A Place in this Life: Chapter Nine: Take me home.
Oh my. Has it been nearly a year since I posted a chapter? This chapter is far, far overdue. No more apologies. No more excuses. Let's just get to the fic, right?
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
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 Nine: Take me home.
Had he been left to his own devices, Damian would have kept to his post at the basement door, waiting for the outcome of Asher’s interview with Erica. But there was too much to be done. Plans to be made. Arrangements to make. Nerves to soothe. Tonight Anita was as volatile as ever.
Volatile. He tucked that thought away carefully in the back of his mind and reached out to rest a palm on the woman’s forearm. Anita always preferred the direct approach and hated the dance of vampire diplomacy. He knew her loyalties were divided. As Jean Claude’s human servant, she should be at her master’s side as he confronted a possible enemy. But as Nimir-Ra, master, and lover to her Nathaniel, she needed to be with the pard. The young wereleopard was still their weakest link in Damian’s opinion. He was no fighter, nor was most of the pard. And no one knew how many wereboars their enemy might have at his beck and call.
Or maybe she was disturbed by what might be happening below in her basement. Damian kept his features calm and attentive. But he traced the sticky threads of jealousy that wound between himself and his mistress. They were so hopelessly tangled that it was hard to say which strand belonged to servant and which to the mistress. Once Asher had been a great seducer, a powerful tool in Belle Morte’s arsenal of beauties. His beauty might now be flawed, but the skills of centuries of seduction remained.
*And Juliana was like her. So quiet and content to be led. *
That thought was Anita’s. He shook his head slightly and took her hand, squeezing it until she glanced at him. He smiled and kissed her hand. She gave an unladylike snort, but the mood lifted slightly. He pushed away the ugly little snarl of emotion, replacing it with his own cool serenity and the talks continued.
By the time Asher emerged to join them in the kitchen, they had already discussed a dozen contingencies. Anita relaxed slightly when the master vampire took his place at the table. A simple nod and smile was enough to tell them that he’d succeeded at securing Erica’s cooperation.
The sound of her voice, soft and distant, was enough to draw his attention. He caught her gaze as she paused in the kitchen doorway. Her eyes were full of questions, but she allowed herself to be drawn away by Cherry’s hand on her arm. Once again, the blonde had been given the task of keeping his pomme de sang out of earshot. He almost sighed, but caught himself. He would have preferred to have her at his side.
This time it was Anita who drew him back with a squeeze of fingers on his hand. The touch of warmth and silent understanding was still new enough to him that it gave him pause. Talk turned from the wereleopards and their vulnerabilities to what would happen beneath the Circus when their visitor finally met them face-to-face.
Now it was time to pay attention, for he must know his role and play it well. As they all must. Even if they had misjudged this visitor’s intentions, they must not show any weakness. For if they did, he would bear tales to his master and rumors would spread. If there was an unforgivable sin amongst the undead, it was weakness. In the end, they were predators. It was their nature.
At last there were no more plans to be made and Asher took his leave. He would report everything to Jean Claude. The Master of the City had been occupied with other preparations and it was decided that his presence at Anita’s home would have been an unnecessary risk. Though Anita hadn’t seemed pleased with that. It was with silent relief that he accepted his dismissal and went in search of his Erica.
He didn’t have to look far. He found her wedged between several of Anita’s leopards, Cherry on her left and Gregory on her right. Caleb lay sprawled carelessly at their feet and their attention was on the flickering images moving across the television screen. Another movie, perhaps? Something with exaggerated shots of a pale moon and decrepit buildings.
“All done?” Zane asked from one armchair. The lanky wereleopard looked bored.
“Yes. For now.” He nodded and glided nearer to offer his hand to Erica. Caleb rolled away from his path without being acknowledged by the vampire. Erica took his hand and allowed him to draw her up and away from the others. She didn’t speak but her eyes fairly brimmed with questions.
He led her back through the kitchen and out the glass doors to the deck. He ignored the abrupt silence their passing provoked among those who remained. The house felt too small, too close, and too full of curious eyes and ears. The privacy of his basement crypt was too full of temptation. It would be so easy to drown out her questions with more fleshly pursuits. She deserved better than that. Besides, Asher’s scent would linger and he did not at this moment wish to be reminded so viscerally of the master vampire’s presence. He was willing, but it did not mean he liked the idea.
They had reached the railing and Erica dropped his hand, turning to lean her weight against the wood. He ignored for a moment the expression of expectancy and nervousness on her face. He took a long moment to simply admire her under the bright silver light. It turned her eyes dark and mysterious, washed the copper tones from her hair and made her skin pale and almost luminous. He could hear the steady pulse of her blood, the beating of her heart quickening beneath his regard.
“Damian?”
“Ask your questions. I will answer.” She blinked, hesitating as she considered her response. He watched thoughts play across her features, molding and remolding them with subtle pressures. She licked her lips before finally finding her voice.
“Are you…” Her voice failed and he could see the questions fighting each other behind her eyes. “Are you giving me to Asher?”
He blinked, the question catching him by surprise. It was too close to his own fears for comfort. “No, my lovely. I am not tired of you. Nor would I cast you aside so carelessly if I were.”
“Is this…” She paused again and he waited patiently for her to finish. “Is this something vampires do? Pass their pomme de sangs back and forth?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It is a mark of great trust and honor to share a pomme de sang. And you are also my woman. I would not share you lightly.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of Asher?” He asked moving forward to fold her in his arms, resting her head against his heart where it beat with borrowed blood.
“Of all of it. I think I’m in so far over my head I can’t tell which way is up or down.”
“I will not let you drown.” He bent his head to rest his cheek against her hair. “I will be there to protect you. Only a fool would challenge Jean Claude in his own stronghold.”
“That makes me feel better.” She whispered, but he could feel the uncertainty that made it a lie. New resolve rose in him, to protect her, to keep her safe. And to keep his own fears quiet. Tonight she was his, in his arms, and safe. And he would do his best to keep it so.
A sudden urge struck him, a desire to simply fly away from here. To take her beyond the boundaries of Jean Claude’s realm, beyond the grasping reach of ambitious vampires and the wiles of his rivals for her affections. So strong an urge that he nearly forgot the impossibility of it for a moment. So strong that he felt himself actually rising, his feet leaving the planks beneath them. Erica gave a tiny gasp and he brought himself back to earth with a thought.
“Are you OK?” Erica looked up at him, her face a mask of concern.
“I think you are not the only one who is frightened.” He shook his head. “So much that I wish to fly away.”
“What could you possibly be afraid of?” She seemed puzzled and dubious.
“I have more to lose now than I have had in centuries. Kind masters who care for my well-being. Freedom to choose my own lovers.” He smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “A lover dear enough to make me fear the loss.” He could feel her cheek warm beneath his touch in a charming blush.
“I thought you would protect me.”
“I cannot protect you from your own choices.”
“I thought you were OK with the whole Caleb thing.”
“I am being foolish, perhaps.” He smiled. Were he as young as he felt at the moment, he might have blushed. “Once Asher was as famed for his powers of seduction as Jean Claude, our master, is. I wonder if I have not made some mistake that I will regret.”
“You’re afraid Asher put the moves on me?”
“The moves?”
“That he tried to seduce me.”
“Or that he may decide to later, after he has tasted you. I could not hold you if he were set upon it.” It felt good to admit it, even though it sounded childish in his own ears.
“He was the perfect gentleman. He might have even been embarrassed, but it’s hard to tell with you guys, sometimes. Besides, it’s you I want, Damian.”
“You have not yet felt his power. Men and women have died for the pleasure of his bite.” She started to protest, her mouth opening to speak. “Willingly. Without the trickery of being bespelled.”
