Cerulean Sins (41 page)

We stood, glaring at each other. I hadn't been angry until he'd tried to hurt Stephen and Gregory. But once you get me angry I usually stay there. I enjoy my anger, it's the only hobby I have.

A dozen cruel remarks danced through my head, and I kept my mouth closed. I was afraid of what would fall out if I opened it. I walked forward, closing the remaining distance between us. I got to see something else in his eyes besides anger—panic. He didn't want me this close. Great.

I kept moving forward, and Richard actually moved back a step, then he seemed to realize what he'd done. When I took another step towards him, he stood his ground. I walked until the full skirt of my dress brushed his legs; the skirt swirled out and covered the toes of his polished shoes. I was
close enough that it would have been more natural to touch each other than to simply stand there, as we did.

I looked up the length of his body and met his eyes with the knowledge in my eyes that I knew what was under that conservative suit, every inch of it.

Richard wasn't looking at my face when I looked up; he was staring at my décolletage. I took a deep breath, making the mounds of my breasts rise and fall as if a hand were pushing them from underneath.

He looked up from my chest, and met my eyes. The rage in his face was a nearly pure thing. An anger without purpose, without form. It was like one of those huge wildfires, that begins by eating the trees. Then somewhere along the way the fire takes on a life of its own, almost as if it doesn't need fuel anymore, it doesn't need anything to exist. It burns and grows and destroys, not because it needs fuel but because that's what it does, what it is.

I faced Richard's rage with my own. His was new and fresh, it hadn't had time to burn its way down to his soul, to hollow out a space that held nothing but the anger. Mine was old, almost as old as I could remember. If Richard wanted to fight, we could fight. If he wanted to fuck, we could fuck. At that moment either one would have been almost equally damaging. To both of us.

His beast rose to his anger like a dog to its owner's voice. Any strong emotion could bring on the change, and this was about as strong as emotions got for Richard.

The energy of his beast flared like heat off a road on a summer's day, a visible wave of power. It danced along the bare skin of my body. Once upon a time he'd brought me using nothing but his beast thrusting through my body. But tonight, we'd do other things. I doubted they'd be as fun.

Musette glided close to us in her blood-spattered white dress. Her eyes were blue again. She wove her hands through the energy of Richard's beast, playing between the two of us, not touching, literally playing with the energy. “Oh, you would be very good to eat,
très bon
,
très très bon.
” She laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that would make you look twice in a bar, a laugh made to get attention. The sound didn't go with the blood drying like a mask on her face.

Richard let the rage fill his eyes and directed it at her. It was a look that I think would have backed up anyone else in the room. Musette laughed again.

Richard turned to face her. His anger really didn't care who the target was, anyone would do. “This is none of your concern. When we're done with pack business, then, and only then, we'll talk to the vampires.”

Musette threw her head back and chortled, there was no other word for
it. She laughed until tears leaked down her face, carving runnels in the drying blood. The laughter died slowly, and when she opened her eyes again, they were honey-brown.

Richard's breath caught in his throat. I was close enough to him to know that he stopped breathing, just for a moment.

The smell of roses was everywhere. “You remember me, wolf, I can feel it in your fear.” That purring contralto shivered down my skin, and I saw Richard shudder, too. “I will play with you later, wolf, but for now,” and she turned and looked at Asher, “for now I will play with him.”

Asher was still pressed to the wall, doing that utter stillness that the old ones can do. He had sunk into the silence of eternity, trying to make this not happen, trying to hide in plain sight. It wasn't going to work.

As Musette's body glided towards him, Belle began to spill out of her. The dark gold gown overlaying the white like a ghost. The black hair spreading like phantom flames around her, moved by a wind that trickled through the room, the wind of Belle's power.

“What's happening?” Richard whispered, and I don't even know if he meant to have an answer, but I replied anyway.

“Musette is Belle Morte's surrogate.”

His eyes were all for Belle's ghostly form overriding the other body, when he said, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means we are in a shit load of trouble.”

He looked at me then. “I am Ulfric, Anita, that doesn't change just because some high-ranking vampire comes to town.”

“Be Ulfric, Richard, great, knock yourself out, but don't destroy us all while you do it.”

Some of the anger had leaked away on the tide of fear. It was impossible to be up close and personal with Belle's power and not fear it.

“I am either Ulfric, or I'm not, Anita. I am either master or slave, I can't be both.”

