38
   We walked up the stone steps to the porch. Moonlight and soft darkness filled the porch. There were no thick, unnatural shadows, no hint of what lay inside. It was just an abandoned house, nothing special. The nervous flutter in my stomach didn't buy it either.
   Kissa opened the door. Candlelight spilled behind her from the open door to the far room. No pretense tonight that the empty room was all there was. Sweat beaded on her face, golden drops in the warm light. She was still being punished. I wondered why, but it wasn't my biggest problem.
   Kissa led us through that open door without a word. Serephina sat on her throne in the corner of the big room. She was dressed in a white ball gown like Cinderella, her hair piled atop her head. Diamonds like a string of fire glimmered in her hair as she nodded her greeting.
   Magnus was curled at her feet in a white tux and tails. Gloves, a white top hat, and a cane were laid next to his knees. His long chestnut hair was the only color in the picture. Every master vamp I'd ever met had been into dramatic presentation. Janos and his two females stood in black behind the throne, like a living curtain of darkness. Ellie lay on her side in the cushions, looking almost alive. Even in her torn and stained black dress she looked content, like a cat that was full of cream. Her eyes sparkled, lips curled with a secret smile. Ellie, alias Angela, was enjoying being undead. So far. Kissa stalked to them, and knelt on the side away from Magnus. Her black leather blended with Janos's cloak. Serephina stroked Kissa's sweating face with a white-gloved hand.
   Serephina smiled, and it was lovely until you glimpsed her eyes. They glowed with a pale phosphorescence. You could still get a hint of pupil, but it was sinking fast. Her eyes matched her dress. Now that was color-coordinating.
   Jeff and Xavier were missing. I didn't like that. I opened my mouth to ask, and Jean-Claude looked at me. For just this once, the look was enough. He was the master; I was playing servant. Fine, as long as he asked the right questions.
   "We have come, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "Give us the boy, and we will leave you in peace."
   She laughed. "But I will not leave you in peace, Jean-Claude." She turned her softly glowing eyes to me. It was like being looked at by twin flashlights, and just as human. "Nina, I am so happy to see you."
   I stopped breathing for a second. Nina: it had been my mother's nickname for me. Something flared in her eyes, like a distant glimpse of fire; then the light banked back to a cool wavering light. She wasn't trying to capture me with her eyes. Why? Because she was that sure of me.
   My skin suddenly went cold. That was it. I would have said it was arrogance, but I believed it. She offered something better than sex, more fulfilling than power. Home. Lie or not, it was a good offer.
   Larry touched my hand. "You're shaking."
   I swallowed hard. "Never admit how scared you are out loud, Larry; ruins the effect."
   "Sorry."
   I stepped away from him; no sense in huddling. I glanced at Jean-Claude, sort of silently asking if I was about to break vampire protocol.
   "She has acknowledged you as she would another master. Answer as one." He didn't seem bothered by that; I was.
   "What do you want, Serephina?" I asked.
   She stood, gliding across the carpeted floor. It looked like whatever was under that full skirt wasn't legs. Feet just didn't move like that. Maybe she was levitating. However she managed it, she kept coming closer. I wanted desperately to back away. I didn't want her close to me.
   Larry moved a step behind me. Jason moved a step up to Jean-Claude's other side. I stood my ground. It was the best I could do.
   Something flickered in her eyes, like a distant glimpse of movement through a fringe of trees. Eyes didn't do that. I looked away and realized I didn't remember looking at her eyes. So how was I looking away?
   I felt her move towards me. Her gloved hand came into view. I jerked back and looked up at the same time. I barely glanced at her face, but it was enough. Her eyes had fire burning down a long dark tunnel, as if the inside of her head fell away into an impossible darkness, and some small creatures had lit a fire against that darkness. I could warm my hands by that flame forever.
   I screamed. Screamed and covered my eyes with my hands.
   A hand touched my shoulder. I jerked away and screamed again. "Ma petite, I am here."
   "Then do something," I said.
   "I am," he said.
   "I will have this one by sunrise." She motioned to me. She took a gliding step towards Jason. She caressed her gloved hand down his bare chest. He stood there and took it. I wouldn't have let her touch me on a dare.
   "I will give you to Bettina and Pallas. They will teach you to enjoy rotting flesh."
   Jason stared straight ahead, but his eyes widened just a little. Bettina and Pallas had moved from behind the throne to stand a few feet behind Serephina. Dramatic gestures are us.
   "Or perhaps I will force you to change into wolf form until it becomes more natural than this human shell." She slid a finger under the collar on his throat. "I will chain you to my wall, and you will be my guard dog."
   "Enough of this, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "The night bleeds away. These petty torments are beneath one of your power."
   "I am feeling petty tonight, Jean-Claude, and soon I will have the power to be as petty as I feel." She glanced at Larry. "He will join my flock." She stared up at Jean-Claude. I hadn't realized he was taller. "And you, my lovely catamount, will serve us all for all eternity."
   Jean-Claude stared down at her, utterly arrogant. "I am Master of the City now, Serephina. We cannot torture each other. We cannot steal each other's possessions, no matter how attractive they are."
   It took me a second to realize the possessions he was referring to were us.
   Serephina smiled. "I will have your businesses, your money, your lands, and your people before the night is out. Did the council really think I would be content with the crumbs from your table?"
   If she challenged him officially, we were all dead. Jean-Claude couldn't take her, and neither could I. Distraction, we needed a distraction. "You're wearing enough diamonds to buy your own businesses, your own house."
   She turned those glowing eyes to me, and I half wished I had kept quiet. "Do you think I live in this house because I cannot afford better?"
   "I don't know."
   She glided back to her throne and settled onto it, smoothing her skirts. "I do not trust your human laws. I will remain the secret we have always been; let others walk in the spotlight. I will be here when such modern thinkers are no more." She suddenly slashed out with one hand.
   Jean-Claude staggered. Blood flew from his face, splattering on his white shirt and jacket in bright crimson flecks. Drops of it clung to my hair and cheek.
   She slashed again, and another cut exploded on the other side of his face, splashing Jason with Jean-Claude's blood.
   Jean-Claude stayed on his feet. He never cried out. He didn't touch the wounds. He stood there utterly still; except for the blood there was no movement to him. His eyes were drowning pools of sapphire floating in a mask of blood.
   Naked muscle twitched in his cheek. Bone glistened at jaw and cheek. It was a frighteningly deep wound. But I knew he could heal it. Horrible as it looked, it was a scare tactic. I kept telling that to the pounding of my heart. I wanted to go for a gun. To shoot the bitch. But I couldn't shoot them all. I wasn't even sure Janos could be shot.
   "I don't have to kill you, Jean-Claude. Hot metal in your wounds, and they'll be permanent. Your beautiful face ravaged for all time. You can still pretend to be Master of the City, but I will rule. You will be my puppet."
   "Say the word, Serephina," Jean-Claude said. "Say it and be done with these games." His voice was bland, as normal as it ever was. His voice gave nothing away, not pain, or fear, or terror.
   "Challenge: is that the word you want to hear, Jean-Claude?"
   "It will do." His power crawled over my skin like cool fire. The power lashed out suddenly; I felt it sweep past me like a giant fist. It slammed into Serephina, scattering the air currents. Kissa caught the edge of it and fell back from the throne, thrown nearly prone among the cushions.
   Serephina threw back her head and laughed. The laughter died in mid-motion, gone like it had never been. Her face was a mask with eyes of white fire. Her skin seemed to grow paler, whiter until it was like translucent marble. Veins showed under her skin like lines of blue flame. Her power flowed through the room like rising water, deeper and deeper until when she released it we would all be drowned.
   "Where are your ghosts, Serephina?" I asked.
   I thought for a second she would ignore me, but that masklike face turned slowly, slowly towards me.
   "Where are your ghosts?"
   Even though she was looking straight at me, I couldn't tell if she heard. It was like trying to read the face of an animal; no, the face of a statue. There was no one home.
   "Can't control Bloody Bones and your ghosts at the same time? Is that it? Did you have to give up one of them?"
   Serephina rose to her feet, and I knew she was floating, rising on tiny currents of her own power to hover above the cushions. She floated slowly upward towards the ceiling, and it was impressive. I was babbling, trying to buy time, but time for what? What the hell could we do?
   A voice echoed in my head. "Crosses, ma petite; do not be bashful on my account." I didn't argue or hesitate.
   The cross spilled out of my shirt in a ball of light so bright it was painful. I squinted and looked away, only to find Larry's cross behind me blazing to life.
   Jean-Claude cowered beside me, hunched away, arms shielding his face. Serephina shrieked and half-fell to the floor. She could stand before a cross, but she couldn't do tricks in front of one. She landed in a heap of silken skirts. The other vamps shielded their faces, hissing.
   Magnus rose from the cushions. He stalked towards us. Jason stepped in front of Jean-Claude, moving to stand in front of me. He glanced at me with amber eyes; his beast stared at me over the glow of the cross, and had no fear. For a heartbeat I was glad I had silver bullets just in case.
   Serephina said, "No, Magnus, not you."
   Magnus hesitated, staring at Jason. A thin growl crawled out of Jason's throat. "I can take him," Magnus said.
   There was a sound from the open door to the basement. Something was coming up the stairs. Something heavy. The stairs creaked in protest. A hand came out of the darkness, large enough to palm my head. The fingernails were long and dirty, almost clawlike. Ragged clothes clung to huge, square shoulders. The thing was at least ten feet tall. It had to bend sideways to come through the door, and when it stood, its head brushed the ceiling, and you couldn't pretend it was human anymore.
   Its huge, oversized head had no skin. The flesh was raw and open like a wound. The veins pulsed and throbbed with blood flowing through them, but it didn't bleed. It opened a mouth full of broken yellow teeth and said, "I am here." It was shocking to hear words out of that mouth, that face. Its voice was like the sound at the bottom of a well; deep, and rough, and lost.
   The room suddenly seemed small. Rawhead and Bloody Bones could have reached out one long arm and touched me. Not good. Jason had moved back a step to rejoin us. Magnus had moved back to Serephina's side. He was staring at the creature as wide-eyed as the rest of us. Had he never seen it in the flesh before?
   "Come to me," Serephina said. She held out her hands to the creature, and it moved towards her, surprisingly graceful. It had a liquidness to its walk that was all wrong. Nothing that big and that ugly should move like quicksilver, but it did. In that movement I saw Magnus and Dorrie. It moved like something beautiful.
   Serephina cradled its huge, dirty hand in her white-gloved hands. She pushed back the ragged sleeve, laying the thick, muscled wrist bare.
   "Stop her, ma petite."
   I glanced down at Jean-Claude, who was still cowering before the crosses' fire. "What?"
   "If she drinks from it, the crosses may not work against her."
   I didn't question him; there was no time. I drew the Browning and felt Larry draw his gun.
   Serephina bent over the fairie's wrist, mouth wide, fangs glistening.
   I pulled the trigger. The bullet smacked into the side of her head. The force rocked her, and blood dribbled down. She could be shot. Life was good. Janos threw himself in front of her, and it was like trying to hit Superman. I pulled the trigger twice, staring at his dead-eyed face from just over a yard. He smiled at me. Silver bullets just weren't going to do it.
   Larry had stepped around Jean-Claude. He was firing at Pallas and Bettina. They kept coming. Kissa stayed on the floor. Ellie seemed frozen in the face of the crosses.
   Bloody Bones stood there like it was waiting for orders, or didn't give a damn. It was staring at Magnus like it recognized him. It was not a friendly look.
   Serephina's voice came from behind Janos's protective body. "Give me your wrist."
   The fairie gave a ragged smile. "Soon I will be free to kill you." It looked at Magnus when it said it.
   I didn't really want something the size of a small giant mad at me, but I didn't want Serephina to have its power either. I fired into its raw head, and I might as well have spit at it. The shot did earn me a dirty look. "I have no quarrel with you," the fairie said. "Do not make one."
   Staring into its monstrous face, I agreed. But what could I do? "What'll we do?" Larry asked. He'd moved to stand nearly back to back with me. Bettina and Pallas had stopped just out of touching range, held at bay by the crosses, not the guns. Jean-Claude had gone to his knees, face cradled away from the glare of the crosses, but he didn't crawl away. He stayed within the protective touch of that light.
   Silver bullets wouldn't hurt the fey, so . . . I hit the button on the Browning and popped the clip out. I fished in my pocket for the extra clip and slid it home. I aimed at the thing's chest, where I hoped the heart was, and pulled.
   Bloody Bones bellowed. Blood blossomed on its ragged clothes. I knew when it felt Serephina bite into its flesh. Power whirled through the room, raising every hair on my body. For a heartbeat I couldn't breathe; there was too much magic in the room for something as mundane as breathing.
   Serephina rose slowly from behind Janos's dark form. She levitated to the ceiling, bathing in the light of the crosses, smiling. The bullet wound in her head was healed. Her eyes licked white flame around her face, and I knew we were going to die.
   Xavier appeared in the door to the basement. He held a sword in his hands, but it was heavier, softer-edged than any blade I'd ever seen. He stared at Serephina and smiled.
   "I have fed you," Bloody Bones said. "Free me."
   Serephina threw her hands skyward, caressing the ceiling. "No," she breathed, "never. I will drink you dry and bathe in your power."
   "You promised," Bloody Bones said.
   She stared at him, floating; her eyes of fire were even with his raw face. "I lied," she said.
   Xavier cried, "No!" He tried to come closer, but the crosses kept him just out of reach.
   I threw a handful of salt on Serephina and Bloody Bones. She laughed at me. "What are you doing, Nina?"
   "Never break your word to the fey," I said. "It negates all bargains."
   A sword appeared in Bloody Bones' hands, just appeared like the fey had grabbed it out of mid-air. It was the one I'd seen Xavier carrying at the Quinlans' house. How many scimitars as long as my upper body could there be? He stabbed it through Serephina's chest, spitting her in midair like a butterfly. Normal steel shouldn't have touched her, but backed by the fairie's magic, it could. He pinned her to the wall, driving the hilt into her chest. He tore the sword out of her, twisting it, doing as much damage as he could.
   She shrieked and slid down, leaving a bloody trail on the naked wall.
   Bloody Bones turned back to the rest of us. It touched fingers to its bleeding chest. "I will forgive you this wound, because you freed me. When he is dead, there will be no more wounds." He drove the sword into Magnus. The move was so quick, it looked like stop action. He was as fast as Xavier. Shit.
   Magnus fell to his knees, mouth wide with a scream he had no breath to make. Bloody Bones drew the sword upward like he had with Serephina, and it reminded me of the wounds that the boys had had.
   If Bloody Bones would help us escape Serephina and company, I had no problem with that, but then what? It drew the sword outward, and Magnus was still alive, staring up at me. He reached out to me, and I could have let him die. Bloody Bones raised the blade back for a final blow.
   I pointed the Browning at it. "Don't move. Until you kill him, you're mortal, and bullets can kill you."
   The fairie froze, staring at me. "What do you want, mortal?"
   "You killed the boys in the woods, didn't you?"
   Bloody Bones blinked at me. "They were wicked children."
   "If you get out of here, will you kill more wicked children?"
   Bloody Bones looked at me, blinked, then said, "It is what I do. What I am."
   I fired before I could think. If it moved first, I was dead. The bullet took it between the eyes. It staggered backwards, but didn't go down.
   "Ma petite, the crosses, or I cannot help you." Jean-Claude's voice was a harsh whisper.
   I slipped the cross inside my shirt; a second later Larry followed suit. The room was suddenly darker, colder with just the candlelight. Bloody Bones raced forward, and it was just a blur. I fired into it and didn't know if I hit it or not.
   The sword swung out to meet me, and Jean-Claude was suddenly there hanging onto the arm, sending it off balance. Larry moved up beside me, and we both fired into the fey's chest.
   It shook Jean-Claude off, sending him skittering into a wall. Larry and I stood our ground, shoulder to shoulder. I saw the sword coming like a blur of silver, and knew I couldn't get out of the way in time.
   Xavier was suddenly in front of me, the strange sword blocking Bloody Bones' blade. The steel blade stopped an inch from my face. Xavier's sword was notched where the steel had bit into it. The strange sword shoved upward through Bloody Bones' chest. The fairie bellowed, slicing at Xavier, but he was in too close for the fairie's giant sword.
   Bloody Bones collapsed to its knees. Xavier twisted the sword as if hunting for the heart. He jerked the sword out in a wash of gore. The fairie collapsed on its stomach, shrieking. It tried to raise itself. I pressed the barrel of the Browning against its skull and fired as fast as I could. From point-blank range you didn't need to aim. Larry moved up beside me and fired. We emptied the clips into it, and it was still breathing. Xavier drove the sword through its back, pinning it to the floor. Its chest rose and fell, struggling for air.
   I switched the Firestar and changed its clip to nonsilver. Three shots more, and as if a critical mass had been reached, the head exploded in a rush of bone and blood and thicker, wetter things.
   Xavier was on its back when it blew. We stood there covered in bloody brains. Xavier drew the sword out of its back. The sword came out notched, dented from contact with bone. We stood there by the dead giant, the two of us isolated in one clear moment of understanding.
   "The sword's cold iron, isn't it?" I asked.
   "Yes," he said. The pupils of his eyes were scarlet as a cherry, not the blood color of an albino, but truly red. Humans didn't have eyes like that.
   "You're fey," I said.
   "Don't be silly. The fairie can't become vampires, everyone knows that."
   I stared at him, and shook my head. "You tampered with Magnus's spell. You did this to him."
   "He did this to himself," Xavier said.
   "Did you help Bloody Bones kill the teenagers, the children, or did you just give him the sword?"
   "I fed him my victims when I grew tired of them."
   I had eight shots left in the Firestar. Maybe he saw the thought move behind my eyes. "Neither lead nor silver bullets will harm me. I am proof against both."
   "Where's Jeff Quinlan?"
   "He's down in the basement."
   "Get him."
   "I don't think so." And suddenly there was sound again, movement again, besides us. He'd bespelled me, and bad things had been happening while I'd been caught.
   Jason was coughing blood on the carpet. If he'd been human, I'd have said he was dying. Being a lycanthrope, he might live to see morning. One of the vampires had hurt him badly. I didn't know which one.
   Jean-Claude was lying under a pile of vampires made up of Ellie, Kissa, Bettina, and Pallas. His voice came out in a thundering yell, echoing through the room. It was impressive, but not enough. "Do not do it, ma petite."
   Janos stood near the throne with Larry. They'd tied his hands behind his back with one of the cords that held the drapes. A piece of cloth was shoved in his mouth. Janos had one pale spider hand around Larry's neck.
   Serephina was propped on her throne, black blood pouring out of her. I'd never seen anyone lose so much blood so quickly. Her chest was torn open so wide I had a glimpse of a frantically beating heart.
   "What do you want?" I asked.
   "No, ma petite." Jean-Claude struggled to move and couldn't. "It is a trap."
   "Tell me something I don't know."
   "She wants you, necromancer," Janos said.
   I let that sink in for a minute. "Why?"
   "You have stolen her immortal blood from her. You will take its place."
   "It wasn't immortal," I said. "We proved that."
   "It was powerful, necromancer, as you are powerful. She will drink you up and live."
   "What about me?"
   "You will live forever, Anita, forever."
   I let the "forever" part go; I knew better.
   "She will take you and kill him anyway," Jean-Claude said.
   He was probably right, but what could I do? "She let the girls go."
   "You do not know that, ma petite. Have you seen them alive?" He had a point.
   "Necromancer." Janos's voice jerked me back to him. Serephina lay propped on the throne beside him. Blood had drenched the white dress, turning it black, plastering it to her thin body.
   "Come, necromancer," Janos said. "Come now, or the human suffers."
   I started forward and Jean-Claude yelled, "No!"
   Janos slashed outward with one pale spider-hand, just above Larry's body. Larry's white shirt sliced open, and blood soaked it. He couldn't scream with the gag, but if Janos hadn't held him, he'd have fallen.
   "Drop all your weapons and come to us, necromancer."
   "Ma petite, do not do this. I beg you."
   "I have to do this, Jean-Claude. You know that."
   "Sheknows that," he said.
   I looked at him, struggling helplessly under three times his body weight in vampires. It should have been ridiculous, but it wasn't.
   "She doesn't just want you for herself. She doesn't want me to have you. She will take you to spite me."
   "I invited you to come play this time, remember?" I said. "It's my party."
   I walked towards Janos. I tried not to look behind him, not to see what else I was moving towards.
   "Ma petite, don't do this. You are an acknowledged master. She cannot take you by force. You must consent. Refuse."
   I just shook my head and kept going.
   "Your weapons first, necromancer," Janos said.
   I laid both guns on the floor.
   Larry was shaking his head furiously. He made little protesting noises. He struggled, failing to his knees. Janos had to release his grip on his neck to keep from strangling him.
   "Now your knives," Janos said.
   "I don't . . ."
   "Do not try to lie to us here and now."
   He had a point. I put the knives on the floor.
   My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe. I stopped just in front of Larry. I stared into Larry's blue eyes. I pulled out the gag, somebody's silk scarf.
   "Don't do it. God, Anita, don't do it. Not for me. Please!"
   Fresh slashes cut his shirt; more blood flowed. He gasped, but didn't scream.
   I looked up at Serephina. "You said this slashing only works with an aura of power."
   "He has his own aura," Janos said.
   "Let him go. Let them all go, and I'll do it."
   "Do not do this for me, ma petite."
   "I'm doing it for Larry; doesn't cost any more to throw everybody in."
   Janos glanced at Serephina. She was slumped to one side, eyes half-closed. "Come to me, Anita. Let me touch your arm, and they will release them all, my word, one master to another."
   "Anita, no!" Larry struggled not to get away but to come after me.
   Janos slashed his hand through the air, and the sleeve of Larry's jacket flew with blood. Larry screamed.
   "Stop it," I said. "Stop it." I stalked towards him. "Don't touch him again. Don't ever touch him again."
   I spit the last words in his face, staring up into his dead eyes and feeling nothing. A hand brushed my arm, and I jerked, gasping. I'd let anger carry me those last few steps. What I was about to do scared me too much to think about it.
   Serephina had lost a glove. It was her bare hand that encircled my wrist, not too tight, not painful in the least. I stared at her hand on my arm and couldn't talk past the beating of my own heart.
   "Release him," she said.
   The minute Janos let him go, Larry tried to come to me. Janos gave him a casual slap that knocked him to the floor and sent him skidding back a couple of yards.
   I stayed frozen with her hand on my arm. For one awful moment I thought they'd killed him, but he moaned and tried to get back up.
   I glanced past Larry, and met Jean-Claude's eyes. He'd been after me for years; now here I was letting another master vamp sink her fangs into me.
   Serephina jerked me to my knees, squeezing the bones of my arm so hard I thought she'd broken it. The pain brought me up to meet her eyes. They were solid perfect brown, so dark they were nearly black. Those eyes smiled at me gently.
   I smelled my mother's perfume, her hair spray, her skin. I shook my head. It was a lie. It was all a lie. I couldn't breathe. She knelt over me, and when her face came forward it was my mother's thick, black hair that fell against my cheek.
   "No! It's not real."
   "It can be as real as you want it to be, Nina." I stared up into those eyes, and I fell down the long black tunnel of her eyes. I fell towards that tiny flame. I reached towards it. It would warm my flesh, comfort my heart. It would be all things, all people, everything to me.
   Distant and dreamlike I heard Jean-Claude scream my name, "Anita!" But it was too late. Her fire warmed me, made me feet whole. The pain was such a small price to pay.
   The black tunnel collapsed behind me until there was nothing but the darkness and the flicker of Serephina's eyes.
   
   

39
   I dreamed. I was very small. Small enough that I fit all in my mother's lap, only my feet stuck off the edge of her knees. When she wrapped her arms around me I was so safe, so sure that nothing could ever hurt me as long as Mommy was here. I laid my head against her chest. I could hear the beat of her heart against my ear. A strong, sure rhythm that pounded louder and louder against my face.
   The sound woke me. But I wasn't awake. The darkness was so complete it was like being blind. I lay in my mother's arms in the dark. I'd fallen asleep in bed with her and Dad. Her heart pounded against my ear, and the rhythm was wrong. Mommy had a heart murmur. The beat of her heart was a fraction of a second slow, a hesitation, then two quick thumps to catch up. The heart beating against my skin was as regular as a clock.
   I tried to raise up, off her, and bumped my head against something hard and firm. My hands slid over the body that I was pinned to. I touched a satin dress with smooth jewels sewn into it. I lay there in the absolute dark and tried to roll off her. I slid into the crook of her arm. Her naked flesh slid along my bare shoulders, boneless as the dead, but her heart filled the darkness even with me struggling not to touch her.
   Our bodies were molded against each other. It was not a coffin built for two. Sweat broke out on my skin in a rush. The dark was suddenly chokingly close, hot. I couldn't breathe. I tried to roll onto my back. Tried to roll off her, and I couldn't. There wasn't room.
   Every small struggle made her boneless body move, jiggling the soft, loose flesh. I couldn't smell my mother's perfume anymore. I smelled old blood, and a stale, neck-ruffling smell that I'd smelled before. Vampires.
   I screamed and tried to do a push-up to get some distance, and the lid moved. I stayed on my arms, shoving my back into the satin and wood. The lid slammed backwards, and I was suddenly straddling her body, my upper body raised in a half push-up.
   Dim light edged the lines in her face. The careful makeup looked wrong, like a badly made-up corpse. I scrambled out of the coffin, nearly falling to the floor.
   Serephina's coffin sat on the stage in the Bloody Bones bar and grill. Ellie lay curled at the base of the stage. I stepped around her, half-expecting her to grab at my ankles, but she did not move. Not even to breathe. She was the newly dead, and with the sun up she was truly dead.
   Serephina wasn't breathing either, but her heart was pounding, beating, alive. Why? For my comfort? Because of my touch? Hell, I didn't know. If I got out, I'd ask Jean-Claude. If he was alive. If she had kept her word.
   Janos lay in the middle of the floor, on his back, hands folded on his chest. Bettina and Pallas were snuggled up against him, one on either side. A coffin lay on the floor. I had no way of knowing what time of day it was. I would have bet that Serephina didn't have to sleep all day. I was getting out of here.
   "I told her you wouldn't sleep all day."
   The voice jerked me around. Magnus was behind the bar, leaning his elbows on its smooth surface. He was slicing a lime with a very sharp-looking knife. He looked at me with his green-blue eyes. His long auburn hair spilled around his face. He straightened up suddenly, stretching his back. He was wearing one of those frilly shirts that you rent for wearing with a tux. The shirt was pale green and brought out the green in his eyes.
   "You scared me," I said.
   He leaped over the bar easily, landing on his feet light as a cat. He smiled, and it wasn't a friendly smile. "I didn't think you scared that easy."
   I took a step back. "You recovered damn fast."
   "I drank immortal blood; it helps." He stared at me with a heat in his eyes that I didn't like at all.
   "What's wrong with you, Magnus?"
   He swept his long hair to one side. He pulled the collar of his shirt until the first two buttons popped, spinning to the floor. There was a new bite mark on the smooth skin of his neck.
   I took another step back towards the door. "So what?" I ran my hand over my neck and found my own bite marks. "So we've got a matching pair. So what?"
   "She forbade me to drink. She said you'd sleep all day. That she'd keep you sleeping all day, but I thought she'd underestimated you."
   I took another step towards the door.
   "Don't, Anita."
   "Why not?" But I was afraid I knew the answer.
   "Serephina told me to keep you here until she wakes." He looked at me, and it was a sad, woebegone expression. "Just have a seat. I'll fix you something to eat."
   "No, thanks."
   "Don't run, Anita. Don't make me hurt you."
   "Who's in the other coffin?" I asked.
   The question seemed to surprise him. He let his hair fall back over his neck. The shirt gaped open over his chest. I didn't remember noticing his chest this much last time, or the way his hair swept over his shoulders. The ointment must have worn off.
   "Stop it, Magnus."
   "Stop what?"
   "Glamor won't work on me."
   "Glamor would be a more pleasant alternative," he said.
   "Who's in the coffin?"
   "Xavier and the boy."
   I ran for the door. He was suddenly behind me, impossibly fast, but I'd seen faster. Most of them just happened to be dead. I didn't try to open the door. I turned into his body, and it surprised him. He fell into a shoulder roll almost textbook perfect. I tried to throw him three feet under the floor, everything I had.
   He lay stunned for a second. I flung open the door. The spring sunlight poured in and fell on Janos and his women. Janos's face twisted away from the light. I didn't wait to see more. I ran.
   Screams followed me out into the sunlight. I heard the door slam behind me, but didn't look back. I hit the gravel parking lot running with everything I had. I heard him pounding up behind me. I wasn't going to outrun him. I waited until the last second, stopped running, and kicked him. He saw it coming and dived under it, taking my other leg out from under me, sending us both to the ground. I threw a handful of gravel at his face, and he hit me in the jaw with his fist. There is a frozen moment after a really good shot to the face. A moment of shock, of paralysis where all you can do is blink. Magnus's face appeared over me. He didn't ask if I was alright; that had been the point. He picked me up and flung me over his shoulders. I got a nice view of the ground about the time I was able to move again.
   I walked my hands up his back, trying to get enough leverage to swing a two-handed grip at his shoulders. I let him brace my lower body, but before I could try it, he kicked the door open and tossed me to the floor, none too gently. He leaned against the door and locked it.
   "You just had to do it the hard way, didn't you?"
   I got to my feet and backed away from him, which took me closer to the vampires. Not an improvement. I backed towards the bar. There had to be a back door. "I don't know any other way, Magnus."
   He took a deep breath and pushed away from the door. "It's going to be a long day, then."
   I put a hand on the smooth wood of the bar. "Yeah," I said. The half-sliced lime and the knife lay just a few inches away. I stared at Magnus, trying very hard not to look at the knife again. To not draw attention to it. Which isn't nearly as easy as it sounds.
   His eyes flicked to the knife. He smiled and shook his head. "Don't do it, Anita."
   I put my hands on the bar and pushed myself up on it. I heard him coming but I didn't look back. Never look back; something is always gaining on you. I grabbed the knife and rolled over the bar at the same time. Magnus's face appeared above the bar too fast. I wasn't ready. All I could do was look up at him with the knife gripped in my hand. If he'd been just a little slower, I'd have stabbed him in the throat, or that had been the plan.
   Magnus crouched on the bar, staring down at me. His aquamarine eyes glittered. Lights and colors played in them, reflecting things that were not there. He stayed on the bar above me, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet, one hand on the bar for balance. His hair had fallen forward, trailing thick strands across his face. He was going all feral on me, like he had at the mound. But this time he wasn't trying to be one of the good guys. I expected him to leap down on me, but he didn't. Of course, he wasn't fighting me, he was just trying to keep me from leaving.
   I glanced at what was under the bar. Liquor in bottles, clean glasses, a tub of ice, some clean towels, napkins. None of it looked helpful. Shit. I got slowly to my feet, back pressed to the wall, as far from Magnus as I could get. I began to inch my way towards the side of the bar towards the door. Magnus paced me, sidling on the bar, making the awkward movement graceful.
   He was faster than me, stronger than me, but I was armed. The knife was good quality, made for slicing food, not people, but a good knife is a good knife. It's versatile. I had to force myself not to squeeze too tight on the handle, to relax. I'd get out of this. I would. My eyes flicked to Serephina's open coffin. I thought I saw her breathe.
   Magnus jumped me. His body slammed into mine, and I drove the knife into his stomach. He grunted, and his weight rode me to the floor. I drove the knife in hilt-deep. His fist closed over my hand, and he rolled off me, taking the knife with him.
   I scrambled around the edge of the bar on all fours. Magnus was there, yanking me to my feet by one arm. Blood had soaked the front of his shirt. He raised the bloody knife in front of my face. "That hurt," he said. He laid the edge of the blade against the side of my throat. It felt like my pulse was jumping out to meet the blade. He started backing up, pulling me with him.
   "Where are we going?" I asked.
   "You'll see," he said. I didn't like that he wouldn't tell me.
   His feet bumped against Ellie's body. I could glimpse Serephina's coffin behind him, if I rolled my eyes. Hard to move your head when a knife's at your throat. He pulled on my arm, and I didn't go. I leaned back on my heels, just a little, aware of the knife, but I was more afraid of Serephina than any blade.
   "Come on, Anita."
   "Not until you tell me what we're doing." I spoke very carefully around the knife.
   Ellie lay motionless, boneless, dead at our feet. Magnus's blood dropped onto her empty face. If it had been one of the others, they might have licked the blood off even in their slumber, but Ellie was well and truly dead. She was the newly risen, empty, waiting for her "personality" to rebuild, if it ever did. I'd seen vamps that never recovered. Never became close to the human being they'd once been.
   "I'm going to put you in the coffin and lock it until Serephina wakes up."
   "No," I said.
   Magnus squeezed my arm like his fingers were searching for the bone. If he didn't break it, it would be a hell of a bruise. I didn't cry out, but it was an effort. "I can hurt you, Anita, in all sorts of ways. Just get in."
   "Nothing you can do to me scares me as much as getting in that coffin again."
   I meant it. Which meant unless he was really going to kill me, the knife didn't work anymore. I turned my head into the blade. He was forced to move it away from my skin before I drove it into myself.
   I stared at him from about a foot away, and saw something in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. He was afraid.
   "Bloody Bones died because he shared your mortality. Were you harder to kill before, Magnus? No immortality to draw from, is that it?"
   "You are just too damn smart for your own good," he said softly.
   I smiled. "Mortal just like the rest of us; poor baby."
   He smiled, a quick baring of teeth. "I can still take more damage than you can dish out."
   "If you really believed that, you wouldn't be putting me back in the coffin."
   His hand moved in a blur of speed that was almost vampire-quick. He hit my arm, and it took a handful of seconds to realize he'd cut me. Blood welled from the cut and dripped down my arm. He switched his grip from my upper arm to my wrist, faster than I could take advantage of it.
   I watched the blood drip down my arm towards my elbow. It wasn't much of a cut, might not even leave a scar; of course, on my left arm, who could tell? "Couldn't you have cut the right arm? I haven't got nearly as many scars on that one. "
   He made one quick slice downward and opened my right arm from my shoulder damn near to my elbow. "Always happy to oblige a lady."
   The slice hurt and was deeper than the first one. Me and my big mouth. Blood ran down my arm in a thin crimson line. Blood on my left arm trembled on my elbow and fell with a soft plop onto Ellie's cheek. The blood slid down her skin, into her mouth. A tingle of magic went up my spine. I held my breath. I could feel it. I could feet the body at our feet.
   It was broad daylight. I shouldn't have been able to raise even a zombie, let alone a vampire. It was impossible; yet I could feel the body feel the magic. I knew it was mine if I wanted it. I wanted it.
   "What's wrong?" Magnus jerked my arm, bringing my eyes back to his face. I'd been staring at the vampire. Hadn't meant to, it was just so damn unexpected.
   I could feel the magic just out of reach, almost there. But how to push it over the edge? How? I smiled at Magnus. "You planning to just whittle me down until I get in the coffin?"
   "I could."
   "The only way I'm going in that coffin is dead, Magnus, and Serephina doesn't want me dead." I stepped into him; he started to move back, but forced himself to stand his ground. Our bodies were nearly pressed against each other. Great. I ran my hand under his shirt, along his bare skin.
   Magnus's eyes widened. "What are you up to?"
   I smiled, and traced the trail of fresh blood upward to the wound. I trailed the edge of the wound, and he made a small sound like it had hurt. I smoothed my one free hand over his skin, smearing his blood across his flesh like finger paints.
   "You saw the murder scene when you touched me and still wanted to have sex with me, remember?"
   He took a breath, and it trembled when he let it out between his lips.
   I drew my blood-coated hand out from under his shirt. I held it up to him, let him see it. His breath came just a little quicker. I knelt, slowly; he didn't let go, he didn't put down the knife, but he didn't stop me. I smeared the blood on Ellie's mouth. The magic flared, sparked down my skin like cool fire. It crawled up my arm and onto Magnus.
   "Shit!" Magnus swung the knife at me.
   I blocked his wrist with my arm and came up under him, driving up from my knees. He was balanced across my shoulders, but he still had the knife. I flung him on top of Ellie.
   I stood over him, breathing hard. "Ellie, rise."
   The vampire's eyes flew open wide. Magnus started to push away from her.
   "Grab him," I said.
   Ellie wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. He stabbed her with the knife, and she screamed. God help me, she screamed. Zombies didn't scream.
   I ran for the door.
   Magnus came after me, dragging Ellie behind him. He was moving faster than I'd thought he would, but not fast enough. I flung open the door, and a long bar of sunlight spilled in through the door. I was a step out the door when the screaming started. I glanced back; I couldn't help it. Ellie was on fire. Magnus tried to loosen her arms, screaming. But nothing holds on like the dead.
   I ran out into the parking lot.
   "Nina, don't go."
   The voice stopped me at the edge of the parking lot. I looked back. Magnus had dragged himself out the door and onto the gravel. Ellie was burning white hot. Magnus's shirt and hair were burning.
   I screamed, "Go back, you son of a bitch!" But the same voice that kept me pinned to the edge of the parking lot kept him coming out into the light.
   The voice came again. "Come back to bed, Anita. You're tired. You must rest."
   I was suddenly tired, so tired. I felt every cut, every bruise. She would make it all better. She would touch me with her cool hands and make it all better.
   Magnus collapsed in the middle of the driveway, shrieking. The vampire was melting into him, burning him alive. Sweet Jesus.
   He reached one hand out to me. He screamed, "Help me!" The vampire was melting into his flesh, eating it away.
   I ran. I ran with Serephina's voice whispering in my ear: "Nina, Mother misses you."
   