“I…He was nice, but I don’t think he likes me that much. I didn’t get that impression from him.”
“You are so young…”
“If it bothered you so much, why did you agree? I’ll go tell them I changed my mind.”
“No. No. I am being…ah…paranoid. I am unused to such kind treatment, still. My maker would simply have demanded. Taken. Just for the cruelty of it.”
She was quiet then and she pressed herself firmly against him, arms tight with the strength of her response. She rubbed her hands up and down his spine, a comforting gesture. He pressed his cheek against her hair and simply held her. It was comforting.
They stood there in silence for several more long moments before they turned from the night’s quiet darkness and made their way back through the house to his basement crypt to comfort each other in a more personal fashion.
* * *
It was early afternoon by the time Erica awoke. The basement apartment felt echoingly empty despite the steady rumble of Shadow’s purring. The cat lay curled in the hollow left by Damian’s body. Erica smiled fondly and shook her head at the not-so-subtle territoriality of the gesture. Funny how she was beginning to see things like that after living for such a short time amongst the lycanthropic set. Her smile faded quickly when her eyes fell on the coffin. It was empty. There was no need to lift the lid to check. Damian would be waiting the day with Jean Claude’s other vampires, the better to prepare for their visitors.
The empty feeling was probably just her imagination, she told herself as she checked the time and began to gather her clothes. She was eager to escape the empty feeling, imaginary or not.
Upstairs she found the house’s residents tense and preoccupied. Everyone seemed to have something to do and not much time for talk. She wanted to ask if the tension she felt was normal for the day of the full moon or if it was nerves about the possibility of more assassination attempts.
Assassination. Now that was a word that sent a chill down her spine. One that she’d never thought would apply to anyone she knew personally, much less herself. But it was hard to deny when she caught a glimpse of Anita before the other woman could don the leather jacket she’d chosen to cover her weaponry. There could be no other reason. It was too warm for it and Anita looked like a walking arsenal, bristling with guns and knives.
Anita caught her looking, but said nothing. She simply adjusted one of her guns and shrugged the leather on. It was just as shocking to see how well the weapons vanished from sight. With the jacket on, she looked almost frail. Harmless. As long as you didn’t look her in the eyes.
“You ready?” Anita’s tone was terse. “We’re leaving.”
“Sure.” Erica swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. It seemed to pulse in time to the frantic beating of her heart. “Just let me grab my purse.”
* * *
Damian woke as he did every night at sunset. It did not matter to the sun whether he lay in his own coffin beneath Anita’s home or in a borrowed one deep beneath the Circus of the Damned. The Master of the City’s underground fortress held a muted bustle of activity as human and vampire underlings made last minute preparations. Damian made his own preparations, donning the garments chosen for him by the Master and feeding upon the young man sent with them. Well dressed and fed, he set about finding his Erica.
After several inquiries, he found her pacing restlessly in one of the extra rooms. The last time he had seen this particular chamber, it had been a guest room for some of the lycanthrope blood donors. It wasn’t unusual for the Master to re-purpose a room according to the needs of the day. Today the room was outfitted as a combination lounge and dressing room, with several overstuffed couches and a large make up table strewn with odds and ends.
He watched her for a moment before making himself known. Her hair was drawn away from her brow and bound with a golden clip so that it all fell in a thick mass down her back. The deep green of the dress made her pale skin appear to glow. The gold embellishments drew the eye to the lines and curves that formed her woman’s figure. And when she turned to spy him, her eyes seemed larger and darker than he remembered. Some trick of color and light. Or perhaps the skillful use of cosmetics.
“Damian!” She strode quickly but carefully toward him, as if she were afraid of tripping. He held out his arms to her and smiled. She wrapped her arms around him and he returned the embrace carefully so as not to muss her hair or crush her dress. His own clothing echoed hers, though the green was a bit lighter and the gold less opulent. Jean Claude enjoyed dressing his underlings in such finery.
“Erica, my lovely, you look beautiful.” He murmured, stroking her bare arms.
“Do I? I’ve never worn anything like this.” Her tone was full of more anxiety than simple worry over her appearance should warrant.
“Of course you do.” He gave her another squeeze, then pulled away enough to look at her face. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine. Just nervous.” She flashed him a quick smile. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I cannot stay long. I must stand at Jean Claude’s side when this young master comes to call.” He pulled away reluctantly. “Do not fear. I will be with you.” He took her hand to bring it to his mouth, not daring to kiss her lips for fear of ruining her lipstick. Or of looking like a clown himself.
“I’ll try.”
He took the sound of her voice and the memory of her smile with him as he joined the rest of those chosen to meet their visitors. Jean Claude would receive them in the “living room.” It was a haven of white and gold carved out of the Circus’s underground with what seemed miles of white cloth and a small field of soft carpeting. The furniture was a mix of white and gold. The well-dressed vampires that filled the room stood out starkly against the paler backdrop.
He could see he was one of the last to arrive. His search for Erica had nearly made him late. Jean Claude gave him a brief glance just before the first of the visitors passed through the swathes of fabric that served as an entrance. Meng Die ushered them in, looking small and fragile in the simple black sheath she wore. The first two vampires were well dressed but unremarkable other than their youth. They still moved and reacted like the living, their emotions plain to read on their faces. Anxiety. Discomfort. Pride. Greed.
The next vampire to pass through the curtain wore an air of self-importance. Not particularly tall, the man was stocky. But he moved with the weight of muscle, rather than fat. Steely blue eyes watched everything about him. His hair was cut short in an attempt to tame the auburn curls atop his head and he had a complexion that seemed to lack something more than just sunlight. Damian considered it a moment while the dance of vampire politics began.
Ah, yes. Freckles. Yes. The man would have freckled in the sun when he was mortal.
* * *
Erica’s heels made soft muffled thumps as she paced back and forth across the pale gold carpet. Every few turns she paused to check herself in the mirror. She ignored the comfortable looking couches because she was afraid that sitting down would crush her dress. She did not drink the water left for her, despite the dryness of her mouth, because she feared ruining her lipstick or dribbling some down her cleavage. How long had she been waiting? There were no clocks, no windows, no TV. Not even a radio.
Just when she was sure she would be kept waiting there forever, it was time to go. The woman beckoning her to follow was tall and model thin. Her blonde hair was sculpted into a sophisticated up-do and her pale blue dress looked short compared to the length of her legs. Erica suddenly couldn’t remember the woman’s name; though the vampire had spent more than a half hour helping her with her dress and make up.
The clicking of their heels echoed once they left the carpeted lounge and stepped into the corridors. The vampire beside her murmured something meant to be reassuring, but the meaning slipped away as they came within sight of the backlit draperies that turned the occupants of the next room into vague shadow-shapes.
“Come on, dear. They’re waiting for us.”
No. Not us. She thought. They were waiting for her. She gulped and slid nervous palms down her dress while her companion drew aside the drapes and gestured her in. Then she stepped into the room, her eyes searching for familiar faces. Her heart rose to her throat when she took in all the unfamiliar ones. All the vampire faces. One of them might be the man who ordered her death.
“Come, cherie. Meet our guests.” She managed not to flinch at the arm he offered her. He was dressed to match the room, she thought, in white and gold. Of course, it also matched his hair.
She gave him a nervous smile and took his arm. Asher rested his other hand on hers and pulled her forward toward the throng of waiting vampires. She tried not to show her fear while she searched for one face in particular. Damian was hard to miss, towering over the couch where the Master of the City lounged, looking like the cover of some romance novel. He was dressed in dark blues and blacks that made him seem to float above the pale white couch. Damian gave her a slight nod and a brief smile. She breathed just a little easier.
