a hand to her breast, watching him wide-eyed. He backed away further, still smiling, hands still raised in the air. Somehow, it didn’t really reassure her.
“You’re right. We should stop now.” His smile widened and he blinked his leopard eyes. Then he turned his back to her and crossed the room to the dresser and began opening drawers, searching. “Yeah. Stop while we can.” He ran a hand through his hair, tumbling the curls wildly.
“What do you mean, while we can?”
“Have you heard us talk about our beasts? It’s always there, not just when the moon is full. Feeding, fucking, fighting…that’s what our beasts understand. If it’s not one, it’s the other. If you can’t fuck it, then it’s either food or an enemy.”
“But what about the pard? You seem so close…”
“Real leopards aren’t pack animals like wolves.” He half turned his head, not quite looking over his shoulder. “Get dressed. Somebody will come looking for us soon.”
“Did I do something wrong?” She moved tentatively to the bed and began to sort through the clothing picking out another sports bra and a pair of panties.
“No.” He pulled a black tee shirt over his head and tugged it downwards. “No. You did something smart. Did Nathaniel tell you to do that?”
“Do what?” She suddenly wanted very badly to be dressed and began to tug the borrowed clothing on. A red tee that had faded to nearly pink, a little too tight and a pair of worn and faded jeans with holes in the knees and frayed hems.
“In the kitchen. From food to sex.” He sat down on the bed to pull on a pair of boots. He stopped with one boot in his hand and turned to face her. “Smart.”
“I...” She was blushing furiously again and bent to put on the scuffed tennis shoes without socks.
“There’s always a chance one of us will lose control of his beast.” His voice was slightly muffled and she heard him stomping his feet to settle the boots. “You can’t fight a lycanthrope. You’re human.”
“So it’s feeding or…” She hesitated.
“Fucking. Yeah.” She felt rather than saw him stand up. She straightened and met his eyes. She was relieved to see them brown and very human again. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“OK.”.