   
40
   I flagged a car down on the highway. I was covered in dried blood, cut, scraped, bruised, and still an elderly couple picked me up. Who says there are no more good Samaritans? They wanted to take me to the police, and I let them.
   The nice policemen took one look at me and asked if I needed an ambulance. I said no, and could they page Special Agent Bradford, and tell him it was Anita Blake.
   They tried to get me to go to the hospital, but there was no time. It was mid-afternoon. We had to move before dark. I asked the police to send a two-man car to make sure that no one moved the coffins. I told them there might be a hurt man in the parking lot and if he was still there to call an ambulance, but under no circumstances go inside the place.
   Everybody nodded and agreed with me. Most of the cops in the area had been through Serephina's house last night and today. The cops told me Kirkland had brought the cops back to the vampire's lair after they took me. It took me a second to realize that Kirkland was Larry. Which meant Serephina had kept her word and let them go. The relief at knowing for sure that Larry was alive made me weak-kneed, and I was wobbly enough as it was.
   The cops had found over a dozen bodies buried in the basement of Serephina's house. She should have buried them in the woods. For all I knew, she'd raised their ghosts. I didn't know. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that we had a warrant of execution, and the cops were listening to me today.
   They sat me in an interrogation room with a cup of black coffee, thick enough to walk on, and a blanket to wrap around me. I was shivering and couldn't seem to stop.
   Bradford came in and sat down across from me. He stared at me with eyes that were just a little too wide. "The locals say you found the master vampire's lair."
   I laughed, and it came out wrong, almost like a sob. "I wouldn't say I found Serephina's lair. More like I woke up in it." I raised the coffee to my mouth and had to stop in mid-motion. My hands were shaking so badly I was about to slosh coffee onto the table. I took a deep breath, blew it out, and concentrated on taking a drink of coffee. Just concentrated on the simple physical movement. It helped. I got coffee, and calmer at the same time.
   "You need to go to the hospital," Bradford said.
   "I need Serephina dead."
   "We've got warrants for all of them. All the vampires involved. How do you want to do it?"
   "Burn them out. Block off everything but the front door. If Magnus is inside, he'll come out."
   "Magnus Bouvier?" he asked.
   "Yeah." There was something about the way he said it that I didn't like.
   "The cops found what's left of him in the parking lot. It looks like something melted the lower half of his body. Would you know anything about that?" He looked at me very steadily when he asked it.
   I took another careful sip of coffee, and met his eyes without blinking. What was I supposed to say? "The vampires were controlling him. He was supposed to keep me in the bar until nightfall. Maybe they punished him for failing." What I'd done to Magnus and Ellie was enough to earn me a death sentence. I wasn't admitting that to the Feds.
   "The vampires punished him?" He made it a question.
   "Yeah."
   He looked at me for a long time, then nodded and changed the subject. "Won't the vampires try to make a break when the fire starts?"
   "Sunlight or fire," I said. "Just a choice of how well done you want your vampires to be." I finished the last of the coffee in my cup.
   "Your protege, Mr. Kirkland, said you were kidnapped from the graveyard. Is that your story, too?"
   "It happens to be the truth, Agent Bradford." It was the truth as far as it went. Omission is a wonderful thing.
   He smiled and shook his head. "You are hiding more shit from me than you're telling me."
   I stared at him until the smile wilted around the edges. "Truth is a mixed blessing, Agent Bradford, don't you think?"
   He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe, Ms. Blake, maybe."
   I called the hotel, and no one answered in Larry's room. I tried my room, and got Larry there. There was a moment of stunned silence when he realized it was me.
   "Anita, oh my God, oh my God. Are you alright? Where are you? I'll come get you."
   "I'm at the police station in town. I'm alright, sort of. I need you to bring me some clothes to change into. The ones I have on smell like vampire. We're going after Serephina."
   Another silence. "When?"
   "Now, today."
   "I'll be right there."
   "Larry?"
   "I'll bring the guns and the knives, and an extra cross."
   "Thanks."
   "I've never been so glad to hear anybody's voice in my entire life," he said.
   "Yeah," I said. "Get here soon. Wait, Larry."
   "You need something else?" he said.
   "Are Jean-Claude and Jason alright?"
   "Yeah. Jason's in the hospital, but he'll live. Jean-Claude's in the bedroom asleep. After Serephina bit you, she hit Jean-Claude with some kind of power, energy. I felt it, and it was awesome. She knocked him out and left. The others went with her."
   Everyone was alive, or as alive as they had started out. It was more than I'd hoped for. "Great; I'll see you soon." I hung up the phone and had a horrible urge to cry, but I fought it off. I was afraid if I started to cry I wouldn't be able to stop. I couldn't have hysterics just yet.
   As agent on site, Bradford was in charge. Special Agent Bradley Bradford, yes Bradley Bradford, seemed to think I knew what I was doing. Nothing like getting almost killed to give you credentials. For once, badge or no badge, nobody was arguing with me. A refreshing change, that.
   I did not hug Larry when he brought my clothes; he hugged me. I pushed away sooner than I wanted to, because I wanted to collapse into his arms in tears. To just let a pair of friendly arms hold me while I melted down. Later, later.
   A huge bruise had blossomed on the side of his face from jaw to mid-temple. It looked like he'd been hit by a baseball bat. He was lucky Janos hadn't broken his jaw.
   Larry had brought me blue jeans, a red polo shirt, jogging socks, my white Nikes, an extra cross from my suitcase, the silver knives, the Firestar complete with inner pants holster, and the Browning and its shoulder holster. He'd forgotten a bra, but hey, except for that it was perfect.
   The wrist sheaths stung going over the cuts, but it felt wonderful to be armed again. I didn't try to hide the guns. The cops knew who I was, and I wasn't fooling any of the bad guys.
   Barely two hours after I'd crawled out of Serephina's coffin, we pulled up in front of Bloody Bones. There were ambulances, and more cops than you could shake a stick at. Local cops, state cops, federal cops; it was a smorgasbord of policemen. A fire truck plus fire emergency services completed the official list. Oh, Larry and me.
   With Magnus dead, Serephina and company were unguarded. Not helpless. Oh, no. Nothing this side of Hell would have gotten me inside that building voluntarily. But there were alternatives.
   The gas truck pulled around to the back and busted out a window. I watched them snake the hose into the window of the back door and turn on the juice.
   I stood there in the warm sunlight, a cool breeze playing on my skin, and whispered, "May you rot in Hell."
   "Did you say something?" Larry asked.
   I shook my head. "Nothing important."
   The hose shivered to life, and the sharp, sweet smell of gasoline filled the air.
   I felt her wake up. I felt her eyes open wide in the dark. I breathed in the sweet smell of gasoline, felt my hands gripping the coffin edges.
   I put my hands over my eyes. "Oh, God."
   Larry touched my shoulder. "What is it?"
   I kept my hands pressed to my face. "Take the guns, now."
   "What . . ."
   "Do it!" My hands came down and I looked at him. I looked at his familiar face, and Serephina saw him, too.
   She whispered, "Kill him."
   I ripped the knives out of the sheaths and let them fall to the ground. I started backing up towards the cops. I needed people with guns around me, right now.
   The voice in my head said, "Anita, what are you doing to your mother? You don't want to hurt me. Nina, help Mommy."
   "Oh, God." I ran and nearly collided with Bradford.
   "Help me, Nina. Help me!"
   My hand closed on the Browning. I balled my hands into fists at my side. "Bradford, disarm me now. Please."
   He stared at me, but he took the guns from their holsters. "What's wrong, Blake?"
   "Cuffs, you got cuffs?"
   "Yeah."
   I held my hands out to him. "Use them." My voice sounded squeezed, my throat so tight I couldn't breathe.
   I smelled Hypnotique perfume, tasted my mother's lipstick on my mouth. The cuffs snapped into place. I jerked away from him, stared at the handcuffs. I opened my mouth to say "Take them off," and closed it.
   I could feel my mother's hair tickling my face.
   "I smell perfume," Larry said.
   I looked at him with wide eyes. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move. I didn't trust myself to do anything at that moment.
   "Oh, my God," Larry said. "You're going to feel her burn."
   I just looked at him.
   "What can I do?"
   "Help me." My voice was squeezed down to a whisper.
   "What's happening to her?" Bradford asked.
   "Serephina's trying to get Anita to help save her."
   "The vampire's awake in there?" he asked.
   "Yes," I said.
   Serephina was out of her coffin. The full skirt of her ball gown brushed the edges of the door that led to the kitchen. She couldn't go closer, because there was a spill of daylight from the window. Gasoline was pouring across the floor towards her.
   "Anita, help Mommy."
   "It's a lie," I said.
   "What's a lie?" Bradford said.
   I shook my head.
   "Anita, help me, you don't want me to die. You don't want me to die, not when you can save me."
   I collapsed to my knees, cuffed hands digging into the gravel of the parking lot. "Stop the gasoline."
   Larry knelt beside me. "Why?"
   It was a good question. Serephina had a good answer. "Jeff Quinlan is in there. He's inside."
   "Shit," Larry said. He looked up at Bradford. "We can't torch the place. There's a kid inside."
   "Stop the gas," Bradford said. He walked away from us, towards the truck, motioning them off.
   And I felt a surge of triumph from Serephina. It was a lie. Xavier had brought Jeff over last night. There was nothing alive in that building.
   I gripped Larry's arm with my cuffed hands. "Larry, it's a lie. She's lying to me. Through me. Get me in the back of a squad car, now, and torch the place."
   He stared at me. "But if Jeff . . ."
   "Don't argue with me, just do it!" I screamed it, burying my face between my arms, trying to ignore the voice in my head.
   I could taste Hypnotique on my tongue. It was too much. Serephina was scared.
   Larry called Bradford back, and they half-carried me to a marked car. I started to struggle when they tried to shove me in the back, but I did my best not to fight, and they closed the door. I was in a metal and glass cage. I gripped my fingers through the mesh in front of me, digging it into my skin until it hurt. But even pain didn't help.
   The gasoline was everywhere, soaking into everything. Serephina was choking on it. "Nina, don't do this. Don't hurt your Mommy. Don't lose me again."
   I started rocking back and forth, hands digging into the wire. Back and forth, back and forth. It'd be over soon. It'd be over soon.
   I felt a gentle touch on my face, a memory so real it made me turn and look for someone. "My death will be as real, Anita."
   Somebody lit it. The flames roared to life, and I screamed before they hit her. I slammed my cuffed hands against the glass and screamed, "Nooo!"
   Heat washed over her, crumbled the cloth of her dress like a melting flower, and ate her flesh.
   I pounded my hands against the glass until I couldn't feel them anymore. I had to help her. I had to go to her. I fell to my back and kicked the window. I kicked it and kicked it, feeling the shock all the way up my back. I screamed and kicked the glass, and it cracked. The glass cracked and fell outward.
   She was screaming my name. "Anita! Anita!"
   I was halfway out the window before somebody tried to grab me. I let them grab my arm, but pushed my legs free of the window. I had to get to her; nothing else mattered. Nothing.
   I fell to the ground with someone holding my arm. I got halfway up and threw them in a shoulder roll onto the ground. I ran for the fire. I could feel the heat now, rippling along my skin. I could feel the heat inside eating us alive.
   Someone tackled me, and I beat at them with my hands made into one fist.
   The hands let go, and I scrambled to my feet. Shouting, and someone else holding me. He lifted me off the ground, arms wrapped around my waist, pinning my arms. I kicked backwards, and hit his knees. The arms loosened, but there were more arms. More hands. Someone lay on top of me. A hand the size of my head pressed the side of my face against the rocks. Hands pinned my hands against the rocks, his full body weight on just my wrists. Someone was sitting on my legs.
   "Nina! Nina!"
   I screamed with her. I screamed while I choked on the smell of burning hair and Hypnotique bath powder. I saw the needle coming in from the side, and started to cry, "No, no! Mommy! Mommy!"
   The needle sank home, and darkness swallowed the world. A darkness that smelled like burning flesh, and tasted like lipstick, and blood.
   
   41
   I spent a few days in the hospital. Bruises, cuts, some stitches, but mainly the second-degree burns on my back and arms. The burns weren't that bad; there wouldn't be any scarring. The doctors just couldn't figure out how I'd gotten burned. I didn't feel like explaining, mainly because I wasn't sure I could.
   Jason had broken ribs, a punctured lung, and other internal damage. He healed perfectly and in record time. There are benefits to being a lycanthrope.
   Jean-Claude healed. His face was once again that perfection that had attracted Serephina to him so long ago.
   Stirling's company rebought the land from Dorcas Bouvier, and made her wealthy. With Bloody Bones dead, she can leave the land. She's free.
   The Quinlans are still suing me. Bert has lawyers that promise to keep us out of court, though I'm not sure how. If I'd walked the house personally, checked every inch of it myself, maybe . . . Hell, even I might not have protected the doggie door. Maybe I do deserve to be sued. I told the Quinlans Ellie was dead. They had to take my word for it; there wasn't anything left of Ellie to prove it. When vampires burn, they burn; no dental records, no nothing. Jeff was well and truly dead, too. Both their children were lost to them. It had to be somebody's fault; why not mine?
   I'd raised a vampire like a zombie, which wasn't possible. Necromancers were supposed to be able to control all types of undead. But that was legend, not real. Right?
   Serephina is dead, but the nightmares live on. The nightmares are tangled with the real memories of my mother's death. They are a bitch. For the first time in my life, I'm having insomnia.
   What to do with the two men in my life? How the hell do I know? In Richard's arms, breathing in the warmth of his body, is the closest I've ever found to my mother's arms. It isn't the same, because I know that though Richard would give his life for me, even that might not be enough. When I was a child, I believed it would be. There is no real safety. Innocence lost can never be regained. But sometimes with Richard I want to believe in it again.
   There is nothing comforting about Jean-Claude's arms. He doesn't make me feet safe in the least. He's like some forbidden pleasure that you know eventually you'll regret. I've decided not to wait; I'm regretting it now, but I'm still seeing him.
   Somehow Jean-Claude has crossed that line that a handful of other vampires have crossed. I don't think of him as a monster anymore.
   God have mercy on my soul.

1
   
The most beautiful corpse I'd ever seen was sitting behind my desk. Jean-Claude's white shirt gleamed in the light from the desk lamp. A froth of lace spilled down the front, peeking from inside his black velvet jacket. I stood behind him, my back to the wall, arms crossed over my stomach, which put my right hand comfortably close to the Browning Hi-Power in its shoulder holster. I wasn't about to draw on Jean-Claude. It was the other vampire I was worried about.
   The desk lamp was the only light in the room. The vampire had requested the overheads be turned out. His name was Sabin, and he stood against the far wall, huddling in the dark. He was covered head to foot in a black, hooded cape. He looked like something out of an old Vincent Price movie. I'd never seen a real vampire dress like that.
   The last member of our happy little group was Dominic Dumare. He sat in one of the client chairs. He was tall, thin, but not weak. His hands were large and strong, big enough to palm my face. He was dressed in a three-piece black suit, like a chauffeur except for the diamond stickpin in his tie. A beard and thin mustache lined the strong bones of his face.
   When he'd entered my office, I'd felt him like a psychic wind tripping down my spine. I'd only encountered two other people who had that taste to them. One had been the most powerful voodoo priestess I'd ever met. The second had been the second most powerful voodoo priest I'd ever met. The woman was dead. The man worked for Animators, Inc., just like I did. But Dominic Dumare wasn't here to apply for a job.
   "Ms. Blake, please be seated," Dumare said. "Sabin finds it most offensive to sit when a lady is standing."
   I glanced behind him at Sabin. "I'll sit down if he sits down," I said.
   Dumare looked at Jean-Claude. He gave a gentle, condescending smile. "Do you have such poor control over your human servant?"
   I didn't have to see Jean-Claude's smile to know it was there. "Oh, you are on your own with ma petite. She is my human servant, so declared before the council, but she answers to no one."
   "You seem proud of that," Sabin said. His voice was British and very upper crust.
   "She is the Executioner and has more vampire kills than any other human. She is a necromancer of such power that you have traveled halfway around the world to consult her. She is my human servant without a mark to hold her to me. She dates me without the aid of vampire glamor. Why should I not be pleased?"
   Listening to him talk you'd have thought it was all his own idea. Fact was, he'd tried his best to mark me, and I'd managed to escape. We were dating because he'd blackmailed me. Date him or he'd kill my other boyfriend. Jean-Claude had managed to make it all work to his advantage. Why was I not surprised?
   "Until her death you cannot mark any other human," Sabin said. "You have cut yourself off from a great deal of power."
   "I am aware of what I have done," Jean-Claude said.
   Sabin laughed, and it was chokingly bitter. "We all do strange things for love."
   I would have given a lot to see Jean-Claude's face at that moment. All I could see was his long black hair spilling over his jacket, black on black. His shoulders stiffened, hands sliding across the blotter on my desk. Then he went very still. That awful waiting stillness that only the old vampires have, as if, if they held still long enough, they would simply disappear.
   "Is that what has brought you here, Sabin? Love?" Jean-Claude's voice was neutral, empty.
   Sabin's laughter rode the air like broken glass. It felt like the very sound of it hurt something deep inside me. I didn't like it.
   "Enough games," I said, "let's get it done."
   "Is she always this impatient?" Dumare asked.
   "Yes," Jean-Claude said.
   Dumare smiled, bright and empty as a lightbulb. "Did Jean-Claude tell you why we wished to see you?"
   "He said Sabin caught some sort of disease from trying to go cold turkey."
   The vampire across the room laughed again, flinging it like a weapon across the room. "Cold turkey, very good, Ms. Blake, very good."
   The laughter ate over me like small cutting blades. I'd never experienced anything like that from just a voice. In a fight, it would have been distracting. Heck, it was distracting now. I felt liquid slide down my forehead. I raised my left hand to it. My fingers came away smeared with blood. I drew the Browning and stepped away from the wall. I aimed it at the black figure across the room. "He does that again, and I'll shoot him."
   Jean-Claude rose slowly from the chair. His power flowed over me like a cool wind, raising goose bumps on my arms. He raised one pale hand, gone nearly translucent with power. Blood flowed down that gleaming skin.
   Dumare stayed in his chair, but he, too, was bleeding from a cut nearly identical to mine. Dumare wiped the blood away, still smiling. "The gun will not be necessary," he said.
   "You have abused my hospitality," Jean-Claude said. His voice filled the room with hissing echoes.
   "There is nothing I can say to apologize," Sabin said. "But I did not mean to do it. I am using so much of my power just to maintain myself that I do not have the control I once did."
   I moved slowly away from the wall, gun still pointed. I wanted to see Jean-Claude's face. I needed to see how badly he was hurt. I eased around the desk until I could see him from the corner of my eye. His face was untouched, flawless and gleaming like mother of pearl.
   He raised his hand, one thin line of blood still trailing down. "This is no accident."
   "Come into the light, my friend," Dumare said. "You must let them see, or they will not understand."
   "I do not want to be seen."
   "You are very close to using up all my good will," Jean-Claude said.
   "Mine, too," I added. I was hoping I could either shoot Sabin or put the gun down soon. Even a two-handed shooting stance is not meant to be maintained indefinitely. Your hands start to waver just a bit.
   Sabin glided towards the desk. The black cloak spilled around his feet like a pool of darkness. All vampires were graceful, but this was ridiculous. I realized he wasn't walking at all. He was levitating inside that dark cloak.
   His power flowed over my skin like icy water. My hands were suddenly steady once more. Nothing like having several hundred years worth of vampire coming at you to sharpen your nerves.
   Sabin stopped on the far side of the desk. He was expending power just to move, just to be here, as if like a shark, if he stopped moving he'd die.
   Jean-Claude glided around me. His power danced over my body, raising the hair at the back of my neck, making my skin tight. He stopped almost within reach of the other vampire. "What has happened to you, Sabin?"
   Sabin stood on the edge of the light. The lamp should have cast some light into the hood of his cloak, but it didn't. The inside of the hood was as smooth and black and empty as a cave. His voice came out of that nothingness. It made me jump.
   "Love, Jean-Claude, love happened to me. My beloved grew a conscience. She said it was wrong to feed upon people. We were once people, after all. For love of her, I tried to drink cold blood. I tried animal blood. But it was not enough to sustain me."
   I stared into that darkness. I kept pointing the gun, but I was beginning to feel silly. Sabin didn't seem at all afraid of it, which was unnerving. Maybe he didn't care. That was also unnerving. "She talked you into going vegetarian. Great," I said. "You seem powerful enough."
   He laughed, and with the laughter, the shadows in his hood faded slowly, like a curtain lifting. He threw it back in one quick flourish.
   I didn't scream, but I gasped and took a step back. I couldn't help myself. When I realized I'd done it, I stopped and made myself take back that step, meet his eyes. No flinching.
   His hair was thick and straight and golden, falling like a shining curtain to his shoulders. But his skin . . . his skin had rotted away on half his face. It was like late-stage leprosy, but worse. The flesh was puss-filled, gangrenous, and should have stunk to high heaven. The other half of his face was still beautiful. The kind of face that medieval painters had borrowed for cherubim, a golden perfection. One crystalline blue eye rolled in its rotting socket as if in danger of spilling out onto his cheek. The other eye was secure and watched my face.
   "You can put up the gun, ma petite. It was an accident, after all," Jean-Claude said.
   I lowered the Browning, but didn't put it up. It took more effort than was pretty to say calmly, "This happened because you stopped feeding off of humans?"
   "We believe so," Dumare said.
   I tore my gaze away from Sabin's ravaged face and looked back at Dominic. "You think I can help cure him of this?" I couldn't keep the disbelief out of my voice.
   "I heard of your reputation in Europe."
   I raised my eyebrows.
   "No modesty, Ms. Blake. Among those of us who notice such things, you are gaining a certain notoriety."
   Notoriety, not fame. Hmmm.
   "Put the gun away, ma petite. Sabin has done all the—what is your word—grandstanding he will do tonight. Haven't you Sabin?"
   "I fear so, it all seems to go so badly now."
   I holstered the gun and shook my head. "I honestly don't have the faintest idea how to help you."
   "If you knew how, would you help me?" Sabin asked.
   I looked at him and nodded. "Yes."
   "Even though I am a vampire and you are a vampire executioner."
   "Have you done anything in this country that you need killing for?"
   Sabin laughed. The rotting skin stretched, and a ligament popped with a wet snap. I had to look away. "Not yet, Ms. Blake, not yet." His face sobered quickly; the humor abruptly faded. "You school your face to show nothing, Jean-Claude, but I read the horror in your eyes."
   Jean-Claude's skin had gone back to its usual milky perfection. His face was still lovely, perfect, but at least he'd stopped glowing. His midnight blue eyes were just eyes now. He was still beautiful, but it was a nearly human beauty. "Is it not worth a little horror?" he asked.
   Sabin smiled, and I wished he hadn't. The muscles on the rotted side didn't work, and his mouth hung crooked. I glanced away, then made myself look back. If he could be trapped inside that face, I could look at it.
   "Then you will help me?"
   "I would aid you if I could, but it is Anita you have come to ask. She must give her own answer."
   "Well, Ms. Blake?"
   "I don't know how to help you," I repeated.
   "Do you understand how dire my circumstances are, Ms. Blake? The true horror of it, do you grasp it?"
   "The rot probably won't kill you, but it's progressive, I take it?"
   "Oh, yes, it's progressive, virulently so."
   "I would help you if I could, Sabin, but what can I do that Dumare can't? He's a necromancer, maybe as powerful as I am, maybe more. Why do you need me?"
   "I realize, Ms. Blake, that you don't have something specifically for Sabin's problem," Dumare said. "As far as I can discover, he is the only vampire to ever suffer such a fate, but I thought if we came to another necromancer as powerful as myself—" he smiled modestly "—or nearly as powerful as myself, perhaps together we could work up a spell to help him."
   "A spell?" I glanced at Jean-Claude.
   He gave that wonderful Gallic shrug that meant everything and nothing. "I know little of necromancy, ma petite. You would know if such a spell were possible more than I."
   "It is not only your ability as a necromancer that has brought us to you," Dumare said. "You have also acted as a focus for at least two different animators, I believe that is the American word for what you do."
   I nodded. "The word's right, but where did you hear I could act as a focus?"
   "Come, Ms. Blake, the ability to combine another animator's powers with your own and thus magnify both powers is a rare talent."
   "Can you act as a focus?" I asked.
   He tried to look humble but actually looked pleased with himself. "I must confess, yes, I can act as a focus. Think of what the two of us could accomplish together."
   "We could raise a hell of a lot of zombies, but that won't cure Sabin."
   "True enough." Dumare leaned forward in his chair. His lean, handsome face flushed, eager, a true convert looking for disciples.
   I wasn't much of a follower.
   "I would offer to teach you true necromancy, not this voodoo dabbling that you've been doing."
   Jean-Claude made a soft sound halfway between a laugh and a cough.
   I glared at Jean-Claude's amused face but said, "I'm doing just fine with this voodoo dabbling."
   "I meant no insult, Ms. Blake. You will need a teacher of some sort soon. If not me, then you must find someone else."
   "I don't know what you're talking about."
   "Control, Ms. Blake. Raw power, no matter how impressive, is not the same as power used with great care and great control."
   I shook my head. "I'll help you if I can, Mr. Dumare. I'll even participate in a spell if I check it out with a local witch I know first."
   "Afraid that I will try and steal your power?"
   I smiled. "No, short of killing me, the best you or anyone else can do is borrow."
   "You are wise beyond your years, Ms. Blake."
   "You aren't that much older than I am," I said. Something crossed over his face, the faintest flicker, and I knew.
   "You're his human servant, aren't you?"
   Dominic smiled, spreading his hands. "Oui."
   I sighed. "I thought you said you weren't trying to hide anything from me."
   "A human servant's job is to be the daytime eyes and ears of his master. I am of no use to my master if vampire hunters can spot me for what I am."
   "I spotted you."
   "But in another situation, without Sabin at my side, would you have?"
   I thought about that for a moment. "Maybe." I shook my head. "I don't know."
   "Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Blake."
   Sabin said, "I am sure our time is up. Jean-Claude said you had a pressing engagement, Ms. Blake. Much more important than my little problem." There was a little bite to that last.
   "Ma petitehas a date with her other beau."
   Sabin stared at Jean-Claude. "So you are truly allowing her to date another. I thought that at least must be rumor."
   "Very little of what you hear about ma petiteis rumor. Believe all you hear."
   Sabin chuckled, coughing, as if struggling to keep the laughter from spilling out his ruined mouth. "If I believed everything I heard, I would have come with an army."
   "You came with one servant because I allowed you only one servant," Jean-Claude said.
   Sabin smiled. "Too true. Come Dominic, we must not take more of Ms. Blake's so valuable time."
   Dominic stood obediently, towering over us both. Sabin was around my height. Of course, I wasn't sure if his legs were still there. He might have been taller once.
   "I don't like you, Sabin, but I would never willingly leave another being in the shape you're in. My plans tonight are important, but if I thought we could cure you immediately, I'd change them."
   The vampire looked at me. His blue, blue eyes were like staring down into clear ocean water. There was no pull to them. Either he was behaving himself or, like most vampires, he couldn't roll me with his eyes anymore.
   "Thank you, Ms. Blake. I believe you are sincere." He extended a gloved hand from the voluminous cloak.
   I hesitated, then took it. His hand squished ever so slightly, and it took a lot not to jerk back. I forced myself to shake his hand, to smile, to let go, and not to rub my hand on my skirt.
   Dominic shook my hand as well. His was cool and dry. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Blake. I will contact you tomorrow and we will discuss things."
   "I'll be expecting your call, Mr. Dumare."
   "Call me, Dominic, please."
   I nodded. "Dominic. We can discuss it, but I hate to take your money when I'm not sure that I can help you."
   "May I call you Anita?" he asked.
   I hesitated and shrugged. "Why not."
   "Don't worry about money," Sabin said, "I have plenty of that for all the good it has done me."
   "How is the woman you love taking the change in your appearance?" Jean-Claude asked.
   Sabin looked at him. It was not a friendly look. "She finds it repulsive, as do I. She feels immense guilt. She has not left me, nor is she with me."
   "You'd lived for close to seven hundred years," I said. "Why screw things up for a woman?"
   Sabin turned to me, a line of ooze creeping down his face like a black tear. "Are you asking me if it was worth it, Ms. Blake?"
   I swallowed and shook my head. "It's none of my business. I'm sorry I asked."
   He drew the hood over his face. He turned back to me, black, a cup of shadows where his face should have been. "She was going to leave me, Ms. Blake. I thought that I would sacrifice anything to keep her by my side, in my bed. I was wrong." He turned that blackness to Jean-Claude. "We will see you tomorrow night, Jean-Claude."
   "I look forward to it."
   Neither vampire offered to shake hands. Sabin glided for the door, the robe trailing behind him, empty. I wondered how much of his lower body was left and decided I didn't want to know.
   Dominic shook my hand again. "Thank you, Anita. You have given us hope." He held my hand and stared into my face as if he could read something there. "And do think about my offer to teach you. There are very few of us who are true necromancers."
   I took back my hand. "I'll think about it. Now I really do have to go."
   He smiled, held the door for Sabin, and out they went. Jean-Claude and I stood a moment in silence. I broke it first. "Can you trust them?"
   Jean-Claude sat on the edge of my desk, smiling. "Of course not."
   "Then why did you agree to let them come?"
   "The council has declared that no master vampires in the United States may quarrel until that nasty law that is floating around Washington is dead. One undead war, and the anti-vampire lobby would push through the law and make us illegal again."
   I shook my head. "I don't think Brewster's Law has a snowball's chance. Vampires are legal in the United States. Whether I agree with it or not, I don't think that's going to change."
   "How can you be so sure?"
   "It's sort of hard to say a group of beings is alive and has rights, then change your mind and say killing them on sight is okay again. The ACLU would have a field day."
   He smiled. "Perhaps. Regardless, the council has forced a truce on all of us until the law is decided one way or another."
   "So you can let Sabin in your territory, because if he misbehaves, the council will hunt him down and kill him."
   Jean-Claude nodded.
   "But you'd still be dead," I said.
   He spread his hands, graceful, empty. "Nothing's perfect."
   I laughed. "I guess not."
   "Now, aren't you going to be late for your date with Monsieur Zeeman?"
   "You're being awfully civilized about this," I said.
   "Tomorrow night you will be with me, ma petite. I would be a poor . . . sport to begrudge Richard his night."
   "You're usually a poor sport."
   "Now, ma petite,that is hardly fair. Richard is not dead, is he?"
   "Only because you know that if you kill him, I'll kill you." I held a hand up before he could say it. "I'd try to kill you, and you'd try to kill me, etc." This was an old argument.
   "So, Richard lives, you date us both, and I am being patient. More patient than I have ever been with anyone."
   I studied his face. He was one of those men who was beautiful rather than handsome, but the face was masculine; you wouldn't mistake him for female, even with the long hair. In fact, there was something terribly masculine about Jean-Claude, no matter how much lace he wore.
   He could be mine: lock, stock, and fangs. I just wasn't sure I wanted him. "I've got to go," I said.
   He pushed away from my desk. He was suddenly standing close enough to touch. "Then go, ma petite."
   I could feel his body inches from mine like a shimmering energy. I had to swallow before I could speak. "It's my office. You have to leave."
   He touched my arms lightly, a brush of fingertips. "Enjoy your evening, ma petite." His fingers wrapped around my arms, just below the shoulders. He didn't lean over me or draw me that last inch closer. He simply held my arms, and stared down at me.
   I met his dark, dark blue eyes. There had been a time not so long ago that I couldn't have met his gaze without falling into it and being lost. Now I could meet his eyes, but in some ways, I was just as lost. I raised up on tiptoe, putting my face close to his.
   "I should have killed you a long time ago."
   "You have had your chances, ma petite. You keep saving me."
   "My mistake," I said.
   He laughed, and the sound slid down my body like fur against naked skin. I shuddered in his arms.
   "Stop that," I said.
   He kissed me lightly, a brush of lips, so I couldn't feel the fangs. "You would miss me if I were gone, ma petite. Admit it."
   I drew away from him. His hands slid down my arms, over my hands, until I drew my fingertips across his hands. "I've got to go."
   "So you said."
   "Just get out, Jean-Claude, no more games."
   His face sobered instantly as if a hand had wiped it clean. "No more games, ma petite. Go to your other lover." It was his turn to raise a hand and say, "I know you are not truly lovers. I know you are resisting both of us. Brave, ma petite." A flash of something, maybe anger, crossed his face and was gone like a ripple lost in dark water.
   "Tomorrow night you will be with me and it will be Richard's turn to sit at home and wonder." He shook his head. "Even for you I would not have done what Sabin has done. Even for your love, there are things I would not do." He stared at me suddenly fierce, anger flaring through his eyes, his face. "But what I do is enough."
   "Don't go all self-righteous on me," I said. "If you hadn't interfered, Richard and I would be engaged, maybe more, by now."
   "And what? You would be living behind a white picket fence with two point whatever children. I think you lie to yourself more than to me, Anita."
   It was always a bad sign when he used my real name. "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "It means, ma petite, that you are as likely to thrive in domestic bliss as I am." With that, he glided to the door and left. He closed the door quietly but firmly behind him.
   Domestic bliss? Who me? My life was a cross between a preternatural soap opera and an action adventure movie. Sort of As the Casket Turnsmeets Rambo.White picket fences didn't fit. Jean-Claude was right about that.
   I had the entire weekend off. It was the first time in months. I'd been looking forward to this evening all week. But truthfully, it wasn't Jean-Claude's nearly perfect face that was haunting me. I kept flashing on Sabin's face. Eternal life, eternal pain, eternal ugliness. Nice afterlife.
   