“Ah. There she is.” Jean Claude rose gracefully to meet them. Erica focused hard on the triangle of pale skin shining through the lace at his throat, ignoring the other bodies around them. “Damian’s lady and pomme de sang, Erica.” He took her free hand and brought it to his lips.
“And why have we been waiting on this human?” Erica turned anxious eyes to the auburn haired vampire. The hand he waved toward her held as many gold rings as it did fingers. She turned her eyes away just before meeting his gaze, but it left her with an impression cold blueness.
“I owe the young lady a debt.” The Master tucked the hand he held into the crook of his elbow, so that she now stood framed between two vampires. In the process, he swung them all to face the speaker. “Erica, this is Patrick from Chicago. As my human servant has pressing duties elsewhere, Erica will play her surrogate in tonight’s entertainment.”
“Am I not worth her time?” The other man’s tone was coldly arrogant.
“Anita is not only my human servant; she is Nimir-Ra to the were-leopards. We felt her place was with her cats this night.”
“Her cats? Not yours?” The man sneered and Erica tensed.
“All that is hers is mine.” Jean Claude smiled coolly. “Of course.”
“Of course.” The man echoed him, but it sounded hollow. “And how does this…young lady…hold the Master of the City in her debt?”
“She was attacked and nearly killed by vampires as she left my club. The vampires were not mine, but it was my club and my city.” The Master gave an eloquent shrug. “She is one of my people, mine to protect.”
“And you could not protect her?” The sneer came again and Erica could feel the blond vampire at her side tense.
“I am grieved that she game to harm. Those sent to kill her are dead, but not the master who sent them.” That was her clue.
“Jean Claude?” It didn’t take much acting to look distressed. The Master turned a concerned look in her direction, shifting his arm from under hers to around her shoulder. Asher moved aside until he held only her hand.
“Shh… We will have our entertainment now.” She risked a glance Patrick. He was glaring at her with an intensity that made her shiver. “A display of our unique powers.” He drew her back toward the couch. Asher came with them. She felt a flutter of true fear in her belly as the dark haired Master took her face in his hands and turned her gaze to meet his eyes.
“Now we will give the lady her due.” His eyes filled her vision, the pupils growing large until they seemed to swallow the blue. The trembling fear slipped away from her and she leaned into his touch, her lips parting slightly. Then he kissed her, his arms sliding around her to press her close, his mouth sensual and teasing at her lips. Then Asher closed in behind her, one arm encircling her while the other brushed her hair from her neck. She shuddered as she felt his lips against her flesh. They were just kisses, gentle and teasing.
There was a soft flutter of fear again, just enough to speed her pulse. But it was hard to be afraid when they were kissing her like this…
* * *
Damian clung tightly to his control as he watched Erica, his Erica, succumb to the combined influence of Jean Claude and his temoin. The two vampires held her tightly between them, each movement so well timed and practiced that it looked choreographed. Perhaps it was, he thought. Jean Claude held her face with one hand while he held her body close with the other. Damian tried not to scowl when she responded to the Master’s kisses with growing abandon.
A small movement drew his gaze back to their visitors. The upstart Patrick was tapping the be-ringed fingers of one hand restlessly against his thigh. Was it a sign of nervousness? Anxiety? Guilt? No. Surely not guilt. Such a one would feel no remorse, even should he be guilty.
A soft sound drew his attention back to Erica. She was moaning softly. Jean Claude had taken her chin in his hand, tilting her head to the side to expose the creamy line of her neck to the other vampire behind her. Asher stood molded against her back, one hand cupping her breast through the fabric of her gown. The other hand was around her waist, pinning her tightly against him. Damian found himself fingering the sword at his side and forced himself to stop. Power was beginning to build, filling the room with a nearly stifling sense of heat.
He tore his eyes away long enough to scan the visitors. They seemed intent on the show. A soft cry drew him back to Erica. Asher had struck, sinking his fangs into her flesh. His mouth was now sealed to her skin, he knew, though the other vampire’s hair fell forward to obscure the view. Erica’s body strained, taught with pleasure. She was making small noises of pleasure into the Master’s mouth. He was feeding at her lips, swallowing up not just the sound of her passions, but the passion itself.
One of the younger visiting vampires moved forward, the movement drawing Damian’s attention. Patrick caught the other vampire by the arm and dragged him backwards, away from the tempting warmth of the arduer. Damian gripped the pommel of his sword tighter. He could not seem to help turning his eyes back to the two vampires and the woman caught between them. She was clinging to the dark haired Master while she shuddered. Jean Claude’s lips moved over the skin of her exposed shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts. Asher had wrapped both arms around her body, holding her tightly while he continued to feed from her neck. The small sounds she made were not ones of distress, but of ecstasy.
Damian wondered how much longer they would feed. They could not do so much longer without doing her harm…
* * *
Ecstasy. She had never truly known what the word meant until this moment. Nothing in her experience compared to this. Absolutely nothing.
Jean Claude’s mouth seemed to burn against her skin, leaving a shivering sense of coolness behind that raised gooseflesh. His dark curls tickled her cheek and her breasts. Her fingers ached to touch the fine softness, but she simply could not seem to make them work. Her nerves were on fire, fiery tendrils of warmth spread out from the place where Asher’s mouth pulled at her life’s blood. Each pull of his mouth tugged at things low in her body until she exploded into one mind-shattering orgasm after another.
The pleasure went on and on in endless waves. She could feel herself weakening, her heart racing to compensate for the loss of blood. She was trembling all over. Her legs refused to hold her up so that the vampire behind her was supporting all her weight. It was harder and harder to catch her breath. But she couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to stop them. She couldn’t remember why she should stop them. It felt so very good.
“Enough, mon ami. Enough.” She heard the words but the meaning was lost in the roaring of her pulse in her ears. Distantly she was aware that the Master’s mouth was no longer against her skin. That his hands now rested at her waist. The vampire behind her gave a shudder, then raised his lips from her neck. Her body went limp as she was released from Asher’s power. If it weren’t for their strength, she would have slid to the floor in a boneless heap.
Everything was hazy in the mishmash of afterglow and exhaustion. She was grateful when they lowered her to the couch where she rested her cheek on the softly cushioned arm. There she blinked slowly at the rest of the room. Asher joined her, pulling her back to lounge against his chest while he pressed a soft cloth against the wound in her neck. She smiled pleasantly at nothing in particular and snuggled closer to him with a sigh.
* * *
“Enough, mon ami. Enough.” Damian tensed, his hand finding the hilt of his sword without conscious thought. He could hear his Mistress’s thoughts and Nathaniel’s in his head. Phantom images interposed themselves between him and the other occupants of the room. Images of combatants that fought with tooth and claw rather than fang and sword. A sense of movement. The smell of gunpowder. The sounds of snarls and the sharp barking of gunfire.
It was as they suspected. This visit by the upstart Patrick was both a diversionary tactic and an alibi. He tightened his shields carefully, banishing the ghostly images from his sight but not cutting off his awareness of the other two thirds of his triumvirate. He returned his focus to his immediate surroundings, conscious that there was a new tension among the visitors. Jean Claude and Asher appeared calm and unconcerned. Asher lounged on the couch with Erica, showing every sign of post-orgasmic languor. He spared a glance at his pomme de sang, noting her renewed pallor and the glazed look in her eyes. But then Jean Claude began to speak and he knew that he must be alert.
“I hope you have enjoyed our little spectacle, Patrick.” Jean Claude sank down on the couch close enough that he could reach out and stroke Erica’s cheek. The girl’s eyelids fluttered closed at the touch. There was a subtle edge in the Master’s words, a hiss of warning that slithered through the room.
“I have heard tales of the arduer, but I have not encountered it in its pure form before.” The visiting vampires moved restlessly to either side of their leader. “I would not have thought it possible to generate so much power from a single human.”
