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The woman on his right rubbed her cheek along his shoulder as if it were a cat scent marking. Long, dark hair formed waves around her shoulders. What I could see of her outfit looked tight, black, and mostly of leather.
"We are human here, Gabriel," Marcus said.
Gabriel made a rude noise. "You believe what you want to, Marcus. But we know what we are, and what she isn't." He pointed at me with his gauntleted fist. It didn't seem a particularly friendly gesture.
Rafael stood. The gesture stopped the argument. There was something about the way he stood there in his ordinary street clothes that made you stare at him as if he were wearing a crown. His presence was more commanding than that of a ton of black leather. Marcus made the lowest of growls. Too many kings in this room.
"Does Marcus speak for Anita Blake as he speaks for the wolves?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "I speak for Ms. Blake."
I stood up. "I don't know what's going on, but I can speak for myself."
Marcus turned like a small blond storm. "I am pack leader. I am law."
Alfred moved to face me, big hands flexing.
"Chill out, fur face. You're not my leader, and I'm not a pack member."
Alfred stalked forward. I hopped off the stage. I had the gun, but I might need it more later. If I drew it now, I might not have it later. He leaped off the stage, a high bounding as if he'd had a trampoline to jump from. I dropped to the ground and rolled. I felt the air of his passage. I ended up against the stage. I went for the Firestar, and he was on me. Faster than a speeding bullet, faster than anything I'd ever seen.
His hand gripped my throat and squeezed. His lips drew back from his teeth, and made a low, rolling growl, like the sound a Rottweiler would make.
My hand was on the Firestar, but I still had to lift up, point it, and pull the trigger. I'd never make it. He'd rip my throat out long before I could manage it.
He drew me to my feet using my throat as a handle. His fingers dug in just enough to let me feel the strength in his hands. All he had to do was clench his fist, and the front of my throat would come with it. I kept my hand on the Firestar. I'd be clinging to it when I died.
"Does Alfred fight your battles for you now?" It was Christine of the blousy tie. "Pack leaders must fight all challenges to their dominance personally or forfeit leadership. It's one of your own laws, Marcus."
"Do not quote my laws back to me, woman."
"She challenged your authority over her, not Alfred's. If he kills her, is he the new pack leader?" There was soft derision in her voice.
"Release her, Alfred."
Alfred's eyes flicked to Marcus, then back to me. His fingers tensed, digging in and raising me to my tiptoes.
"I said, let her go!"
He dropped me. I staggered back against the stage and aimed Firestar in one movement. It wasn't pretty, but the gun was out and pointed at Alfred. If he tried me again, I was going to kill him, and I'd enjoy it.
"I thought you checked her for weapons," Marcus said.
"I did." Alfred was backing away, hands held in front of him as if to ward off a blow.
I scooted along the stage so I could keep an eye on Marcus. I caught sight of Raina, still sitting, looking amused.
I backed away from everyone, working to put a wall at my back. If Marcus was faster than Alfred, I needed distance, like a hundred miles, but I'd have to settle for the far wall.
"Have him disarm her," Raina said. She sat there, legs crossed, hands resting on her knee, smiling. "It was Alfred's oversight. Let him correct it."
Marcus nodded. Alfred turned his eyes back to me.
I pressed my back more solidly into the wall, as if I could make a door if I pressed hard enough. Alfred stalked towards me, slow, like a movie maniac. I pointed the gun at his chest. "I will kill him," I said.
"Your little bullets cannot hurt me," Alfred said.
"Silver-plated Glaser safety rounds," I said. "It'll blow a hole in your chest big enough to put a fist through."
He hesitated. "I can heal any wound, even silver."
"Not if it's a killing blow," I said. "I take out your heart and you're dead."
He glanced back at Marcus. Marcus's face was all squeezed down with anger. "You let her bring a gun among us."
"If you're afraid of the gun, Marcus, take it away from her yourself." Christine again. This time I wasn't sure she was helping me.
"We intend you no harm, Ms. Blake. But I promised the others you would bring no weapons among us. I gave my word. If you will give Alfred your gun, this can end."
"No way."
"You are defying me, Ms. Blake. I cannot let anyone contest my authority."
He had come to stand at the end of the stage, closest to me. He was closer to me than Alfred. I wasn't sure it was an improvement.
"You step off that stage and I'll shoot."
"Alfred." Just the name again, but it was enough. Alfred moved up beside him, eyes on Marcus's face. "Master?"
"Take it from her, Alfred. She cannot defy us."
"You're going to get him killed, Marcus."
"I don't think so."
Alfred took a step forward, in front of Marcus. His face was neutral, eyes unreadable. "This is a stupid thing to die over, Alfie."
"He gives orders. I obey. It is the way of things."
"Don't do this," I said.
Alfred took a step forward.
I took a slow, steadying breath. I had a peripheral sense of everyone else, but I was looking only at Alfred. At a spot in the center of his chest. "I am not bluffing."
I felt him tense, knew he was going to do it. He was confident that he could move faster than I could pull the trigger. Nothing was that fast. I hoped.
He leaped in that wide, arching roll that he'd used earlier. I dropped to one knee, aiming as I moved. The bullet hit him in midair. He jerked and crumbled to the floor.
The gunshot echoed into silence. I got to my feet, the gun still pointed at him. I eased forward. He never moved. If he was breathing, I couldn't see it. I knelt until the gun was shoved into the back of his spine. No movement. I felt for a pulse in his neck. Nothing. I pulled the Browning out of his waistband left handed. I kept the Firestar pointed at everybody. I wasn't as good left handed, and I didn't want to take the time to switch hands.
Marcus stepped off the stage. "Don't," I said. He froze, staring at me. He looked shocked, as if he hadn't thought I'd do it.
Rafael came up through the tables. "May I look at him?"
"Sure." But I backed away. Theoretically out of reach.
Rafael turned him over. Blood had pooled on the floor from the hole in his chest. Bright crimson rivulets trailed down his lips to mingle with his beard. Not faster than a speeding bullet, after all.
Marcus looked at me over the body. I had expected to see anger, but all I saw was pain. He mourned Alfred's passing. I may have pulled the trigger, but he had pushed Alfred into it. He knew it, I knew it. We all knew it.
"You didn't have to kill him," he said, softly.
"You gave me no choice," I said.
He glanced down at Alfred's body, then back to me. "No, I suppose I didn't. We killed him together, you and I."
"For future reference, so there will never be another misunderstanding between us, Marcus. I never bluff."
"So you said."
"But you didn't believe me."
He watched the blood spread across the floor. "I believe you now."
12
We had a body on the ground. The age-old question remained. What do you do with a dead body? There was the traditional approach. "I'll call the cops," I said.
"No," Marcus said. That one word had more force in it than anything he'd said since Alfred hit the ground.
"He's dead, folks. If I'd hit him with a regular bullet he'd heal, but it was silver. We've got to call the cops."
"Are you so eager to go to jail?" This from Rafael.
"I don't want to go to jail, but I killed him."
"I think you had a little help on that." Christine had moved up beside us. She stood there in her rose-petal suit with her sensible black pumps, staring down at the body. A line of blood trickled towards her shoes. She had to see it, snaking its way towards her. She didn't move out of the way. The blood seeped around the toe of her shoe and kept going.
Raina came up behind Marcus. She put her arms around his shoulders, leaning her face against his neck, close enough to whisper in his ear. Those lips did not move, but it had been her one needling comment that had pushed things over the edge. One little remark.