   
2
   
There were three kinds of people at Catherine's dinner party: the living, the dead, and the occasionally furry. Out of the eight of us, six were human, and I wasn't sure about two of those, myself included.
   I wore black pants, a black velvet jacket with white satin lapels, and an oversized white vest that doubled for a shirt. The Browning 9mm actually matched the outfit, but I kept it hidden. This was the first party Catherine had thrown since her wedding. Flashing a gun might put a damper on things.
   I'd had to take off the silver cross that I always wore and put it in my pocket because there was a vampire standing in front of me and the cross had started glowing when he entered the room. If I'd known there were going to be vamps at the party, I'd have worn a collar high enough to hide the cross. They only glow when they're out in the open, generally speaking.
   Robert, the vampire in question, was tall, muscular, and handsome in a model-perfect sort of way. He had been a stripper at Guilty Pleasures. Now he managed the club. From worker to management: the American dream. His hair was blond, curly, and cut quite short. He was wearing a brown silk shirt that fit him perfectly and matched the dress that his date was wearing.
   Monica Vespucci's health club tan had faded around the edges, but her makeup was still perfect, her short auburn hair styled into place. She was pregnant enough for me to have noticed and happy enough about it to be irritating.
   She smiled brilliantly at me. "Anita, it has been too long."
   What I wanted to say was, "Not long enough." The last time I'd seen her, she had betrayed me to the local master vampire. But Catherine thought she was her friend, and it was hard to disillusion her without telling the whole story. The whole story included some unsanctioned killing, some of it done by me. Catherine's a lawyer and a stickler for law and order. I didn't want to put her in a position where she had to compromise her morals to save my ass. So Monica was her friend, which meant I had been polite all through dinner, from appetizer all the way to dessert. I'd been polite mainly because Monica had been at the other end of the table. Now, unfortunately, we were mingling in the living room and I couldn't seem to shake her.
   "It doesn't seem that long," I said.
   "It's been almost a year." She smiled up at Robert. They were holding hands. "We got married." She touched her glass to the top of her belly. "We got knocked up." She giggled.
   I stared at them both. "You can't get knocked up by a hundred-year-old corpse." Okay, I'd been polite long enough.
   Monica grinned at me. "You can if the body temperature is raised for long enough and you have sex often enough. My obstetrician thinks the hot tub did us in."
   This was more than I wanted to know. "Have you had the amnio yet?"
   The smile faded from her face, leaving her eyes haunted. I was sorry I'd asked. "We've got another week to wait."
   "I'm sorry, Monica, Robert. I hope the test comes back clean." I did not mention Vlad syndrome, but the words hung on the air. It was rare but not as rare as it used to be. Three years of legalized vampirism and Vlad syndrome was the highest rising birth defect in the country. It could result in some really horrible disabilities, not to mention death for the baby. With that much at stake, you'd think people would be more cautious.
   Robert cradled her against him, and all the light had faded from her face. She looked pale. I felt like a heel.
   "The latest news was that a vampire over a hundred was sterile," I said. "They should update their information, I guess." I meant for it to be comforting, like they hadn't been careless.
   Monica looked at me, and there was no gentleness in her eyes when she said, "Worried?"
   I stared at her all pale and pregnant and wanted to slap her anyway. I was not sleeping with Jean-Claude. But I was not going to stand there and justify myself to Monica Vespucci—or anyone else, for that matter.
   Richard Zeeman entered the room. I didn't actually see him enter. I felt it. I turned and watched him walk towards us. He was six foot one, nearly a foot taller than me. Another inch and we couldn't have kissed without a chair. But it would have been worth the effort. He wove between the other guests, saying a word here and there. His smile flashed white and perfect in his permanently tanned skin as he talked to these new friends that he'd managed to charm at dinner. Not with sex appeal or power but with sheer good will. He was the world's biggest boy scout, the original hail fellow, well met. He liked people and was a wonderful listener, two qualities that are highly underrated.
   His suit was dark brown, his shirt a deep orangey gold. The tie was a brighter orange with a line of small figures down the middle of it. You had to be standing right next to him to realize the figures were Warner Brothers cartoons.
   He'd tied his shoulder-length hair back from his face in a version of a french braid, so the illusion was that his brown hair was very short. It left his face clean and very visible. His cheekbones were perfect, sculpted high and graceful. His face was masculine, handsome, with a dimple to soften it. It was the kind of face that would have made me shy in high school.
   He noticed me watching him and smiled. His brown eyes sparkled with the smile, filling with heat that had nothing to do with room temperature. I watched him walk the last few feet, and felt heat rise up my neck into my face. I wanted to undress him, to touch his bare skin, to see what was under that suit. I wanted that very badly. I wouldn't, because I wasn't sleeping with Richard, either. I wasn't sleeping with the vampire or the werewolf. Richard was the werewolf. It was his only fault. Okay, maybe one other: he'd never killed anybody. That last fault might get him killed someday.
   I slid my left arm around his waist, under the unbuttoned jacket. The solid warmth of him beat like a pulse against my body. If we didn't have sex soon, I was simply going to explode. What price morals?
   Monica stared at me very steadily, studying my face. "That's a lovely necklace. Who got it for you?"
   I smiled and shook my head. I was wearing a black velvet choker with a cameo, edged by silver filigree. Hey, it matched the outfit. Monica was pretty sure Richard hadn't given it to me, which meant, to Monica, that Jean-Claude had. Good old Monica. She never changed.
   "I bought it to match the outfit," I said.
   She widened her eyes in surprise. "Oh, really?" like she didn't believe me.
   "Really. I'm not much into gifts, especially jewelry."
   Richard hugged me. "That's the truth. She's a very hard woman to spoil."
   Catherine joined us. Her copper-colored hair flowed around her face in a wavy mass. She was the only one I knew with curlier hair than mine, but its color was more spectacular. If asked, most people described her from the hair outward. Delicate makeup hid the freckles and drew attention to her pale, grey green eyes. Her dress was the color of new leaves. I'd never seen her look better.
   "Marriage seems to agree with you," I said, smiling.
   She smiled back. "You should try it sometime."
   I shook my head. "Thanks a lot."
   "I have to steal Anita away for just a moment." At least she didn't say she needed help in the kitchen. Richard would have known that was a lie. He was a much better cook than I was.
   Catherine led me back to the spare bedroom where the coats were piled in a heap. There was one real fur coat draped over the pile. I was betting I knew who owned it. Monica liked being close to dead things.
   As soon as the door was shut, Catherine grabbed my hands and giggled, I swear. "Richard is wonderful. My junior high science teachers never looked like that."
   I smiled, and it was one of those big, dopey smiles. The silly kind that say you're in horrible lust if not love, maybe both, and it feels good even if it is stupid.
   We sat down on the bed, pushing the coats to one side. "He is handsome," I said, my voice as neutral as I could make it.
   "Anita, don't give me that. I've never seen you glow around anyone."
   "I don't glow."
   She grinned at me and nodded. "Yes, you do."
   "Do not," I said, but it was hard to be sullen when I wanted to smile. "All right, I like him, a lot. Happy?"
   "You've been dating him for nearly seven months. Where's the engagement ring?"
   I did frown at her then. "Catherine, just because you're deliriously happily married doesn't mean everyone else has to be married, too."
   She shrugged and laughed.
   I stared into her shining face and shook my head. There had to be more to Bob than met the eye. He was about thirty pounds heavier than he should have been, balding, with small round glasses on a rather nondescript face. He did not have a sparkling personality, either. I'd been ready to give her the thumbs down until I saw the way he looked at Catherine. He looked at her like she was the whole world, and it was a nice, safe, wonderful world. A lot of people are pretty, and clever repartee is on every television set, but dependability, that's rare.
   "I didn't bring Richard here to get your stamp of approval; I knew you'd like him."
   "Then why did you keep him such a secret? I've tried to meet him a dozen times."
   I shrugged. The truth was because I knew she'd get that light in her eyes. That maniacal gleam that your married friends get when you're not married and you're dating anyone. Or worse yet, not dating, and they're trying to fix you up. Catherine had the look now.
   "Don't tell me you planned this entire party just so you could meet Richard?"
   "Partly. How else was I ever going to?"
   There was a knock on the door.
   "Come in," Catherine said.
   Bob opened the door. He still looked ordinary to me, but from the light in Catherine's face, she saw something else. He smiled at her. The smile made his whole face glow and I could see something shining and fine. Love makes us all beautiful. "Sorry to interrupt the girl talk, but there's a phone call for Anita."
   "Did they say who it is?"
   "Ted Forrester; says it's business."
   My eyes widened. Ted Forrester was an alias for a man I knew as Edward. He was a hit man who specialized in vampires, lycanthropes, or anything else that wasn't quite human. I was a licensed vampire hunter. Occasionally, our paths crossed. We might even on some level be friends, maybe.
   "Who's Ted Forrester?" Catherine asked.
   "Bounty hunter," I said. Ted, Edward's alias, was a bounty hunter with papers to prove it, all nice and legal. I stood and went for the door.
   "Is something wrong?" Catherine asked. Not much got past her, which was one of the reasons I avoided her when I was ass deep in alligators. She was smart enough to figure out when things were off-center but she didn't carry a gun. If you can't defend yourself, you are cannon fodder. The only thing that kept Richard from being cannon fodder was that he was a werewolf. Although refusing to kill people made him almost cannon fodder, shapeshifter or not.
   "I was just hoping not to have to do any work tonight," I said.
   "I thought you had the entire weekend off," she said.
   "So did I."
   I took the phone in the home office they'd set up. They'd divided the room down the middle. One half was decorated in country with teddy bears and miniature gingham rockers, the other half was masculine with hunting prints and a ship in a bottle on the desk. Compromise at its best.
   I picked up the phone and said. "Hello?"
   "It's Edward."
   "How did you get this number?"
   He was quiet for a second. "Child's play."
   "Why did you hunt me down, Edward? What's up?"
   "Interesting choice of words," he said.
   "What are you talking about?"
   "I was just offered a contract on your life, for enough money to make it worth my while."
   It was my turn to be quiet. "Did you take it?"
   "Would I be calling you if I had?"
   "Maybe," I said.
   He laughed. "True, but I'm not going to take it."
   "Why not?"
   "Friendship."
   "Try again," I said.
   "I figure I'll get to kill more people guarding you. If I take the contract, I only get to kill you."
   "Comforting. Did you say guard?"
   "I'll be in town tomorrow."
   "You're that sure someone else will take the contract?"
   "I don't even open my door for less than a hundred grand, Anita. Someone will take the hit, and it'll be someone good. Not as good as me, but good."
   "Any advice until you get into town?"
   "I haven't given them my answer yet. That'll delay them. Once I say no, it'll take a little time to contact another hitter. You should be safe tonight. Enjoy your weekend off."
   "How did you know I had the weekend off?"
   "Craig is a very talkative secretary. Very helpful."
   "I'll have to speak to him about that," I said.
   "You do that."
   "You're sure that there won't be a hitter in town tonight?"
   "Nothing in life is sure, Anita, but I wouldn't like it if a client tried to hire me and then gave the job to someone else."
   "You lose many clients at your own hands?" I asked.
   "No comment," he said.
   "So one last night of safety," I said.
   "Probably, but be careful anyway."
   "Who put the hit out on me?"
   "I don't know," Edward said.
   "What do you mean, you don't know? You have to know so you can get paid."
   "I go through intermediaries most of the time. Keeps down the chance that the next client is a cop."
   "How do you find wayward clients if they piss you off?"
   "I can find them, but it takes time. Anita, if you've got a really good hitter on your tail, time is something you won't have."
   "Oh, that was comforting."
   "It wasn't supposed to be comforting," he said, "Can you think of anyone who hates you so badly and has this kind of money?"
   I thought about that for a minute. "No. Most of the people that would fit the bill are dead."
   "The only good enemy is a dead enemy," Edward said.
   "Yeah."
   "I heard a rumor that you're dating the master of the city. Is that true?"
   I hesitated. I realized I was embarrassed to admit the truth to Edward. "Yeah, it's true."
   "I had to hear you say it." I could almost hear him shake his head over the phone. "Damn, Anita, you know better than that."
   "I know," I said.
   "Did you dump Richard?"
   "No."
   "Which monster are you with tonight, bloodsucker or flesh-eater?"
   "None of your damn business," I said.
   "Fine. Pick the monster of your choice tonight, Anita, have a good time. Tomorrow we start trying to keep you alive." He hung up. If it had been anybody else, I'd have said he was angry about me dating a vampire. Or maybe disappointed would be a better word.
   I hung up the phone and sat there for a few minutes, letting it all sink in. Someone was trying to kill me. Nothing new there, but this someone was hiring expert help. That was new. I'd never had an assassin after my butt before. I waited to feel fear wash over me, but it didn't. Oh, in a vague sort of way, I was afraid, but not like I should have been. It wasn't that I didn't believe it could happen. I did believe. It was more that so much else had happened in the last year that I couldn't get too excited yet. If the assassin jumped out and started shooting, I'd deal with it. Maybe later I'd even have an attack of nerves. But I didn't get many attacks of nerves anymore. Part of me was numbing out like a combat veteran. There was just too much to take in, so you stop taking it in. I almost wished I had been scared. Fear will keep you alive; indifference won't.
   Somewhere out there, by tomorrow, someone would have my name on a to-do list. Pick up dry cleaning, buy groceries, kill Anita Blake.

3
   I stepped back into the living room and caught Richard's eye. I was sort of ready to go home. Somehow, knowing an assassin was out there, or would be soon, had put a damper on the evening.
   "What's wrong?" Richard asked.
   "Nothing," I said. I know, I know, I had to tell him, but how do you tell your sweetie that people are trying to kill you? Not in a room full of people. Maybe in the car.
   "Yes, there is. You've got that tension between your eyebrows that means you're trying not to frown."
   "No, I'm not."
   He smoothed his finger between my eyes. "Yes, you are."
   I glared at him. "Am not."
   He smiled. "Now you are frowning." His face sobered. "What's wrong"
   I sighed. I stepped closer to him, not for romance but for privacy. Vampires had incredibly good hearing, and I didn't want Robert to know. He'd tattle to Jean-Claude. If I wanted Jean-Claude to know, I'd tell him myself.
   "It was Edward on the phone."
   "What does he want?" Richard was frowning now, too.
   "Someone tried to hire him to kill me."
   A look of total astonishment blossomed on his face, and I was glad his back was to the room. He closed his mouth, opened it, and finally said, "I would say you're kidding, but I know you're not. Why would anyone want to kill you?"
   "There are plenty of people who would like to see me dead, Richard. But none of them have the kind of money that's being put out for the hit."
   "How can you be so calm about this?"
   "Would it solve anything if I had hysterics?"
   He shook his head. "It's not that." He seemed to think for a second. "It's that you're not outraged that someone's trying to kill you. You just accept it, almost like it's normal. It isn't normal."
   "Assassins aren't normal, even for me, Richard," I said.
   "Just vampires, zombies, and werewolves," he said.
   I smiled. "Yeah."
   He hugged me tightly and whispered, "Loving you can be very scary sometimes."
   I wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning my face against his chest. I closed my eyes, and for just a moment I breathed in the smell of him. It was more than his aftershave; it was the smell of his skin, his warmth. Him. For just a moment, I sank against him and let it all go. I let his arms be my shelter. I knew that a well-placed bullet would destroy it all, but for a few seconds, I felt safe. Illusion is sometimes all that keeps us sane.
   I pushed away from him with a sigh. "Let's give our regrets to Catherine and get out of here."
   He touched my cheek gently, looking into my eyes. "We can stay if you want."
   I nestled my cheek against his hand and shook my head. "If the shit hits the fan tomorrow, I don't want to spend tonight at a party. I'd rather go back to my apartment and cuddle."
   He flashed me that smile that warmed me down to my toes. "Sounds like a plan to me."
   I smiled back because I couldn't not smile back. "I'll go tell Catherine."
   "I'll get the coats," he said.
   We did our various tasks and left early. Catherine gave me a very knowing smile. I wished she was right. Leaving early to jump Richard's bones beat the heck out of the truth. Monica watched us leave. I knew that she and Robert would report back to Jean-Claude. Fine. He knew I was dating Richard. I hadn't lied to anybody. Monica was a lawyer at Catherine's firm—frightening thought all on its own—so she had a legitimate reason to be invited. Jean-Claude hadn't arranged it, but I didn't like being spied on, no matter how it came about.
   The walk to the car was nerve-racking. Every shadow was suddenly a potential hiding place. Every noise a footstep. I didn't draw my gun, but my hand ached to do it. "Dammit," I said, softly. The numbness was wearing off. I wasn't sure it was an improvement.
   "What is it?" Richard asked. He was suddenly scanning the darkness, not looking at me while he talked. His nostrils flared just a little, and I realized he was scenting the wind.
   "Just jumpy. I don't see anyone out here, but I'm suddenly looking too damn hard."
   "I don't smell anyone close to us, but they could be downwind. The only gun I smell is yours."
   "You can smell my gun?"
   He nodded. "You've cleaned it recently. I can smell the oil."
   I smiled and shook my head. "You are so blasted normal, sometimes I forget you turn furry once a month."
   "Knowing how good you are at spotting lycanthropes, that's quite a compliment." He smiled. "Do you think assassins would fall from the trees if I held your hand right now?"
   I smiled. "I think we're safe for the moment."
   He curved his fingers around my hand, and a tingle went up my arm like he'd touched a nerve. He rubbed his thumb in small circles on the back of my hand and took a deep breath. "It's almost nice to know that this assassin business has unnerved you, too. I don't want you afraid, but sometimes it's hard to be your guy when I think you may be braver than I am. That sounds like macho crap, doesn't it?"
   I stared up at him. "There's a lot of macho crap out there, Richard. At least you know it's crap."
   "Can this male chauvinist wolf kiss you?"
   "Always."
   He leaned his face downward, and I rose on tiptoe to meet his mouth with mine, my free hand against his chest for balance. We could kiss without me going on tiptoe, but Richard tended to get a crick in his neck.
   It was a quicker kiss than normal because I had this itching in the middle of my back, right between the shoulder blades. I knew it was my imagination, but I felt too exposed out in the open.
   Richard sensed it and pulled away. He went around to the driver's side of his car and opened his door, leaning across to unlock mine. He didn't open the door for me. He knew better than that. I could open my own bloody door.
   Richard's car was an old Mustang, sixty something, a Mach One. I knew all this because he had told me. It was orange with a black racing stripe. The bucket seats were black leather, but the front seat was small enough that we could hold hands when he wasn't using the gear shift.
   Richard pulled out onto 270 South. Friday night traffic spilled around us in a bright sparkle of lights. Everybody out trying to enjoy the weekend. I wondered how many of them had assassins after them. I was betting I was one of the few.
   "You're quiet," Richard said.
   "Yeah."
   "I won't ask what you're thinking about. I can guess."
   I looked at him. The darkness of the car wrapped around us. Cars at night are like your own private world, hushed and dark, intimate. The lights of oncoming traffic swept over his face, highlighting it, then leaving us in darkness.
   "How do you know I'm not thinking about what you'd look like without your clothes on?"
   He flashed me a grin. "Tease."
   I smiled. "Sorry. No sexual innuendo unless I'm willing to jump your bones."
   "That's your rule, not mine," Richard said. "I'm a big boy. Give me all the sexual innuendo you want, I can take it."
   "If I'm not going to sleep with you, it doesn't seem fair."
   "Let me worry about that," he said.
   "Why, Mr. Zeeman, are you inviting me to make sexual overtures to you?"
   His smile widened, a whiteness in the dark. "Oh, please."
   I leaned toward him as far as the seat belt would allow, putting a hand on the back of his seat, putting my face inches from the smooth expanse of his neck. I took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly, so close to his skin that my own breath came back to me like a warm cloud. I kissed the bend of his neck, running my lips lightly up and down the skin.
   Richard made a small, contented sound.
   I curled my knees into my seat, straining against the seat belt so I could kiss the big pulse in his neck, the curve of his jaw. He turned his face into me. We kissed, but my nerves weren't that good. I turned his face away. "You watch the road."
   He shifted gears, his upper arm brushing against my breasts. I sighed against him, putting my hand over his, holding it on the gear shift, keeping his arm pressed against me.
   We stayed frozen for a second, then he moved against me, rubbing. I scooted out from under his arm, settling back into my seat. I couldn't breathe past the pulse in my throat. I shivered, hugging myself. The feel of his body against mine made places all over my body tighten.
   "What's wrong?" he said, his voice low and soft.
   I shook my head. "We can't keep doing this."
   "If you stopped because of me, I was enjoying myself."
   "So was I. That's the problem," I said.
   Richard took in a deep breath and let it out, sighing. "It's only a problem because you make it one, Anita."
   "Yeah, right."
   "Marry me, Anita, and all this can be yours."
   "I don't want to marry you just so I can sleep with you."
   "If it was only sex, I wouldn't want you to marry me," Richard said. "But it's cuddling on the couch, watching Singing in the Rain. It's eating Chinese and knowing to get that extra order of crab Rangoon. I can order for both of us at most of the restaurants in town."
   "Are you saying I'm predictable?"
   "Don't do that. Don't belittle it," he said.
   I sighed. "I'm sorry, Richard. I didn't mean to. I just . . ."
   I didn't know what to say because he was right. My day was more complete for having been shared with Richard. I bought him a mug that I just happened to see in a store. It had wolves on it, and said, "In God's wildness lies the hope of the world—the great fresh, unblighted, unredeemed wilderness." It was a quote from John Muir. No special occasion, just saw it, knew Richard would like it, bought it. A dozen times a day I'd hear something on the radio or in conversation, and I'd think, I must remember and tell Richard. It was Richard who took me on my first bird-watching trip since college.
   I had a degree in biology, preternatural biology. Once I'd thought I'd spend my life as a field biologist like a preternatural version of Jane Goodall. I'd enjoyed the bird-watching, partly because he was with me, partly because I'd enjoyed it years ago. It was like I'd forgotten that there was life outside of a gun barrel or a grave side. I'd been neck deep in blood and death so long; then Richard came along. Richard who was also neck deep in strange stuff, but who managed to have a life.
   I couldn't think of anything better than waking up beside him, reaching for his body first thing in the morning, knowing I'd be coming home to him. Listening to his collection of Rodgers and Hammerstein, watching his face while he watched Gene Kelly musicals.
   I almost opened my mouth and said, let's do it, let's get married, but I didn't. I loved Richard; I could admit that to myself, but it wasn't enough. There was an assassin after me. How could I involve a mild-mannered junior high teacher in that kind of life? He was one of the monsters, but he didn't accept it. He was in a battle for leadership of the local werewolf pack. He'd beaten the current pack leader, Marcus, twice, and twice refused the kill. If you didn't kill, you didn't get to be leader. Richard clung to his morals. Clung to values that only worked when people weren't trying to kill you. If I married him, his chance at any kind of normal life was gone. I lived in a sort of free-fire zone. Richard deserved better.
   Jean-Claude lived in the same world that I did. He had no illusions about the kindness of strangers, or anyone else for that matter. The vampire wouldn't he shocked at the news of an assassin. He'd simply help me plan what to do about it. It wouldn't throw him, or not much. There were nights when I thought that Jean-Claude and I deserved each other.
   Richard turned off onto Olive. We were soon going to be at my apartment, and the silence was getting a little thick. Silences don't usually bother me, but this one did. "I'm sorry, Richard. I am truly sorry."
   "If I didn't know you loved me, this would be easier," he said. "If it wasn't for that damned vampire, you'd marry me."
   "That damn vampire introduced us," I said.
   "And he's regretting it, don't think he isn't," Richard said.
   I looked at him. "How do you know that?"
   He shook his head. "All you have to do is see his face when we're together. I may not like Jean-Claude, and I hate the thought of you with him, but we aren't the only two hurting here. It's a threesome, don't think it's not."
   I huddled in my seat, suddenly miserable. I'd have almost welcomed a hit man appearing out of the darkness. Killing I understood. Relationships confused me. Admittedly, this relationship was more confusing than most.
   Richard turned into the parking lot of my apartment building. He parked the car and turned off the engine. We sat there in the dark, the only illumination the distant glow of a street light.
   "I don't know what to say, Richard." I stared out through the windshield, concentrating on the side of the building, too cowardly to look at him while I talked. "I wouldn't blame you for just saying to hell with it. I wouldn't put up with this kind of indecision from you, and I wouldn't share you with another woman." I finally looked at him. He was staring straight ahead, not looking at me.
   My heart sped up. If I was truly as brave as I thought I was, I'd have let him go. But I loved him, and I wasn't that brave. The best I could do was not sleep with him. Not take the relationship that next step forward. That was hard enough. Even my self-control wasn't limitless. If we'd been planning a wedding, I could have waited. With an end in sight, my self-control would have appeared endless, but there was no end in sight. Chastity works better if you don't keep testing it quite so often.
   I unbuckled the seat belt, unlocked and opened the door. Richard touched my shoulder before I could get out. "Aren't you going to invite me up?"
   I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and turned back to him. "Do you want to be invited up?"
   He nodded.
   "I don't know why you put up with me," I said.
   He smiled. He leaned into me, a light brush of lips. "Sometimes I'm not sure, myself."
   We got out. Richard held his hand out to me, and I took it.
   A car pulled in behind us, beside my own Jeep. It was my neighbor, Mrs. Pringle. She had a huge television box tied into her trunk.
   We walked to the sidewalk and waited for her to get out. She was a tall woman, stretched almost painfully thin with age. Her snow white hair was done in a bun at the back of her head. Custard, her Pomeranian, jumped out of the car and stood yapping at us. He looked like a golden powder puff with little cat feet. He bounced forward on stiff legs. He sniffed Richard's foot and looked up at him with a small growl.
   Mrs. Pringle tugged on his leash. "Custard, behave yourself."
   The dog quieted, but I think it was more Richard's steady glare than Mrs. Pringle's admonishments. She smiled at us. She had the same light in her eyes that Catherine had had. She liked Richard and made no bones about it.
   "Well, now, this is advantageous. I need some strong young arms to carry that monstrous television up the stairs for me."
   Richard smiled at her. "Happy to oblige." He walked around to the trunk and started trying to undo the knots.
   "What'd you do with Custard while you shopped?" I asked.
   "I carried him with me. I've spent a great deal of money at that store before. The salesmen fairly salivate when I come through the doors, so they indulge me."
   I had to smile. There was a sharp twang as the ropes broke. "I'll help Richard." I walked back to the trunk. The rope was an inch thick and flopped, broken, onto the pavement. I raised eyebrows at him and whispered, "My, my, Grandma, what strong hands you have."
   "I could carry the television up alone, but it might arouse suspicions."
   It was a thirty-inch wide screen. "You could really carry it up the stairs by yourself?"
   "Easily," he said.
   I shook my head. "But you're not going to because you are a mild-mannered science teacher, not an alpha werewolf."
   "Which is why you get to help me," he said.
   "Are you having trouble undoing the rope?" Mrs. Pringle asked. She'd walked back to us with Custard in tow.
   "No," I said, giving Richard a look. "We've got the rope." If people found out Richard was a lycanthrope, he'd lose his job. It was illegal to discriminate, but it happened all the time. Richard taught children. He'd be branded a monster, and most people didn't let monsters near their children.
   Mrs. Pringle and Custard led the way. I went up backwards, sort of steadying the box, but Richard took all the weight. He walked up the stairs like the box weighed nothing, pushing with his legs, waiting for me to go up another step. He made a face at me, soundlessly humming under his breath as if he was bored. Lycanthropes are stronger than your run-of-the-mill human being. I knew that, but it was still a little unsettling to be reminded.
   We made it to the hallway, and he let me have some of the weight. The thing was heavy, but I held on, and we kept moving towards Mrs. Pringle's apartment, which was right across the hall from mine.
   "I've got the door opened," she called.
   We were at the door, starting to maneuver through, when Custard darted between us, underneath the box, trailing his leash. Mrs. Pringle was trapped behind the television. "Custard, come back here."
   Richard lifted with his forearms, taking the weight. "Get him. I can get inside."
   I let him pretend to struggle inside the apartment and went for the dog. I expected to have to chase him down the hall, but he was sniffing at my door, whining. I knelt and grabbed the end of his leash, pulling him back towards me.
   Mrs. Pringle was at her door, smiling. "I see you caught the little rascal."
   I handed her the leash. "I've got to get something out of my apartment. I'm sure Richard can help you set up the TV."
   "Thanks a lot," he called from inside the apartment.
   Mrs. Pringle laughed. "I'll give you both some iced tea, unless you have better things to do." There was a knowing look in her blue eyes that made me blush. She winked at me, I kid you not. When the door was safely closed with her and Richard on the other side, I walked toward my apartment. Three doors down, I crossed the hallway. I took the Browning out and clicked the safety off. I eased back towards my door. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe Custard hadn't smelled anybody in my apartment. But he'd never whined at my door like that before. Maybe Edward's phone call was making me jumpy. But better jumpy than dead. Paranoid it was.
   I knelt by the door and took a breath, letting it out slowly. I took my keys out of my jacket pocket left-handed. I scrunched down as low as I could get and still have a decent shooting stance. If there was a bad guy in there, he'd probably shoot at chest level. On my knees I was a lot shorter than chest level. I pushed the key in the lock. Nothing happened. The apartment was probably empty, except for my fish wondering what the hell I was doing. I turned the knob, pushed the door inward, and a hole exploded out through the door, thundering over my head like a cannon shot. There was no sound for a second. The door swung closed with the force of the shot, and through the hole in the door I saw a man with a shotgun raised to his shoulder. I fired once through the hole. The door bounced open, still reverberating from the shotgun blast. I threw myself onto one side, gun pointed through the open door.
   The shotgun fired again, showering the hallway with bits of wood. I fired twice more, hitting the man in the chest both times. He staggered, blood blossoming on his coat, and fell straight back. The shotgun fell to the carpet near his feet.
   I got to my knees, back pressed to the wall near my kitchenette. All I could hear was a roaring in my ears, then dimly my own blood rushing through my head.
   Richard was suddenly there in the doorway, like a target. "Get down! He may not be alone!" I wasn't sure how loud I was yelling. My ears were still ringing.
   Richard crouched beside me. I think he said my name, but I didn't have time for it. I pushed upward, my back to the wall, gun in a two-handed grip. He started to stand. I said, "Stay down." He did. Point for him.
   I could see that there was no one in front of my apartment. Unless there was somebody hiding in the bedroom, the hit man had been alone. I approached him, slowly, gun pointed at him. If he'd twitched, I'd have shot again, but he didn't move. The shotgun was by his feet. I'd never seen anybody use a gun with their feet, so I left it where it was.
   He lay on his back, one arm thrown up over his head, one down at his side. His face was slack with death, his eyes wide and unseeing. I didn't really need to check for a pulse, but I did it anyway. Nothing. There were three holes in his chest. I'd hit him with the first shot, but it hadn't been a killing blow. That had nearly cost me my life.
   Richard came up behind me. "There's no one else in the apartment, Anita."
   I didn't argue with him. I didn't ask if he knew this by smell or by hearing. I didn't bloody care. I checked the bedroom and bathroom just to be thorough and came back out to find Richard staring down at the dead man.
   "Who is he?" Richard asked.
   It occurred to me that I could hear again. Bully for me. I still had a faint ringing in my ears, but it would pass. "I don't know."
   Richard looked at me. "Was he the . . . hitter?"
   "I think so." There was a hole in the door big enough to crawl through. It was still open. Mrs. Pringle's door was closed, but the doorjamb was splintered like something had taken a big bite out of it. If she'd been standing there, she'd have been dead.
   I heard the distant wail of police sirens. Couldn't blame the neighbors for calling them. "I'm going to make some phone calls before the cops get here."
   "Then what?" he asked.
   I looked at him. He was pale, the whites of his eyes showing just a little too much. "Then we go with the nice police officers down to the station to answer questions."
   "It was self-defense."
   "Yeah, but he's still dead on my carpet." I walked into the bedroom, searching for the phone. I was having a little trouble remembering where I'd left it, as if it ever moved from the nightstand. Shock is always fun.
   Richard leaned in the doorway. "Who are you going to call?"
   "Dolph, and maybe Catherine."
   "A friendly policeman I understand, but why Catherine?"
   "She's a lawyer."
   "Oh," he said. He glanced back at the dead man, who was bleeding all over my white carpet. "Dating you is never boring, I'll give you that."
   "And it's dangerous," I said, "Don't forget dangerous." I dialed Dolph's number from memory.
   "I never forget you're dangerous, Anita," Richard said. He stared at me and his eyes were amber, the color of a wolf's eyes. His beast slid behind those eyes, peering out. Probably the smell of fresh blood. I stared into those alien eyes and knew I wasn't the only dangerous thing in the room. Of course, I was armed. The dead man could vouch for that. Laughter tickled the back of my throat. I tried to swallow it, but it spilled out, and I was giggling when Dolph answered the phone. Laughing was better than crying, I guess. Though I'm not sure Dolph thought so.
   
   
4
   I sat in a straight-backed chair at a small, scarred table in an interrogation room. Oh, sorry, interview room. That's what they were calling it now. Call it what you will, it still smelled like stale sweat and old cigarettes with an overlay of disinfectant. I was sipping my third cup of coffee, and my hands were still cold.
   Detective Sergeant Rudolph Storr leaned against the far wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was trying to be unobtrusive, but when you're six foot eight and built like a pro wrestler, that's hard. He hadn't said a word during the interview. (Just here to observe.)
   Catherine sat beside me. She'd thrown a black blazer over the green dress, brought her briefcase, and sat wearing her lawyer face.
   Detective Branswell sat across from us. He was in his mid-thirties, black hair, dark complected, with eyes as black as his hair. His name was English, but he looked Mediterranean, like he'd just stepped off the olive boat. His accent was pure middle Missouri.
   "Now, Ms. Blake, go over it just one more time for me. Please." He poised his pen over his notebook as if he'd write it all down again.
   "We'd helped my neighbor carry up her new television."
   "Mrs. Edith Pringle, yeah, she confirms all that. But why did you go to your apartment?"
   "I was going to get a screwdriver to help install the television."
   "You keep a lot of tools, Ms. Blake?" He wrote something on his notepad. I was betting it was a doodle.
   "No, detective, but I've got a screwdriver."
   "Did Mrs. Pringle ask you to go get this screwdriver?"
   "No, but she'd used it when she bought her stereo system." Which was true. I was trying to keep the lies to an absolute minimum.
   "So you assumed she'd need it."
   "Yes."
   "Then what?" He asked like he'd never heard the answer before. His black eyes were intense and empty, unreadable and eager at the same time. We were coming to the part that he didn't quite buy.
   "I unlocked my door and dropped my keys. I squatted down to pick them up and the first shotgun blast roared over my head. I returned fire."
   "How? The door was closed."
   "I shot through the hole in the door that the shotgun had made."
   "You shot a man through a hole in your door and hit him."
   "It was a big hole, detective, and I wasn't sure I hit him."
   "Why didn't the second shotgun blast take you out, Ms. Blake? There wasn't enough left of the door to hide behind. Where were you, Ms. Blake?"
   "I told you, the blast rocked the door inward. I hit the floor, on my side. The second blast went over me."
   "And you shot the man twice more in the chest," Detective Branswell said.
   "Yes."
   He looked at me for a long moment, studying my face. I met his eyes without flinching. It wasn't that hard. I was numb, empty, and distant. There was still a fine ringing in my ears from being so damn close to two shotgun blasts. The ringing would fade. It usually did.
   "You know the man you killed?"
   Catherine touched my arm. "Detective Branswell, my client has been more than helpful. She's told you several times that she did not recognize the deceased."
   He flipped back through his notebook. "You're right, counselor. Ms. Blake has been helpful. The dead man was James Dugan, Jimmy the Shotgun. He's got a record longer than you are tall, Ms. Blake. He's local muscle. Someone you call when you want it cheap and quick and don't care how messy it is." He stared at me while he talked, studying my eyes.
   I blinked at him.
   "Do you know anyone who would want you dead, Ms. Blake?"
   "Not right offhand," I said.
   He closed his notebook and stood. "I'm going to recommend justifiable homicide to the DA. I doubt you'll see the inside of a courtroom."
   "When do I get my gun back?" I asked.
   Branswell stared at me. "When ballistics is done with it, Ms. Blake. And I'd be damn grateful that you're getting it back at all." He shook his head. "I've heard stories about you from some of the cops who answered the last call from your apartment. The one with the two killer zombies." He shook his head again. "Don't take this wrong, Ms. Blake, but have you considered moving to a new jurisdiction?"
   "My landlord is probably going to suggest the same thing," I said.
   "I'll just bet he is," Branswell said. "Counselor, Sergeant Storr."
   "Thanks for letting me sit in on this, Branswell," Dolph said.
   "You said she was one of yours. Besides, I know Gross and Brady. They were the first officers on scene for the zombies. They say good things about her. I've talked to half a dozen officers that say Ms. Blake saved their butt or stood shoulder to shoulder with them under fire and didn't blink. It cuts you a hell of a lot of slack, Blake, but that slack isn't unlimited. Watch your back, and try not to shoot up any innocent bystanders." With that, he left.
   Dolph stared down at me. "I'll drive you back to your place."
   "Richard's waiting for me," I said.
   "What's going on, Anita?"
   "I told Branswell everything I know."
   Catherine stood up. "Anita has answered all the questions she's going to answer tonight."
   "He's a friend," I said.
   "He's also a cop," Catherine said. She smiled. "Isn't that right, Sergeant Storr?"
   Dolph stared at her for a minute. "That is certainly true, Ms. Maison-Gillette." He pushed away from the wall. He looked at me. "I'll talk to you later, Anita."
   "I know," I said.
   "Come on," Catherine said. "Let's get out of here before they change their minds."
   "Don't you believe me?" I asked.
   "I'm your lawyer. Of course I believe you."
   I looked at her. She looked at me. I got up. We left. I wondered if Richard would believe me. Probably not.
   