Damian thought the other vampire was stalling. He was likely waiting for some sign that his minions had succeeded. A curious thought brought him an image of strange, furred man-shapes struggling under the light of the moon. He could feel a cold, angry satisfaction echoing down the metaphysical threads that bound him to Anita.
“I have power aplenty. I have chosen my human servant and animal to call quite carefully.” Jean Claude continued to stroke Erica’s face with his fingertips. “Tell me, Patrick. Have you taken an animal to call from among your wereboars?”
“No.” Patrick’s tone was clipped, but the jeweled fingers returned to their nervous tapping. “I have not found one worthy yet.”
Jean Claude nodded thoughtfully at that and continued to pet Erica. “Are you feeling more yourself, Erica?”
“I think so.” Erica’s voice was soft but clear.
“Good.” Jean Claude smiled at her. “I would not wish you to miss the rest of the evening’s festivities.”
“What festivities?” Patrick sounded suspicious.
“I have not yet discharged my full debt to the lady.” Jean Claude’s voice again took on that edge of threat. “Her safety was threatened again a few days ago. She and a group of Anita’s leopards were attacked outside a market by lycanthropes.”
“I don’t understand.” The auburn-haired vampire frowned.
“Oh. I think you do.” Jean Claude stopped stroking the girl’s cheek and leaned back against the couch, looking totally at ease. Damian knew it for the illusion it was. “We have no wereboars here in St. Louis. Only those you brought with you.”
“I didn’t bring any with me.”
“No? Are you quite sure?” Jean Claude’s voice hissed with fury.
“I am here on business for the Master of Chicago.” Was that a hint of panic in his voice?
“At this moment, my Human servant and my wolf to call are holding captive several wereboars who claim allegiance to you, Patrick. They seem to think you will intercede for them.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” The other vampire’s tapping had reached a frenetic tempo.
“Don’t play us for fools, Patrick.” If Jean Claude’s voice hissed with anger, Asher’s was like shards of glass made into sound.
As if that had been a signal, all the visiting vampires turned as one to Damian. He had barely enough time to draw his sword before they were upon him.
* * *
Erica was still struggling to regain her full awareness when things began to happen far too fast for her to follow. One moment she was practically draped over Asher’s body while the Master of the City stroked her face soothingly. In the next moment, she found herself alone on the couch while bodies moved around her with breathtaking speed.
Her heart seemed to jump to her throat when she realized that all the enemy vampires had converged on Damian. He was fighting, his sword flashing silver and crimson where he’d already drawn blood. A headless body lay twitching on the floor, the hands scrabbling at the carpet as if it were searching for its missing head.
She tore her eyes away from the macabre sight only to catch an image of the Master reaching for another of the vampires. When he pulled his hand away it was covered in a glove of scarlet. It looked more like a dancing than a blow, but the other vampire crumpled to his knees, clutching at the empty space where his throat had been. She could see the white flash of exposed bone between his fingers.
A body came flying through the air to land nearly on top of her and she threw herself from the couch. This vampire was missing a portion of his skull that started near the center of his forehead and ended just below where his earlobe should have been. The dying vampire reached for her and she scrambled away, hampered by the tangle of skirts around her legs. Before she could move more than a few inches, Asher was there.
She watched as Asher reached down and grasped the vampire’s head with both hands, giving it a casual wrench. There was a sickening crunch and the broken thing went still. Asher looked down at her for a long moment and there was nothing human in his expression. She froze like a frightened rabbit in the grass. The vampire looked away from her, then back again and humanity seeped into his expression.
“Do not fear, cherie. It is nearly over.” He reached down and scooped her up, lifting her above the spreading pool of blood dripping from the corpse’s head. Some of it looked thicker than blood and she turned her face away. She caught one more glimpse of Damian before Asher’s movement turned her away. Damian’s hair flew in a scarlet sheet around his shoulders while his blade flashed. She thought it was Patrick’s auburn head that fell to the carpet, but she couldn’t be sure. Her attention was focused on the expression of fierce joy that her lover wore.
She shuddered and Asher murmured something reassuring to her. She thought it was in French. She couldn’t understand, but it really didn’t matter. Because that was when everything went black.
~*~
The fight was far too short. Damian’s blood still sang with the thrill of battle, though his enemies all lay broken and bleeding. It had felt good to give in to the fierce joy of battle. It felt good to sink into the simplicity of it. Kill or be killed. To feel the sheer physical release of unleashing all the rage and fear of the last week in one cathartic rush of violence.
But it was over now. His pulse began to slow as he surveyed the room, looking for more enemies, but finding only bleeding corpses littering the pale carpet. Each one was a splash of brilliant color that drew the eye. A severed head here, a torn throat there, brains spilling thick and red from a cleaved skull near the couch…
The couch where he had last seen his Erica. His pulse sped again as he stared about him, searching among the milling forms of his comrades for her familiar figure. He strode closer to the couch, eyes scanning the room for some sign of her.
“Damian.” He whirled at the touch on his arm, fingers seeking the hilt of his sword automatically. “Peace, mon ami. It is only I.” Jean Claude’s voice was soothing, but he had moved back several paces.
“Where is she?”
“You did not see our Asher carry her to safety?”
“No. I did not.” He frowned and moved his hand from his sword. He had no intention of drawing a blade on the Master of the City.
“Understandable.” Jean Claude nodded. “I did not think this Patrick to be quite so foolish or I would have sent her from the room before provoking him.”
“He knew he was trapped. His only hope of escape was to carry out his plan.” Damian glanced again at the bodies scattered about the room.
“Of course.” Jean Claude nodded as he wiped his fingers with a blood-spattered handkerchief. “There are enough people here to deal with this.” He made a casual gesture that encompassed the room that had been their battlefield. “Go find your pomme de sang and tell Asher I wish to speak with him.”
With that dismissal, Damian stepped through the no longer pristine curtains of fabric in search of his Erica. He paused just long enough to clean the blood from his blade with a strip of the ruined draperies.
It took only a few moments to find the girl. He was mildly displeased to discover Asher had chosen to lay the unconscious girl down upon his own bed. The master vampire had left the door open and sat on the edge of the bed watching the girl as he used a cloth to dab at spots of blood on his breeches.
“Erica.” Pale blue eyes rose at the word, but Damian had eyes only for the girl. The blonde moved aside to allow him closer. He reached out to brush her cheek with one hand and she stirred. “Erica, my lovely.”
“She is unharmed. I believe she merely fainted.” Asher’s voice was calm and matter of fact.
“Her skin is cool to the touch.” Damian frowned in concern.
“She will recover mon ami.” The touch on his arm was no doubt meant to be reassuring, but it was unwelcome and he stiffened. “I would not allow harm to come to her.”
“Jean Claude wishes to speak with you.” Damian reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked about her with confusion. “Shh… You are safe, my lovely.”
“Damian!” She began to sit up, reaching for him, but swayed unsteadily. He pulled her closer and she clung to him. “What happened? Where am I?” She was shivering and he held her tighter, finding himself rocking gently.
“They are all dead. They cannot hurt you now.” He murmured against her hair. A glance told him that Asher had already left. “You are safe. This is Asher’s room.”
“Asher?” The note of panic in her voice gave him pause and he drew back enough to see her face. She looked drawn and pale and still quite frightened. “Where is he?”
“He is gone.” He touched her cheek again in a soothing caress. “There is nothing to fear. You are safe, my lovely.”
“I…” She buried her face in his hair, pressing herself even tighter against him. “Take me home. Please? I just need to be away. From him. From them.”
“You should rest.”
“I will. But not here. Just not…here.”
“All right, my lovely. All right.” Somehow there was no question in his mind that she meant his little basement apartment and not the place she shared with her human roommate. Anita would have need of him soon enough and he was not needed here. “We will go now.”
