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I met Richard at his house. We sat at the kitchen table where we'd sat so many weekend mornings. He drank tea. I sipped coffee. He wouldn't meet my eyes, and I didn't know what to say.
He caught me off guard by starting. "If you'd stuck to my morals, Asher would be dead right now, or worse, trapped in Europe with that monstrous bitch."
I was pretty sure that "monstrous bitch" was Belle Morte. "That's true," I said, and I tried to keep my voice neutral. I wanted to get down to business and ask Richard to loan me some werewolves, but it didn't usually work well to approach Richard head on. It didn't take much to offend him. I needed his cooperation, not another fight.
"I don't understand how you could let them feed off of you, Anita." He finally looked up and his perfectly brown eyes were filled with a pain and confusion, so raw, that it hurt me to look at them.
"It's hard for me to cast stones anymore, Richard."
"The ardeur," he said.
I nodded.
"I can't let you feed off of me either,"
"I understand that," I said.
He searched my face. "Then why are you here?"
Had he really thought this was going to be some tearful reunion, some plea on my part to get him back in my bed? Part of me was pissed, part of me was sad, none of me had time for it.
"The werewolf that's been raping and killing women here got away from the police today."
"I haven't seen anything on the news."
"We're trying to keep it quiet."
"You're here for business," his voice was soft.
"I'm here to keep other women from dying."
He got up from the table, and I was afraid for a moment that he'd leave, but he took the tea cozy off the teapot and refreshed his mug. "It's not one of my wolves, Anita."
"I know that."
He turned, and there was the first hint of anger. "Then what do you want from me?"
I sighed. "Richard, I love you, I may always love you, but I don't have time for this fight, not right now."
"Why not now?" he asked, and he was angry.
I opened the file folder and took out the first photo. I held it up so he could see it. He frowned, narrowing his eyes, then finally his mind made sense of it, and total disgust filled his face. He turned away.
"Why are you showing me that?"
"He's killed three women here and over a half dozen in other countries. Those are only the ones we know about. He's out there right now picking a new victim."
"I can't do anything about that."
"But I can, if you'll give me some werewolves to help track him."
He looked at me then, then away, because I still had the photo showing. "Track him, you mean like a dog?"
"No, most dogs won't track a shape-shifter, they're too scared of them."
"We're not animals, Anita."
"No, you're not, but in animal form you have the nose of one, but you still have the brain of a person. You can track and think."
"Me, you expect me to do this?"
I shook my head, and laid the photo down on the pile. I stood and spread the pile out across his table. "No, but Jason would, and Jamil would if you asked him to. I'd say Sylvie, but she's not well enough to do much of anything."
"She challenged me, and she lost," Richard said. His eyes kept flicking to the photos on the table. "Get those off of my table."
"He's out there right now, about to turn another woman into so much meat."
"Fine, fine, take Jason, take Jamil, take whoever the hell you want."
"Thank you." I started gathering the photos up.
"You didn't have to do it this way, Anita."
"What way?" I asked, shutting the file over the gruesome photos.
"Harsh. You could have just asked me."
"Would you have said yes?"
"I don't know, but those photos are going to haunt me."
"I saw the real deal, Richard, your nightmares can't be worse than mine."
He moved in one of those blurs of speed and grabbed my arm. "Part of me thinks they're horrifying, just like I'm supposed to, but part of me likes the pictures." His fingers dug into my arm, bruising. "Part of me just sees fresh meat." He let a growl trickle out from between his even white teeth.
"I'm sorry you hate what you are, Richard."
He let go of me so fast, I almost fell. "Take the wolves you need, and get out."
"If I could wave a magic wand over you and make you human, purely human, I'd do it, Richard."
He looked at me; his eyes had bled to wolf amber. "I believe you, but there isn't a magic wand. I am what I am, and nothing will ever change that."
"I'm sorry, Richard."
"I've decided to live, Anita."
I looked at him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"I've been trying to die. I'm not going to die anymore. I'm going to live, whatever that means."
"I'm glad, but I wish you sounded happier about the choice."
"Go, Anita, you've got a murderer to catch."
I did, and time was not on our side. But I still hated leaving him like this. "I'll do what I can to help you, Richard, you know that."
"Like you help all your friends."
I shook my head, gathered up the folder, and went for the door. "When you want to talk, and not to fight, give me a call, Richard."
"And when you want to talk, and not catch murderers, you give me a call."
We left it at that. But I didn't have time to hold his hand, even if he would have let me. Van Anders was out there, and there were so many people he could hurt. What was a little emotional desolation between friends compared to getting Van Anders off the streets?