   
5
   Richard and I walked toward his car, through the police station parking lot. He hadn't said a word to me. He'd shaken hands with Catherine and headed for the car. He got into his side. I slid into the passenger side. Richard started the engine and backed out of the parking slot.
   "You're mad about something," I said.
   He eased out onto the street. He always drove carefully when he was angry. "What could I possibly be mad about?" The sarcasm was thick enough to eat with a spoon.
   "You think I knew there was a hit man in my apartment?"
   He flashed me a look that was pure rage. "You knew, and you let me go inside and set that damned TV up. You got me out of harm's way."
   "I wasn't sure, Richard."
   "I bet you had your gun drawn before he fired."
   I shrugged.
   "Dammit, Anita, you could have been killed."
   "But I wasn't."
   "That's your answer to everything. If you survive, it's all right."
   "It beats the alternative," I said.
   "Don't make jokes," Richard said.
   "Look, Richard, I didn't go out hunting this guy. He came to me."
   "Why didn't you tell me?"
   "And you would have done what? Go through the door first? You'd have taken a chest full of buckshot and survived. How would you have explained that? You'd have been outed as a lycanthrope. You'd have lost your job, at the very least."
   "We could have called the police."
   "And told them what? That Custard sniffed at the door? If they had investigated, they'd have gotten shot. The guy was jumpy as hell. He shot through the door, remember? He didn't know who he was firing at."
   He turned onto Olive, shaking his head. "You should have told me."
   "What would it have changed, Richard? Except maybe you'd have tried to play hero, and if you survived, you'd have lost your career."
   "Dammit, dammit." He smashed his hands into the steering wheel over and over. When he looked at me, his eyes had gone amber and alien. "I don't need you to protect me, Anita."
   "Ditto," I said.
   Silence filled the car like ice water. Nobody but the bad guy had died. I'd done the right thing. But it was hard to explain.
   "It wasn't that you risked your life," Richard said, "it was that you got rid of me before you did it. You didn't even give me a chance. I have never interfered with you doing your job."
   "Would you have considered this part of my job?"
   "Closer to your job description than mine," he said.
   I thought about that for a minute. "You're right. One of the reasons we're still dating is you don't pull macho crap on me. I apologize. I should have warned you."
   He glanced at me with eyes that were still pale and wolfish. "Did I just win an argument?"
   I smiled. "I admitted I was wrong. Is that the same thing."
   "Exactly the same thing."
   "Then give yourself a point."
   He grinned at me. "Why can't I stay mad at you, Anita?"
   "You're a very forgiving person, Richard. One of us has to be."
   He pulled into my parking lot for the third time that night. "You can't stay at your place tonight. The door is in pieces."
   "I know." If I'd been kicked out of my apartment because it was being painted, I had friends I could stay with, or a hotel, but the bad guys had proven they didn't care who got hurt. I couldn't risk anybody, not even strangers in the next room at a hotel.
   "Come home with me," he said. He parked in an empty space closest to the stairs.
   "I don't think that's a good idea, Richard."
   "The shotgun blast wouldn't have killed me. I'd have healed, because it wasn't silver shot. How many of your other friends can say that?"
   "Not many," I said quietly.
   "I've got a house set back in a yard. You won't be risking innocent bystanders."
   "I know you have a yard, Richard. I've spent enough Sunday afternoons there."
   "Then you know I'm right." He leaned towards me and his eyes had bled back to their normal brown. "I have a guest room, Anita. It doesn't have to be more than that."
   I stared at him from inches away. I could feel his body like a force just out of reach. It wasn't his otherworldly wolf powers. It was simply sheer physical attraction. It was dangerous agreeing to go to Richard's house. Maybe not to my life, but to other things.
   If Jimmy the Shotgun had had a partner inside the apartment tonight, I'd be dead now. I'd been so busy concentrating on killing him that a second perp could have blown me away. Edward had told his contact no by now, and it takes a little while to find another hitter of Edward's caliber. So, instead of waiting, they hired cheap and local, taking the chance that cheap might take me out and they'd be saved several hundred grand. Or maybe they wanted me dead really quickly for some reason that I didn't understand. Either way, they wanted me dead pretty damn badly. Usually, when someone wants you dead that badly, they succeed. Not tonight or tomorrow, but unless Edward and I could find out who had put the contract out on me, the line of talent would just keep coming.
   I stared into Richard's face, almost close enough to kiss. I thought about never seeing him again. About never touching him again. About never satisfying that growing hunger that perfumed the air whenever I was with him. I touched his face, lightly running my fingertips down his cheek. "Okay."
   "You look so serious. What are you thinking, Anita?"
   I leaned in and kissed him. "Blood, death, and sex. What else is there?"
   We got out of the car. I filled my automatic fish feeder full of enough food for a week. In a week's time, if the assassin was still after me, and if I was still alive, I'd have to come back. All the bad guys had to do was stake out my fish tank, and they had me if they were patient enough. Somehow I didn't think they would be.
   I packed a few things, including my stuffed toy penguin, Sigmund, every weapon I owned, a few clothes, an outfit for tomorrow's date with Jean-Claude. Yeah, probably I wouldn't be going, but I didn't want to come back to the apartment, not for anything. I left a message on Ronnie's machine. We usually worked out together on Saturday morning, but I didn't want Ronnie in the line of fire. She was a private detective, but Ronnie wasn't a shooter, not like I was. She had a certain respect for life that could get you killed.
   Richard waited while I changed. Black jeans, a royal blue polo shirt, white jogging socks with a blue stripe, black Nikes, and I felt more myself. I laid the Browning's shoulder holster in my suitcase. The Browning was my main gun, and I missed it. I'd have missed it under normal circumstances, but now my hand ached for the gun.
   I guess that's what backup guns are for. The Firestar 9mm is a good gun and fits my hand well. My hands are small enough that a lot of 9mms are just too big. The Browning was about the limit of a comfortable grip. I wore the Firestar in an inter-pants holster, set for a forward cross draw, which meant you could see the gun. I wasn't sure I cared tonight.
   I put on wrist sheaths and both knives. These were the last two of a foursome that I'd had custom made for my hands, with the highest silver content possible in the steel. I'd had to have two of them replaced; monsters ate them. I put the two new knives in the suitcase still in their felt-lined box. They were pretty and sharp enough to cut your skin if you ran a thumb along the edge.
   While I was having the lost knives replaced, I'd ordered a new one. It was nearly a foot long, more a sword than a knife. I'd had a leather harness made that let me carry it down my spine, with the hilt under my hair. I hadn't used it before, but I'd seen it in a catalog and couldn't resist.
   I had a Derringer, a sawed-off shotgun, two full-sized, pump-action shotguns, a twelve gauge, and a mini-Uzi. The Derringer, the Uzi, and the sawed-off shotgun were all gifts from Edward. Not Christmas or birthday gifts. No, we'd be out hunting vampires together, and he'd give me a new toy. I'd asked for the shotgun.
   The full-sized shotguns wouldn't pack in either the suitcases or the gym bags. I put them in their individual carrying cases, with straps. The gym bags held my vampire hunting kit and my zombie paraphernalia. I put extra ammo in both bags for temporary keeping. Heck, I shoved extra ammo in the suitcase, too. You could never have too much.
   I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The gun was pretty obvious against the bright blue of the shirt. I finally put a black jacket over it, what they call a boyfriend's jacket, because it's sort of big through the shoulders and body. The sleeves rolled back to expose the silky lining. I liked the jacket, and with one button fastened, it hid the Firestar, though not completely. You'd still catch glimpses of it when I moved, but maybe people wouldn't run screaming.
   I felt naked without the Browning, which was kind of funny, considering I had an Uzi in my suitcase. But hey, I slept with the Browning.
   Richard never said a word about the two shotguns. Maybe he would have complained about the rest if he'd seen them, but he picked up one suitcase, put one gym bag over his shoulder, one shotgun carrying case on the same shoulder, and let me pick up my share.
   "Can you carry both suitcases?" I asked.
   "Yeah, but I'm shocked you asked. The last time I tried to carry something unasked, you nearly handed me my head in a basket."
   "I want one hand free for my gun."
   "Ah," he said, "of course." He took the other suitcase without another word. He really is a very wise man.
   Mrs. Pringle stepped out of her door as we were leaving. She had Custard in her arms. He growled briefly at Richard, and she hushed him. "I thought I heard you out here. Are you all right, Anita?"
   I glanced at the hole by her door. "I'm fine. How 'bout you?"
   She hugged Custard, raising his tiny furry body near her face. "I'll be all right. Are you going to be charged?"
   "It doesn't look like it."
   "Good." She glanced at the suitcases. One for clothes, one for weapons. "Where are you going?"
   "I think I'm a little too dangerous to be around right now."
   She searched my face like she was trying to read my mind. "How bad is this mess, Anita?"
   "Bad enough," I said.
   She gently touched my hair, "You be very careful out there."
   I smiled. "Always. You take care of yourself, too."
   "Custard and I will take care of each other."
   I petted Custard, rubbing his little fox ears. "I owe you a box of doggie treats, furball." He licked my hand with a tiny, pink tongue.
   "When you can, give me your new phone number," she said.
   "When I can, I'll come back."
   She smiled, but her pale eyes stayed worried.
   We left because we had to. My imagination has always been too good for my own peace of mind. I had a very clear image of Mrs. Pringle splattered against the wall, that lovely, aging face blown away. If she had opened the door at the wrong moment, I wouldn't be imagining it. Too close, too damn close.
   

6
   Richard's house was a one-story, half-brick ranch. It looked like a house for children, and Mommy baking cookies in the kitchen. It wasn't even set that far back off the road, but it had plenty of yard on either side and the backyard was an acre of woods. You could look out both the sides and the back and not see a neighbor, except in winter when the bare trees revealed distant glimpses across the valley. From the front picture window, you could see the corner of the next house half obscured by overgrown shrubs. No one had lived in it the entire time I'd been visiting. The place was a little isolated. Richard liked that, and whether I did or not, I needed it now.
   The place looked like an invitation for an ambush, but neighbors would have been cannon fodder. Most bad guys try not to take out innocent bystanders. It's not moral outrage, just bad for business. The cops tend to put the heat on if you waste a lot of bystanders.
   Richard hit the garage door opener and eased the Mustang into the garage. His four by four was already inside. I followed him in my Jeep. I idled out on the street, waiting for him to move the four by four out so I could put the Jeep in. Parking my Jeep out in front of his house seemed like making the bad guys' job a little too easy. He pulled out. I pulled in. He parked behind me in the driveway and walked into the garage. I unloaded the suitcases, and he hit the button by the interior door.
   The door opened into the kitchen. The walls were lined with Hogarth prints of dogs and more modern hunting scenes. A Warner Brothers canister set; Bugs to Tweety Bird sat on the off-white cabinets. The countertops were off white. The cabinets light honey colored oak. There were dishes draining on a towel by the sink, even though Richard had a dishwasher. A glass, a bowl, a spoon; he'd washed his breakfast dishes before he left for work this morning. I'd have poured water in them and left them in the sink. Of course, I never ate breakfast.
   Richard walked through into the living room, carrying one suitcase. I followed, carrying the suitcase with the weapons in it. I also had the two gym bags.
   The living room had deep forest green carpet and pale yellow walls. Cartoon lithographs took up the far wall. The near wall was taken up with a wooden entertainment center that Richard had built himself. There was a large-screen TV, a miniature stereo system that made mine sound like humming through a comb, shelves of books, and closed doors that hid part of his extensive video collection and a portion of his CDs. The rest of his books were in the basement, set in shelves along every wall. There were still boxes he hadn't unpacked because he ran out of shelf space.
   There was a large couch and a heavy wood coffee table. The couch was green and brown, patterned with a yellow afghan thrown across it that his grandmother had made. A small antique armoire sat against the far wall. There was no other furniture in the room.
   He'd set the suitcase in the smaller bedroom. It had a twin bed, a nightstand, and a lamp. The walls, the drapes, and the coverlet where all white, like he hadn't really decided what to do with the room yet.
   I laid the gym bags on the bed, put the suitcase on the floor, and stared at it all. My life sitting in little bags on the carpet. Seemed like there should have been more.
   Richard came up and hugged me from behind, arms wrapping around my shoulders. "I think this is where I'm supposed to ask what's wrong, but I know the answer already. I'm sorry the bad guys invaded your house."
   That was it exactly. The bad guys were not supposed to come home with you. It should have been against the rules. I knew it wasn't, it had happened before, but not like this. Not where I knew I couldn't go back. Even when this was over, I couldn't risk Mrs. Pringle and my other neighbors again.
   I turned in his arms, and he loosened them so I could do it. I hugged him around the waist. "How did you know that was exactly what was bothering me?"
   He smiled. "I love you, Anita."
   "That's not an answer."
   He kissed me on the forehead. "Yes, it is." He kissed me gently on the lips and stepped back. "I'm going to get out of this tie. Change into your jammies if you want to." He left, closing the door behind him.
   I opened the door and called after him. "Can I use the phone?"
   He answered from his bedroom. "Make yourself at home."
   I took that for a yes, and went into the kitchen. The phone was on the wall. I got a card out of my fanny pack, which I'd been forced to carry like a purse. You couldn't fasten the jacket over the fanny pack, and the open jacket would have shown off the gun.
   The card was white with a number printed in black script, nothing but the number. I dialed and got Edward's twenty-four-hour answering service. I left a message, saying to call me ASAP, and Richard's number.
   Richard's answering machine sat on the counter, connected by wires to the wall-mounted phone. The message light was blinking, but it wasn't my machine, so I didn't check it.
   Richard came into the kitchen. His hair fell around his shoulders in tight, foaming waves, curlier from the French braid. His hair was brown, but light of almost any kind brought out golden highlights, hints of bronze. He was wearing a flannel shirt, forest green, with the sleeves rolled above his elbows, showing the fine muscles in his forearms. I'd seen the shirt before. It was high-quality flannel, soft as a blanket to touch. He had on jeans and no socks. He padded barefoot towards me.
   The phone rang. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Who else could it be but Edward? "I' m expecting a call," I said.
   "Help yourself."
   I picked it up, and it was Edward. "What happened?" he asked.
   I told him.
   "Somebody wants you dead quick."
   "Yeah. When you said no, they went out and bought some cheap local talent."
   "You get what you pay for," Edward said.
   "If there'd been two of them, Edward, I wouldn't be here."
   "You aren't going to like my news."
   "How much worse could it get?" I asked.
   "I answered a message just before yours. They upped the offer to five hundred thousand dollars, if you were dead within twenty-four hours."
   "Sweet Jesus, Edward, I'm not worth that kind of money."
   "They knew you blew away their hitter, Anita. They knew the hit had failed."
   "How?" I asked.
   "I don't know yet. I'm trying to find out who's putting up the money, but it'll take a little time. The safeguards that keep me out of it protect the client, too."
   I was shaking my head back and forth. "Why twenty-four hours for the hit?"
   "Something's happening that they want you out of the way for, something big."
   "But what?"
   "You know what it is, Anita. You may not be aware that you know, but you do. Something worth this kind of money that you could put a stop to. There can't be that many choices."
   "I can't think of a single thing, Edward."
   "Think harder," he said. "I'll be there as early as I can tomorrow. Watch your back. Don't drive your car."
   "Why not?"
   "Bombs," he said.
   "Bombs," I repeated.
   "For half a million dollars, Anita, they'll get someone good. A lot of professionals will do you from a nice, safe distance. A bomb, a high-powered rifle."
   "You're scaring me," I said.
   "Good, maybe you'll be careful."
   "I'm always careful, Edward."
   "I apologize. You're right, but be more careful. I didn't expect them to try a local hit."
   "You're worried," I said.
   He was quiet for a second. "We can keep taking out the hitters, but eventually we've got to get to the man with the money. As long as the contract's out there, somebody'll keep taking it."
   "It's just too much damn money to pass up," I said.
   "A lot of professionals won't take a hit with a time limit on it," he said. "Some of the best are out of the running because of the deadline. I won't take a hit with special circumstances."
   "I hear a 'but' coming up," I said.
   He laughed, quietly. "For half a million dollars, people will break their rules."
   "Not comforting," I said.
   "Not meant to be," he said. "I'll be at Richard's tomorrow early."
   "Do you know where it is?"
   "I could find it, but let's not play games. Give me directions."
   I did. "I would tell you to stay indoors, but you've been dating Richard for months. A good hitter will be able to find you. I don't know if you're safer inside or on the move."
   "I'll pack extra firepower and be more paranoid than usual."
   "Good. See you tomorrow." He hung up, and I was left holding the buzzing phone.
   Richard was staring at me. "Did I hear you say twenty-four hours for the hit?"
   I hung up the phone. "I'm afraid so." I hit the message button on his machine out of habit. It whirred as it rewound.
   "Why, for God's sake?" Richard asked.
   "I wish I knew."
   "You mentioned money twice. How much?"
   I told him.
   He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, looking shocked. Couldn't blame him. "Anita, don't take this wrong. To me you're worth any amount of money, but why would somebody pay half a million dollars to kill you?"
   For someone who knew nothing about assassins, he'd grasped the big question quite nicely. I walked over to him. I ran my fingertips through his hair. "Edward says I must already know what the big event is, that I wouldn't be worth this kind of money, with this kind of deadline, unless I was already intimate with the situation."
   He looked up at me. "But you don't know, do you?"
   "Not a clue."
   He laid his hands on either side of my waist, pulling me against him, wrapping his arms completely around my waist.
   The message machine clicked to life and made us both jump. We laughed nervously, not just from fear. There was a heat to his eyes as he stared up at me that made me want to blush or kiss him. I hadn't decided which.
   Two hang-ups, his younger brother Daniel, sorry Richard had canceled their rock climbing tomorrow.
   I leaned towards Richard. His lips were the softest I'd ever kissed. The taste of him was intoxicating. How could I be thinking of giving him up?
   The last message began playing: "Richard, this is Stephen. Oh, God, pick up. Please pick up. Please be there."
   We froze, listening.
   "They're trying to get me to do one of those movies. Raina won't let me leave. Richard, where are you? They're coming. I've got to go. Oh, God, Richard." The phone clicked dead. A mechanical voice said, "End of messages."
   Richard stood up, and I let him. "I thought Raina had stopped making pornographic movies," I said.
   "She promised not to make snuff films, that was all." He replayed the message. The time on it was 12:03.
   "That's less than an hour ago," I said.
   "I can't leave you alone here tonight. What if another killer comes?" He paced in a tight circle. "But I can't abandon Stephen."
   "I'll go with you," I said.
   He shook his head, walking for the bedroom. "I can survive the games that the pack plays, Anita. You're human, they'll tear you up."
   "They'll tear you up, too, Richard."
   He just kept walking. "I can handle myself."
   "Are you at least going to call some of the pack that's on your side? Get some backup?"
   He sat down on his bed, pulling on socks. He glanced up at me, then shook his head. "If I take my army, this'll turn into a war. People will get killed."
   "But if you go in alone, you only endanger yourself, is that it?"
   He glanced up at me. "Exactly."
   I shook my head. "And what happens to Stephen if you go out there and get killed? Who rescues him?"
   That stopped him for a second. He frowned, fishing his shoes out from under the bed. "They won't kill me."
   "Why not?" I asked.
   "Because if Marcus kills me outside the challenge circle, he doesn't retain leadership of the pack. It's like cheating. The pack would turn on him."
   "What if you accidentally died in a fight with someone else?"
   He was suddenly very interested in tying his shoes. "I can handle myself."
   "Meaning if someone else kills you in a legitimate fight, Marcus is off the hook, right?"
   He stood up. "I guess."
   "Raina is Marcus's mate, Richard. She's afraid you're going to kill him. This is a trap."
   He shook his head stubbornly. "If I call in the wolves on my side and we go over there in a mass, they'll be slaughtered. If I go over there alone, I may be able to talk my way through it."
   I leaned against the doorjamb and wanted to yell at him, but bit it back. "I'm going with you, Richard."
   "You have enough problems of your own."
   "Stephen risked his life to save mine once. I owe him. If you want to play politician, fine, but I want Stephen safe."
   "Going out where the assassin can find you isn't a smart idea, Anita."
   "We've been dating for months, Richard. If a professional assassin hits town, it won't take him long to find me here."
   He glared at me, jaw tight enough that I could see the small muscle on the side. "You'll kill someone if I take you."
   "Only if they need killing."
   He shook his head. "No killing."
   "Even to save my own life? Even to save Stephen's?"
   He looked away from me, then back, anger turning his dark eyes almost black. "Of course you can defend yourself."
   "Then I'm coming."
   "All right, for Stephen's sake." He didn't like saying it.
   "I'll get my jacket." I got the mini-Uzi out of the suitcase. It was amazingly small. I could have shot it with one hand, but for accuracy, I needed two. Though accuracy and machine guns were sort of mutually exclusive. You pointed it a little lower than you meant to hit and held on. Silver ammo, of course. I slid the strap over my right shoulder. It had a little clip that attached to my belt at the small of my back. The clip kept the Uzi from sliding all over the place, but left enough play for me to slide the gun out and fire it. The gun rode at the small of my back, which was irritating, but no matter what I told Richard, I was scared, and I wanted at least two guns with me. The police had the Browning. I didn't have a holster big enough for the sawed-off, not to mention it was illegal. Come to think of it, wasn't the machine gun? I had a permit to own it, but they didn't hand out carry permits for fully automatic weapons, not to civilians, anyway. If I got caught with it, I might be going to court after all.
   I put the jacket on and whirled around. The jacket was bulky enough that it didn't show. Amazing. The Firestar was more noticeable in its front-draw holster.
   My pulse was beating hard enough that I could feel it thrumming against my skin. I was scared. Richard was going to play politics with a bunch of werewolves. Shapeshifters didn't play politics much, they just killed you. But I owed Stephen, and I didn't trust Richard to save him. I'd do whatever it took to see him safe; Richard wouldn't. Richard would hesitate. It would almost surely get him killed one day. Tonight, for the first time, I realized it might get me killed.
   No way should we walk into one of Raina's little shows without more people. No way. Jean-Claude would never have tolerated Raina and Marcus's games. They'd be dead by now, and we'd all be safe. I would have trusted Jean-Claude at my back tonight. He wouldn't flinch. Of course, he'd have brought his own little army of vampires and made it a true battle. The shit could hit the fan tonight and be over before morning. Richard's way, we'd rescue Stephen, survive, escape, and Raina would still be alive. Nothing would be settled. It may have been civilized, but it was a bad way to stay alive.
   Richard was waiting by the front door, keys in hand, impatient. Couldn't blame him.
   "Stephen didn't say where he was. Do you know where they make the films?"
   "Yeah."
   I looked a question at him. "Raina took me to watch the filming a few times. She thought I'd overcome my shyness and join in."
   "You didn't." It wasn't a question.
   "Of course not. Let's go get Stephen." He held the door for me, and just this once I didn't tell him not to.
   
   
7
   I expected Richard to drive into the city, to some disreputable warehouse in a seedy section of town. Instead, he drove further into Jefferson County. We drove down Old Highway 21 between soft, rolling hills, silvered in the moonlight. It was early May, and the trees were already thick with leaves.
   Woods hugged the sides of the road. An occasional house would break out of the trees, but for the most part, we were alone in the dark, as if the road stretched out forever and no other human had ever set foot on it.
   "What's the plan?" I asked.
   Richard glanced at me, then back to the road. "Plan?"
   "Yeah, a plan. If Raina's there, she won't be alone, and she won't like you taking Stephen."
   "Raina's the alpha female, the lupa. I'm not allowed to fight her."
   "Why not?"
   "An alpha male becomes Ulfric, wolf king, by killing the old leader, but the winner chooses the lupa."
   "So Raina didn't have to fight for her place?"
   "She didn't have to fight to be lupa, but she did have to fight to be the most dominant female in the pack."
   "You once told me that the pack considers me a dominant. What's the difference between being a dominant and being an alpha female? I mean, can I be an alpha?"
   "Alpha is the equivalent to being a master vampire, sort of," he said.
   "So what is a dominant?"
   "Anyone not pack, not lukoi, that's earned our respect. Jean-Claude is a dominant. He can't be more unless he becomes pack."
   "So you're alpha, but you're not pack leader."
   "We have about half a dozen alphas, male and female. I was Marcus's second in command, his Freki."
   "Freki is the name of one of Odin's wolves. Why would second wolf be named after something out of mythology?"
   "The pack is very old, Anita. Among ourselves, we are the lukoi. There can be two seconds, Freki and Geri."
   "Why the history lesson and the new vocabulary?"
   "To outsiders, we keep it simple. But I want you to know who and what we are."
   "Lukoi is Greek, right?"
   He smiled. "But do you know where it's from?"
   "No."
   "King Lykaon of Arcadia was a werewolf. He didn't try and hide it. We call ourselves the lukoi in his memory."
   "If you're not Freki anymore, what are you?"
   "Fenrir, challenger."
   "The giant wolf that kills Odin at Ragnarok."
   "I'm impressed, not many people would know that."
   "Two semesters of comparative religion," I said. "Can a woman be Ulfric?"
   "Yes, but it's rare."
   "Why?"
   "They'd have to win a knock-down drag-out physical battle. All the power in the world won't stop someone from pounding your face into the ground."
   I would have liked to argue, but I didn't. He was right. Not because I was female. Small men get their asses kicked, too. Size matters if both people are equally well trained.
   "Why don't the female alphas have to duke it out to win the top spot?"
   "Because the Ulfric and his lupa are a mating pair, Anita. He doesn't want to get stuck with a woman he can't stand."
   I looked at him. "Wait a minute. You're next in line to lead the pack. If you succeed Marcus, do you have to sleep with your lupa?"
   "Technically, yes."
   "Technically?" I said.
   "I won't choose one. I won't sleep with someone just so the pack can feel secure."
   "Glad to hear it," I said, "but does that jeopardize your standing in the pack?"
   He took a deep breath, and I heard it sigh outward. "I have a lot of support among the pack, but some of them are bothered by my morals. They think I should pick a mate."
   "And you won't, because . . . of me?"
   He glanced at me. "That's a big part of it. It wouldn't be only one time, Anita. An alpha couple binds for life. It's like a marriage. They usually marry each other in real life, not just in the pack."
   "I can see why the pack leader gets to pick his mate."
   "I've picked my mate," Richard said.
   "But I'm not a werewolf."
   "No, but the pack considers you a dominant."
   "Only because I killed a few of them," I said.
   "Well, that does tend to impress them." He slowed down. There was a line of pine trees along the left-hand side of the road, too regular and too thick to be natural. He turned down a gravel driveway in the middle of them.
   The driveway curved downhill, and at the bottom of a shallow valley was a farmhouse. Hills thick with trees poured out around the house. If there had ever been fields, the forest had reclaimed them.
   The driveway opened into a small gravel lot that was crowded with cars, at least a dozen of them. Richard jerked the car into park and was out the door before I could unbuckle my seat belt. I had to run to catch up and was at his back just as he flung open the barn door. There was a thick wall of cloth hanging inside the door, not a curtain but more a barrier. Richard pulled it aside, and light flooded out around us. He stalked into that light, and I trailed after him.
   There were lights everywhere, hanging from the rafters like large, ugly fruit. About twenty people stood around the open interior of the barn. Two cameras were trained on a set, made up of two walls and a king-size bed. Two cameramen were sort of draped on the cameras, waiting. A long table thick with take-out bags and cold pizza was set near the entrance. Over a dozen people were clustered around the food. They glanced at us as we entered. A handful of humans looked hurriedly away and began inching back. The lycanthropes stared, their eyes almost motionless, intent. I suddenly knew what it must feel like to be a gazelle near a lion pack.
   At least two-thirds of the people in the barn were shape-shifters. Probably, they weren't all werewolves. I couldn't tell what animal they might be by looking, but I knew they were all shapeshifters. Their energy burned through the air like a hint of lightning. Even with the Uzi, if things went wrong, I was in trouble. I was suddenly angry with Richard. We shouldn't have come alone like this. It was too careless for words.
   A woman stepped out of the group. She had what looked like an industrial-strength makeup kit on her shoulder. Her dark hair was shaved close to her head, leaving a very pretty face open and clean, without a drop of makeup on it.
   She moved uncertainly towards us as if afraid she'd get bitten. The air vibrated around her, a tiny shimmer, as though reality was just a little less firm than it should be around her. Lycanthrope. I wasn't sure what flavor, but that really didn't matter. Whatever the flavor, they were dangerous.
   "Richard," she said. She stepped away from the watching crowd, small hands running up and down the strap of her bag. "What are you doing here?"
   "You know why I'm here, Heidi," he said. "Where's Stephen?"
   "They aren't going to hurt him," she said. "I mean, his brother's here. His own brother wouldn't let him get hurt, would he?"
   "Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself, not us," I said.
   Her eyes flicked to me. "You must be Anita Blake." She glanced behind at the watchers at her back. "Please, Richard, just go." The aura of energy around her was vibrating harder, almost a visible shimmer in the air. It prickled along my skin like ants.
   Richard reached out towards her.
   Heidi flinched but stood her ground.
   Richard smoothed his hand just above her face, not quite touching her skin. As he moved his hand, the energy around her quieted, like water calming. "It's all right, Heidi. I know the situation Marcus has put you in. You want to join another pack, but he has to give permission. To get his permission, you do what he says, or you're trapped. Whatever happens, I won't hold it against you."
   The anxiety seeped away. Her otherworldly energy quieted until it was barely there at all. She might have passed for human.
   "Very impressive." A man stepped forward. He was at least six foot four, maybe an inch taller, his head bald as an egg, only his eyebrows showing dark above pale eyes. His black T-shirt strained over the muscles in his arms and chest, as if the shirt was the skin of an insect about to split and let loose the monster. Energy boiled off him like summer heat. He moved with the confident strut of a bully, and the power crawling over my skin said he might be able to back it up.
   "He's new," I said.
   "This is Sebastian," Richard said. "He joined us after Alfred died."
   "He's Marcus's new enforcer," Heidi whispered. She stepped back, halfway between the two men, her back to the curtain we'd entered through.
   "I challenge you, Richard. I want to be Freki."
   Just like that, the trap was sprung.
   "We are both alpha, Sebastian. We don't have to do anything to prove that."
   "I want to be Freki, and I need to beat you to do it."
   "I'm Fenrir now, Sebastian. You can be Marcus's Freki without fighting me."
   "Marcus says no, says I have to go through you."
   Richard took a step forward.
   "Don't fight him," I said.
   "I have to answer challenge."
   I stared at Sebastian. Richard is not a small man, but he looked small beside Sebastian. Richard wouldn't back down to save himself. But for someone else . . . "And if you get killed, where does that leave me?" I asked.
   He looked at me then, really looked at me. He turned back to Sebastian. "I want safe passage for Anita."
   Sebastian grinned and shook his head. "She's dominant. No safe passage. She takes her chances like the rest of us."
   "She can't accept challenge, she's human."
   "When you're dead, we'll make her one of us," Sebastian said.
   "Raina has forbidden us to make Anita lukoi," Heidi said.
   The glare that Sebastian gave her made her cringe against the curtain door. Her eyes were round with fear.
   "Is that true?" Richard asked.
   "It's true," Sebastian growled. "We can kill her, but we can't make her pack." He grinned, a brief flash of teeth. "So we'll just kill her."
   I drew the Firestar, using Richard's body to shield the movement from the lycanthropes. We were in trouble. Even with the Uzi, I couldn't kill them all. If Richard would kill Sebastian, we might salvage the situation, but he'd try not to kill him. The other shapeshifters watched us with patient, eager eyes. This had been the plan all along. There had to be a way out.
   I had an idea. "Are all Marcus's enforcers assholes?"
   Sebastian turned to me. "Was that an insult?"
   "If you have to ask, then indeedy-do, it was."
   "Anita," Richard said, low and careful, "what are you doing?"
   "Defending myself," I said.
   His eyes widened, but he didn't take his glance from the big werewolf. Richard understood. There was no time to argue about it. Sebastian took a step forward, big hands balled into fists. He tried to step around Richard to get to me. Richard moved in front of him. He put out his hand, palm outward like he had with Heidi, and that roiling energy damped down, spilling out like water from a broken cup. I'd never seen anything like it. Calming Heidi was one thing. Forcing a lycanthrope to swallow such power was something else.
   Sebastian took a step back, almost a stagger. "You bastard."
   "You are not strong enough to challenge me, Sebastian. Don't ever forget that," Richard said. His voice was still calm, with the barest hint of anger underneath. It was a reasonable voice, a voice for negotiating.
   I stood behind Richard with the Firestar held at my side, as unobtrusive as I could make it. The fight was off, and my little show of bravado hadn't been needed. I'd underestimated Richard's power. I'd apologize later.
   "Now, where is Stephen?" Richard asked.
   A slender black man stalked towards us, moving like a dancer in a shimmering wash of his own energy. His hair was braided in shoulder-length cornrows with colored beads worked into them. His features were small and neat, his skin a rich solid brown. "You may be able to control us one at a time, Richard, but not all at once."
   "You were kicked out of your last pack for being a troublemaker, Jamil," Richard said. "Don't make the same mistake twice."
   "I won't. Marcus will win this fight because you are a fucking bleeding heart. You still don't get it, Richard. We aren't the Young Republicans." Jamil stopped about eight feet back. "We are a pack of werewolves, and we aren't human. Unless you accept that, you are going to die."
   Sebastian stepped back to stand beside Jamil. The rest of the lycanthropes moved up behind the two men. Their combined energy flowed outward, filling the room like warm water with piranha in it. The power bit along my skin like tiny electric shocks. It rose in my throat until it was hard to breathe, and the hair on my head stood at attention.
   "Will you be pissed if I kill some of them?" I asked. My voice sounded squeezed and harsh. I moved closer to Richard, but had to step back. His power poured over me like something alive. It was impressive, but there were twenty lycanthropes on the other side, and it wasn't that impressive.
   A scream shattered the silence, and I jumped.
   "Anita," Richard said.
   "Yeah."
   "Go get Stephen."
   "That was him screaming?" I asked.
   "Go get him."
   I looked at the mass of lycanthropes and said, "You can handle this?"
   "I can hold them."
   "You can't hold us all," Jamil said.
   "Yes," Richard said, "I can."
   The scream sounded again, higher, more urgent. The sound came from deeper in the barn where it had been divided into rooms. There was a makeshift hallway. I started towards it, then hesitated. "Will you be pissed if I kill people?"
   "Do what you have to do," he said. His voice had grown low, with an edge of growl to it.
   "If she kills Raina with a gun, she still won't be your lupa," Jamil said.
   I glanced at Richard's back. I hadn't known I was being considered for the job.
   "Go, Anita; now." His voice was dying down to a growl. He didn't have to add, hurry. I knew that part. He might be able to stall, but he couldn't fight them all.
   Heidi walked towards me, behind Richard's back. He didn't turn any attention to her, as if he didn't consider her a danger at all. She wasn't powerful, but you didn't have to be powerful or even strong to stab someone in the back, claw or knife, what did it matter? I pointed the gun at her. She passed within inches of Richard and he did nothing. My gun was the only thing guarding his back. Even now, he trusted Heidi. Right this minute, he shouldn't have trusted anyone but me. "Gabriel's with Raina," she said. She said his name like she was afraid of him.
   Gabriel wasn't even a member of the pack. He was a were-leopard. He was one of Raina's favorite actors, though. He'd appeared in her porno flicks and even one snuff film. I almost asked her who she feared most, Raina or Gabriel. But it didn't matter. I was about to confront them both.
   "Thanks," I said to Heidi.
   She nodded.
   I went for the hallway and the sound of screams.
   