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8
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 Nine: Take me home.
Had he been left to his own devices, Damian would have kept to his post at the basement door, waiting for the outcome of Asher’s interview with Erica. But there was too much to be done. Plans to be made. Arrangements to make. Nerves to soothe. Tonight Anita was as volatile as ever.
Volatile. He tucked that thought away carefully in the back of his mind and reached out to rest a palm on the woman’s forearm. Anita always preferred the direct approach and hated the dance of vampire diplomacy. He knew her loyalties were divided. As Jean Claude’s human servant, she should be at her master’s side as he confronted a possible enemy. But as Nimir-Ra, master, and lover to her Nathaniel, she needed to be with the pard. The young wereleopard was still their weakest link in Damian’s opinion. He was no fighter, nor was most of the pard. And no one knew how many wereboars their enemy might have at his beck and call.
Or maybe she was disturbed by what might be happening below in her basement. Damian kept his features calm and attentive. But he traced the sticky threads of jealousy that wound between himself and his mistress. They were so hopelessly tangled that it was hard to say which strand belonged to servant and which to the mistress. Once Asher had been a great seducer, a powerful tool in Belle Morte’s arsenal of beauties. His beauty might now be flawed, but the skills of centuries of seduction remained.
*And Juliana was like her. So quiet and content to be led. *
That thought was Anita’s. He shook his head slightly and took her hand, squeezing it until she glanced at him. He smiled and kissed her hand. She gave an unladylike snort, but the mood lifted slightly. He pushed away the ugly little snarl of emotion, replacing it with his own cool serenity and the talks continued.
By the time Asher emerged to join them in the kitchen, they had already discussed a dozen contingencies. Anita relaxed slightly when the master vampire took his place at the table. A simple nod and smile was enough to tell them that he’d succeeded at securing Erica’s cooperation.
The sound of her voice, soft and distant, was enough to draw his attention. He caught her gaze as she paused in the kitchen doorway. Her eyes were full of questions, but she allowed herself to be drawn away by Cherry’s hand on her arm. Once again, the blonde had been given the task of keeping his pomme de sang out of earshot. He almost sighed, but caught himself. He would have preferred to have her at his side.
This time it was Anita who drew him back with a squeeze of fingers on his hand. The touch of warmth and silent understanding was still new enough to him that it gave him pause. Talk turned from the wereleopards and their vulnerabilities to what would happen beneath the Circus when their visitor finally met them face-to-face.
Now it was time to pay attention, for he must know his role and play it well. As they all must. Even if they had misjudged this visitor’s intentions, they must not show any weakness. For if they did, he would bear tales to his master and rumors would spread. If there was an unforgivable sin amongst the undead, it was weakness. In the end, they were predators. It was their nature.
At last there were no more plans to be made and Asher took his leave. He would report everything to Jean Claude. The Master of the City had been occupied with other preparations and it was decided that his presence at Anita’s home would have been an unnecessary risk. Though Anita hadn’t seemed pleased with that. It was with silent relief that he accepted his dismissal and went in search of his Erica.
He didn’t have to look far. He found her wedged between several of Anita’s leopards, Cherry on her left and Gregory on her right. Caleb lay sprawled carelessly at their feet and their attention was on the flickering images moving across the television screen. Another movie, perhaps? Something with exaggerated shots of a pale moon and decrepit buildings.
“All done?” Zane asked from one armchair. The lanky wereleopard looked bored.
“Yes. For now.” He nodded and glided nearer to offer his hand to Erica. Caleb rolled away from his path without being acknowledged by the vampire. Erica took his hand and allowed him to draw her up and away from the others. She didn’t speak but her eyes fairly brimmed with questions.
He led her back through the kitchen and out the glass doors to the deck. He ignored the abrupt silence their passing provoked among those who remained. The house felt too small, too close, and too full of curious eyes and ears. The privacy of his basement crypt was too full of temptation. It would be so easy to drown out her questions with more fleshly pursuits. She deserved better than that. Besides, Asher’s scent would linger and he did not at this moment wish to be reminded so viscerally of the master vampire’s presence. He was willing, but it did not mean he liked the idea.
They had reached the railing and Erica dropped his hand, turning to lean her weight against the wood. He ignored for a moment the expression of expectancy and nervousness on her face. He took a long moment to simply admire her under the bright silver light. It turned her eyes dark and mysterious, washed the copper tones from her hair and made her skin pale and almost luminous. He could hear the steady pulse of her blood, the beating of her heart quickening beneath his regard.
“Damian?”
“Ask your questions. I will answer.” She blinked, hesitating as she considered her response. He watched thoughts play across her features, molding and remolding them with subtle pressures. She licked her lips before finally finding her voice.
“Are you…” Her voice failed and he could see the questions fighting each other behind her eyes. “Are you giving me to Asher?”
He blinked, the question catching him by surprise. It was too close to his own fears for comfort. “No, my lovely. I am not tired of you. Nor would I cast you aside so carelessly if I were.”
“Is this…” She paused again and he waited patiently for her to finish. “Is this something vampires do? Pass their pomme de sangs back and forth?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It is a mark of great trust and honor to share a pomme de sang. And you are also my woman. I would not share you lightly.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of Asher?” He asked moving forward to fold her in his arms, resting her head against his heart where it beat with borrowed blood.
“Of all of it. I think I’m in so far over my head I can’t tell which way is up or down.”
“I will not let you drown.” He bent his head to rest his cheek against her hair. “I will be there to protect you. Only a fool would challenge Jean Claude in his own stronghold.”
“That makes me feel better.” She whispered, but he could feel the uncertainty that made it a lie. New resolve rose in him, to protect her, to keep her safe. And to keep his own fears quiet. Tonight she was his, in his arms, and safe. And he would do his best to keep it so.
A sudden urge struck him, a desire to simply fly away from here. To take her beyond the boundaries of Jean Claude’s realm, beyond the grasping reach of ambitious vampires and the wiles of his rivals for her affections. So strong an urge that he nearly forgot the impossibility of it for a moment. So strong that he felt himself actually rising, his feet leaving the planks beneath them. Erica gave a tiny gasp and he brought himself back to earth with a thought.
“Are you OK?” Erica looked up at him, her face a mask of concern.
“I think you are not the only one who is frightened.” He shook his head. “So much that I wish to fly away.”
“What could you possibly be afraid of?” She seemed puzzled and dubious.
“I have more to lose now than I have had in centuries. Kind masters who care for my well-being. Freedom to choose my own lovers.” He smiled at her and stroked her cheek. “A lover dear enough to make me fear the loss.” He could feel her cheek warm beneath his touch in a charming blush.
“I thought you would protect me.”
“I cannot protect you from your own choices.”
“I thought you were OK with the whole Caleb thing.”
“I am being foolish, perhaps.” He smiled. Were he as young as he felt at the moment, he might have blushed. “Once Asher was as famed for his powers of seduction as Jean Claude, our master, is. I wonder if I have not made some mistake that I will regret.”
“You’re afraid Asher put the moves on me?”
“The moves?”
“That he tried to seduce me.”
“Or that he may decide to later, after he has tasted you. I could not hold you if he were set upon it.” It felt good to admit it, even though it sounded childish in his own ears.
“He was the perfect gentleman. He might have even been embarrassed, but it’s hard to tell with you guys, sometimes. Besides, it’s you I want, Damian.”
“You have not yet felt his power. Men and women have died for the pleasure of his bite.” She started to protest, her mouth opening to speak. “Willingly. Without the trickery of being bespelled.”
“I…He was nice, but I don’t think he likes me that much. I didn’t get that impression from him.”