I raised eyebrows at him. “Yeah, actually, you can.” I held up a hand. “I don't have time for this tonight, Richard. Tomorrow if we're all still alive, then we can discuss it, okay?”

He frowned. “She's not here in flesh, Anita, it's only metaphysical games. How bad could it be?”

I realized in that moment that Richard was still living in that other world. The world where people played fair and horrible things never really happened. It must have been a peaceful place to live, the planet that people like Richard called home. I'd always admired the view, but I'd never lived there. The trouble was that Richard didn't live there either.

The first scream cut through the silence. The wereleopards had all backed away, crouching at Belle Morte's feet. Only Micah stayed standing. He'd
put himself in front of Asher, but he was small like me, and he couldn't hide Asher completely.

I looked at Richard, and he had a look of such hurt in his eyes. He was never going to wake up and smell the blood. He wasn't going to truly change.

I turned away from him and started walking towards Asher and Micah. Jean-Claude moved up beside me, offered me his hand, and I took it. No one else moved with us. The wererats couldn't attack Musette. The wereleopards were doing their best, but it wasn't going to be enough. Only the wolves could have helped us, and Richard wouldn't let them.

In that moment I wondered how long it would be before I started hating Richard.

I
COULDN
'
T FIGURE
out why Asher was screaming. There was no blood, no rending of flesh, but he screamed all the same. Then as we got closer I watched the flesh of his face begin to seep away. It was as if his skin collapsed around the bones of his skull, as if Belle's touch were draining him dry, not of blood, but of
everything
.

I risked a glance at Jean-Claude, and he looked stricken, a second before his face showed nothing. I felt him pull away into that emptiness where he hid. “She could drain him to death this way.” His voice was remarkably empty.

“But you're immune to it, right? She didn't make you.”

“She is our
sourdre de sang,
none of us are immune to her touch.”

I stopped and pushed him back. “Then you stay. I don't need two of you to worry about.”

He didn't argue, but his gaze went past me to Asher. I wasn't sure he'd even heard me, and there wasn't time to check. I was half-running, when Micah pushed Belle back, pushed her back, using his whole body, broke her touch on Asher's face.

Asher collapsed slowly down the wall, and Belle's glowing face kissed Micah. The moment their lips touched, I felt the
ardeur
fill the room like hot water, spilled in stinging drops across my skin. It froze me in mid-step, made me stumble. I stood there, caught between Asher against the wall and Micah lost in that glowing embrace. I knew that I could have drained Micah to death with the
ardeur
over a matter of days, but part of me knew that Belle could do it faster.

Asher's hand reached out to me, skeletal thin, like sticks in paper. Micah
was trying to push himself back from Musette/Belle's body, but she rode him, arms at his back, glowing crimson lips like a red fog across his face. I had a moment of feeling Asher dying, fading, for lack of a better word. Jean-Claude went to him, but I knew that Jean-Claude had no life to share. Then the cross taped to my chest blazed to life.

It burned against my flesh as if the black tape held all the heat in. I half-screamed as I ripped the tape away and the cross spilled out into the light, white, hot, like a captive star on a chain.

Micah stumbled back from Belle Morte. Jean-Claude spilled the black velvet coat over himself and Asher. The other vampires hid their faces and hissed at the light. I saw movement from the corner of my eye, a second before Angelito slammed into me. There was no one to stop him now. The cross was a two-edged sword.

He grabbed me in one arm, completely off the ground, the other hand wrapping around the cross. I poked him in the throat with three fingers, stiffened to a spear point. He gagged and dropped me, but he held on to the cross, and as I fell, the chain broke, cutting into my neck as it came away. The moment the cross was his, the glow began to fade.

Musette's body turned to me, but her eyes were pools of dark gold fire, and it wasn't a ghostly image superimposed over her body this time, it was as if I were seeing double. My eyes saw Musette with the wrong color of eyes. But inside my head it was Belle. Belle in the flesh, a little taller than Musette, long black hair falling to her knees in waves, the dark gold of her dressing gown showing a triangle of white flesh, her face like something sculpted from a pearl, her lips a perfect red pout. She wrapped white hands around my arms, long dark nails, playing along the velvet of the sleeves. She pressed me against her body and leaned in to lay a kiss with that mouth upon mine.

A small voice in my head screamed, “Don't let her touch you.” But I couldn't move, couldn't get away, wasn't sure I wanted to get away.

That red, red mouth hovered over mine. Her breath pushed against my lips. The world smelled of roses. Then, suddenly, I could taste Asher's kiss upon my lips. Tasted it as if I had kissed him but a second before. That one taste opened my eyes, helped me draw back from Belle's mouth. Helped me want to draw back.