   

8
   I entered the hallway and followed the sounds of voices to the second door on the left. I heard at least two different male voices, soft, murmuring. I couldn't make out the words. The screams changed to yelling. "Stop, please, stop. No!" It was a man, too. Unless they were torturing more than one person tonight, it had to be Stephen.
   I took a deep breath, let it out, and reached for the door with my left hand, gun in my right. I wished I knew the layout of the room. Stephen yelled, "Please, don't!"
   Enough. I opened the door, shoving it against the wall so I'd know there was no one behind it. I meant to sweep the room, but what I saw on the floor stopped me cold, like some kind of flash-frozen nightmare. Stephen lay on his back, a white robe open, revealing his nude body. Blood trailed down his chest in thin scarlet ribbons, though there were no apparent wounds. Gabriel held Stephen's arms, pinned underneath his body, behind his back as if they might already be tied. Stephen's waist-length yellow hair spilled over Gabriel's leather-clad lap. Gabriel was naked from the waist up, a silver ring through his right nipple. His curly black hair had spilled over his eyes, and when he looked up at me, he looked blind.
   A second man knelt on the far side of Stephen. Curling blond hair fell to his waist. He wore an identical white robe, fastened. When he looked at the door, his slender, nearly pretty face was a mirror of Stephen's. Had to be his brother. He was holding a steel knife. He was in midslice when I came through the door. Fresh blood welled from Stephen's skin.
   Stephen screamed.
   There was a naked woman curled over Stephen's body. She straddled his lower body, pinning his legs. Her long auburn hair fell like a curtain, hiding the last indignity from sight. Raina raised her head from Stephen's groin. Her full lips parted in a smile. She'd worked him to erection. Even with his protests, his body had gone on without him.
   It took a heartbeat to see it all, a sort of slow-motion shorthand. I sensed movement to my right and tried to turn, but it was too late. Something furred and only half-human slammed into me. I hit the far wall hard enough to make it shudder. The Firestar went spinning, and I fell, stunned, to the floor. A wolf the size of a pony loomed over me. It opened jaws big enough to crush my face, and growled, a sound low and deep enough to stop my heart.
   I could move again, but that face was an inch from my cheek; I could feel its breath on my face. A line of saliva fell from its mouth to glide down the edge of my mouth. It lowered its muzzle that last inch, lips drawn back like it was going to take a nibble. The Uzi was pinned between my back and the wall. I went for one of the knives, and knew I'd never make it.
   Human arms curved around the wolf, tore it back, away from me. Raina stood holding the struggling wolf like it was no effort. Her beautiful naked body rippled with muscles that didn't show until they were used. "Draw no blood from her, I told you that." She tossed the wolf into the other wall. The wall cracked and buckled. The wolf lay still, eyes rolled back into its skull.
   It gave me the time I needed. I pulled the Uzi around on its strap. When Raina turned back to me, I was pointing it at her.
   She stood over me, naked, perfect, slender where she was supposed to be slender, curved where she was supposed to be curved. But since I'd seen her sculpt her body at will, I wasn't that impressed. When you could manipulate your body like she could, who needed plastic surgery?
   "I could have let her kill you, Anita. You don't seem very grateful."
   I sat on the floor, propped against the wall, not completely trusting that I could stand yet. But the Uzi was pointed nice and steady. "Thanks a lot," I said, "Now, back up, slowly, or I will cut you in half."
   Raina laughed, a low, joyous sound. "You are so dangerous. So exciting. Don't you think so, Gabriel?"
   Gabriel came to stand beside her. Both of them looking down at me was too much, so I used the wall to brace myself and stood. I could stand. Great. I was beginning to think I could even walk. Better.
   "Back up," I said.
   Gabriel stepped around her, bringing him almost close enough to have reached out and touched me. "She's perfect for anyone who's into pain and has a death wish." He reached out, as if to run his fingers down my cheek. I pointed the machine gun at his waist, because it would kick upward. Aim too high and you can actually miss.
   "The last time you pushed me, Gabriel, all I had on me was a knife. You survived having me gut you, but even you can't heal from a submachine gun burst. At this range, I'll cut you in half."
   "Would you really kill me just for trying to touch you?" He seemed amused, his strange grey eyes almost fever bright as they peered out of the tangle of his hair.
   "After what I just saw, you bet." I stood away from the wall. "Back up or we'll find out how much damage you can take."
   They backed up. I was almost disappointed. The Uzi with silver ammo would do exactly what I'd said it would do. I could cut them down, kill them, no muss, no fuss, just a hell of a mess. I wanted them dead. I looked at them for a heartbeat and thought about it, thought about pulling the trigger and saving us all a lot of trouble.
   Raina backed up, pulling Gabriel with her. She stared at me as she moved, back towards the wall where the pony-sized wolf was staggering to its feet. Raina looked at me and I saw the knowledge on her face of how close she'd come. I think until that moment she hadn't realized I could kill her and not lose sleep. Hell, leaving her alive would cost me more sleep.
   A roaring scream came from the other room. Howling vibrated through the barn. There was a moment of breathless silence, then growls, shrieks. The floor shuddered with the impact of distant bodies. Richard was fighting without me.
   Raina smiled at me. "Richard needs you, Anita. Go to him. We'll take care of Stephen."
   "No thanks."
   "Richard could be dying while you waste time."
   Fear flowed over me in a cool wash. She was right. They'd lured him here to die. I shook my head. "Richard told me to get Stephen, and that's what I'm going to do."
   "I didn't think you took orders that well," she said.
   "I take the ones I like."
   Stephen had curled onto his side, pulling the robe over his body. His brother sat beside him, smoothing his hair and murmuring, "It's all right, Stephen. You're not hurt."
   "You sliced him up, you son of a bitch."
   He spread Stephen's robe, exposing his chest. Stephen tried weakly to close his robe. His brother slapped his hands lightly. He wiped his hands across the bloody chest. The skin was perfect. The cut had healed already, which meant that all the blood was Stephen's.
   "Get off of him, right now, or I will blow you away."
   He eased back from him, eyes wide. He believed me. That was good, because it was true.
   "Come on, Stephen. We've got to go."
   He raised his head and looked at me, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I can't stand." He tried to crawl to me, but collapsed on the floor.
   "What did you give him?" I asked.
   "Something to relax him," Raina said.
   "You bitch."
   She smiled. "Exactly."
   "Go over and stand by them," I said to the brother.
   The man turned a face to me so like Stephen's it was startling. "I wouldn't let them hurt him. He'd enjoy it if he'd just let himself go."
   "He is hurt, you son of a bitch! Now get over there, right now, or I'll kill you. Do you understand me? I will kill you and be happy about it."
   He got to his feet and went to stand beside Gabriel. "I made sure no one hurt him," he said softly.
   The walls shuddered. There was a sound of splintering wood. Someone had been thrown through the wall of the room next to us. I had to get us out of there.
   I had to get to Richard. But if I was careless, I'd never make it. Richard wasn't the only one in danger of getting his throat ripped out.
   With this many lycanthropes in a room so small, they were too close. They could jump me if I went to help Stephen stand, but with a machine gun in my hand, I was betting most of them would be dead before they reached me. It was a comforting thought.
   I spotted the Firestar in the far corner. I picked it up and holstered it without having to look. Practice, practice, practice. I kept the machine gun out. It just made me feel better.
   I knelt by Stephen without taking my eyes off the others. It was hard not to at least glance down, but I was too damn close to them. The wolf had been unbelievably fast, and I didn't think Raina would save me a second time. I was lucky she didn't want me wounded. I got my arm around Stephen's waist, and he managed to throw his arms around my neck. I stood, and he was almost dead weight, but we both managed to stand, and with my help, Stephen kept his feet. I was glad he was about my size. Bigger would have been harder. His robe flapped open, and he took one arm from around my shoulders and tried to tie it closed, but he couldn't do it. He started to take his other arm off my shoulders.
   "Leave it, Stephen, please. We've got to go now."
   "I don't want people to see me." He stared at me from inches away, his face vague and unfocused from the drugs, but a single tear trailed from the corner of one cornflower blue eye. "Please," he said.
   Shit. I braced him around the waist, and said, "Go ahead." I stared at Raina while he tied his robe, clumsy and slow from the drug she'd slipped him. He was making a low whimpering sound deep in his chest by the time he got it closed.
   "In some ways you are as sentimental as Richard," she said. "But you could kill us, all of us, even Stephen's brother, and feel nothing."
   I met her honey brown eyes and said, "I'd feel something."
   "What?" she asked.
   "Safer," I said.
   I backed us towards the open door and had to glance behind to make sure nothing was coming up at me. When I looked back at them, Gabriel had moved forward, but Raina had a hand on his arm, stopping him. She was looking at me like she'd never really seen me before. Like I'd surprised her. I guess it was mutual. I'd known she was twisted, but not in my wildest dreams would I have accused her of raping one of her own people.
   Stephen and I stepped out into the hall, and I took a deep breath, feeling something in my chest loosen. The sounds of fighting crashed over us. I wanted to run towards the fight. Richard was alive, or they wouldn't have still been fighting. There was time. There had to be.
   I called to Raina, "Don't show your face out here until after we're gone, Raina. or I'll shoot it off." There was no answer from the room. I had to get to Richard.
   Stephen stumbled and nearly took us both down. He hung from my shoulders, his arms pressing into my neck, then he got his feet under him. "You with me. Stephen?"
   "I'm all right. Just get me out of here." His voice sounded weak, thready, like he was losing consciousness. I could not carry him and shoot, or at least I didn't want to try. I got a firmer grip on his waist and said, "Stay with me, Stephen, and I'll get you out."
   He nodded, long hair spilling around his face. "Okay." The one word was almost too soft to hear above the fighting.
   I stepped out into the main room, and it was chaos. I couldn't see Richard. There was just a mass of bodies, arms, legs, a clawed form rose above the rest, a man-wolf close to seven feet tall. He reached down and drew Richard out of the mess, claws digging into his body. Richard shoved a hand that was too long to be human, and not furry enough to be wolf, under the werewolf's throat. The creature gagged, spitting blood.
   A wolf almost as long as Richard was tall leapt upon his back. Richard staggered, but didn't fall. The mouth sank teeth into his shoulder. Furred claws and human hands grabbed at him from every side. Fuck it. I fired the machine gun into the wooden floor. It would have looked more impressive if I'd fired into the overhead lights, but bullets come down at the same speed they go up, and I didn't want to catch my own ricochet. Holding the machine gun one-handed was a trip. I held on and sprayed a line from me to the bed. I ended with the gun pointing at the fight. Everyone had frozen, shocked. Richard crawled out of the mess, bleeding. He got to his feet, swaying a bit, but moving on his own power. I could never have carried both him and Stephen, let alone the machine gun.
   He stopped in front of the curtain, waiting for me to come to him. Stephen sagged against me, arms limp. I think he'd passed out. It was an agonizingly slow walk to Richard. If I tripped and went down, they'd be on me. They watched me move with eyes, human and wolf, but nothing I could have talked to. They watched me like they wondered what I'd taste like and would enjoy finding out.
   The giant man-wolf spoke, its furry jaws thick and strange around human words. "You can't kill us all, human."
   He was right. I raised the machine gun a little. "True, but who's going to be first in line?"
   No one else moved as I walked. When I reached Richard, he took Stephen from me, cradling him in his arms like he was a child. Blood seeped down his face from a cut on his forehead. It covered half his face like a mask. "Stephen is never to come back here, not ever," Richard said.
   The man-wolf spoke again, "You are not a killer, Richard. That is your weakness. Even if we bring Stephen back here, you will not kill us for it. You will hurt us, but not kill us."
   Richard didn't say anything. It was probably true. Damn.
   "I'll kill you," I said.
   "Anita, you don't understand what you're saying," Richard said.
   I glanced at him, then back to the waiting masses. "Killing is all they understand, Richard. If you aren't willing to kill them, Stephen isn't safe. I want him safe."
   "Enough to kill for it?" Richard asked.
   "Yeah," I said, "enough to kill for it."
   The wolfman stared at me. "You are not one of us."
   "It doesn't matter. Stephen is off limits. Tell Raina if he gets dragged back here, I'll hold her personally responsible."
   "Tell me yourself." Raina stood in the hallway, naked, and totally comfortable as if she'd been wearing the finest silk. Gabriel was at her back.
   "If anyone brings Stephen back here, tries to force him into the movies, I'll kill you."
   "Even if I have nothing to do with it."
   I smiled, like I would believe that. "Even if, no matter who does it, or why, it'll be your ass on the line."
   She nodded her head, almost a bow. "So be it, Anita Blake. But know this, you have challenged me in front of my pack. I cannot let that stand unanswered. If you were another shapeshifter, we would duel, but your being human poses a problem."
   "You know this, bitch. I am human, so if you expect me to drop my gun and fight you one on one, you're crazy."
   "That would hardly be fair, would it?"
   "I didn't think you worried much about being fair, after what I saw in the back room."
   "Oh, that," she said, "Stephen will never rise in the pack. There is no more challenge to him. He is anyone's meat that is higher in the pack."
   "Not anymore," I said.
   "You offer him your protection?" she asked.
   I'd been asked this question once before and knew it meant more than it sounded like it did, but I didn't care. I wanted Stephen safe, and I'd do what it took, killing or making myself a target. Hell, the assassin would probably finish me soon, anyway. "Yeah, he's under my protection."
   "He's already under my protection, Anita," Richard said.
   "Until you're willing to kill to back it up, it doesn't mean a whole lot to these people."
   "You will kill to support Richard's claims of protection?" Raina asked.
   "She doesn't understand what you're asking," Richard said. "It isn't a fair question unless she understands it."
   "Then explain it to her, Richard, but not tonight. It grows late, and if we are to get any filming done, we must hurry. Take your little human and explain the rules to her. Explain how deep a hole she's dug herself tonight. When she understands the rules, call me. And I will think of a way to make a duel between us as fair as possible. Perhaps I could blindfold myself or tie one arm behind my back."
   I started to say something, but Richard said, "Come on, Anita. We have to go now." He was right. I could kill a lot of them, but not all. I hadn't brought a spare clip for the machine gun. I hadn't thought I'd need it. Silly me.
   We got out the door with me walking backwards, ready to shoot anyone who stuck a head out. No one followed us. Richard carried Stephen through the late spring night and didn't look back, as if he knew they wouldn't follow.
   I opened the door, and he laid Stephen in the backseat. "Can you drive home?" he asked.
   "Yeah, how bad are you hurt?"
   "Not bad, but I'd like to ride back here with Stephen in case he wakes up." I couldn't argue with that. I drove. We were safe. We were all actually still alive. But if they'd rushed us, we wouldn't be. Now that we were safe, I could be mad. "Well, we survived. No thanks to your little plan," I said.
   "And no one died, thanks to my little plan," Richard said.
   "Only because I was better armed than usual."
   "You were right," he said, "it was a trap. Happy?"
   "Yeah, I'm happy," I said.
   "Glad to hear it." Underneath the sarcasm he was tired. I could hear it in his voice.
   "What are you supposed to explain to me, Richard?" I glanced in the rearview mirror but couldn't see his face in the dark.
   "Raina backs up Marcus's orders. She's his lupa. He uses her to do things he doesn't approve of, like torture."
   "So I set myself up as your lupa."
   "Yes, I'm the Fenrir. Normally, I'd already have a lupa picked out. The pack is divided, Anita. I've given my protection to my followers so that if Marcus tries to hurt them, I come after him, or my followers will act to protect each other with my blessing. Without a Fenrir or a pack leader to back you up, it's a sort of mutiny to go against the pack leader's orders."
   "What's the penalty for mutiny?"
   "Death or mutilation."
   "I thought you guys could heal anything short of a death wound."
   "Not if you shove burning metal into it. Fire purifies and stops the healing process, unless you reopen the wound."
   "It works that way with vampires, too," I said.
   "I didn't know that," he said, but not like he really cared.
   "How have you risen to next in line to lead and not killed anyone? You had to fight a lot of duels to get to the top of the heap."
   "Only the fight for Ulfric has to be to the death. All I had to do was beat them all."
   "Which is why you take karate and lift weights, so you'll be good enough to beat them." We'd had this discussion before when I asked if lifting weights when you could bench press a small car was redundant. He'd replied, not if everyone you're fighting can lift a car, too. He had a point.
   "Yes."
   "But if you won't kill, then your threat doesn't have much bite, no pun intended."
   "We're not animals, Anita. Just because this is the way it's always been in the pack doesn't mean things can't change. We are still people, and that means we can control ourselves. Dammit, there has to be a better way than slaughtering each other."
   I shook my head. "Don't blame it on the animals. Real wolves don't kill each other for dominance."
   "Only werewolves," he said. He sounded tired.
   "I admire your goals, Richard."
   "But you don't agree."
   "No, I don't agree."
   His voice came from the darkness out of the backseat. "Stephen doesn't have any wounds. Why was he screaming?"
   My shoulders hunched, and I made myself sit up straight. I turned onto Old Highway 21, and tried to think of a delicate way to tell him, but there was nothing delicate about rape. I told him what I'd seen.
   The silence from the backseat lasted a very long time. I was almost to the turnoff for his house when he said, "And you think if I'd killed a few people along the way, this wouldn't have happened?"
   "I think they're more afraid of Raina and Marcus than they are of you, so yeah."
   "If you back my threat with killing, it undermines everything I've tried to do."
   "I love you, Richard, and I admire what you're trying to do. I don't want to undermine you, but if they touch Stephen again, I'll do what I said I'd do. I'll kill them."
   "They're my people, Anita. I don't want them dead."
   "They're not your people, Richard. They're just a bunch of strangers that happen to share your disease. Stephen is your people. Every shapeshifter who threw their support to you and risked Marcus's anger, they're your people. They've risked everything for you, Richard."
   "When Stephen joined the pack, I was the one who told Raina she couldn't have him. I've always stood by him."
   "Your intentions are good, Richard, but they didn't keep him safe tonight."
   "If I let you kill for me, Anita, it's the same as doing it myself."
   "I didn't ask your permission, Richard."
   He leaned on the back of the seat, and I realized he wasn't wearing his seat belt. I started to tell him to put it on, but didn't. It was his car, and he could survive a trip through the windshield. "You mean if they take Stephen again, you'll kill them because you said you'd kill them, not for me."
   "A threat's not worth anything if you aren't willing to back it up," I said.
   "You'd kill for Stephen. Why? Because he saved your life?"
   I shook my head. It was hard to explain. "Not just that. When I saw him tonight, what they were doing to him . . . He was crying, Richard. He was . . . Oh, hell, Richard, he's mine now. There are a handful of people that I'd kill for, kill to keep safe, kill to revenge. Stephen's name got added to the list tonight."
   "Is my name on the list?" he asked. He rested his chin on my shoulder over the seat. He rubbed his cheek on my face and I could feel a faint beard stubble, scratchy and real.
   "You know it is."
   "I don't understand how you can talk about killing so casually."
   "I know."
   "My bid for Ulfric would be stronger if I were willing to kill, but I'm not sure it would be worth it."
   "If you want to martyr yourself for high ideals, fine. I don't like it, but fine. But don't martyr the people who trust you. They're worth more than any set of ideals. You nearly got yourself killed tonight."
   "You don't just believe in something when it's easy, Anita. Killing is wrong."
   "Fine," I said, "but you also nearly got me killed tonight. Do you understand that? If they had rushed us, I wouldn't have made it out. I will not go down in flames because you want to play Gandhi."
   "You can stay home next time."
   "Dammit, that isn't what I'm saying, and you know it. You're trying to live in some Ozzie and Harriet world, Richard. Maybe life used to work like that, but it doesn't anymore. If you don't give up on this, you're going to get killed."
   "If I really thought I had to become a murderer to survive, I think I'd rather not survive."
   I glanced at him. His expression was peaceful, like a saint. But you only got to be a saint if you died. I looked back at the road. I could give Richard up, but if I left him, he was going to end up dead. He'd have gone in there tonight without anyone, and he wouldn't have made it out.
   Tears burned at the back of my eyes. "I don't know if I'd survive it if you died on me, Richard. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
   He kissed my cheek, and something warm and liquid seeped down my neck. "I love you, too."
   They were only words. He was going to get killed on me. He was going to do everything short of suicide. "You're bleeding on me," I said.
   He sighed and leaned back into the darkness. "I'm bleeding a lot. Too bad Jean-Claude isn't here to lick it up." He made a bitter sound low in his throat.
   "Do you need a doctor?"
   "Get me home, Anita. If I need a doctor, I know a wererat that makes house calls." He sounded tired, weary, as if he didn't want to talk anymore. Not about the wounds, or the pack, or his high ideals. I let the silence grow and didn't know how to break it. A soft sound filled the quiet dark, and I realized that Richard was crying. He whispered, "I'm sorry, Stephen. I am so sorry."
   I didn't say anything because I didn't have anything good to say. Just lately I had noticed that I could kill people and not blink. No attack of conscience, no nightmares, nothing. It was like some part of me had turned off. It didn't bother me that I was able to kill so easily. It did bother me that it didn't bother me. But it had its uses, like tonight. I think every last furry one of them had believed I'd do it. Sometimes, it was good to be scary.
   
   
9
   It was 4:40 in the morning when Richard carried the still unconscious Stephen into his bedroom. Blood had dried the back of Richard's shirt to his skin. "Go to bed, Anita. I'll take care of Stephen."
   "I need to look at your wounds," I said.
   "I'm all right."
   "Richard . . ."
   He looked at me, half of his face covered in dried blood, his eyes almost wild. "No, Anita, I don't want your help. I don't need it."
   I took in a deep breath through my nose and let it out. "Okay, have it your way."
   I expected him to apologize for snapping at me, but he didn't. He just walked into the other room and closed the door. I stood there in the living room for a minute, not sure what to do. I'd hurt his feelings, maybe even offended his sense of male honor. Fuck it. If he couldn't take the truth, fuck him. People's lives were at stake. I couldn't give Richard comforting lies when it could get people killed.
   I went into the guest room, locked the door, and went to bed. I put on an oversized T-shirt with a caricature of Arthur Conan Doyle on it. I'd packed something a little sexier. Yes, I admit it. I could have saved myself the trouble. The Firestar was lumpy under the pillow. The machine gun went under the bed within reach. I laid an extra clip beside it. Never thought I'd need that much firepower, but between assassination attempts and packs of werewolves, I was beginning to feel a little insecure.
   When I shoved the silver knives half under the mattress so I could get to them if I had to, I realized just how insecure I was feeling. But I left the knives out. Better insecure and paranoid than dead.
   I got my stuffed toy penguin, Sigmund, out of the suitcase and cuddled under the covers. I'd had some vague idea that spending the night at Richard's house might be romantic. Shows how much I knew. We'd had three fights in one night, a record even for me. It probably wasn't a good sign for the longevity of the relationship. That last thought made my chest tight, but what was I supposed to do? Go into the other room and apologize? Tell him he was right when he wasn't? Tell him it was okay to get himself killed and take the rest of us down with him? It wasn't okay. It wasn't even close to okay. I hugged Sigmund until he was nearly squeezed in two. I refused to cry. Question: Why was I more worried about losing Richard than about the assassins? Answer: Killing didn't bother me; losing Richard did. I fell asleep holding my penguin and wondering if Richard and I were still dating. Who would keep him alive if I wasn't around?
   Something woke me. I blinked up into the dark and reached under my pillow for the Firestar. When it was secure in my hand, I listened. A knock, someone was knocking at the locked bedroom door. Soft, hesitant. Was it Richard come to apologize? That would be too convenient.
   I threw back the covers, spilling Sigmund to the floor. I put him back in the suitcase, lowering the lid without closing it, and padded barefoot to the door. I stood to one side of it, and said, "Who is it?"
   "It's Stephen."
   I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. I crossed to the other side of the door, gun still ready, and unlocked the door. I opened it slowly, looking, listening, trying to make sure it was just Stephen.
   He stood outside the door wearing a pair of Richard's cut-off sweat pants. The shorts hung nearly to his ankles. A borrowed T-shirt covered his knees. His long yellow hair was tousled, like he'd been asleep.
   "What's wrong?" I lowered the gun to my side, and he watched me do it.
   "Richard went out, and I'm afraid to be alone." His eyes wouldn't quite meet mine when he said the last, flinching like he was afraid of what he'd see on my face.
   "What do you mean he went out? Where to?"
   "The woods. He said he'd keep watch for assassins. Does he mean Raina?" He did look up then, amazing blue eyes wide, the beginnings of panic sliding across his face.
   I touched his arm, not sure it was the right thing to do. Some people don't want to be touched after a sexual molestation. It seemed to comfort Stephen. But he glanced behind him at the empty living room, rubbing his hands along his bare arms.
   "Richard told me to stay in the house. He said I needed to rest." He wouldn't meet my eyes again. "I'm afraid to be alone, Anita. I . . ." He hung his head, long yellow hair spilling like a curtain to hide his face. "I can't get to sleep. I keep hearing noises."
   I put a finger under his chin and lifted his face gently. "Are you asking to sleep in here with me?"
   His eyes stared at me, wide and pain-filled. "Richard said I could."
   "Run that by me again," I said.
   "I told him I couldn't stand to be alone. He said, Anita's here, she'll protect you. Go sleep with her." He looked at me, his face awkward. Something must have shown on my face. "You're mad now. I don't blame you. I'm sorry . . . I'll . . ." He started to turn away, and I caught his arm.
   "It's okay, Stephen. I'm not mad at you. Richard and I had a . . . disagreement, that's all." I didn't want him to sleep in here with me. The bed was too small for two people, and if I was going to share it with anyone, I'd have preferred Richard, but that wasn't going to happen. Maybe not ever at the rate we were going.
   "You can stay in here." I didn't add, keep your hands to yourself. His face was raw with a need that had nothing to do with sex. He needed to be held, to be told the monster under the bed wasn't really there. I couldn't help him on the last. The monsters were real. But the first, I might manage that. Cold-blooded killer that I am, maybe I could share my toy penguin with him.
   "Could you get an extra pillow from Richard's room?" I asked.
   He nodded and fetched it. He clutched it to his chest like he'd have rather slept with it than on it. Maybe the penguin wasn't such a bad idea.
   I locked the door behind us. I could have moved into Richard's room. It was a bigger bed, but it also had a picture window with a deck and bird feeders. The guest room only had one small window. Easier to defend. Unless I wanted to go out a window, they were both traps, so we stayed in the more secure room. Besides, I'd have had to move all the weapons and it would have been dawn before I finished.
   I pulled the covers back and said, "You first." If something came through the door, I wanted to be the first to greet it, but I didn't say that out loud. Stephen was jumpy enough.
   He climbed into bed with his pillow, pressing it against the wall, because there really wasn't room for two full-sized pillows. He lay on his back, staring up at me, his curling yellow hair falling around his face and bare shoulders like Sleeping Beauty. You didn't see many men with hair longer than mine. He was one of those men who was pretty rather than handsome, lovely as a doll. Staring up at me with his blue eyes, he looked about twelve. The look on his face was what did it, like he was expecting me to kick him, and he'd let me because he couldn't stop me. I understood in that moment what Raina had meant about him being anyone's meat. There was nothing dominant about Stephen, and it made me wonder about his background. Abused children will sometimes have that raw look to their eyes. And they'll take abuse, because it's normal.
   "What's wrong?" Stephen said.
   I'd been staring. "Nothing, just thinking." Tonight was not the night to ask if his father had beat him. I thought about throwing on a pair of jeans, but it would have been uncomfortable, not to mention hot. It was late spring, the heat hadn't set in. It was only seventy degrees, but it wasn't cool enough to wear jeans, especially if you had someone else in bed with you. Besides, I wasn't sure how Stephen would take me getting dressed to lie down beside him. Maybe he'd be insulted. It was too complicated for me. I turned off the light and climbed into bed beside him. If either of us had been much bigger, we'd have never fit. Stephen had to roll onto his side as it was.
   He curled against my back, spooning his body against mine, one arm flung across my waist, like I was the stuffed toy. I stiffened, but Stephen didn't seem to notice. He buried his face into my back, and let his breath out in a sigh. I lay there in the dark and couldn't sleep. Two months ago after I'd nearly ended up a vampire, I'd had trouble sleeping. Close brushes with death, I could handle. Close brushes with becoming the undead, that scared me. But I got over it. I was sleeping just fine, thank you very much, until now. I pushed the button on my watch that made it glow. It was only 5:30. I'd had about an hour's sleep. Great.
   Stephen's breathing deepened, and his body relaxed against me a muscle at a time. He whimpered softly in his sleep, arm convulsing around me, then the dream passed and he lay still and warm.
   I drifted off to sleep, cuddling Stephen's arm around my body. He was almost as good as a stuffed toy, though he did have a tendency to move at the odd moment.
   Daylight spilled through the thin white drapes, and at first I thought the light had awakened me. I woke stiff, in the same position that I'd fallen asleep in, as if I hadn't moved at all during the night. Stephen was still curled around me, a leg over my legs along with one arm like he was trying to get as close to me as he could, even in his sleep.
   I lay there for a moment with his body wrapped around me and realized I'd never awakened with a man before. I'd had a fiance in college and I'd had sex with him, but I'd never spent the night. I'd never actually slept in the same bed with a man. It was kind of odd. I lay in the circle of warmth of Stephen's body and wished it was Richard.
   I had a vague feeling that something had awakened me, but what? I eased out from the covers and Stephen's clinging body. He rolled over on his other side, sighing, making small protesting noises. I tucked the covers around him and took the Firestar out from under my pillow.
   According to my watch, it was nearly 10:30. I'd had about five hours of sleep. I slipped on a pair of jeans, got my toothbrush and some clean undies and socks out of the suitcase. I folded everything in a clean polo shirt and unlocked the door. I kept the Firestar in my hand. I'd put it on the top of the toilet while I cleaned up. I'd have done the same thing at home.
   Someone passed in front of the door, talking. Two voices, one of them female. I laid the clothes on the floor, unclicked the safety on the gun, and put my left hand on the doorknob.
   "Was that the safety on a gun I heard?" a man's voice said from the other side of the door. I recognized the voice.
   I clicked the safety back in place, put the gun down the front of my pants, and slipped the T-shirt over it. Armed, but not visibly, I opened the door. Jason stood there, grinning at me. He was about my height. His blond hair was straight and baby fine, and cut just above his shoulders. His eyes were the innocent blue of spring skies, but the look in them wasn't innocent. He peered around me at Stephen still curled up in the bed.
   "Is it my turn next?" he asked.
   I sighed, picked up my clothes, tucked them under my arm, and closed the door behind me. "What are you doing here, Jason?"
   "You don't sound happy to see me." He was wearing a fishnet T-shirt. His jeans were faded and soft with one knee completely out. He was twenty and had been a college student before he'd joined the pack. Now he was Jean-Claude's wolf, and playing bodyguard and breakfast entree to the Master Vampire of the City seemed to be his only job.
   "Isn't it a little early in the morning for fishnet?"
   "Wait until you see what I'm wearing to tonight's gala opening of Jean-Claude's dance club."
   "I may not be able to make it," I said.
   He raised his eyebrows. "You spend one night under Richard's roof, and you break a date with Jean-Claude." He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
   "Look, neither of them own me, okay?"
   Jason backed up, hands held up in mock surrender. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. You know it will piss Jean-Claude off, and you know he'll think you slept with Richard."
   "I didn't."
   He glanced at the closed door. "I know that, and I am shocked, Anita, at your choice of bed partners."
   "When you tell Jean-Claude that I slept with Stephen, you make absolutely sure he knows we just shared the bed and nothing else. If Jean-Claude gives Stephen a hard time because of your word games, I'll be angry. You don't want me angry, Jason."
   He looked at me for a heartbeat or two. Something slid behind his eyes, his beast stirring to life, just a touch. Jason had a small streak of what Gabriel had a big streak of. A fascination with danger, pain, and simply being an all round pain in the ass. Jason was tolerable, not a bad guy, all in all; Gabriel was perverted; but it was still the same personality flaw done small. After what I'd seen last night, I wondered what Jason would have thought of the entertainment. I was almost sure he'd have disapproved, but not a hundred percent sure, which told you something about Jason.
   "Did you really draw a machine gun on Raina and Gabriel last night?"
   "Yeah, I did."
   A woman stepped out of Richard's bedroom with an armful of towels. She was about five foot six, with short brown hair so curly it had to be natural. She wore navy slacks and a short-sleeved sweater. Open-toed sandals completed the outfit. She looked me up and down, sort of disapproving or maybe disappointed. "You must be Anita Blake."
   "And you are?"
   "Sylvie Barker." She offered a hand and I took it. The moment I touched her skin, I knew what she was. "Are you with the pack?" I asked.
   She took her hand back and blinked at me. "How could you tell?"
   "If you're trying to pass for human, don't touch someone who knows what they're looking for. Your power prickles down my skin."
   "I won't waste time trying to pass then." Her power flooded over me, pouring like a blast of heat when you open an oven door.
   "Impressive," I said, glad my voice was steady.
   She gave a small smile. "That's quite a compliment, coming from you. Now, I've got to get these towels to the kitchen."
   "What's happening?" I asked.
   Sylvie and Jason exchanged glances. She shook her head. "You knew Richard was hurt?" She made it a question.
   My stomach clenched tight. "He said he'd be all right."
   "He will be," she said.
   I felt my skin go pale. "Where is he?"
   "Kitchen," Jason said.
   I didn't run, it wasn't that far, but I wanted to. Richard sat at the kitchen table, shirtless, his back to me. His back was a mass of fresh claw marks. There was a bite mark in his left shoulder where a piece of flesh was missing.
   Dr. Lillian was blotting blood off his back with a kitchen towel. She was a small woman in her mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair cut in a short, no-nonsense style. She'd treated my own wounds twice before, once when she was furry and looked like a giant man-rat.
   "If you had called for medical attention last night, I wouldn't be having to do this, Richard. I do not enjoy causing my patients pain."
   "Marcus was on call last night," Richard said. "Under the circumstances, I thought it best to go without."
   "You could have let someone clean and bandage the wounds."
   "Yes, Richard, you could have let me help you," I said.
   He glanced back over his shoulder, his hair spilling around his face. There was a bandage on his forehead. "I'd had enough help for one night."
   "Why? Because I'm a woman, or because you know I'm right?"
   Lillian took a small silver knife to the lower half of a claw mark. She sliced the blade down the wound, reopening it. Richard took in a deep breath and let it out.
   "What are you doing?" I asked.
   "Lycanthropes heal, but sometimes without medical attention, we can scar. Most of the wounds will heal, but a few of them are deep enough that he really needs some stitching before the skin starts to close, so I'm having to reopen some of the wounds and add a few stitches."
   Sylvie handed Dr. Lillian the towels.
   "Thank you, Sylvie."
   "What are you two lovebirds fighting about?" Sylvie asked.
   "Let Richard tell you, if he wants to."
   "Anita agrees with you," Richard said. "She thinks I should start killing people."
   I walked over to where he could see me without straining. I leaned against the cabinet island and tried to watch his face rather than Lillian's slicing knife. "I don't want you to start killing people indiscriminately, Richard. Just back your threat up. Kill one person and the rest will back down."
   He glared up at me, outraged. "You mean make an example of one of them?"
   Put that way, it sounded sort of cold-blooded, but truth was truth. "Yeah, that's what I mean."
   "Oh, I like her," Sylvie said.
   "I knew you would," Jason said. They exchanged a glance that I didn't quite get, but it seemed to amuse the hell out of them.
   "Am I missing a joke here?"
   They both shook their heads.
   I let it go. Richard and I were still fighting, and I was beginning to think this fight had no end. He winced as the doctor sliced open another wound. She was only adding a stitch here and there, but it was still more than I'd have wanted in my flesh. I didn't like stitches.
   "No painkillers?" I asked.
   "Anesthesia doesn't work well on us. We metabolize it too quickly," Lillian said. She wiped the silver knife on one of the clean towels and said, "One of the claw marks drops below your jeans. Take them off so I can see."
   I glanced at Sylvie. She smiled at me. "Don't mind me. I like girls."
   "That's what you two were laughing about," I said to Jason.
   He nodded, smiling happily.
   I shook my head.
   "The others will be here soon for the meeting. I don't want my ass hanging out as everyone comes in the door." Richard stood up. "Let's finish up in the bedroom." There were a ring of puncture wounds just below his collarbone. I remembered the man-wolf lifting with its claws last night.
   "You could have been killed," I said.
   He glanced at me. "But I wasn't. Isn't that what you always say?"
   I hated having my own words fed back to me. "You could have killed Sebastian or Jamil and the rest wouldn't have jumped you."
   "You've already decided who I should kill." His voice was thick with anger.
   "Yeah," I said.
   "She's actually making pretty good choices," Sylvie said.
   Richard turned his dark, dark eyes to her. "You stay out of this."
   "If it was just a lovers' quarrel, Richard, I would," she said. She went to stand in front of him. "But Anita's not saying anything that I haven't said. That most of us haven't begged you to do. For a few months, I was willing to try it your way. I hoped you were right, but it isn't working, Richard. Either you're alpha male or you're not."
   "Is that a challenge?" he asked. His voice had grown very quiet. Power flowed through the room like a warm wind.
   Sylvie backed up a step. "You know it's not."
   "Do I?" he said. The power in the room built, growing like a flash of electricity. The hairs on my arms stood to attention.
   Sylvie stopped backing up, hands in fists at her sides. "If I thought I could defeat Marcus, I'd do it. If I could protect us all, I would. But I can't do it, Richard. You're our only chance."
   Richard loomed over her. It wasn't just physical size. His power flowed over her, filled the room, until it was almost chokingly close.
   "I won't kill just because you think I should, Sylvie. No one is going to force me into it. No one."
   He turned his gaze on me, and it took a lot to meet his eyes. There was a force to them, a burning weight. It wasn't a vampire's drowning power, but it was something. My skin shivered with his power, his energy, and I didn't turn away.
   I stared at the wounds just below his neck and knew I'd come close to losing him. That was unacceptable.
   I walked closer until I could have reached out and touched him. His otherworldly energy whirled over me until it was hard to draw a good breath. "We need to talk, Richard."
   "I don't have time for this right now, Anita."
   "Make time," I said.
   He glared down at me. "Talk to me while Lillian finishes up. I've got people coming over for a meeting in about fifteen minutes."
   "What meeting?" I asked.
   "To discuss the Marcus situation," Sylvie said. "He scheduled the meeting before last night's adventure."
   Richard stared at her, and it wasn't a friendly look. "If I'd wanted her to know about the meeting, I'd have told her."
   "What else haven't you told me Richard?"
   He turned those angry eyes to me. "What haven't you told me?"
   I blinked at him, genuinely puzzled. "I don't know what you're talking about."
   "A shotgun fires over your head twice and you don't know what I'm talking about."
   Oh that. "I did the right thing, Richard."
   "You're always right, aren't you?"
   I looked at the floor and shook my head. When I looked back at him, he was still angry, but I was losing my anger. A first. This was going to be thefight. The one that ended it. I wasn't wrong. No amount of talking would change that. But if we were going to break up, we'd go down in flames. "Let's finish this, Richard. You wanted to go into the bedroom."
   He stood up, body stiff with an anger that was deeper than I could comprehend. It was controlled rage, and I didn't understand where it was coming from. It was a bad sign. "You sure you can stand to see me naked?" His voice was utterly bitter, and I didn't know why.
   "What's wrong, Richard? What did I do?"
   He shook his head too vigorously, making him wince as his shoulder caught the movement. "Nothing, nothing." He walked out of the room. Lillian looked at me, but followed him. I sighed and joined them. I wasn't looking forward to the next few minutes, but I wasn't going to chicken out. We'd say all the ugly things and make it as nasty as possible. Trouble was, I didn't have any nasty things to say. It made the fight a lot less fun for me.
   Jason whispered as I walked by, very softly, "Go, Anita, go, Anita."
   It made me smile.
   Sylvie watched me with cool eyes. "Good luck." It didn't sound completely sincere.
   "Do you have a problem?" I'd have much rather fought with her than Richard.
   "If he wasn't dating you, then he might choose a mate. It would help things."
   "You want the job?" I asked.
   "Yes," she said, "I do, but sex is integral and I'm not up for it."
   "Then I'm not standing in your way," I said.
   "Not in mine, no," she said. Which implied there were others, but I didn't give a shit, not today. I said, "It is too damn early in the morning for furball politics. If someone wants a piece of me, tell them to go to the back of the line."
   She cocked her head to one side, like a curious dog. "Is it a long line?"
   "Lately, yeah."
   "I thought all your enemies were dead," Jason said.
   "I keep making new ones," I said.
   He smiled. "Fancy that."
   I shook my head and walked towards the bedroom. I'd have rather faced Raina again than Richard. I almost hoped the assassin would jump out of the woodwork and give me something to shoot at. It would hurt less than breaking up with Richard.
   