“You are so young…”
“If it bothered you so much, why did you agree? I’ll go tell them I changed my mind.”
“No. No. I am being…ah…paranoid. I am unused to such kind treatment, still. My maker would simply have demanded. Taken. Just for the cruelty of it.”
She was quiet then and she pressed herself firmly against him, arms tight with the strength of her response. She rubbed her hands up and down his spine, a comforting gesture. He pressed his cheek against her hair and simply held her. It was comforting.
They stood there in silence for several more long moments before they turned from the night’s quiet darkness and made their way back through the house to his basement crypt to comfort each other in a more personal fashion.
* * *
It was early afternoon by the time Erica awoke. The basement apartment felt echoingly empty despite the steady rumble of Shadow’s purring. The cat lay curled in the hollow left by Damian’s body. Erica smiled fondly and shook her head at the not-so-subtle territoriality of the gesture. Funny how she was beginning to see things like that after living for such a short time amongst the lycanthropic set. Her smile faded quickly when her eyes fell on the coffin. It was empty. There was no need to lift the lid to check. Damian would be waiting the day with Jean Claude’s other vampires, the better to prepare for their visitors.
The empty feeling was probably just her imagination, she told herself as she checked the time and began to gather her clothes. She was eager to escape the empty feeling, imaginary or not.
Upstairs she found the house’s residents tense and preoccupied. Everyone seemed to have something to do and not much time for talk. She wanted to ask if the tension she felt was normal for the day of the full moon or if it was nerves about the possibility of more assassination attempts.
Assassination. Now that was a word that sent a chill down her spine. One that she’d never thought would apply to anyone she knew personally, much less herself. But it was hard to deny when she caught a glimpse of Anita before the other woman could don the leather jacket she’d chosen to cover her weaponry. There could be no other reason. It was too warm for it and Anita looked like a walking arsenal, bristling with guns and knives.
Anita caught her looking, but said nothing. She simply adjusted one of her guns and shrugged the leather on. It was just as shocking to see how well the weapons vanished from sight. With the jacket on, she looked almost frail. Harmless. As long as you didn’t look her in the eyes.
“You ready?” Anita’s tone was terse. “We’re leaving.”
“Sure.” Erica swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. It seemed to pulse in time to the frantic beating of her heart. “Just let me grab my purse.”
* * *
Damian woke as he did every night at sunset. It did not matter to the sun whether he lay in his own coffin beneath Anita’s home or in a borrowed one deep beneath the Circus of the Damned. The Master of the City’s underground fortress held a muted bustle of activity as human and vampire underlings made last minute preparations. Damian made his own preparations, donning the garments chosen for him by the Master and feeding upon the young man sent with them. Well dressed and fed, he set about finding his Erica.
After several inquiries, he found her pacing restlessly in one of the extra rooms. The last time he had seen this particular chamber, it had been a guest room for some of the lycanthrope blood donors. It wasn’t unusual for the Master to re-purpose a room according to the needs of the day. Today the room was outfitted as a combination lounge and dressing room, with several overstuffed couches and a large make up table strewn with odds and ends.
He watched her for a moment before making himself known. Her hair was drawn away from her brow and bound with a golden clip so that it all fell in a thick mass down her back. The deep green of the dress made her pale skin appear to glow. The gold embellishments drew the eye to the lines and curves that formed her woman’s figure. And when she turned to spy him, her eyes seemed larger and darker than he remembered. Some trick of color and light. Or perhaps the skillful use of cosmetics.
“Damian!” She strode quickly but carefully toward him, as if she were afraid of tripping. He held out his arms to her and smiled. She wrapped her arms around him and he returned the embrace carefully so as not to muss her hair or crush her dress. His own clothing echoed hers, though the green was a bit lighter and the gold less opulent. Jean Claude enjoyed dressing his underlings in such finery.
“Erica, my lovely, you look beautiful.” He murmured, stroking her bare arms.
“Do I? I’ve never worn anything like this.” Her tone was full of more anxiety than simple worry over her appearance should warrant.
“Of course you do.” He gave her another squeeze, then pulled away enough to look at her face. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine. Just nervous.” She flashed him a quick smile. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I cannot stay long. I must stand at Jean Claude’s side when this young master comes to call.” He pulled away reluctantly. “Do not fear. I will be with you.” He took her hand to bring it to his mouth, not daring to kiss her lips for fear of ruining her lipstick. Or of looking like a clown himself.
“I’ll try.”
He took the sound of her voice and the memory of her smile with him as he joined the rest of those chosen to meet their visitors. Jean Claude would receive them in the “living room.” It was a haven of white and gold carved out of the Circus’s underground with what seemed miles of white cloth and a small field of soft carpeting. The furniture was a mix of white and gold. The well-dressed vampires that filled the room stood out starkly against the paler backdrop.
He could see he was one of the last to arrive. His search for Erica had nearly made him late. Jean Claude gave him a brief glance just before the first of the visitors passed through the swathes of fabric that served as an entrance. Meng Die ushered them in, looking small and fragile in the simple black sheath she wore. The first two vampires were well dressed but unremarkable other than their youth. They still moved and reacted like the living, their emotions plain to read on their faces. Anxiety. Discomfort. Pride. Greed.
The next vampire to pass through the curtain wore an air of self-importance. Not particularly tall, the man was stocky. But he moved with the weight of muscle, rather than fat. Steely blue eyes watched everything about him. His hair was cut short in an attempt to tame the auburn curls atop his head and he had a complexion that seemed to lack something more than just sunlight. Damian considered it a moment while the dance of vampire politics began.
Ah, yes. Freckles. Yes. The man would have freckled in the sun when he was mortal.
* * *
Erica’s heels made soft muffled thumps as she paced back and forth across the pale gold carpet. Every few turns she paused to check herself in the mirror. She ignored the comfortable looking couches because she was afraid that sitting down would crush her dress. She did not drink the water left for her, despite the dryness of her mouth, because she feared ruining her lipstick or dribbling some down her cleavage. How long had she been waiting? There were no clocks, no windows, no TV. Not even a radio.
Just when she was sure she would be kept waiting there forever, it was time to go. The woman beckoning her to follow was tall and model thin. Her blonde hair was sculpted into a sophisticated up-do and her pale blue dress looked short compared to the length of her legs. Erica suddenly couldn’t remember the woman’s name; though the vampire had spent more than a half hour helping her with her dress and make up.
The clicking of their heels echoed once they left the carpeted lounge and stepped into the corridors. The vampire beside her murmured something meant to be reassuring, but the meaning slipped away as they came within sight of the backlit draperies that turned the occupants of the next room into vague shadow-shapes.
“Come on, dear. They’re waiting for us.”
No. Not us. She thought. They were waiting for her. She gulped and slid nervous palms down her dress while her companion drew aside the drapes and gestured her in. Then she stepped into the room, her eyes searching for familiar faces. Her heart rose to her throat when she took in all the unfamiliar ones. All the vampire faces. One of them might be the man who ordered her death.
“Come, cherie. Meet our guests.” She managed not to flinch at the arm he offered her. He was dressed to match the room, she thought, in white and gold. Of course, it also matched his hair.
She gave him a nervous smile and took his arm. Asher rested his other hand on hers and pulled her forward toward the throng of waiting vampires. She tried not to show her fear while she searched for one face in particular. Damian was hard to miss, towering over the couch where the Master of the City lounged, looking like the cover of some romance novel. He was dressed in dark blues and blacks that made him seem to float above the pale white couch. Damian gave her a slight nod and a brief smile. She breathed just a little easier.
“Ah. There she is.” Jean Claude rose gracefully to meet them. Erica focused hard on the triangle of pale skin shining through the lace at his throat, ignoring the other bodies around them. “Damian’s lady and pomme de sang, Erica.” He took her free hand and brought it to his lips.