Her eyes stared down at me, pools of golden fire like brown water in sunlight. I realized that I had swooned, and she held me as if she'd dipped me in a dance. Her hand was behind my head, raising me up to meet her kiss.

I felt movement and rolled my eyes back to see Richard. Belle saw him, too, “Interfere, and I will raise the
ardeur
in you again, wolf. You brought
no women with you. Did you think that would save you? It won't. The
ardeur
only wants to be fed, wolf, it doesn't care how.”

Richard hesitated. I could taste his fear in my mouth, but underneath that was still the taste of Asher's kiss.

Jean-Claude was suddenly beside Belle. “It is me you want.” He spread his arms in a wide dramatic gesture that spread the darkness of his coat, spilled his hair around him. “I am here.”

I don't know what would have happened, or what she would have said, because the next thing that overwhelmed me was the memory of Asher's love making. It came on me like it had once with Jason, but this was more, worse, better. It bowed my back, convulsed me in Belle's arms, surprised a scream from me, made my hands scratch at the air, and at Belle's face. She dropped me then, and I saw, dimly, as if through a white window, her hands grab Jean-Claude.

Richard caught me before I hit the ground, cradled me in his arms. He looked so worried. His hand touched my face. “Anita, are you hurt?”

I managed to shake my head, but even with Richard this close, his face soft and worried about me, I turned my head to look towards Asher. I couldn't help myself. Asher's hair was like golden Christmas tree tinsel, lifeless, hanging around a face that was more skull than flesh. His lips were a thin hard line around teeth that were mostly fangs. Only his eyes were still Asher, pools of pale blue fire, as if a winter sky could burn.

The moment I saw his eyes, I tried to crawl out of Richard's arms, tried to crawl to Asher.

“Anita, Anita, what's wrong?” He held me, turned me to look at him.

I found my voice, but all I could say was, “Asher.”

He glanced at the fallen vampire, and the disgust was plain on his face. “I know, Anita, I'm sorry.”

I wasn't sure what he was apologizing about, and I didn't care. There was something else I should have been more worried about, something I'd forgotten. But I couldn't think of anything except Asher's eyes and that I had to go to him. Had to.

Richard stood up, suddenly, with me still in his arms. I heard scrabbling as if of a thousand tiny claws. Rats, thousands of rats, flowed in a furry, squeaking wave across the floor of the cave.

Asher's power receded, and I knew it had cost him dear to let me go. Knew in that instant that I was the only one who could feed him enough energy to keep him alive.

Richard made a small sound of dismay and turned so that I could see what had paled him. The two vampires that had had the tops of their heads blown off were slowly rising to their feet. They were healed. Those strange
cat-eyed faces were whole. There wasn't even a scar to mark where the bullets had struck.

“Fuck,” I said.

One of the werehyena's nerve broke, and he fired into the squirming mass of rats. The next sound was a second gunshot, and he fell with a hole in his back, fell into the mob of rats. They boiled over him, and his body vanished from sight. The sounds, though, nothing masked the sounds. I hadn't been close enough to the gunshots to be deafened, and for the first time I was sorry about that. The sound of tiny teeth tearing flesh, squeaking voices squabbling over what used to be a man, seemed to drown us all.

One of the wererats was staring at the gun in his hand as if it had suddenly appeared. He turned a white face back towards us. I think he mouthed, “I'm sorry,” before Bobby Lee's scream, “Guns down, guns fucking down, now. No one fire.” He threw his own gun spinning across the room, and the other wererats followed suit.

Some of the werehyenas lowered their guns, but only one threw his away. Bobby Lee went to his knees and clasped his hands on top of his head. Claudia did it next, then one by one all the wererats followed. I knew why, they were afraid Musette/Belle would use them against us. But I wouldn't have wanted to be kneeling on the floor when the rats found me.

I finally could think enough to remember that Jean-Claude might be fighting for his life. But he wasn't. Belle held his beautiful face in her hands, but he was still standing. His own hands cupped hers, pressing her hands against his face. His face was still perfect, untouched. A soft smile played along his lips. It was Belle's eyes that were wide, her face that was unhappy. He couldn't eat her as she had Asher, but strangely, she seemed to be having trouble eating him.