   

10
   Richard's bedroom was painted pale green, a vibrant rug thrown in front of the bed like a piece of stained glass. The bed was a heavy four-poster, and even hurt, he'd made the bed, pulling the solid red spread up over it. He had three solid spreads that he rotated on the bed; green, blue, and red. Each color picked up a different color in the rug and the painting over the bed. The painting was of wolves in a winter scene. The wolves were looking directly out of the picture as if you'd just come around a tree and surprised them. There was a deer bleeding on the snow, its throat torn out. It was an odd choice for a bedroom, but it fit somehow. Besides, I liked it. It had that quality that all fine paintings do, as if when you leave the room the painting will move, life suspended and captured on canvas. The green spread emphasized the evergreens, the blue spread caught the washed blue of the sky and the bluish shadows, the red caught the stain of blood on the snow.
   Richard lay on his stomach across the crimson cloth. He was totally nude, his jeans thrown on the corner of the bed. His tanned skin looked dark and smooth and incredibly touchable against the red cloth. I felt heat rise up my face as my eyes followed the curve of his body, over the smooth expanse of his buttocks. Lillian had just finished sewing up a curve of claw that had spilled down from his buttocks. I looked away.
   I'd seen Richard nude once when I first met him, but never since. We hadn't even been thinking about dating then. I had to look away, mainly because I wanted to look. I wanted to see him like that, and it was too embarrassing for words. I studied the contents of the built-in shelves on his bedroom wall like I'd memorize them. Bits of quartz, a small bird's nest. There was a lump of fossilized coral as big as my hand, a dark rich gold in color with streaks of white quartz. I'd found it on a camping trip and given it to him because he collected bits and pieces, and I didn't. I touched the bit of coral, and didn't want to turn around.
   "You said you wanted to talk, then talk," Richard said.
   I glanced back. Lillian snipped the black thread she was using to close his skin. "There," she said. "You shouldn't even have a scar."
   Richard folded his arms on the bed, resting his chin on his forearms. His hair spread around his face, foaming and touchable. I knew it was as soft as it looked.
   Lillian glanced from one to the other of us. "I believe I'll leave you two alone." She began putting things into her bag, which was brown leather and looked more like a fishing tackle box than anything else. She looked at Richard and back to me. "Take a piece of advice from an old lady. Don't screw up."
   She left with Richard and me both staring after her.
   "You can get dressed now," I said.
   He glanced at his crumpled jeans, moving only his dark eyes. His eyes came back to me, and they were as angry as I'd ever seen them. "Why?"
   I concentrated on meeting those angry eyes and tried not to stare at his body. It was harder than I would have admitted out loud. "Because its hard to fight with you when you're naked."
   He raised up on his elbows, hair falling down into his eyes, until he stared at me through a curtain of brown gold hair. It reminded me of Gabriel, and that was unnerving as hell.
   "I know you want me, Anita. I can smell it."
   Oh, that made me feel better. I blushed for the second time in five minutes. "So, you're gorgeous. So what? What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
   He raised up on all fours, knees, and hands. I looked away so fast it made me dizzy. "Please put on your jeans."
   I heard him slide off the bed. "You can't even look at me, can you?"
   There was something about the way he said it that made me want to see his face, but I couldn't turn around. I just couldn't. If this was the last fight we ever had, I didn't want the memory of his body imprinted on my mind. It would be too cruel.
   I felt him standing behind me. "What do you want from me, Richard?"
   "Look at me."
   I shook my head.
   He touched my shoulder, and I jerked away.
   "You can't even stand for me to touch you, can you?" For the first time. I heard pain in his voice, raw and hurting.
   I turned then. I had to see his face. His eyes glittered with unshed tears, eyes wide so they wouldn't fall. He'd pushed his hair back from his face, but it was already spilling forward. My eyes traveled down his muscular chest, and I wanted to run my hands over his nipples, down his slender waist, and lower. I drew my eyes back up to his face with force of will alone, my face pale now, rather than blushing. I was having trouble breathing. My heart was beating so hard, it was hard to hear.
   "I love it when you touch me," I said.
   He stared down at me, his eyes filled with pain. I think I preferred the anger. "I used to admire you for saying no to Jean-Claude. I know you want him, and you keep refusing. I thought it was very moral of you." He shook his head, one tear slid from the corner of his eye, trailing in slow motion down his cheek.
   I brushed the tear from his face with my fingertip. He caught my hand in his, holding it a little too hard, but not hurting, only surprising. It was also my right hand, and drawing the gun left-handed was going to be a bitch. Not that I really thought I'd need the gun, but he was acting so strangely.
   Richard spoke, staring down at me. "But Jean-Claude's a monster and you don't sleep with monsters. You just kill them." Tears slid from both of his eyes and I let them fall. "You don't sleep with me, either, because I'm a monster, too. But you can kill us, can't you, Anita? You just can't fuck us."
   I jerked away from him, and he let me. He could have bench pressed the heavy cherry wood bed, so he let me go. I didn't like that much. "That was an ugly thing to say."
   "But it's true," he said.
   "I want you, Richard, you know that."
   "You want Jean-Claude, too, so that's not very flattering. You tell me to kill Marcus, like it would be easy. Do you think it wouldn't bother me to kill him because he's a monster, or because I am?"
   "Richard," I said. This was an argument I hadn't seen coming. I didn't know what to say, but I had to say something. He was standing there with tears drying on his face. Even nude and gorgeous, he looked lost.
   "I know it would bother you to kill Marcus. I never said it wouldn't," I said.
   "Then how can you urge me to do it?"
   "I think it's necessary," I said.
   "Could you do it? Could you just kill him?"
   I thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I could."
   "And that wouldn't bother you?" he asked.
   I stared straight at him, looked him right in his pain-filled eyes, and said, "No."
   "If you really mean that, it makes you a bigger monster than I am."
   "Yeah, I guess it does."
   He shook his head. "It doesn't bother you, does it, knowing that you could take a human life?" He laughed, and it was bitter. "Or don't you consider Marcus human?"
   "The man I killed last night was human," I said.
   Richard stared at me, fresh horror growing in his eyes. "And you slept just fine didn't you?"
   I nodded. "Pretty good, considering you sent Stephen to my bed."
   A strange look passed through his eyes, and for a split second, I saw him wonder.
   "Sweet Jesus, you know me better than that."
   He looked down. "I know. It's just that I want you so badly, and you keep saying, no. It makes me doubt everything."
   "Shit. I am not going to stroke your ego in the middle of a fight. You sent Stephen to me because you were mad. Said I could protect him. Had it occurred to you that I'd never slept—just slept—in the same bed with a man before?"
   "What about your fiance in college?"
   "I had sex with him, but I didn't sleep over," I said. "The first time I woke up in the morning with a man curled around me, I wanted it to be you."
   "I'm sorry, Anita. I didn't know. I . . ."
   "You didn't think. Great. Now, what's with the no clothes? What's going on, Richard?"
   "You saw the fight last night. You saw what I did, what I can do."
   "Some of it, yeah."
   He shook his head. "You want to know why I don't kill? Why I always stop just short of it?" The look in his eyes was almost desperate, wild.
   "Tell me," I said, softly.
   "I enjoy it, Anita. I love the feel of my hands, my claws ripping into flesh." He hugged himself. "The taste of fresh, warm blood in my mouth is exciting." He shook his head harder, as if he could erase the sensation. "I wanted to rip Sebastian apart last night. I could feel it, like an ache in my shoulders, in my arms. My body wanted to kill him, the way I want you." He stared at me, still hugging himself, but his body was speaking for him. The thought of killing Sebastian did excite him, really excite him.
   I swallowed hard. "You're afraid that if you let go and killed, that you'd like that, too?"
   He stared at me, and that was the horror in his eyes: the fear that he was a monster, the fear that I was right not to touch him, not to let him touch me. You don't fuck the monsters, you just kill them.
   "Do you enjoy killing?" he asked.
   I had to think about that for a second or two. Finally, I shook my head. "No, I don't enjoy it."
   "What does it feel like?" he asked.
   "Like nothing. I don't feel anything."
   "You have to feel something."
   I shrugged. "Relief that it wasn't me. Triumph that I was faster, meaner." I shrugged again. "It doesn't bother me to kill people, Richard. It just doesn't."
   "Did it once?"
   "Yes, it used to bother me."
   "When did it stop bothering you?"
   "I don't know. Not the first death, or the second, but when it gets to the point that you can't keep track of them all . . . It either stops bothering you or you find another line of work."
   "I want it to bother me, Anita. Killing should mean something other than blood, and excitement, or even survival. If it doesn't, then I'm wrong, and we are just animals." His body reacted to the thought, too. And he did not find it exciting. He looked vulnerable and afraid. I wanted to tell him to get dressed, but I didn't. He'd chosen to be naked very deliberately, as if to prove once and for all that I didn't want him, or that I did.
   I didn't much like tests, but it was hard to bitch with the fear in his eyes. He'd walked away to stand in front of the bed. He rubbed one hand up and down the opposite arm as if he were cold. It was May in Saint Louis. He wasn't cold, at least not that kind of cold.
   "You aren't animals, Richard."
   "How do you know what I am?" And I knew that he was asking the question more of himself than of me.
   I walked over to him. I took the Firestar out of the front of my pants and laid it on the night stand beside his cut glass lamp. He watched me do it, eyes wary. Almost like he expected me to hurt him. I was going to try very hard not to do that.
   I touched his arm, gently, where he was rubbing it. He froze under my touch. "You are one of the most moral people I have ever met. You can kill Marcus and not become a ravening beast. I know that, because I know you."
   "Gabriel and Raina kill and look what they are."
   "You aren't like them, Richard. Trust me on that."
   "What if I kill Sebastian or Marcus, and I enjoy it." His handsome face was raw with terror at the thought.
   "Maybe it will feel good." I gripped his arm tighter. "But if it does, there's no shame in that. You are what you are. You didn't choose it. It chose you."
   "How can you say there's no shame in enjoying killing something. I've hunted deer and I love it. I love the chase, and the kill, and eating the warm meat." As before, the thought excited him. I kept my eyes on his face as much as possible, but it was distracting.
   "Everyone has different things that flip their switch, Richard. I've heard worse. Hell, I've seen worse."
   He stared down at me like he wanted to believe me and was afraid to. "Worse than this." He lifted his right hand from its grip on his arm, he held his hand in front of my face. His power prickled over my hand, down my arm, until I gasped. It was force of will alone that kept my hand on his arm.
   His fingers elongated, stretching impossibly long and thin. The nails grew into heavy claws. It wasn't a wolf hand, rather his own grown into a claw. Nothing else had changed that I could see. Only that one hand.
   I was having trouble breathing, for different reasons than before. I stared at the clawed hand and realized for the first time that he was right. Watching the bones in his hand stretch and pop sickened me, scared me.
   I kept my hand on his arm, but I was shaking. I found my voice, and it shook, too. "I saw Raina do that once. I thought it wasn't a common ability."
   "Only Raina, Marcus, and I can do it within our pack. We can partially change at will."
   "That's how you stabbed Sebastian last night."
   He nodded, eyes searching my face. I was fighting to keep it blank, but what he saw there wasn't reassuring enough. He turned away from me, and I didn't have to see his eyes to feel the pain.
   I grabbed his hand and wrapped my fingers around those long, thin bones. I felt muscles under my hands that had never been in Richard's hand before. It took everything I had to hold that hand. To touch him like that. Everything. The effort left me shaking and unable to meet his eyes. I didn't trust what he'd see in them.
   He touched my chin with his other hand and turned me slowly to face him. He stared down at me. "I can taste your fear, and I like it. Do you understand? I like it."
   I had to clear my throat to talk. "I noticed," I said.
   He had the grace to blush. He bent slowly to kiss me. I didn't try to stop him, but I didn't help, either. I usually rose on tiptoe to meet him halfway. I stood there, too scared to move, forcing his tall body to bend at the shoulders, to fold down towards me. The long, thin-fingered hand that I was holding convulsed around me, the claws playing lightly on my bare forearm.
   I tensed, and his power poured over me. I held onto his hand while the muscles and bones slid back into place. I held on with both hands while his hand re-formed under mine. My skin shuddered with the spill of power.
   His lips brushed mine, and I kissed him back, almost swaying. I let go of his hand, my fingers brushed his bare chest, playing over his hardened nipples. His hands slid around my waist, fingers kneading upward, over my ribs, along my spine. He whispered into my mouth, "You're not wearing anything under this T-shirt."
   "I know," I said.
   His hands slid under the shirt, caressing my back, pressing our bodies together. His naked body touched me, and even through my jeans, it made me shudder. I wanted to feel his naked flesh against mine so badly, I could feel it like a hunger in my skin. I slipped the T-shirt off, and he made a sound of surprise.
   He stared down at my bare breasts, and he wasn't the only one excited. He ran his hands over my breasts, and when I didn't stop him, he dropped to his knees in front of me. He looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with a dark light.
   I kissed him while he knelt in front of me, as if I'd eat him from the mouth down. The feel of him against my naked flesh was almost too much.
   He broke from the kiss and ran his mouth over my breasts. It brought a surprised moan from my throat.
   There was a knock at the door. We froze. A woman's voice that I didn't recognize said, "I didn't come all this way to listen to you make out, Richard. I'd like to remind you that all of us have incredibly good hearing."
   "Not to mention sense of smell." That was Jason.
   "Damn," he said softly, head buried against me.
   I leaned my head over him, burying my face in his hair. "I think I'll just climb out the window."
   He hugged me around the waist and stood, passing his hands over my breasts one last time. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that."
   He reached for his jeans and underpants still lying on the bed. I touched his arm, bringing his attention back to me.
   "I want you, Richard. I love you. I want you to believe that."
   He stared at me, his face grew strange and solemn. "You haven't seen me change into a wolf yet. You need to see that before we go any further."
   The thought did not excite me, and I was glad I was the girl, so it didn't show. "You're right, though if you'd played your cards right, we might have had sex first."
   "It wouldn't be fair to you."
   "So you're saying even if we'd been alone you'd have stopped and shapeshifted."
   He nodded.
   "Because it wouldn't be fair to sleep with me until I'd seen the whole package?"
   "Exactly."
   "You are such a boy scout, Richard."
   "I think I just lost one of my merit badges," he said. The look on his face brought a rush of heat up my neck.
   He grinned and slipped on his pants. He wore briefs. He pulled on his jeans and was careful zipping them up. I watched him get dressed with a proprietary air. An air of anticipation.
   I picked the T-shirt up from the floor and pulled it back on. Richard came up behind me, sliding his hands under the shirt, cupping a hand around each breast, kneading them. I leaned back against him. He was the one who stopped, hugging me around the waist, picking me an inch off the floor. He turned me around and gave me a quick kiss. "When you make up your mind to do something, you really make up your mind, don't you?"
   "Always," I said.
   He took in a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth. "I'd try to make it a quick meeting, but . . ."
   "Edward should be here soon, so it doesn't matter."
   He nodded, his face falling. "I almost forgot that someone was trying to kill you." He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, eyes searching my face. "Be careful."
   I touched the bandage on his shoulder. "You, too."
   He pulled a black T-shirt from a drawer and slipped it on. He tucked it into his jeans, and I made myself stay away from him while he fumbled with his zipper. "Join us after you get dressed."
   I nodded. "Sure." He left, closing the door behind him. I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Damn. I didn't want to lose Richard. I really didn't. I wanted to sleep with him. I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing him change into full animal form. The hand thing had bothered me enough. What if I couldn't take it? What if it was too gross? Dear God, I hoped not. I hoped I was a better person than that. A stronger person than that.
   Richard was afraid that if he started to kill, he'd just keep killing. It wasn't a completely unreasonable fear. I hugged myself tight. The feel of his body against mine clung to my skin. The feel of his mouth on me . . . I shivered, and it wasn't fear. It was stupid to love Richard. Having sex with him would make it worse. He was going to be dead soon if he didn't kill Marcus. Simple as that. Jean-Claude would never have endangered himself like that. Never. You could always trust Jean-Claude to survive. It was one of his talents. I was almost sure it wasn't one of Richard's. Last night should have proved to me beyond any doubt that I should dump him. Or that he should dump me. You could agree to disagree on politics, or even religion sometimes, but you either killed people or you didn't. Homicide was not something you could be neutral on.
   Jean-Claude didn't mind killing people. Once upon a time, I'd thought that made him monstrous. Now I agreed with him. Will the real monster please stand up?
   
   
11
   I'd finally gotten dressed, red polo shirt, black jeans, black Nikes, the Firestar 9mm in its inner-pants holster. The gun was very visible against the red shirt, but hey, why try to hide it? Besides, I could feel the roil of power just outside the door. Shapeshifters, not all of them happy. Strong emotions make it harder to hide their power. Richard was one of the best at hiding it that I'd ever met. He'd fooled me for a while, made me think he was human. No one else had ever been able to do that.
   I looked at myself in the mirror and realized that it wasn't facing a room full of lycanthropes that bothered me, it was facing a room full of people who knew that Richard and I had been making out. I preferred danger to embarrassment any day. I was used to danger.
   The bathroom was just off the living room, so when I opened the door, they were all there, clustered on or around the couch. They glanced at me as I stepped out, and I nodded. "Hello."
   Rafael said, "Hello, Anita." He was the Rat King, the wererats equivalent of pack leader. He was tall, dark, and handsome with strong Mexican features that made his face seem stern. Only his lips hinted that perhaps there were more smiles than frowns in him. He was wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt that left the brand on his arm bare. The brand was in the shape of a crown, and was the mark of kingship. There was no equivalent mark among the wolves. Being a lycanthrope meant different things, depending on the animal; different cultures as well as forms.
   "I didn't know the wererats would be interested in the packs' internal squabbles," I said.
   "Marcus is trying to unify all shapeshifters under one leader."
   "Let me guess," I said, "he gets to be leader."
   Rafael gave a small smile. "Yes."
   "So you've thrown in with Richard as the lesser evil?" I made it a question.
   "I've thrown in with Richard because he is a man of his word. Marcus has no honor. His bitch Raina has seen to that."
   "I still think if we killed Raina, Marcus might be willing to talk with us." This from a woman who I thought I'd seen before but couldn't place. She sat on the floor sipping coffee from a mug. She had short blond hair, and was wearing a pink nylon jogging suit, jacket open over a pink T-shirt. It was a jogging suit made for looking at, not working out in, and I remembered her. I'd seen her at the Lunatic Cafe, Raina's restaurant. Her name was Christine. She wasn't a wolf, she was a weretiger. She was here to speak on behalf of the independent shapeshifters. Those who didn't have enough people to have a leader. Not every kind of lycanthropy was equally contagious. You could get cut to pieces by a weretiger and not get it. A werewolf could barely cut you and you got furry. Almost none of the cat-based lycanthropy was as contagious as wolf and rat. No one knew why. It was just the way it worked.
   Richard introduced me to about fifteen others, first names only.
   I said hi and leaned against the wall by the door. The couch was full, and so was the floor. Besides, I liked being out of reach of any shapeshifter I didn't know. Just a precaution.
   "Actually, I've met Christine before," I said.
   "Yes," Christine said, "the night you killed Alfred."
   I shrugged. "Yeah."
   "Why didn't you kill Raina last night when you had the chance?" she said.
   Before I could answer, Richard interrupted. "If we kill Raina," he said, "Marcus will hunt us all down."
   "I don't think he's up to the job," Sylvie said.
   Richard shook his head. "No, I still won't give up on Marcus."
   No one said anything, but the looks on their faces were enough. They agreed with me. Richard was going to get himself killed and hang his followers out to dry.
   Louie came out of the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee. He smiled at me. Louie was Richard's best friend, and he'd gone on a lot of hiking dates with us. He was five foot six, with eyes darker than my own, true black, not just darkest brown. His baby-fine black hair had been cut recently. He'd worn it long for all the time I'd known him, not a fashion statement like Richard; he just never got around to getting it cut. Now it was short enough that his ears showed, and he looked older, more like a professor with a doctorate in biology. He was a wererat, and one of Rafael's lieutenants. He handed me one of the mugs.
   "These meetings have been so much more pleasant since Richard bought that coffeemaker. Thanks to you."
   I took a big breath of coffee, and felt better instantly. Coffee might not be a cure-all, but it was close. "I'm not sure everyone is happy to see me."
   "They're scared. It makes them a little hostile."
   Stephen came out of the guest room dressed in clothes that fit too well to be Richard's. A blue dress shirt, tucked into faded blue jeans. The only man in the room that was close to Richard's size was Jason. Jason never minded sharing his clothes.
   "Why does everyone look so grim?" I asked.
   Louie leaned against the wall, sipping coffee. "Jean-Claude withdrew his support of Marcus and threw in with Richard. I can't believe neither of them mentioned that."
   "They said something about having formed a bargain, but they didn't explain." I thought about what he'd just told me. "Marcus must be pissed."
   The smile faded from his face. "That is an understatement." He looked at me. "You don't understand, do you?"
   "Understand what?" I asked.
   "Without Jean-Claude's backing, Marcus doesn't stand a chance of forcing the rest of the shapeshifters under his control. His dreams of empire building are finished."
   "If he doesn't stand a chance, why is everyone so worried?"
   Louie gave a sad smile. "What Marcus can't control, he has a tendency to kill."
   "You mean he'd start a war?"
   "Yes."
   "Not just with Richard and the pack, you mean, but an all-out war with all the other shapeshifters in town?"
   Louie nodded. "Except the wereleopards. Gabriel is their leader and he sides with Raina."
   I thought about it for a second or two. "Sweet Jesus, it would be a bloodbath."
   "And there'd be no way of containing it, Anita. Some of it would spill over onto the normal world. There are still three states in this country that will pay hundreds of dollars in bounty for a dead shapeshifter, no questions asked. A war like this could make the practice look practical."
   "Do you two have something better to do?" Christine asked. I was beginning not to like her. It was she that knocked on the door and interrupted Richard and me. Frankly, for that I was sort of grateful. The thought of everyone hearing us go further would have been too embarrassing for words.
   Louie moved back to sit on the floor with the others. I stayed leaning against the wall, sipping my coffee.
   "Are you going to join us?" she asked.
   "I'm fine where I am," I said.
   "Too good to sit with us?" a man in his late thirties with dark blue eyes asked. He was about five foot eight; it was hard to tell with him sitting on the floor. He was dressed in a suit, complete with tie, as if he was on his way to work. His name was Neal.
   "Not good enough," I said, "not good enough by half."
   "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "I don't like having a normal here."
   "Leave it alone, Neal," Richard said.
   "Why? She's laughing at us."
   Richard glanced back at me from his corner of the couch. "Come join us, Anita?"
   Sylvie was sitting beside Richard, not too close, but still, there was not enough room for me. Rafael sat on the end of the couch, spine straight, ankle propped on one knee.
   "Couch looks full," I said.
   Richard held out his hand to me. "We'll make room."
   "She isn't even pack," Sylvie said. "I won't give up my seat to her. No offense to you, Anita, you don't know any better." Her voice was matter-of-fact, not hostile, but the look she gave Richard wasn't exactly friendly.
   "No offense taken," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to sit on the couch surrounded by lycanthropes anyway. Even supposedly friendly ones. Everyone in the room was stronger and faster than I was, just a fact. The only leg up I had was the gun. If I sat right beside them, I'd never get it out in time.
   "I want my girlfriend to sit with me, Sylvie, that's all," Richard said. "It isn't meant as a challenge to your position in the lukoi." His voice sounded patient like he was talking to a child.
   "What did you say?" Sylvie asked. She looked shocked.
   "We are the lukoi. Anita knows that."
   "You shared our words with her?" Neal said, outrage thick in his voice.
   I wanted to say that it was just words, but I didn't. Who says I'm not getting smarter?
   "There was a time when sharing our secrets with normals could get you a death sentence," Sylvie said.
   "Even Marcus doesn't allow that anymore."
   "How much of our secrets do you know, human?"
   I shrugged. "A few words, that's all."
   Sylvie stared at me. "You want your human girlfriend to cuddle up next to you, is that it, Richard?"
   "Yes," he said. There was no trace of anger in his voice.
   Personally, I didn't like the way she'd said "human."
   Sylvie knelt on the couch, staring at me. "Come human, sit with us."
   I stared at her. "Why the change of heart?"
   "Not everything has to do with the pack hierarchy. That's what Richard is always telling us. Sit by your lover. I'll scoot over." She did, curling up on the couch, near Rafael.
   The Rat King glanced at me. He raised an eyebrow, almost a shrug. I didn't trust Sylvie, but I trusted Rafael, and I trusted Richard, at least here, today. I realized that I would have trusted Rafael last night. He wouldn't have the moral qualms that Richard had. Poor Richard was like a lone voice crying in the wilderness. God help me, I agreed with the pagans.
   Louie and Stephen were curled on the floor, close by. I was among friends. Even Jason, grinning up at me, wouldn't let me get hurt. Jason was Jean-Claude's wolf to call, as was Stephen. I think if they let me get killed, they might not survive much longer than I did.
   "Anita?" Richard made it a question.
   I sighed and pushed away from the wall. I was among friends, so why were the muscles in my back so tight it hurt to move? Paranoid? Who me?
   I walked around the couch, coffee mug in my left hand. Sylvie patted the couch, smiling, but not like she meant it.
   I sat beside Richard. His arm slid over my shoulders. My right arm was pressed against his side, not too tightly. He knew how much I hated having my gun hand impeded.
   Leaning into the warmth of his body, I relaxed. The tightness in my shoulders eased. I took a sip of coffee. We were all being terribly civilized.
   Richard put his lips against my face, and whispered, "Thank you."
   Those two words earned him a lot of brownie points. He knew what it had cost me to sit down among the wolves, rats, and cats. Not sitting with him would have undermined him in front of the pack and the other leaders. I wasn't here to make the situation worse.
   "Who saved you last night, Stephen?" Sylvie asked. Her voice was sweet, face pleasant. I didn't trust her at all.
   Every eye turned to Stephen. He tried to huddle into the floor, as if he could go invisible, but it didn't work. He stared at Richard, eyes wide.
   "Go ahead, Stephen, tell the truth. I won't be mad."
   Stephen swallowed. "Anita saved me."
   "Richard was fighting about twenty lycanthropes at the time," I said. "He told me to get Stephen, so I did."
   Neal sniffed Stephen, running his nose just above the other man's face and neck, down his shoulder. It wasn't a human gesture, and it was unnerving in the well-dressed man. "He has her scent on his skin." Neal glared at me. "He's been with her."
   I expected an outcry, but instead, the others crowded around Stephen, sniffing his skin, touching him, and bringing their fingers close to their own faces. Only Sylvie, Jason, Rafael, and Louie stayed sitting. One by one, the rest turned to Richard and me.
   "He's right," Christine said. "Her scent clings to his skin. You don't get that much scent just by carrying someone."
   Richard's hand tightened on my shoulder. I glanced at his face. It was calm, only a slight tightness around the eyes betrayed tension. "I was patrolling the woods for assassins," Richard said. "Stephen didn't want to be alone. I sent him to Anita."
   "We know about the assassination attempts," Sylvie said.
   I widened my eyes. "You do, do you?"
   "Richard wants us to help protect you. If we're going to take a bullet for you, we need to know why."
   I met her eyes. Her pretty face was harsh, the bones in her cheeks standing out.
   "I'm not asking anyone to take my bullet," I said. I scooted out from under Richard's arm, which put me closer to Sylvie, not an improvement.
   Richard didn't fight it. He drew his arm back. "I should have talked to you before I told them."
   "Damn straight," I said.
   Sylvie leaned her arms on the back of the couch, bringing her face inches from mine. "Are you going to chastise our would-be pack leader, human?"
   "You say humanlike it's a bad thing, Sylvie. Jealous?"
   She drew back like I'd hit her. A look that was part pain, part rage passed across her face. "Most of us here survived an attack, human. We did not choose this." Her voice was chokingly harsh.
   I'd expected a lot of things from her, but not the pain of a survivor. I was sorry I'd made the crack. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything personal by it."
   "You have no idea how personal it is."
   "That's enough, Sylvie," Richard said.
   She rose on her knees to meet Richard's face over my head. "Don't you even have the balls to be angry that she slept with a subordinate male?"
   "Wait a minute," I said. "Stephen and I did not have sex. We literally slept together, nothing else."
   Neal plunged his face into Stephen's crotch and sniffed. It wasn't a human gesture. Stephen let him do it, and that wasn't very human, either.
   Jason leaned in, sniffing my leg.
   I put my coffee cup on my knee, in front of his face. "Don't even think it," I said.
   Jason grinned up at me. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
   "I can," Richard said softly.
   Jason smiled at him and scooted back.
   Neal raised his face and shook his head. "They didn't have sex."
   "He said she'd protect me," Stephen said. The silence grew so thick you could have walked on it.
   "Is that what you said?" Sylvie asked. She was staring at Richard like he'd done something very bad.
   Richard took a deep enough breath that his shoulders shuddered. "Yes, that's what I said."
   "Stephen," Sylvie said, "Did you believe she'd protect you? If Raina had come through the door, would you have trusted Anita to save you?"
   Stephen looked at the floor, then up, his eyes darted to Richard, then to me. His eyes finally stopped, staring at me. "She had me sleep near the wall so she'd be in front in case anything came through the door."
   And I'd thought I'd been subtle.
   "What would you have done if Raina hadcome?" Sylvie asked.
   Everyone was watching me, except Richard. Their eyes were very intent, and I knew the question meant more than it should have. "I'd have killed her."
   "Not just shot her or wounded her?" Christine asked.
   I shook my head. "She got her free pass last night. If she comes after Stephen again, I'll kill her."
   "You mean that, don't you?" Sylvie said.
   "Every word," I said.
   There was a hum of energy in the room, almost as if they were all sharing some telepathic message. I don't think they were, but something was happening. The energy level in the room was rising, and I didn't like it. I sat the coffee mug on the floor. I wanted both my hands free.
   Sylvie grabbed me around the waist and rolled us off the couch. We were on the floor with her riding my back before I could react. I went for the gun, and her hand was there first. She jerked the gun out of its holster and tossed it away. She wasn't fast, she was miraculous, and I was in deeper shit than I could get out of.
   The bend of her arm was tucked under my chin like in a strangle hold, positioned just right so she could black me out without killing me. Her legs locked around my waist, as close as she could get and not climb down my shirt.
   A half dozen werewolves flowed between her and Richard. He was standing, hands in fists at his side. His power poured through the room, deeper and higher, until it was like being buried alive in some kind of static charge.
   "Don't," I whispered. I wasn't talking to Richard.
   I felt something open inside Sylvie, a trembling, vibrating energy flowed from her skin across my body. It was almost hot, like opening the door to an oven. Where her skin touched me, I shivered. It was painful, like small electric shocks.
   "What are you doing, Sylvie?" Richard asked. His voice had gone low and growling deep; it didn't sound human. I expected his eyes to be amber, but they were the same solid brown as always. Human eyes, but the look in them was not. The beast stared out of Richard's eyes. I knew in that moment that he was truly dangerous. I also knew that all that impressive power wouldn't save me if Sylvie wanted to rip my head off.
   My pulse thudded against her arm like a trapped butterfly. I forced my voice calm. "What's going on?"
   "I'm going to make you his mate."
   "You're not contagious in human form," I said.
   "Really?" she said. The arm around my throat grew warm, pulsing like a beating heart. I felt the muscles slide under her skin.
   "Richard." My voice sounded high and wispy. Fear will do that to you.
   Rafael and Louie were on their feet now. The werewolves that had joined Sylvie in this little protest fanned out to cover the rats, too.
   I couldn't see Stephen. He was somewhere behind us, crouched on the floor, last I saw.
   Jason crouched at Richard's feet, facing the other werewolves. But at least ten of them just sat there, watching, not taking sides. "You've been holding out on us," Jason said.
   Sylvie flexed the arm around my neck. I had a glimpse of a long-clawed hand. "Only Raina is higher in the pack than I am, Jason."
   Richard faced the werewolves. He brought his hands upward, making a soothing gesture like he'd done at the movie set. The prickling energy in the room went down a notch. He was forcing their power back.
   "All it takes is a scratch, Richard," Sylvie said. "You'll never reach us in time."
   "I forbid this," Richard growled. "No one is to be infected against their will. Especially Anita."
   "Why?" Sylvie said. "Because if she wasn't human, you wouldn't want her? Not taking the pack to your bed is just another way of denying what you are, Richard."
   Something passed over his face behind the anger and the power: uncertainty.
   I knew in that moment she was right.
   Sylvie whispered in my ear, her breath warm on my face. "See his face."
   "Yeah," I said.
   "He accuses you of not being able to sleep with him because you think he's a monster, but if I make you one of us, he won't want you. He thinks of all of us as monsters, but not good old Richard. He's better than the rest of us."
   "I will hurt you, Sylvie. I'll bleed you, do you understand," Richard said.
   "But you won't kill me, will you?" she said. Her arm flexed, long claws tickled down my face.
   I put my hands on her arm, trying to hold it away from me, and not succeeding. "I'llkill you," I said.
   She went very still against my body. "For changing you into one of us? For losing you Richard's love when he sees you monstrous and furry?"
   I spoke very low, very carefully. "You hate what you are, Sylvie."
   Her arm convulsed tight enough that I couldn't breathe for a second. "I don't hate what I am. I accept what I am." Her arm loosened.
   I took a shaky breath and tried again. "I saw the look on your face when I accused you of being jealous. You are jealous of me being human, Sylvie. You know you are."
   She held her other hand up in front of my face, letting me get a good look at the long, thin claws. The hand at my throat combed claws through my hair.
   "You know that Raina has forbidden us to make you lukoi. She's afraid if you joined us, you'd be a better bitch than she is."
   "How flattering," I whispered. I looked at Richard through the backs of the werewolves. His eyes had gone amber and alien. Even now, I knew, he wouldn't kill Sylvie. Even if she bled me, infected me, he wouldn't kill her. It was there in the pain on his face. The confusion replacing the fear.
   Maybe Sylvie saw it. Maybe she'd made her point. Whatever, she uncurled herself from my body and stood carefully on the other side of me.
   I scuttled away on all fours as fast as I could go. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't slick, but it was effective.
   I crawled until I came to the far wall. I stayed sitting against it, as far away from everything in the room as I could get.
   The other werewolves had faded away. Sylvie and Richard stood facing each other. Sylvie's eyes had gone a strange liquid grey, wolf eyes.
   Richard flung his power outward. It ate along my skin, tore a gasp from my throat.
   Sylvie stood in that flood of power and didn't flinch. "The power is impressive, Richard, but it means nothing as long as Marcus lives."
   He backhanded her, in a blur of motion that was too fast to follow. Sylvie careened into the wall and slid to the floor, stunned.
   "I am pack leader," Richard's voice roared, and he raised clawed hands to the sky. He fell to his knees, and I didn't go to help. I stayed huddled against the wall, wishing I'd packed an extra gun.
   Richard crouched on the floor, rocking gently. He curled on his knees into a ball, and I felt him swallow the power back. I felt it drain away. He stayed crouched on the floor, hugging himself for a long time after the power vanished from the room, head down, his hair hiding his face.
   Sylvie got to her knees and crawled towards him. She crouched beside him, smoothing his hair back on one side. "We would follow you anywhere if you would kill for us. She will kill for us. If your mate, your lupa, will kill for us, it might be enough."
   Richard raised his head up with a shudder. "No one is to be infected against their will, that is my word, and my order." He raised back on his knees.
   Sylvie stayed crouched down, face near the floor, a sign of abasement. "But you will not kill to enforce it."
   "I will kill to protect Anita," Rafael said.
   Everyone looked at him.
   He met their eyes and didn't back down. "If anyone touches her against her will, I and mine will hunt them down."
   "Rafael," Richard said, "don't do this."
   He stared at Richard. "You bring a human among us, but you do not protect her. Someone has to."
   I wanted to say I could protect myself, but it wasn't true. I was good, but I was just human. It wasn't enough.
   "I can't let you do my dirty work for me," he said.
   "I am your friend, Richard," Rafael said. "I do not mind."
   Sylvie hugged the ground at Richard's feet. "Will you let the Rat King kill your pack? Is he our leader now?"
   He stared down at her, and something happened to his face, not otherworldly, or wolf, but a hardness, almost a sadness passed over him. I watched it, and I didn't like it. If I'd had my gun, I might have shot Sylvie for making that look pass over his face. "I will kill anyone who breaks my word. I have spoken, and it is law."
   Sylvie abased herself even lower, and the other wolves came crowding around, crawling on the floor, abasing themselves in front of him. Some of them licked his hands, touched his body. They moved around him until he was nearly hidden from sight.
   Richard stood up, walking through them, their hands clinging to his legs. He bent down and picked up the Firestar from the floor and walked over to me. He looked normal enough, all the wolfish changes hidden away. He handed me the gun, butt first. "Are you all right?"
   I cradled the gun in both hands. "Sure."
   "I value your humanity, Anita. Sylvie's right. How can I ask you to embrace my beast, when I can't do it myself?" The pain on his face was heartrending. "I will kill to keep you safe. Does that make you happy?"
   I stared up at him. "No," I said. "I thought it would, but no." I felt like Rafael, I'd kill for him. I'd kill to keep the pain out of his eyes.
   I holstered the gun and raised my right hand to him. His eyes widened. He understood the gesture. He took my hand and raised me to my feet. He drew me with him towards the waiting wolves.
   I hung back, pulling on his hand.
   "I said I'd kill for you, Anita." His voice was soft and harsh at the same time. "Don't you believe I'd do it?"
   His eyes were utterly sad. It was like something inside of him that he'd kept alive all these years was dead now. I believed the look in his eyes. He would kill to protect me, and the decision had cost him dearly.
   The werewolves closed around us. I would have said they crawled around us, but that didn't cover what they were doing. Crawling wasn't graceful, or sensuous, but this was. They moved like they had muscles in places that people didn't. They circled us and rolled their eyes up at us. When I met those eyes, they looked away, all except Sylvie. She met my gaze and held it. It was a challenge, but I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about it.
   A hand touched me, and I jerked away from it. Only Richard's hand on mine kept me from going for my gun. He held both my hands in his and drew me to him, our bodies not quite touching. He met my eyes and held them. He wasn't afraid. I tried to relax, but it wasn't working.
   "This is my lupa. Know her scent, know her skin. She has shed our blood, and shed her blood for us. She stands as protector for those weaker than herself. She will kill for us, if we ask. She is your alpha."
   Sylvie and Neal stood up. They both moved out of the circle. They stood, staring at me, at Richard. The others crouched on the floor, watching.
   "She is not dominant to me," Sylvie said.
   "She is not even one of us," Neal said, "I won't bow to her. I could break her in half with one hand." He shook his head. "She isn't my alpha."
   "What's happening, Richard?" I asked.
   "I tried to bring you into the pack, make you one of us without contaminating you."
   "Why?" I asked.
   "If you're going to protect Stephen, then you deserve the protection of the pack. If you're going to take risks for us, then you deserve to have the benefits of our protection."
   "No offense," I said, "but I haven't been too impressed with your protection so far." The minute I said it, I wished I hadn't. His face fell.
   "You made it personal last night with Raina, Anita. You have no idea how dangerous she is. I wanted you to have everyone's protection in case something happened to me."
   I looked up at him. "You will kill Marcus if he jumps you, right? No more being squeamish." I touched his arm. I studied his face. "Answer me, Richard."
   He nodded, finally. "I won't let him kill me."
   "You will kill him; promise me."
   His jaw tightened, the muscle thrumming. "I promise."
   "Well, hallelujah," Sylvie said. She stared at me. "I withdraw my challenge. You aren't dominant to me, but you can be his alpha female. You're a good influence on him." She stepped back into the circle, but didn't kneel. "Come on Neal," she said, "let it go."
   He shook his head. "No, she isn't one of us. She can't be. I won't acknowledge her as alpha."
   "All you have to do is prove to Neal that you're serious," Sylvie said. "You just have to make him hurt a little."
   "Since he could probably survive a direct hit with a mack truck, how am I supposed to hurt him?"
   She shrugged.
   "I didn't think anyone would challenge you. I'm sorry," Richard said.
   "You expect people to be nice, Richard. It's one of your best qualities and greatest weaknesses," I said.
   "Refuse the challenge, Anita."
   "If I refuse, then what?"
   "It's over. You won't be a member of the pack, but I can order them to protect you from Raina. It's almost as good."
   "I told you, I don't want anyone being ordered to take a bullet for me. Besides, no way am I volunteering to go one on one with a lycanthrope. I'll keep my gun, thanks anyway."
   The doorbell rang. It was probably Edward. Damn. I looked at the little group, and even though they were in human form, he'd know what they were. He was better at smelling monsters than I was, at least live ones. "If you guys can tone it down a bit, I'll get the door."
   "Edward?" Richard made it a question.
   "Probably," I said.
   He stared around at the group. "Everybody up off the floor. He's another normal."
   They got to their feet, slowly, almost reluctantly. They seemed almost intoxicated, as if the power in the room had done more for them than for me.
   I went for the door. I was halfway to it when Richard yelled, "No!"
   I dropped to the ground, rolling, and felt the air whistling over me where Neal had swung. If he'd been any good at fighting, he'd have nailed me. The missed swing put him off balance, and I foot-swept him to the floor, but he got to his feet again before I could stand, like there were springs in his spine. It was impressive as hell.
   "Stop it, Neal," Sylvie said.
   "She didn't refuse the challenge. It's my right."
   I scuttled backwards, still on the ground, not sure what to do. The closed drapes of the picture window were at my back if I stood up. I wasn't sure standing up was my best bet. "Give me the rules, quick," I said.
   "First blood," Sylvie said. "Human form only."
   "If he shapeshifts, you can shoot him," Richard said.
   "Agreed," Sylvie said, others murmured their agreement.
   Peachy. Neal leaped for me, leaving the ground completely, hands outstretched. I came up on one knee, grabbed his jacket, and rolled on my back, letting his amazing momentum carry us both. I shoved both feet into his stomach and pushed with everything I had. He flew over me in a near perfect arc. He'd set himself up for a textbook tomoe-nage throw.
   He smashed through the window, taking the curtain with him. I rolled to my feet and stared at the gaping window. Broken shards of glass sprinkled onto the carpet and the yard beyond. Neal struggled out of the curtain, blood running down his face where the glass had cut him.
   Edward was on the ground in a combat stance, gun out. He pointed it at Neal, as he struggled free of the curtain.
   "Don't shoot him," I said. "I think the fight's over."
   Neal stood, kicking free of the clinging curtain. "I'll kill you."
   I drew the Firestar and pointed it at him. "I don't think so."
   Richard stepped up beside me. "She drew first blood, Neal. The fight is over, unless you want to fight me, too."
   "And me," Sylvie said. She stepped up on the other side of Richard. The rest of the pack stepped up behind us. Stephen crouched at my feet.
   "She is pack now," Sylvie said. "You fight one of us, and you fight all of us."
   Edward raised his eyebrows at me. "What is going on, Anita?"
   "I think I've been adopted," I said.
   Neal glared at me.
   "Do it, Neal," Sylvie said.
   Neal knelt in the glass and the curtain. The cuts were already beginning to heal on his face. Glass wasn't silver or the claws of another monster, so he healed almost magically.
   "You are dominant. You are alpha." The words were dragged from his throat. "If this window hadn't been here, you couldn't have bloodied me."
   "Why do you think I moved in front of it, Neal?" I asked.
   His eyes squinted. "You planned this?"
   I nodded and raised my gun skyward. "I'm not just another pretty face."
   Richard took my left hand, squeezing it gently. "That's the God's honest truth."
   I put up the Firestar.
   Edward shook his head, smiling, but didn't put his gun up. He did stop pointing it at anyone. "You are the only person I know who leads a more interesting life than I do."
   Jason patted me on the back. "Tomorrow night we'll take you out chasing deer."
   "I thought you'd chase cars," I said.
   He grinned. "What fun is that? Cars don't bleed."
   I smiled, and then stopped. His eyes were as innocent as spring skies, as joyous, and staring into them, I wasn't sure if he was kidding me or not. I almost asked, but didn't. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
   