“And why have we been waiting on this human?” Erica turned anxious eyes to the auburn haired vampire. The hand he waved toward her held as many gold rings as it did fingers. She turned her eyes away just before meeting his gaze, but it left her with an impression cold blueness.
“I owe the young lady a debt.” The Master tucked the hand he held into the crook of his elbow, so that she now stood framed between two vampires. In the process, he swung them all to face the speaker. “Erica, this is Patrick from Chicago. As my human servant has pressing duties elsewhere, Erica will play her surrogate in tonight’s entertainment.”
“Am I not worth her time?” The other man’s tone was coldly arrogant.
“Anita is not only my human servant; she is Nimir-Ra to the were-leopards. We felt her place was with her cats this night.”
“Her cats? Not yours?” The man sneered and Erica tensed.
“All that is hers is mine.” Jean Claude smiled coolly. “Of course.”
“Of course.” The man echoed him, but it sounded hollow. “And how does this…young lady…hold the Master of the City in her debt?”
“She was attacked and nearly killed by vampires as she left my club. The vampires were not mine, but it was my club and my city.” The Master gave an eloquent shrug. “She is one of my people, mine to protect.”
“And you could not protect her?” The sneer came again and Erica could feel the blond vampire at her side tense.
“I am grieved that she game to harm. Those sent to kill her are dead, but not the master who sent them.” That was her clue.
“Jean Claude?” It didn’t take much acting to look distressed. The Master turned a concerned look in her direction, shifting his arm from under hers to around her shoulder. Asher moved aside until he held only her hand.
“Shh… We will have our entertainment now.” She risked a glance Patrick. He was glaring at her with an intensity that made her shiver. “A display of our unique powers.” He drew her back toward the couch. Asher came with them. She felt a flutter of true fear in her belly as the dark haired Master took her face in his hands and turned her gaze to meet his eyes.
“Now we will give the lady her due.” His eyes filled her vision, the pupils growing large until they seemed to swallow the blue. The trembling fear slipped away from her and she leaned into his touch, her lips parting slightly. Then he kissed her, his arms sliding around her to press her close, his mouth sensual and teasing at her lips. Then Asher closed in behind her, one arm encircling her while the other brushed her hair from her neck. She shuddered as she felt his lips against her flesh. They were just kisses, gentle and teasing.
There was a soft flutter of fear again, just enough to speed her pulse. But it was hard to be afraid when they were kissing her like this…
* * *
Damian clung tightly to his control as he watched Erica, his Erica, succumb to the combined influence of Jean Claude and his temoin. The two vampires held her tightly between them, each movement so well timed and practiced that it looked choreographed. Perhaps it was, he thought. Jean Claude held her face with one hand while he held her body close with the other. Damian tried not to scowl when she responded to the Master’s kisses with growing abandon.
A small movement drew his gaze back to their visitors. The upstart Patrick was tapping the be-ringed fingers of one hand restlessly against his thigh. Was it a sign of nervousness? Anxiety? Guilt? No. Surely not guilt. Such a one would feel no remorse, even should he be guilty.
A soft sound drew his attention back to Erica. She was moaning softly. Jean Claude had taken her chin in his hand, tilting her head to the side to expose the creamy line of her neck to the other vampire behind her. Asher stood molded against her back, one hand cupping her breast through the fabric of her gown. The other hand was around her waist, pinning her tightly against him. Damian found himself fingering the sword at his side and forced himself to stop. Power was beginning to build, filling the room with a nearly stifling sense of heat.
He tore his eyes away long enough to scan the visitors. They seemed intent on the show. A soft cry drew him back to Erica. Asher had struck, sinking his fangs into her flesh. His mouth was now sealed to her skin, he knew, though the other vampire’s hair fell forward to obscure the view. Erica’s body strained, taught with pleasure. She was making small noises of pleasure into the Master’s mouth. He was feeding at her lips, swallowing up not just the sound of her passions, but the passion itself.
One of the younger visiting vampires moved forward, the movement drawing Damian’s attention. Patrick caught the other vampire by the arm and dragged him backwards, away from the tempting warmth of the arduer. Damian gripped the pommel of his sword tighter. He could not seem to help turning his eyes back to the two vampires and the woman caught between them. She was clinging to the dark haired Master while she shuddered. Jean Claude’s lips moved over the skin of her exposed shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts. Asher had wrapped both arms around her body, holding her tightly while he continued to feed from her neck. The small sounds she made were not ones of distress, but of ecstasy.
Damian wondered how much longer they would feed. They could not do so much longer without doing her harm…
* * *
Ecstasy. She had never truly known what the word meant until this moment. Nothing in her experience compared to this. Absolutely nothing.
Jean Claude’s mouth seemed to burn against her skin, leaving a shivering sense of coolness behind that raised gooseflesh. His dark curls tickled her cheek and her breasts. Her fingers ached to touch the fine softness, but she simply could not seem to make them work. Her nerves were on fire, fiery tendrils of warmth spread out from the place where Asher’s mouth pulled at her life’s blood. Each pull of his mouth tugged at things low in her body until she exploded into one mind-shattering orgasm after another.
The pleasure went on and on in endless waves. She could feel herself weakening, her heart racing to compensate for the loss of blood. She was trembling all over. Her legs refused to hold her up so that the vampire behind her was supporting all her weight. It was harder and harder to catch her breath. But she couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to stop them. She couldn’t remember why she should stop them. It felt so very good.
“Enough, mon ami. Enough.” She heard the words but the meaning was lost in the roaring of her pulse in her ears. Distantly she was aware that the Master’s mouth was no longer against her skin. That his hands now rested at her waist. The vampire behind her gave a shudder, then raised his lips from her neck. Her body went limp as she was released from Asher’s power. If it weren’t for their strength, she would have slid to the floor in a boneless heap.
Everything was hazy in the mishmash of afterglow and exhaustion. She was grateful when they lowered her to the couch where she rested her cheek on the softly cushioned arm. There she blinked slowly at the rest of the room. Asher joined her, pulling her back to lounge against his chest while he pressed a soft cloth against the wound in her neck. She smiled pleasantly at nothing in particular and snuggled closer to him with a sigh.
* * *
“Enough, mon ami. Enough.” Damian tensed, his hand finding the hilt of his sword without conscious thought. He could hear his Mistress’s thoughts and Nathaniel’s in his head. Phantom images interposed themselves between him and the other occupants of the room. Images of combatants that fought with tooth and claw rather than fang and sword. A sense of movement. The smell of gunpowder. The sounds of snarls and the sharp barking of gunfire.
It was as they suspected. This visit by the upstart Patrick was both a diversionary tactic and an alibi. He tightened his shields carefully, banishing the ghostly images from his sight but not cutting off his awareness of the other two thirds of his triumvirate. He returned his focus to his immediate surroundings, conscious that there was a new tension among the visitors. Jean Claude and Asher appeared calm and unconcerned. Asher lounged on the couch with Erica, showing every sign of post-orgasmic languor. He spared a glance at his pomme de sang, noting her renewed pallor and the glazed look in her eyes. But then Jean Claude began to speak and he knew that he must be alert.
“I hope you have enjoyed our little spectacle, Patrick.” Jean Claude sank down on the couch close enough that he could reach out and stroke Erica’s cheek. The girl’s eyelids fluttered closed at the touch. There was a subtle edge in the Master’s words, a hiss of warning that slithered through the room.
“I have heard tales of the arduer, but I have not encountered it in its pure form before.” The visiting vampires moved restlessly to either side of their leader. “I would not have thought it possible to generate so much power from a single human.”