I knew that Belle/Musette had called the rats. I didn't think she'd had a thing to do with the recuperative powers of the two children of the night. They were half crouched, one helping the other to stand, but they weren't looking at Belle, or anyone else. I had a moment to wonder if they were going to hold a grudge, when the wave of rats jumped on the first werehyena, tiny teeth trying to tear through the black leather. People were screaming, and the werehyenas began to fire into the small rats, blasting their bodies into red ruin. But there were so many of them.

The rats parted around the kneeling wererats like they were big rocks in a stream.

“Can you stand?” Richard asked.

“I think so.”

He lowered me gently to the floor, then he glanced at the werewolves who were still standing in an unhappy group. Apparently Richard's point to Sylvie had been violent enough that none of them had disobeyed. Well,
Jason was struggling in a joint lock that Shang-Da had on his arm, but no one else had tried to help. What the hell had Richard done to Sylvie?

The world suddenly smelled like the musk of wolf fur, the damp richness of leaf mold, the Christmas tree scent of evergreen, as if my furred shoulder had just brushed it with dew still on it, on a calm, still morning. I felt that piece of me that was Richard's beast pour up through my body and ease across my skin like wind.

Richard looked at me with amber wolf eyes. He'd opened the marks between us, opened them wide. He threw back his head and howled, and a dozen throats answered him, then the werewolves moved forward like a black wave of destruction.

Shang-Da and Jamil stayed at Richard's back, and they showed claws where fingernails should have been, the half-change of the very alpha. For the rest, I felt them slip their skin, felt the rush of energy like small tugging explosions in my gut.

I could feel now that Jean-Claude had shut his end of our triumvirate down as tight as he could. I could look at him, but for once I couldn't feel him at all. He'd expected to die, and he hadn't wanted to take us with him.

I found one of the guns that the wererats had discarded and felt instantly better. The weight of it in my hand was a very good thing.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only human servant that had found a gun. Angelito fired at a werehyena, sending him spinning round, falling into the mass of biting rats. He screamed and writhed, trying to beat them off him.

I shot into the rats close to him, but there were too many. It was like trying to shoot water, you moved it, but didn't hurt it.

I knew one way to stop the rats. I sighted down the barrel at Musette/ Belle's head. If I killed her, the rats would go back to whereever they came from.

I let out my breath, stilled myself for a shot that was far too close to Jean-Claude for my comfort. A rat jumped on my hand, dug its teeth into me. The wave of them began to jump on my dress, their claws catching in the heavy fabric. I screamed, and suddenly Micah was there, half-crouched, hissing at the rats. Those on the floor scattered, squealing in terror. The ones already on my body seemed immune to the fear. He helped me pick them off and threw them into the scurrying mass. The rats poured over their injured comrades and ate them, too.

The rats seemed more afraid of the wereleopards than of the wolves, and the wereleopards began to spread out from the wall, hissing, sending the small rodents back, gaining an ever-widening space.

The two vampires that I thought I'd killed had grown claws and fangs that no vampire ever had. They were wading through the werewolves in a spray of blood and white bone.

One great hand was raised at Shang-Da's back, and without thinking I fired, able to aim because I stood in the circle the leopards had made. The vampire's head exploded again. I knew now that if we wanted him to stay dead, we needed to take his heart and burn it all. Scattering the ashes over different bodies of running water wouldn't have hurt either.

Shang-Da had time for the barest of glances my way, then the other vampire launched himself and sent all three of them to the floor for the rats to engulf.

Belle's voice rose over the noise like a storm, a thunderclap that froze all of us in mid-action. Even the furred sea of rats froze. “Enough!”

She stepped back from Jean-Claude, and he began to laugh. It wasn't his magical laugh that slithered across the skin and made you think of sex, it was just laughter, pure unadulterated joy.

“We will fight no more,” Belle said, and though her voice was still deep, it had lost its sexy purr. She sounded not angry, but put out, as if she'd gotten badly surprised.

The rats pulled back like a furry ocean draining away. They squeaked and squealed, but they left. Most of the werewolves were covered in tiny crimson bite marks. The remains of the fallen werehyena looked like it had been mauled by something much bigger.

Jean-Claude found his voice, and it was as joyous as his laughter had been. “You cannot feed from me. You cannot take back what you gave me, because I am no longer of your line. I am
sourdre de sang
of my own line now.”

Belle stared at him, her face that blank emptiness that I knew so well. She was hiding how she really felt. “I know what it means, Jean-Claude.”

“You can no longer treat me as a lesser member of your line, Belle. There are different niceties to be observed between two
sourdres de sang
.”