   

12
   Edward was five foot eight, with blond hair cut very short and close to his head. He was blue-eyed and the epitome of WASP breeding. He was also the most dangerous man I'd ever met, living or dead.
   He was amused as hell by the gathering of lycanthropes. The group broke up soon after his arrival, mainly because all the business had been taken care of. The meeting had mainly been a last-ditch effort to convince Richard to compromise his morals and kill someone. Barring that, for him to pick a lupa who would kill for him. We'd sort of killed two birds with one stone, pun intended. But I was very aware that I'd gotten lucky with Neal. If he'd had a background in any martial art, if he'd known anything about fighting, I'd have been toast.
   Richard had boarded up the broken window and had a call in to a glass repair shop that was willing, for an exorbitant fee, to come out and repair the damage immediately. I'd offered to pay for the damages since I made them.
   Edward, Richard, and I sat around the kitchen table. Edward and I sipped coffee. Richard drank tea. One of his few serious faults was a total dislike of coffee. Hard to trust a man who won't drink coffee.
   "What have you found out?" I asked.
   Edward sipped his coffee and shook his head. "Not much. The contract has been picked up."
   "Even with the time limit?" I asked.
   He nodded.
   "When is the twenty-four hours up?" I asked.
   "Let's say two o'clock. I got the offer about one o'clock last night, but we'd add an hour to be safe."
   "To be safe," Richard said. I think it was sarcasm.
   "What's wrong with you?" I asked.
   "Am I the only one in this room who's worried?"
   "Panicking won't help, Richard."
   He stood up, emptying his mug in the sink and rinsing it automatically. He turned, leaning his butt against the cabinets, arms crossed over his chest. "You need a clear head to plan?"
   I nodded. "Yeah."
   He stared at us. I watched him thinking about something serious. He finally said, "I don't understand how the two of you can be calm. I'm shocked that someone has put a contract out on Anita. Neither of you is shocked."
   I looked at Edward, and he looked back at me. We had one of those moments of perfect understanding, and I knew I couldn't explain it to Richard. I wasn't even sure I could explain it to myself. "I've stayed alive this long because I don't react the way most people react."
   "You've stayed alive because you're willing to do things other people aren't."
   I nodded. "That, too."
   His face was very serious, like a little boy asking about the facts of life. "Let me ask one stupid question; then I'll shut up."
   I shrugged. "Ask away."
   "Anita says she doesn't enjoy killing. That she feels nothing when she kills."
   I realized then that the question was going to be for Edward. I wasn't sure how that would go over.
   "Do you enjoy killing?"
   Edward sat very still in his chair, drinking his coffee quietly. His blue eyes were as neutral and unreadable as any vampire's, and in some ways just as dead. I wondered for the first time if my eyes ever looked like that. "Why do you want to know?"
   "I agreed to kill Marcus," Richard said. "I've never killed anyone."
   Edward stared up at him. He set his coffee down carefully and met Richard's eyes. "Yes."
   "Yes, you enjoy killing?" Richard asked.
   Edward nodded.
   Richard was waiting for him to explain. You could see it in his face.
   "He's answered your question, Richard."
   "But does he enjoy the sensation of killing? Is it physical? Or is it the planning that he enjoys?"
   Edward picked up his coffee.
   "The question and answer session is over, Richard," I said.
   A look halfway between stubbornness and frustration crossed Richard's face. "But 'yes,' doesn't tell me anything."
   "After you kill Marcus," Edward said, "you can ask the question again."
   "And you'll answer it?" Richard asked.
   Edward gave the barest of nods.
   For the first time, I realized that Edward liked Richard. Not as a friend, maybe, but he didn't think Richard was a complete waste of time.
   Richard stared into Edward's face for a long time, then shook his head. "Okay." He sat back down. "No more questions. What's the plan?"
   I smiled at him. "To keep the hitter from killing me."
   "That's your entire plan?" Richard asked.
   "And to take out the man with the money," Edward said. "As long as the money is out there, Anita won't be safe."
   "Any ideas how to accomplish this?" Richard asked.
   Edward nodded and up-ended his coffee mug, finishing the last of it. He went to the counter and refilled it, like he was at home. He sat back down. Good ol' Edward, comfortable wherever he was.
   I sat waiting, watching him quietly. He'd tell us when he was ready and not before. Richard was practically dancing in place. "What?" he finally asked.
   Edward smiled, I think at Richard, or maybe at that eternal music that only he could hear. The rhythm that kept him self-contained and alive.
   "The assassin might come here today, and we'll take precautions for that. A herd of shapeshifters was perfect. I'd have passed on the hit myself until they cleared out."
   I glanced around the quiet kitchen. The spot between my shoulder blades was itching. "You think we're in danger now?"
   "Maybe." He didn't seem too worried. "But I think they'll hit you tonight on your date with the Master of the City."
   "How did you know I had a date tonight?"
   Edward just smiled. "I know that the Master of the City is taking the Executioner to the opening of his dance club, Danse Macabre. I know that you'll be arriving in a limo."
   "I didn't even know that," I said.
   He shrugged. "It wasn't hard to find out, Anita."
   "I was going to cancel my date tonight and hide out."
   "If you stay here, the assassin will almost certainly come here."
   I glanced at Richard. "Oh," I said.
   "I can take care of myself," Richard said.
   "Could you kill a human being?" I asked.
   He blinked at me. "What do you mean?"
   "I mean if someone came at you with a gun, could you kill them?"
   "I said I'd kill to protect you."
   "That's not what I asked, Richard, and you know it."
   He stood up and paced a small circle in the kitchen. "If it was standard ammunition, it couldn't kill me."
   "You wouldn't know whether it was silver ammo until it was too late," I said.
   He hugged his arms, ran his hands through his long hair, and turned to me. "Once you decide to start killing, it never stops, does it?"
   "No," I said.
   "I don't know if I could kill a human being."
   "Thanks for the honesty," I said.
   "But that means you'll take an assassin into a club crowded with people'? You'll endanger all of them to keep me safe?"
   "I would endanger almost anyone to keep you safe."
   Edward made a small sound, almost a laugh. His face was pleasant and empty. He sipped coffee. "Which is why I don't want Richard in the line of fire. You'll be so busy worrying about him, it might make you careless."
   "But all those people, you can't put them in danger," Richard said.
   Edward looked at me and didn't say what he was thinking. I was grateful for that. "I think Edward has a plan for that, too, Richard."
   "I think they'll hit you on the way home from the club. Why work in the middle of a crowd if they don't have to? Plant a bomb on the limo, or wait until you're alone on the drive back."
   "Is that what you would do?" Richard asked.
   Edward looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Probably. Not the bomb, but I'd hit the limo."
   "Why not the bomb?" Richard asked.
   I didn't ask, because I knew the answer. Edward's eyes flicked to me. I shrugged.
   "Because I like to kill up close and personal. With a bomb there's no personal risk."
   Richard stared at him, studying his face. He finally said, "Thank you for answering the question."
   Edward acknowledged him with a nod. Richard was gaining brownie points from both of us. But I knew that Richard had illusions. If Edward seemed to like him, Richard would assume Edward wouldn't kill him. I knew better. If the situation called for it, Edward could pull the trigger on anyone.
   "Let's say you're right," I said. "I go on the date and let the hitter make his move. Then what?"
   "We take him out."
   "Wait a minute," Richard said. "You're betting that the two of you are better than a professional assassin. That you'll get to him before he gets to Anita."
   We both nodded.
   "What if you're not better?"
   Edward looked at him like he'd said the sun wouldn't rise tomorrow.
   "Edward will be better," I said.
   "You'd bet your life on that?" Richard asked.
   "I am betting my life on that," I said.
   Richard looked a touch pale. He nodded. "I guess you are. What can I do to help?"
   "You heard Edward," I said. "You stay here."
   Richard shook his head. "I heard, but surely in a crowd of people even Superman will need a few more eyes and ears. The pack can help watch your back."
   "It doesn't bother you to endanger them?"
   "You said you'd risk almost anyone to keep me safe," Richard said. "I feel the same way."
   "If they want to volunteer, that's one thing, but I don't want them ordered into it. People aren't good bodyguards if they resent doing it."
   Richard laughed. "Very practical. For a second there, I thought you were really worried about my wolves."
   "Practical will keep me alive, Richard, sentimentality won't."
   "If we had some extra watchers, it'd free me up a little," Edward said.
   I looked at him. "You'd trust monsters to watch my back?"
   He smiled, and it wasn't pleasant. "Monsters make excellent cannon fodder."
   "They aren't cannon fodder," Richard said.
   "Everyone's cannon fodder," Edward said, "eventually."
   "If I really thought we were endangering innocent bystanders, I wouldn't go to the club. You know that, Richard."
   He stared at me for a second, then nodded. "I know that."
   Edward made a small sound low in his throat. "Innocent bystanders." He shook his head, smiling. "Let's get dressed," Edward said. "I bought some new toys for you to use tonight."
   I looked at him. "Dangerous toys?" I asked.
   "Is there any other kind?" We grinned at each other.
   "You two are enjoying this," Richard said. It was almost accusatory.
   "If we didn't enjoy it, we'd both do something else," Edward said.
   "Anita doesn't kill people for money, and you do."
   I watched the humor drain from Edward's eyes like the sun sinking behind clouds, leaving them pitiless and empty. "Think what you like, loverboy, but Anita could have chosen another line of work, one that wouldn't put her in harm's way. But she didn't. There's a reason for that."
   "She's not like you."
   Edward looked at me with empty eyes. "Closer than she used to be." His voice was soft, almost neutral, but it made me shiver.
   I met his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, wondered what I'd given up to be able to pull the trigger. The same thing Edward had given up inside himself to be able to kill so easily? I looked up at Richard and wondered if he could do it. If, when the fur flew, he could really kill anyone. Some people couldn't. No shame in that. But if Richard backed out, he was dead. Not tonight or tomorrow, but eventually, because Marcus would see to it. Richard had beaten Marcus twice and refused the kill. I doubted Marcus would let him have another shot at it. They'd taken Stephen last night, knowing what Richard would do. If I hadn't been with him, he might he dead now. Shit.
   All I had to do was kill the assassin before he or she killed me. Trust Richard not to let Marcus kill him. Keep Raina from killing me. And let's see, I was sure there was something else. Oh, yeah, decide whether I'm going to sleep with Richard, and if I did, what that would mean for Jean-Claude and myself. There were days when my life was too complicated even for me.
   
   
13
   Finding dress-up clothes that you can hide a gun in is a bitch. I actually hadn't planned to carry a gun on my date with Jean-Claude. Of course, that was before the assassin. Now I wasn't going out without one. If I'd known I'd be needing a gun tonight, I'd have worn the little black dress yesterday and saved the pants suit. But who knew, and now all I'd packed besides jeans was the dress. It was a little black dress with just enough strap to allow a bra, if you were careful. I'd bought a black bra to be safe. Flashing a white bra strap in a black dress always looked so tacky. The jacket was a deep black velvet, a bolero cut that hit me at the waist. Black beading edged the collar and hem.
   The jacket was hanging on the doorknob of Richard's closet. He was sitting forlornly on the bed, watching me put the last touches on my lipstick. I was leaning forward, peering at myself in the mirror on his dresser. The skirt was short enough that I decided to wear a black teddy under it, not for underwear but to go over my panty hose, so everything matched. Ronnie hadn't trusted me not to bend over at least once tonight. She was right. So even if I forgot, the teddy covered more than most bathing suits. I'd have never picked out something so short on my own. Ronnie was a bad influence on me. If she'd known I was planning to wear it for Jean-Claude, she'd have probably chosen something else. She called him fangface. Or worse. She liked Richard.
   "Nice dress," Richard said.
   "Thanks." I turned in front of the mirror to check the way the skirt hung. It was just full enough to swing when I moved. The black knife sheaths on my forearms actually matched the dress. The knives made a nice touch of silver. The wrist sheaths almost covered the scars on my arms. Only the mound of scar tissue at my left elbow was visible. A vampire had torn up my arm once upon a time. The same vamp had bitten through my collarbone. The scars were normal for me, but every once in a while I'd be out enjoying myself and catch someone looking, staring. They'd look hurriedly away, or meet my eyes. It wasn't that the scars were awful to look at. They weren't that bad—really. But they told a story of pain and something out of the ordinary. They said I'd been places that most people hadn't, and I'd survived. Worth a stare or two, I guess.
   The black straps that held the new knife down along my spine showed a little at the shoulders, but more across the back. The hilt was hidden under my hair, but I wouldn't be taking the jacket off.
   "Why didn't you wear this last night?" Richard asked.
   "The pants suit seemed more appropriate."
   He stared at me, eyes roving over my body more than my face. He shook his head. "For seeing someone you're not going to sleep with, that is a very sexy outfit."
   I had never planned on Richard seeing the dress, at least not on the night I wore it for Jean-Claude. I wasn't sure what to say, but I'd try. "I trust myself with Jean-Claude more than I trust myself with you, so he gets the short skirt and you don't." That was the truth.
   "You're saying I don't get the sexy outfit because I'm so irresistible?"
   "Something like that."
   "If I ran my hands up your legs, would I find panty hose or garters?" He looked so solemn, hurt. With everything else going down, I shouldn't have had to worry about my boyfriend's hurt feelings, but there it was. Life goes on, even if you're ass deep in alligators.
   "Panty hose," I said.
   "Will Jean-Claude find out what kind of hose you're wearing?"
   "He could ask, like you did," I said.
   "You know that's not what I meant," he said.
   I sighed. "I don't know how to make this easier on you, Richard. If there's anything that would make you feel more secure about this, ask."
   To his credit, he didn't ask me not to go. I think he knew he wouldn't like the answer. "Come here," he said and held out his hand to me.
   I walked over to him and took his outstretched hand. He sat me on his lap, legs sideways like you'd sit on Santa. He encircled me with one arm, then laid his other hand on my thigh. "Promise me you won't sleep with him tonight."
   "With assassins ready to jump out of the woodwork, I think that's a safe bet," I said.
   "Don't joke, Anita, please."
   I smoothed my hand through his hair. He looked so serious, so hurt. "I've said no for a very long time, Richard. Why should you be worried about tonight?"
   "The dress," he said.
   "I admit it's short, but . . ."
   He smoothed his hand up my thigh until it vanished under the skirt. He rested his hand just below the lace of the teddy. "You're wearing lingerie, for Gods sake; you never wear lingerie."
   I would have explained about everything matching, but somehow I didn't think that would be comforting. "Okay, I won't sleep with him tonight. I hadn't planned on it to begin with."
   "Promise me you'll come back and sleep with me." He smiled when he said it.
   I smiled back and slid off his lap. "You'd have to shift first. I'd have to see your beast. Or so you keep telling me."
   "I could shift when you get back."
   "Could you take human form again quickly enough to do us any good tonight?"
   He smiled. "I'm strong enough to be Ulfric, Anita. One of the things I can do is change form almost at will. I don't pass out when I change back to human form like most shapeshifters."
   "Handy," I said.
   He smiled. "Come back tonight, and I'll change for you. Sylvie's right. I have to accept what I am."
   "Part of that is trying it out on me, huh?"
   He nodded. "I think so."
   Staring into his solemn eyes, I knew that if he changed for me tonight and I couldn't deal with it, it would destroy something inside of him. I hoped I was up to it. "When I come back tonight, I'll watch you shift."
   He looked grim as if he expected that I'd run screaming. "Kiss me, and get out of here," he said.
   I kissed him, and he licked his lips. "Lipstick." He kissed me again. "But underneath I can still taste you."
   "Hmmm," I said. I stared down at him and almost didn't want to go. Almost. The doorbell rang, and I jumped. Richard didn't, as if he'd heard it before I had.
   "Be careful. I wish I could be with you."
   "There'll be media all over the place," I said. "Wouldn't do to get your picture taken with a bunch of monsters. It might blow your cover."
   "I'd blow my cover if it would keep you safe."
   He loved teaching, yet I believed him. He'd come out of the closet for me. "Thanks, but Edward's right. I'd be so worried about keeping you alive, I wouldn't be taking good care of myself."
   "You don't worry about Jean-Claude?"
   I shrugged. "He can take care of himself. Besides, he's already dead."
   Richard shook his head. "You don't really believe that anymore."
   "No, he's dead, Richard. That I know. Whatever keeps him alive is a form of necromancy, different than my own powers, but still magic."
   "You can say it, but in your heart you don't believe it."
   I shrugged again. "Maybe not, but it's still the truth."
   There was a knock on the door. Richard said, "Your date's here."
   "I'm coming. Now I have to fix my lipstick all over again."
   He wiped fingers across his mouth, coming away with crimson stains. "At least I'll be able to tell if you've been kissing him. This stuff will show up like blood on his white shirt."
   I didn't argue. Jean-Claude always wore black and white. I'd only seen him in one shirt that wasn't white. It had been black. I reapplied the lipstick and put it in the beaded black purse on the dresser. The purse was too small even for the Firestar. I did have a Derringer, but except at close quarters, it was pretty worthless. With an assassin I might not want to get that close. Edward had a solution. He'd loaned me his Seecamps .32 autoloader. It was about the same size as a small .25, only a little wider than my own hand, and I had a small hand. It was a very nice gun, and for the caliber and the size, I'd never seen better. I wanted one. Edward informed me that he'd had to wait nearly a year for the gun to come in. It was pretty much a custom order. Otherwise, he'd have made it a gift. Fine, I'd order my own—if I survived the night. If I didn't, well, I wouldn't be ordering anything.
   I'd managed not to think too much about that. I'd concentrated on dressing, putting the weapons in place, Richard, anything but that I was putting myself out as bait for someone good enough to earn 500,000 dollars a pop. I was having to trust that Edward would keep me alive. Because though Edward would have stopped the limo and fired only when he could see my face, most hit men wouldn't. Most professionals prefer to take you out from a nice, safe distance. A high-powered rifle could be yards or even miles away. Not much I, or even Edward, could do about that. I knew nothing about explosives. I was going to have to depend on Edward to take care of any bombs. I was putting myself in Edward's hands tonight, trusting him like I'd never trusted anyone before. Scary thought, that.
   I checked the purse again; ID, lipstick, money, gun. I'd have normally carried a small travel hairbrush, but there wasn't room. I could live with messy hair for one night.
   The thought made me check my hair in the mirror and run a brush through it one last time. I had to admit that it looked great. It was one of my best features. Even Ronnie couldn't improve on it. It was all natural curl. Even tonight I'd shoved hair goop in it after my shower and let it dry naturally. I'd had a woman get angry with me once in California because I wouldn't tell her where I'd gotten my hair permed. She wouldn't believe it was natural.
   I slipped the purse over my shoulders so the thin strap went across my chest. It blended with the dress well enough that it looked almost as good with it as without. But the purse rode at my ribs, just a little lower than my shoulder holster. I tried drawing the gun a couple of times, and it wasn't too bad. Not as good as a holster, but what was? I slipped the jacket on and checked myself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. Neither the knives nor the gun showed. Great. I slipped my cross on last. I made sure the cross was inside the dress, then put a small piece of masking tape over it. This way I kept my cross, but it didn't spill out of my clothes and glow at Jean-Claude. I picked up the brush again and put it down without using it.
   I was stalling. It wasn't just the assassin I was afraid of. I was dreading the moment Richard and Jean-Claude met tonight. I wasn't sure how they were going to react, and I wasn't up to an emotional confrontation. I rarely was.
   I took a deep breath and went for the door. Richard followed me. It was his house. I couldn't ask him to hide in the bedroom.
   Jean-Claude stood by the television, peering at the shelves of videos, as if studying the titles. He was tall and slender, though not as tall as Richard. He wore black pants and a short black jacket, cut just at the waist like my own. He had on high, leather boots that covered nearly his entire leg, the soft leather tops were held in place by black straps with small silver buckles. His black hair spilled over his shoulders, inches longer than when I first met him.
   He turned at last, as if he hadn't known we were standing there. I made a small involuntary gasp as he faced me. His shirt was red, a pure, clear crimson that blazed inside his open jacket. The collar was high, held in place by three antique jet beads. The shirt gaped open below the collar, showing a large oval of his chest. The cross-shaped burn scar on his chest showed in the circle of red cloth as if it were framed for viewing. The circle of bare skin ended just above the black pants, where the shirt was safely tucked away.
   The shirt looked splendiferous against his pale skin, the black wavy hair, his midnight blue eyes. I closed my gaping mouth, and said, "Spiffy, very spiffy."
   He smiled. "Ah, ma petite, always the perfect thing to say." He glided across the carpet in his nifty boots, and I found myself wanting him to take the jacket off. I wanted to see his hair spill over that shirt, black over red. I knew it would look wonderful.
   Richard came up behind me. He didn't touch me, but I could feel him standing there. A warm, unhappy presence at my back. I couldn't blame him. Jean-Claude looked like an advertisement for Wet Dreams "R" Us. I couldn't blame anyone for being jealous.
   Jean-Claude stood in front of me, close enough that I could have reached out and touched him. I stood between the two of them, and the symbolism wasn't lost on any of us.
   "Where's Edward?" I managed to ask. My voice sounded almost normal. Good for me.
   "He is checking the car. I believe for incendiary devices," Jean-Claude said with a small smile.
   My stomach clenched tight. Someone really wanted me dead by midnight tonight. Edward was sweeping the car for bombs. Even for me, it didn't seem quite real.
   "Ma petite, are you well?" Jean-Claude took my hand in his. "Your hand is cold."
   "Nice complaint, coming from you," Richard said.
   Jean-Claude looked over my shoulder at Richard. "It was not a complaint but an observation."
   His hand was warm, and I knew that he had stolen that warmth from someone. Oh, they'd been willing enough. There were always people willing to donate to the Master of the City. But still, he was a blood sucking corpse, no matter what he looked like. Staring up at him, I realized part of me didn't buy that anymore. Or maybe I just didn't care anymore. Damn.
   He raised my hand slowly to his lips, eyes watching not me but Richard. I drew my hand out of his. He looked at me. "If you want to kiss my hand, fine, but don't do it just to get on Richard's nerves."
   "My apologies, ma petite. You are quite right." He looked past me to Richard. "My apologies to you as well, Monsieur Zeeman. We are in a . . . ticklish position. It would be childish to make it worse with game playing."
   I didn't have to see Richard's face to know he was frowning.
   Edward came in and saved us. We could all shut up and leave. Hopefully.
   "The car's clean," he said.
   "Glad to hear it," I said.
   Edward was dressed for the evening. A brown leather coat hung to his ankles and moved like something alive as he came into the room. The coat hung strangely heavy in places. He'd shown me some of his toys that were positioned here and there. I knew there was a garotte hidden in the stiff white collar of his shirt. A garotte was a little too up-and-close even for me.
   His eyes flicked to the two men in my life, but all he said was, "I'll follow the limo. Don't look around for me tonight, Anita. I'll be there, but we don't want the hitter alerted to the fact that you've got a bodyguard."
   "A second bodyguard," Jean-Claude said. "Your, how do you say, hitter will know I will be by her side."
   Edward nodded. "Yeah, if they hit the limo, you'll be there. They'll have to plan on taking you out, too, which means it's got to be serious firepower."
   "I am both a deterrent and an invitation to up the stakes, is that it?" Jean-Claude asked.
   Edward looked at him like the vampire had finally done something interesting. Edward didn't meet his eyes though. I was the only human I knew that could meet the Master's eyes and not be bespelled. Being a necromancer had its uses. "Exactly." He said it like he hadn't expected the vampire to grasp the situation. But if there was one thing Jean-Claude was good at, it was surviving.
   "Shall we go then, ma petite? The party awaits us." He made a sweeping motion with his arms, directing me towards the door but not taking my hand. He glanced at Richard, then at me. He was behaving himself terribly well. Jean-Claude was a world-class pain in the ass. It wasn't like him to be a good boy.
   I glanced at Richard. "Go on. If we kiss good-bye, it'll smear your lipstick again."
   "You are wearing quite enough of her lipstick already, Richard," Jean-Claude said. For the first time tonight, I heard that warm edge of jealousy.
   Richard took two steps forward, and the tension level in the room soared. "I could kiss her good night again, if that would make you happy."
   "Stop it, both of you," I said.
   "By all means," Jean-Claude said. "She is mine for the rest of the evening. I can afford to be generous."
   Richard's hands balled into fists. The first trickle of power oozed through the room.
   "I'm leaving now." I made for the door and didn't look back. Jean-Claude caught up with me before I reached the door. He reached for the doorknob first. and then released it, letting me get it.
   "I do forget your penchant for doors," he said.
   "I don't," Richard said softly.
   I turned and looked at him standing there in his jeans, his T-shirt molded to the muscles of his arms and chest. He was still barefoot, his hair a wavy mass around his face. If I'd been staying here, we could have cuddled on the couch in front of one of his favorite movies. We were beginning to have our favorite movies, songs, sayings that were ours. Maybe a moonlight walk. His night vision was almost as good as my own. Maybe later we could finish what we'd started before the meeting.
   Jean-Claude slid his fingers through mine, drawing my attention to him. I stared up into those blue, blue eyes like a sky before a storm, or seawater where the rocks lie deep and cold. I could touch those three black buttons and see if they were really antique beads. My gaze traveled downward to the pale glimpse of his chest. I knew that the cross-shaped burn scar was a rough slickness to the touch. Looking at him made my chest tight. He was so beautiful. Would my body always feel the pull of him, like a sunflower turning towards the light? Maybe. But standing there holding his hand, I realized it wasn't enough.
   Jean-Claude and I could have had a glorious affair, but I could see spending my life with Richard. Was love enough? Even if Richard killed for self-preservation, could he really accept my body count? Could I accept his beast, or would I be as horrified by it as he was himself? Jean-Claude accepted me lock, stock, and gun. But I didn't accept him. Just because we both looked at the world through dark glasses, didn't mean I liked it.
   I sighed, and it wasn't a happy sound. If this was the last time I ever saw Richard, I should have jumped his body and given him a kiss he would never forget, but I couldn't do it. Holding Jean-Claude's hand, I couldn't do it. It would have been cruel to all of us.
   "Bye, Richard," I said.
   "Be careful," he said. He sounded so alone.
   "Louie and you are going to the movies tonight, right?" I asked.
   He nodded. "He should be here soon."
   "Good." I opened my mouth to say more, but didn't. There was nothing to say. I was going with Jean-Claude. Nothing I said would change that.
   "I'll wait up for you," Richard said.
   "I wish you wouldn't."
   "I know."
   I left, walking a little too fast out to the waiting limo. It was white. "Well, isn't this shiny and bright," I said.
   "I thought black looked too much like a hearse," Jean-Claude said.
   Edward had come out also. He closed the door behind us. "I'll be there when you need me, Anita."
   I met his eyes. "I know you will."
   He gave the briefest of smiles. "But just in case, watch your back like a son of a bitch."
   I smiled. "Don't I always?"
   He glanced at the vampire standing by the open limo door. "Not as well as I thought you did." Edward walked into the darkness towards his waiting car before I could think of a reply. It was just as well. He was right. The monsters had finally gotten me. Seducing me was almost as good as killing me, and nearly as crippling.
   