Damian thought the other vampire was stalling. He was likely waiting for some sign that his minions had succeeded. A curious thought brought him an image of strange, furred man-shapes struggling under the light of the moon. He could feel a cold, angry satisfaction echoing down the metaphysical threads that bound him to Anita.
“I have power aplenty. I have chosen my human servant and animal to call quite carefully.” Jean Claude continued to stroke Erica’s face with his fingertips. “Tell me, Patrick. Have you taken an animal to call from among your wereboars?”
“No.” Patrick’s tone was clipped, but the jeweled fingers returned to their nervous tapping. “I have not found one worthy yet.”
Jean Claude nodded thoughtfully at that and continued to pet Erica. “Are you feeling more yourself, Erica?”
“I think so.” Erica’s voice was soft but clear.
“Good.” Jean Claude smiled at her. “I would not wish you to miss the rest of the evening’s festivities.”
“What festivities?” Patrick sounded suspicious.
“I have not yet discharged my full debt to the lady.” Jean Claude’s voice again took on that edge of threat. “Her safety was threatened again a few days ago. She and a group of Anita’s leopards were attacked outside a market by lycanthropes.”
“I don’t understand.” The auburn-haired vampire frowned.
“Oh. I think you do.” Jean Claude stopped stroking the girl’s cheek and leaned back against the couch, looking totally at ease. Damian knew it for the illusion it was. “We have no wereboars here in St. Louis. Only those you brought with you.”
“I didn’t bring any with me.”
“No? Are you quite sure?” Jean Claude’s voice hissed with fury.
“I am here on business for the Master of Chicago.” Was that a hint of panic in his voice?
“At this moment, my Human servant and my wolf to call are holding captive several wereboars who claim allegiance to you, Patrick. They seem to think you will intercede for them.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” The other vampire’s tapping had reached a frenetic tempo.
“Don’t play us for fools, Patrick.” If Jean Claude’s voice hissed with anger, Asher’s was like shards of glass made into sound.
As if that had been a signal, all the visiting vampires turned as one to Damian. He had barely enough time to draw his sword before they were upon him.
* * *
Erica was still struggling to regain her full awareness when things began to happen far too fast for her to follow. One moment she was practically draped over Asher’s body while the Master of the City stroked her face soothingly. In the next moment, she found herself alone on the couch while bodies moved around her with breathtaking speed.
Her heart seemed to jump to her throat when she realized that all the enemy vampires had converged on Damian. He was fighting, his sword flashing silver and crimson where he’d already drawn blood. A headless body lay twitching on the floor, the hands scrabbling at the carpet as if it were searching for its missing head.
She tore her eyes away from the macabre sight only to catch an image of the Master reaching for another of the vampires. When he pulled his hand away it was covered in a glove of scarlet. It looked more like a dancing than a blow, but the other vampire crumpled to his knees, clutching at the empty space where his throat had been. She could see the white flash of exposed bone between his fingers.
A body came flying through the air to land nearly on top of her and she threw herself from the couch. This vampire was missing a portion of his skull that started near the center of his forehead and ended just below where his earlobe should have been. The dying vampire reached for her and she scrambled away, hampered by the tangle of skirts around her legs. Before she could move more than a few inches, Asher was there.
She watched as Asher reached down and grasped the vampire’s head with both hands, giving it a casual wrench. There was a sickening crunch and the broken thing went still. Asher looked down at her for a long moment and there was nothing human in his expression. She froze like a frightened rabbit in the grass. The vampire looked away from her, then back again and humanity seeped into his expression.
“Do not fear, cherie. It is nearly over.” He reached down and scooped her up, lifting her above the spreading pool of blood dripping from the corpse’s head. Some of it looked thicker than blood and she turned her face away. She caught one more glimpse of Damian before Asher’s movement turned her away. Damian’s hair flew in a scarlet sheet around his shoulders while his blade flashed. She thought it was Patrick’s auburn head that fell to the carpet, but she couldn’t be sure. Her attention was focused on the expression of fierce joy that her lover wore.
She shuddered and Asher murmured something reassuring to her. She thought it was in French. She couldn’t understand, but it really didn’t matter. Because that was when everything went black.
~*~
The fight was far too short. Damian’s blood still sang with the thrill of battle, though his enemies all lay broken and bleeding. It had felt good to give in to the fierce joy of battle. It felt good to sink into the simplicity of it. Kill or be killed. To feel the sheer physical release of unleashing all the rage and fear of the last week in one cathartic rush of violence.
But it was over now. His pulse began to slow as he surveyed the room, looking for more enemies, but finding only bleeding corpses littering the pale carpet. Each one was a splash of brilliant color that drew the eye. A severed head here, a torn throat there, brains spilling thick and red from a cleaved skull near the couch…
The couch where he had last seen his Erica. His pulse sped again as he stared about him, searching among the milling forms of his comrades for her familiar figure. He strode closer to the couch, eyes scanning the room for some sign of her.
“Damian.” He whirled at the touch on his arm, fingers seeking the hilt of his sword automatically. “Peace, mon ami. It is only I.” Jean Claude’s voice was soothing, but he had moved back several paces.
“Where is she?”
“You did not see our Asher carry her to safety?”
“No. I did not.” He frowned and moved his hand from his sword. He had no intention of drawing a blade on the Master of the City.
“Understandable.” Jean Claude nodded. “I did not think this Patrick to be quite so foolish or I would have sent her from the room before provoking him.”
“He knew he was trapped. His only hope of escape was to carry out his plan.” Damian glanced again at the bodies scattered about the room.
“Of course.” Jean Claude nodded as he wiped his fingers with a blood-spattered handkerchief. “There are enough people here to deal with this.” He made a casual gesture that encompassed the room that had been their battlefield. “Go find your pomme de sang and tell Asher I wish to speak with him.”
With that dismissal, Damian stepped through the no longer pristine curtains of fabric in search of his Erica. He paused just long enough to clean the blood from his blade with a strip of the ruined draperies.
It took only a few moments to find the girl. He was mildly displeased to discover Asher had chosen to lay the unconscious girl down upon his own bed. The master vampire had left the door open and sat on the edge of the bed watching the girl as he used a cloth to dab at spots of blood on his breeches.
“Erica.” Pale blue eyes rose at the word, but Damian had eyes only for the girl. The blonde moved aside to allow him closer. He reached out to brush her cheek with one hand and she stirred. “Erica, my lovely.”
“She is unharmed. I believe she merely fainted.” Asher’s voice was calm and matter of fact.
“Her skin is cool to the touch.” Damian frowned in concern.
“She will recover mon ami.” The touch on his arm was no doubt meant to be reassuring, but it was unwelcome and he stiffened. “I would not allow harm to come to her.”
“Jean Claude wishes to speak with you.” Damian reached out to stroke the girl’s hair. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked about her with confusion. “Shh… You are safe, my lovely.”
“Damian!” She began to sit up, reaching for him, but swayed unsteadily. He pulled her closer and she clung to him. “What happened? Where am I?” She was shivering and he held her tighter, finding himself rocking gently.
“They are all dead. They cannot hurt you now.” He murmured against her hair. A glance told him that Asher had already left. “You are safe. This is Asher’s room.”
“Asher?” The note of panic in her voice gave him pause and he drew back enough to see her face. She looked drawn and pale and still quite frightened. “Where is he?”
“He is gone.” He touched her cheek again in a soothing caress. “There is nothing to fear. You are safe, my lovely.”
“I…” She buried her face in his hair, pressing herself even tighter against him. “Take me home. Please? I just need to be away. From him. From them.”
“You should rest.”
“I will. But not here. Just not…here.”
“All right, my lovely. All right.” Somehow there was no question in his mind that she meant his little basement apartment and not the place she shared with her human roommate. Anita would have need of him soon enough and he was not needed here. “We will go now.”