   

14
   The name of the club, Danse Macabre, blazed in red neon letters nearly eight feet high. The letters were curved and flowed at an angle like some giant hand had just finished writing them. The club was housed in an old brewery warehouse. The place had stood on the Riverfront, boarded up and abandoned for years. It had been the only eyesore in a line of chic restaurants, dance clubs, and bars. Most of them were owned by vampires. The Riverfront was also known as The District, or Blood Square, though not in polite vampire company. For some reason, the nickname bugged them. Who knew why?
   The crowd had spilled out from the sidewalk into the street, until the limo was stopped by the sheer weight of people. It was so bad that I spotted a uniformed cop trying to ease the people back enough for the cars to get through. I looked through the dark tinted windows at the press of people. Was the assassin out there? Was one of those well-dressed, smiling people waiting to kill me? I opened my purse and slipped the Seecamp out.
   Jean-Claude eyed the little gun. "Nervous, ma petite?"
   "Yes," I said.
   He looked at me, head to one side. "Yes, you are nervous. Why does one human assassin unnerve you so much more than all the preternatural creatures you have faced?"
   "Everyone else who's wanted to kill me, it was personal. I understand personal. Whoever this is wants to kill me because it's business. Just business."
   "But why is that more frightening to you? You will be just as dead, regardless of your assailant's motives."
   "Thanks a lot," I said.
   He touched my hand, as it gripped the gun. "I am trying to understand, ma petite, that is all."
   "I don't know exactly why it bothers me. It just does," I said. "I like to put a face on my enemies. If someone kills you, it shouldn't be only for money."
   "So killing for hire offends your moral sensibilities?" he asked. His voice was very bland, too bland, as if he were laughing silently to himself.
   "Yes, dammit, it does."
   "Yet you are friends with Edward."
   "I never said I was consistent, Jean-Claude."
   "You are one of the most consistent people I have ever known, ma petite."
   "How consistent can I be if I'm dating two men?"
   "Do you think being unable to choose between us makes you frivolous?" He leaned towards me as he said it, hand smoothing up the sleeve of my jacket.
   The trouble was I had almost chosen. I almost told him, but I didn't. First. I wasn't a hundred percent sure. Second, Jean-Claude had blackmailed me into dating him. Date him or he'd kill Richard. He wanted a chance to woo me away from Richard. Which meant really dating him. As he put it, "If you allow Richard to kiss you, but not me, it is not fair." Supposedly, if I chose Richard, Jean-Claude would merely step aside. I think he was egotist enough to mean it. The Master of the City couldn't imagine anyone not being won over, eventually. Not if you had access to his lovely body. He kept offering it. I kept refusing. If I chose Richard over him, would he really bow out gracefully, or would he take us all down in a bloodbath?
   I stared into his deep blue eyes and didn't know. I'd known him for years. Dated him for months. But he was still a mystery to me. I just didn't know what he would do. I wasn't willing to push that button, not yet.
   "What are you thinking about so seriously, ma petite? Do not say it is the assassin. I would not believe you."
   I didn't know what to say, so I just shook my head.
   His hand slid over my shoulders until I was resting in the curve of his arm. The feel of his body that close to mine made my stomach flutter. He bent forward as if to kiss me, and I stopped him, the back of my left hand against his chest. Since I was now touching bare skin, I wasn't sure this helped.
   "You behaved yourself the entire drive up here. What gives now?" I asked.
   "I am trying to comfort you, ma petite."
   "Yeah, right," I said.
   He wrapped his other arm around my waist, turning my upper body against him. The gun was still in my hand, but it began to seem awkward. I wasn't going to use it on Jean-Claude, and the assassin wasn't coming through the locked doors. That much violence in a crowd this large with cops directing traffic seemed a little bold even for a professional.
   I slid my arm across his back, the gun still in my hand. "If you kiss me, I'll have to redo my lipstick."
   He leaned his face close enough to kiss, lips so close to mine he could have breathed me in. He whispered just above my mouth. "We mustn't have that." He kissed my cheek, running his lips down the edge of my jaw.
   I touched his face with the edge of the gun, moving his face where I could see it. His eyes had gone drowning blue. "No necking," I said. I meant that. I'd only volunteered once for blood donation and that was when he was dying. I did not share bodily fluids with the Master of the City.
   He rubbed his cheek against the gun. "I had something a bit lower in mind."
   He ducked his head to my collarbone, licking down my skin. For a second I wondered how low he was planning on going, then I pushed him off of me.
   "I don't think so," I said, half-laughing.
   "Do you feel better now, ma petite?"
   I stared at him for a heartbeat, then laughed. I did. "You are a devious son of a bitch, did you know that?"
   "I've been told that before," he said, smiling.
   The police had pushed the crowd back, and the limo moved forward. "You did that just to cheer me up." I sounded almost accusatory.
   He widened his eyes. "Would I do such a thing?"
   I stared at him and felt the smile slide from my face. I really looked at him for a moment, not just as the world's greatest lust object, but as him, Jean-Claude. The Master of the City was worried about my feelings. I shook my head. Was he becoming nicer, or was I just fooling myself?
   "Why so solemn, ma petite?"
   I shook my head. "The usual, trying to figure out how sincere you are."
   His smile widened. "I am always sincere, ma petite, even when I lie."
   "Which is what makes you so good at it," I said.
   He nodded his head once, almost a bow. "Exactly."
   He glanced ahead of us. "We are about to embark on a sea of media, ma petite. If you could put the gun up? I think the press would find it a bit much."
   "Press?" I said. "You mean local media?"
   "Local, yes."
   "What aren't you telling me?"
   "When the door opens, take my arm and smile, please, ma petite."
   I frowned at him. "What is about to happen?"
   "You are about to be introduced to the world."
   "Jean-Claude, what are you up to?"
   "This is not my doing, ma petite. I do not like the limelight quite this much. The vampire council has chosen me to be their representative to the media."
   "I know you had to come out of the casket to the local vampires after you won your last challenge, but isn't it dangerous? I mean you've been pretending to be some mysterious master's number-one flunkie. It's kept you safe from outside challengers."
   "Most masters use a stalking horse, ma petite. It cuts down on challenges and human assassins."
   "I know all that, so why are you going public?"
   "The council believes that skulking in the shadows gives ammunition to our detractors. Those of us who would make good media fodder have been ordered into the light, as it were."
   I stared at him. "How into the light?"
   "Put the gun away, ma petite. The doorman will open the door and there will be cameras." I glared at him, but I slid the Seecamp into my purse.
   "What have you gotten me into, Jean-Claude?"
   "Smile, ma petite, or at least do not frown." The door opened before I could say anything else. A man in a tux held the door. The flash of lightbulbs was blinding, and I knew it had to bother his eyes more than mine. He was smiling as he held a hand back for me. If he could stare that much light in the face without blinking, I could be gracious. We could always fight later.
   I stepped out of the limo and was glad I was holding his hand. Flashbulbs were everywhere like tiny suns blasting off. The crowd surged forward, microphones shoved at us like knives. If he hadn't been holding my hand tight, I'd have crawled back into the limo. I moved closer to him, just to be able to keep my feet. Where the hell was crowd control?
   A microphone nearly touched my face. A woman's voice yelled from far too close, "Is he good in bed? Or would that be coffin?"
   "What?" I said.
   "Is he good in bed?" There was a moment of near silence, while everyone waited for my answer. Before I could open my mouth and say something scathing, Jean-Claude moved in, graceful as always.
   "We do not kiss and tell, do we, ma petite?" His French accent was the thickest I'd ever heard it.
   "Ma petite–is that your pet name for her?" a man's voice.
   "Oui," he said.
   I looked up at him, and he leaned down as if to kiss my cheek. He whispered, "Glare at me later, ma petite. There are cameras everywhere."
   I wanted to say that I didn't give a damn, but I did. I mean, I think I did. I felt like a rabbit caught in headlights. If the assassin had jumped out with a gun at that moment, I'd have stood there and let him shoot me. That thought, more than anything else, brought me back to myself, helped me to think again. I started trying to see past the lights, the microphones, a few tape recorders, and video cameras. I caught at least two major network emblems on the cameras. Shit.
   Jean-Claude was fielding questions like a pro, smiling, gracious, the perfect vampire cover boy. I smiled and leaned into him, standing on tiptoe, putting my lips so close to his ear that I could have licked it, but I was hoping the microphones wouldn't pick up what I was saying. I was sure it looked coy and girlish as hell, but hey, nothing was perfect. I whispered, "Get me out of here now, or I pull the gun and clear a path for myself."
   He laughed, and it flowed down my skin like fur, warm, and ticklish, and vaguely obscene. The reporters ooohed and aahed. I wondered if Jean-Claude's laugh worked off a recorder, or on video. That was a frightening thought.
   "Oh, ma petite, you naughty girl."
   I whispered, "Don't ever call me that again."
   "My apologies." He smiled, waved, and began escorting me through the press of reporters. Two vampire doormen had come out to help clear our path. They were both large and muscular, and neither of them had been dead long. They looked rosy-cheeked and almost alive. They'd fed on someone tonight. But then, so had Jean-Claude. It was getting harder and harder for me to throw stones at the monsters.
   The door opened, and we slipped inside. The silence was wonderful. I turned on him. "How dare you drag me into that kind of media coverage."
   "It does not endanger you, ma petite."
   "Had it occurred to you that if I chose Richard over you, that I might not want everybody in the world to know I was dating a vampire?"
   He gave a slight smile. "Good enough to date, but not good enough to go public with?"
   "We've gone to everything from the symphony to the ballet together. I'm not ashamed of you."
   "Really?" The smile was gone, replaced by something else, not anger exactly, but close. "Then why are you angry, ma petite?"
   I opened my mouth, then closed it. Truth was that I would rather not have gone quite this public, because I guess I didn't really believe I could choose Jean-Claude. He was a vampire, a dead man. In that one moment I realized how prejudiced I still was. He was good enough to date. Good enough to hold hands with, and maybe a bit more. But there was a limit. Always a point where I knew I'd say stop because he was a corpse. A beautiful corpse, but a vampire is a vampire. You couldn't really fall in love with one. You couldn't have sex with one. No way. I'd broken Jean-Claude's one rule for dating both of the boys. I'd never really given Jean-Claude the same chance that I'd given Richard. And now, with national television coverage, the bat was out of the bag. It embarrassed me that anyone would think I might actually date him. That I might actually care for a walking dead man.
   The anger washed away in the knowledge that I was a hypocrite. I don't know how much of it showed on my face, but Jean-Claude cocked his head to one side. "Thoughts are flying across your face, ma petite, but what thoughts?"
   I stared up at him. "I think I owe you an apology."
   His eyes widened. "Then this is a truly historic occasion. What are you apologizing for?"
   I wasn't sure how to put it into words. "You're right; I'm wrong."
   He put his fingers to his chest, face wide with mock surprise. "You admit that you have treated me like some guilty secret, hidden away. Exiled from your true feelings while you cuddle with Richard and his living flesh."
   I frowned at him. "Enough already. See if I ever give you another apology for anything."
   "A dance would suffice," he said.
   "I don't dance. You know that."
   "This is the grand opening of my dance club, ma petite. You are my date. Are you truly going to deny me even one dance?"
   Put that way it sounded petty. "One dance."
   He smiled, wicked, enticing. The smile that the serpent must have given Eve. "I think we will dance well together, ma petite."
   "I doubt it."
   "I think we would do many things well together."
   "Give you one dance and you want the whole package. Pushy bastard."
   He gave a small bow, smiling, eyes shining.
   A female vamp strode towards us. She was inches taller than Jean-Claude, which made her at least six feet tall. She was blond and blue-eyed, and if she'd looked any more Nordic, she'd have been a poster girl for the master race. She was wearing a violet blue body suit with strategic holes cut out. The body that showed through was broad-shouldered, muscular, and still managed to be full-breasted. Leather boots in the exact same color rode her long, muscular legs all the way up to her thighs.
   "Anita Blake, this is Liv."
   "Let me guess," I said. "Jean-Claude chose the outfit."
   Liv looked at me from her considerable height as if simply being tall made her intimidating. When I didn't flinch, she smiled. "He is the boss."
   I stared up at her. I almost asked why. I could feel her age pressing down on me like a weight. She was six hundred years old. Twice Jean-Claude's age or more. So why wasn't she the boss? I could feel the answer along my skin like a cool wind. Not enough power. She wasn't a master vampire, and no amount of age would change that.
   "What are you staring at?" she asked. She looked me right in the eyes and shook her head. "She really is immune to our gaze."
   "To your gaze," I said.
   She put her hands on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "It means you don't have enough juice to do me," I said.
   She took a step forward. "How about I just pick you up and squeeze some juice out of you?"
   Here was where not having a gun in a holster was going to get me killed. I could get one of the knives out, but unless I was willing for her to come very close, it wouldn't help. I could slip my hand in the purse; most people didn't expect a gun to come out of a purse so small. Of course, if Liv caught me going for the gun, she could get to me before I could draw it. With a holster I'd have tried it. From a purse hanging from a strap, I didn't think so. Vampires are just that fast.
   "How many vampire kills do you have now, Anita?" Jean-Claude asked.
   The question surprised me, and my answer surprised me more. "Over twenty legal kills."
   "How many kills altogether, ma petite?"
   "I don't know," I said. It had to be over thirty now, but truthfully, I didn't remember anymore. I didn't know how many lives I'd taken. A bad sign, that.
   "Liv is mine, ma petite. You may speak freely in front of her."
   I shook my head. "Never admit to murder in front of strangers, Jean-Claude. Just a rule."
   Liv looked at me. She didn't seem to like what she saw. "So this is the Executioner." She shook her head. "She's a little on the small side, isn't she?" She stalked around me like I was a horse for sale. When she was at my back, I opened the purse. By the time she came around again, I had the gun out, behind the purse, unobtrusive, though in a pinch I guess I could have shot through the purse. But why, if I didn't have to?
   Liv shook her head. "She's pretty, but she's not very impressive." She stood behind Jean-Claude, running her strong hands over his shoulders, his arms. She ended with her hands around his waist, fingers kneading his body.
   I was getting very tired of Liv.
   "I can do things that no human can do for you, Jean-Claude."
   "You are being rude to Anita. I will not remind you of it again." There was a cold, even threat in his voice.
   Liv unwrapped herself from him and stood between us, hands on hips. "The great Jean-Claude driven to celibacy by a human. People are laughing behind your back."
   "Celibacy?" I asked.
   Jean-Claude glanced at me, then sighed. "Until you give up your nunnish ways, ma petite, I am playing monk."
   My eyes widened. I couldn't help it. I knew that Richard and I had each had one lover and chosen celibacy afterwards. But I'd never thought about Jean-Claude and what he might be doing to satisfy his needs. Abstinence would not have been one of my choices for him.
   "You seem surprised, ma petite."
   "I guess anyone who exudes sex the way you do . . . I just never thought about it."
   "Yet if you discovered that I had been sleeping with another female, alive or dead, while we were dating, what would you do?"
   "Drop you in a hot minute."
   "Exactly."
   Liv laughed, a loud, unattractive bray of sound. "Even your human doesn't believe you."
   Jean-Claude turned to her, his eyes a blaze of sapphire flame. "You say they laugh behind my back."
   She nodded, still laughing.
   "But only you are laughing to my face."
   Her laughter died abruptly like a turned switch. She stared at him.
   "A little more submissiveness, Liv, or is this a challenge to my authority?"
   She looked startled. "No, I mean . . . I never meant . . ."
   He just looked at her. "Then you had best ask my forgiveness, had you not?"
   She dropped to one knee. She didn't look afraid, more as if she'd done some huge social gaffe and now had to make amends. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. I forgot myself."
   "Yes, you did, Liv. Do not make it a habit."
   Liv got to her feet, all smiles, all forgiven. Just like that. The political maneuvering was thick in the air. "It's only that she doesn't look nearly as dangerous as you painted her."
   "Anita," Jean-Claude said, "show her what you have in your hand."
   I moved the purse to one side, flashing the gun.
   "I could have your throat in my hands before you could point that toy," Liv said.
   "No," I said, "you couldn't."
   "Is that a challenge?" she asked.
   "Six hundred years of life, plus or minus a decade," I said. "Don't throw it away for a little grandstanding."
   "How did you know my age?"
   I smiled. "I am really not in the mood to bluff tonight, Liv. Don't try me."
   She stared at me, her extraordinary eyes narrowing. "You are a necromancer, not just a corpse-raiser. I can feel you inside my head, almost like another vampire." She looked at Jean-Claude. "Why couldn't I feel her before?"
   "Her power flares when she feels threatened," he said.
   This was news to me. To my knowledge, I wasn't using any power right now. But I didn't say it out loud. Now was not the time to ask stupid questions or even smart ones.
   Liv stepped to one side, almost as if she was afraid. "We're opening in an hour. I've got work to do." She moved towards the door, never taking her eyes from me.
   I watched her move, happy with her reaction but not understanding it.
   "Come, Anita," Jean-Claude said, "I want to show you my club."
   I let him lead me into the main area of the club. They had gutted the warehouse until it rose three stories straight up with railings around each floor. The main dance floor was huge, shining and slick, gleaming in the subdued light. Track lighting was hidden away so it was hard to tell where the light was coming from.
   Things hung from the ceiling. At first glance I thought they were bodies, but they were mannequins, life-size rubber dolls, crash-test dummies. Some were naked, one wrapped in cellophane, some in black leather or vinyl. One rubber doll wore a metal bikini. They were hung from chains at different levels. It was a mobile.
   "That's different," I said.
   "A promising new artist did it especially for the club."
   I shook my head. "It does make a statement." I slipped the gun back into my purse but kept the purse open. That way I was able to get to the gun surprisingly quickly. Besides, I couldn't walk around all night with a loaded gun in my hand. Eventually, your hand starts cramping, no matter how small the gun is.
   Jean-Claude glided across the dance floor, and I followed. "Liv was afraid of me. Why?"
   He turned gracefully, smiling. "You are the Executioner."
   I shook my head. "She said she could feel me in her head like another vamp. What did she mean?"
   He sighed. "You are a necromancer, ma petite, and your power grows with use."
   "Why would that scare a six-hundred-year-old vampire?"
   "You are relentless, ma petite."
   "It's one of my best things."
   "If I answer your question, will you enjoy my club with me, be my date until the assassin shows up?"
   "Thanks for reminding me."
   "You had not forgotten."
   "No, I hadn't. So, yeah, answer my question and I'll play date."
   "Play?"
   "Stop stalling and answer the question." I thought of one other question I wanted answered. "Two questions."
   He raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "Vampires are given powers in folklore and popular myth that we do not possess: controlling weather, shapeshifting into animals. Necromancers are supposedly able to control all types of undead."
   "Control? You don't mean just zombies, do you?"
   "No, ma petite."
   "So Liv's afraid I'll take her over?"
   "Something like that."
   "But that's crazy. I can't order vampires around." The moment I said it, I wished I hadn't. It wasn't true. I had raised a vampire once. Once. Once had been enough.
   Something must have shown on my face, because Jean-Claude touched my cheek.
   "What is it, ma petite? What fills your eyes with such . . . horror?"
   I opened my mouth and lied. "If I could order vampires around, Serephina wouldn't have cleaned my clock two months ago."
   His face softened. "She is dead, ma petite. Well and truly dead. You saw to that." He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. His lips were silken soft. He brushed his lips across my forehead, moving his body in closer, comforting me.
   It made me feel guilty as hell. I did still have nightmares about Serephina, that much was true. Just saying her name out loud made my stomach clench. Of all the vampires I'd faced, she'd come the closest to getting me. Not killing me, that would happen sooner or later. No, she had nearly made me one of them. Nearly made me want to be one of them. She had offered me something more precious than sex or power. She'd offered me peace. It had been a lie, but as lies go, it had been a good one.
   Why not tell Jean-Claude the truth? Well, it was none of his damn business. Frankly, what I'd done frightened me. I didn't want to deal with it. Didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to know what the philosophical ramifications of raising a vampire during daylight hours might be. I was very good at ignoring things I didn't want to deal with.
   "Ma petite, you are trembling." He pushed me back from him to search my face.
   I shook my head. "There's an assassin out to kill me, and you ask why I'm trembling."
   "I know you too well, ma petite. That is not why you tremble."
   "I don't like you using me like some kind of bogeyman for vampires. I'm not that scary."
   "No, but I have encouraged the illusion."
   I pushed away from him. "You mean, you've been telling other vamps that I could control vampires?"
   "A hint or two." He smiled, and in that one simple expression, you just knew he was thinking wicked thoughts.
   "Why, for heaven's sake?"
   "I have taken a lesson from our diplomatic Richard. He has won over many wolves by simply promising to treat them well, not to force them to do things they do not want to do."
   "So?" I said.
   "I have invited vampires to join my flock with the promise not of fear and intimidation but of safety."
   "Like Liv?" He nodded.
   "How do you make sure they don't stage a palace revolt?" I asked.
   "There are ways."
   "Like threatening them with a necromancer," I said.
   He smiled. "Indeed."
   "Not everyone will believe it."
   "I know I don't," a voice said.
   
   
15
   I turned to find another new vampire. He was tall and slender with skin the color of clean white sheets, but sheets didn't have muscle moving underneath, sheets didn't glide down the steps and pad godlike across a room. His hair fell past his shoulders, a red so pure it was nearly the color of blood. The color screamed against his paleness. He was wearing a black frock coat like something out of the 1700s, but his chest gleamed lean and naked inside it. The heavy cloth was nearly covered in thick embroidery, a green so vivid it gleamed. The embroidery matched his eyes. Green as a cat's eyes, green as an emerald. From the waist down, he was wearing green lycra exercise pants that left little to the imagination. A sash was tied at his waist like a pirate belt, black with green fringe. Knee-high black boots completed the outfit.
   I thought I knew all the bloodsuckers in town, but here were two new ones in less than two minutes. "How many new vampires are in the city?" I asked.
   "A few," Jean-Claude said. "This is Damian. Damian, this is Anita."
   "I feel silly in this outfit," he said.
   "But you look splendid, doesn't he, ma petite?"
   I nodded. "Splendid is one way of putting it."
   Jean-Claude walked around the new vampire, flicking imaginary specks of lint from the coat. "Don't you approve, Anita?"
   I sighed. "It's just . . ." I shrugged. "Why do you make everyone around you dress like they stepped out of a sexual fantasy with a high costume budget?"
   He laughed, and the sound wrapped around me, tugged at things lower than he'd ever gotten to touch. "Stop that," I said.
   "You enjoy it, ma petite."
   "Maybe, but stop it anyway."
   "Jean-Claude has always had a killer fashion sense," Damian said, "and sex was always one of his favorite pastimes, wasn't it?" There was something about the way he said that last that made it not a compliment.
   Jean-Claude faced him. "And yet, for all my foppish ways, here you are, in my lands, seeking my protection."
   The pupils in Damian's eyes were swallowed by a rush of green fire. "Thank you so much for reminding me."
   "Remember who is master here, Damian, or you will be banished. The council themselves interceded with your old master, rescued you from her. She did not want to give you up. I spoke for you. I ransomed you because I remember what it was like to be trapped. To be forced to do things you didn't want to do. To be used and tormented."
   Damian stood a little straighter but didn't look away. "You've made your point. I am . . . grateful to be here." He looked away, then to the floor, and a shudder ran through him. "I am glad to be free of her." When he looked back up, his eyes had returned to normal. He managed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Wearing a few costumes is not the worst thing I've ever done."
   There was a sorrow to his voice that made me want to ask Jean-Claude to let him change into a pair of pants, but I didn't. Jean-Claude was walking a very fine line here. Damian was over five hundred years old. He wasn't a master, but that was still a hell of a lot of power. Jean-Claude might be able to handle Liv and Damian, but if there were more, Master of the City or not, he wasn't up to the job. Which meant these little dominance games were necessary. The others couldn't be allowed to forget who was Master, because once they did, he was done for. If he'd asked for my vote before he put out the invitations, I'd have said no.
   A door at the far side of the room opened. It was a black door in the black walls, and it seemed almost magical as a woman stepped out. She was about my own height, with wavy, waist-length brown hair that foamed over the shoulders of her ankle-length black coat. She was wearing a pair of hot turquoise exercise pants with a matching sports bra. Crisscrossing straps went from pants to the bra, emphasizing her small waist. Black vinyl boots reached to her knees, with a small projection that covered the knees. She walked down the steps and strode across the floor with a free-swinging walk that was almost a run. She entered the room like it was her room, or maybe she was her own room, comfortable wherever she went.
   She stopped by us, smiling, pleasant, hazel eyes greener because of the strip of turquoise around her neck. "What do you think?"
   "You look lovely, Cassandra," Jean-Claude said.
   "You look better in yours than I do in mine," Damian said.
   "That's a matter of opinion," I said.
   The woman looked at me. Her eyes flicked down the length of Damian's body. She met my eyes, and we both laughed.
   Damian looked puzzled. Jean-Claude looked at me. "Share your humor with us, ma petite, please."
   I met Cassandra's eyes again, swallowed another laugh, and shook my head. I took a few deep breaths. When I was pretty sure I could speak without laughing, I said, "Girl humor, you wouldn't understand."
   "Very diplomatic," Cassandra said. "I'm impressed."
   "If you knew how hard diplomacy comes to ma petite, you would be even more impressed," Jean-Claude said. He had gotten the joke, as if there'd been any doubt.
   Damian was frowning at us, still puzzled. It was just as well.
   Jean-Claude looked from Cassandra to me and back again. "Do you two know each other?"
   We shook our heads in unison.
   "Cassandra, Anita. My newest wolf, meet the light of my life. Cassandra is one of your guards for the night."
   "You're very good. I wouldn't have picked up on it."
   Her smile widened. "Richard said you didn't know he was a werewolf at first, either."
   Instantly, a little spark of jealousy flared. Of course, if she were a werewolf and with Jean-Claude, then she was one of Richard's followers. "You weren't at the meeting."
   "Jean-Claude needed me here. He couldn't do without both Jason and me."
   I looked at Jean-Claude. I knew what Jason did for him. He bled Jason when he woke, and sucking blood was damn close to sex for a vampire. "Really," I said.
   "Don't worry, ma petite. Cassandra won't share blood with me, either. She and Richard have many similarities. I believe that Richard chose her for me because she bears a certain resemblance to you, not just physically, but a certain je ne sais quoi."
   "Je ne sais quoiis French for nothing," I said.
   "It means an indefinable something that is difficult to put into words, ma petite. A quality that transcends vocabulary."
   "He does talk pretty, doesn't he?" Cassandra said.
   "He has his moments," I said. "You can't be draining Jason every morning. Even a werewolf needs a little recoup time."
   "Stephen is a willing donor."
   "Why wasn't Stephen with you last night?" I asked.
   "Is that an accusation?" Jean-Claude asked.
   "Just answer the question."
   "He had requested an evening off to spend time with his brother. Who am I to stand in the way of familial obligations?" He stared at me while he answered like he wasn't completely happy with the conversation. Tough. Neither was I.
   Stephen's own brother had betrayed him, acted as bait for the trap. Damn. "Where is Stephen?"
   "He's in the back room," Cassandra said. "He helped me get into this thing. I couldn't reach all the straps." She dropped the coat off her shoulders and turned so I could see her back. The straps formed a tight web, most of them in places you couldn't have fastened without help. She slipped the coat back on and turned, looking at me. "You're taking this alpha female thing seriously, aren't you?"
   I shrugged. "I'm serious about Stephen's safety."
   Cassandra nodded, face solemn, thoughtful. "I like that. Sometimes alpha female is just a token position. Just a word for the pack leader's lover. Most of them aren't as active as Raina." She made a face when she said the name, like she'd tasted something bitter.
   Jean-Claude interrupted. "I will leave you two girls to your conversation. I have things to attend to before the club opens." He kissed the back of my hand and was gone, leaving us standing in the middle of the club, alone. Damian had gone at his heels as if he'd been asked.
   For a moment, I was nervous. Cassandra and I were very much in the open. "Let's go over there." I motioned to the steps that led to the next level. We sat down on them, me having to smooth my skirts down. Even that didn't help. I had to keep my feet and knees together or I would have flashed the room. Sigh.
   "Let me guess," I said. "Raina wanted you for her movies."
   "She wants everyone that is remotely attractive for her movies. Though sometimes sharing her bed for a tryout can get you out of it. She offered me to Gabriel for my tryout. That damn leopard is not even a pack member."
   "If he were, she'd make him pack leader," I said.
   Cassandra shook her head. "Gabriel couldn't defeat Marcus, let alone Richard. He's the leader of the wereleopards only because there's no one stronger. He's an alpha, but he's flawed. It makes him weak."
   "Sexual perversion doesn't always mean you'll lose a fight," I said.
   "It's not that," Cassandra said. "He's into dangerous sex. Lycanthropes can take a lot of damage." She shivered. "The things he wanted to do to me." She looked at me, and the fear showed in her eyes. "He says you nearly gutted him once while he had you pinned to the ground."
   I looked away. "Yeah."
   Cassandra touched my arm, and there was no sense of power. She was every bit as good as Richard at hiding what she was. She made Sylvie look like an amateur. The touch made me turn back to her. "He's hot for you, Anita. I didn't tell Richard because, well, I'm new in the pack. Got into town about two weeks ago. I was afraid that if I told him what Gabriel had said about you, he might do something stupid. But meeting you, maybe telling you is enough. You can decide whether Richard needs to know."
   She looked so serious. It scared me. "What did Gabriel say?"
   Cassandra took a deep breath. "He has a fantasy about you. He wants to arm you with knives and let you try to kill him, on film, while he rapes you."
   I stared at her. I wanted to say, you're kidding, but I knew she wasn't. Gabriel was just that twisted. "How does the movie end in his version?"
   "With you dead," she said.
   "While he rapes me?" I said.
   She nodded.
   I hugged myself, running my hands down my arms, tensing my back, feeling the weapons I was carrying. I was armed. I was safe, but shit.
   She touched my shoulder. "You all right?"
   "Well, isn't this touching," a man's voice on the stairs behind us. Cassandra was on her feet, facing it in an instant. I slid my hand into the open purse and drew the Seecamp out. The gun caught a bit on the cloth lining and cost me a couple of seconds, but it was out and ready. I felt better. I'd twisted on the steps, coming up on one knee, not bothering to stand. Sometimes, standing made you a better target.
   Sabin stood about five steps above us. Frightfully close for neither of us to have sensed him. He was dressed as I'd seen him in the office; hooded cloak covering him from head to toe. I could see under the cloak now. There were no feet. He was floating above the step. "I wish you could see the look on your face, Ms. Blake."
   I swallowed my pulse back into my mouth and said, "I didn't know you'd be here tonight, Sabin."
   Cassandra took a step towards him, a soft growl oozing from her throat. "I don't know you," she said.
   "Calm yourself, wolf. I am Jean-Claude's guest, aren't I, Ms. Blake?"
   "Yeah," I said. "He's a guest." I stopped pointing the gun at him, but I didn't put it up. He was awfully damn good to have snuck up on me and a werewolf.
   "You know him?" Cassandra asked. She was still standing above me, blocking the vampire's path. She was taking this bodyguard thing very seriously.
   "I've met him."
   "He safe?"
   "No," I said, "but he's not here to hurt me."
   "Who is he here to hurt?" Cassandra asked. She still hadn't given any ground.
   Sabin eased down the steps, cloak billowing around him in an odd motion, like the sleeve of an amputee. "I have come to watch the night's entertainment, nothing more."
   Cassandra backed up to stand a step ahead of me. I stood but still kept the gun out. I was jumpier than normal. I was also remembering how Sabin had bled me from a distance with his laughter. Keeping a gun handy seemed like a good idea.
   "Where's Dominic?"
   "He's here somewhere." His hood was a cup of darkness, smooth and empty, but I knew he was watching me. I felt his gaze like a weight.
   He stayed on the step just above Cassandra, two steps above me. "Who is your lovely companion?"
   "Sabin, this is Cassandra; Cassandra, Sabin."
   A black-gloved hand slid out of the cloak. He reached towards Cassandra as if he'd caress her face.
   She jerked back. "Don't touch me."
   His hand froze in midmotion. A stillness washed over him. I'd seen other vampires fill with that utter quietness, but I'd thought it was made up of visual clues. There was no visual from Sabin, but that same emptiness flowed outward. The illusion was almost better this way as if it was just an empty cloak somehow hovering on the stairs.
   His voice came out of that stillness. It was startling. "Is my touch so repulsive?"
   "You smell of sickness and death."
   Sabin drew his hand back inside his cloak. "I am a visiting master. It is within my rights to ask for a bit of . . . companionship. I could ask for you, wolf."
   Cassandra growled at him.
   "No one's forcing anyone into anyone's bed," I said.
   "Are you so sure of that, Ms. Blake?" Sabin asked. He floated around Cassandra. The cloak brushed her, and she shuddered.
   I couldn't smell him; I didn't have a werewolf's sense of smell. But I'd seen some of what was under that cloak. It was worth a shudder or two.
   "Cassandra is only on loan to Jean-Claude. She belongs to the pack, so yeah, I'm sure."
   Cassandra glanced back at me. "You'd protect me?"
   "It's part of my job description now, isn't it?"
   She studied my face. "Yes, I suppose it is." Her voice was soft, the growling like a distant dream. She looked terribly normal except for the outfit.
   "You've seen what I am, Ms. Blake. Do you shudder at my touch?"
   I moved down a step until I was on the floor. Better footing than the stairs. "I shook your hand earlier."
   Sabin floated to the floor. The darkness faded from inside the hood. He pushed it back to reveal that golden hair and that ravaged face.
   Cassandra let out a hiss. She backed up until she hit the banister. I think Sabin could have pulled a gun and shot her right that second, and she wouldn't have reacted in time.
   He smiled at her. His beautiful mouth pulling the rotted flesh loose. "Have you never seen anything like this?"
   She swallowed hard enough for me to hear, like she was trying not to throw up. "I've never seen anything so horrible."
   Sabin turned back to me. His one eye was still a clear, pure blue, but the other had burst in the socket in a welter of pus and thinner liquid.
   I did my own swallowing. "Your eye was fine yesterday."
   "I told you it was virulent, Ms. Blake. Did you think I was exaggerating?"
   I shook my head. "No."
   His gloved hand came out of hiding once more. I remembered the way his hand had squished when I shook it yesterday. I did not want him to touch me, but there was a look in his beautiful eye, some pain on what was left of his face, that made me hold still. I wouldn't flinch. I felt sorry for him, pretty stupid, but true.
   That black glove hovered beside my face, not quite touching me. The Seecamp was forgotten in my hand. Sabin's fingertips brushed my face. The glove was liquid-filled, like some kind of obscene balloon.
   He stared at me. I stared back. He spread his hand over my lower jaw and pressed. There were solid things inside the glove, thicker pieces, and bone, but it wasn't a hand anymore. Only the glove gave it shape.
   A small sound crawled out of my throat. I couldn't stop it.
   "Perhaps I should ask for you?" he said.
   I eased back out of his grip. I was afraid to move too quickly. Afraid that sudden movement might tear off the glove. I did not want to see him spill out in a flood of foul-smelling liquid. He was a horror show enough without that.
   Sabin didn't try to hold me; maybe he was afraid of the same thing.
   "Are you abusing my hospitality again?" Jean-Claude said. He stood on the dance floor, looking at Sabin. His eyes were pure blue light. His skin had gone pale and smooth like carved marble.
   "You have not yet shown me true hospitality, Jean-Claude. It is customary to offer me companionship."
   "I didn't think there was enough of you left to have such needs," Jean-Claude said.
   Sabin grimaced. "It is a cruel illness. Not all of my body has rotted away. The need remains, though the vessel is so grotesque that no one will touch me, not by choice." He shook his head, and the skin split on one side. Something black and thicker than blood oozed down the side of his face.
   Cassandra made a small sound. My bodyguard was about to be sick. Maybe it smelled bad to her.
   "If one of my people angers me enough while you are in my territory, you may have them. But I cannot give someone to you just because you wish it. Not everyone's sanity would survive it."
   "There are days, Jean-Claude, when my own sanity is in doubt." Sabin looked from Cassandra to me. "It would break your wolf, I think. But your servant, I think she would survive."
   "She is off limits to you, Sabin. If you abuse my hospitality with such an insult, council edict or no council edict, I will destroy you."
   Sabin turned to him. The two vampires stared at each other. "There was a time, Jean-Claude, when no one spoke to me like that, no one short of the council."
   "That was before," Jean-Claude said.
   Sabin sighed. "Yes, before."
   "You are free to enjoy the show, but do not tempt me again, Sabin. I have no sense of humor where ma petiteis concerned."
   "You share her with a werewolf but not with me."
   "That is our business," Jean-Claude said, "and we will never speak of this again. If we do, it will be a challenge between us, and you are not up to it."
   Sabin gave a half bow, hard to get the leverage for it without legs. "You are Master of the City. Your word is law." The words were correct. The tone was mocking.
   Liv came up to stand behind and to one side of Jean-Claude. "It is time to open the doors, Master." I think that last was deliberate. Jean-Claude usually chastised his flock for calling him master.
   Jean-Claude said, "Everyone to their places then." His voice sounded strangled.
   "I will find a table," Sabin said.
   "Do so," Jean-Claude said.
   Sabin raised the hood back into place. He glided back up the stairs, headed for the tables on the upper level. Or maybe he'd just float in the rafters.
   "My apologies, ma petite. I believe the sickness has progressed to his mind. Be wary of him. Cassandra is needed for the show. Liv will remain with you."
   I looked at the tall vampire. "She won't take a bullet for me."
   "If she fails me, I will give her to Sabin."
   Liv paled, which is a neat trick for a vampire, even one that's fed. "Master, please."
   "Now I believe she'll take a bullet for me," I said. If the choices were sleeping with Sabin or getting shot, I'd take the bullet. From the look on Liv's face, she agreed.
   Jean-Claude left to make his entrance.
   Cassandra met my eyes. She wasn't just pale, she was green. She jerked her gaze from mine as if afraid of what I'd see. "I am sorry, Anita." She went for the door she'd first entered through. She seemed embarrassed. Guess I couldn't blame her.
   Cassandra had failed the bodyguard test. She was a powerful lycanthrope, but Sabin had totally unnerved her. She'd have probably been just fine if the vampire had tried violence, but he'd just stood there and rotted at her. What do you do when the monsters start being piteous?
   The doors opened, and the crowd flowed in like a tidal wave, spilling in a wash of thunderous noise. I slipped the gun back into the purse but didn't shut it.
   Liv was at my elbow. "Your table is over here." I went with her because I didn't want to be alone in the jostling crowd. Besides, she was suddenly taking my safety very seriously. Couldn't blame her. Sabin's diseased body was a wonderful threat.
   I'd have felt better if I hadn't believed Jean-Claude would do it. But I knew better. He'd give Liv to Sabin. He really would. There was a look in the vampire's eyes that said she knew it, too.