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"Did you know your newest pack member was so well-educated, Richard?" Jean-Claude asked.
"Yes," he said, "it's one of the reasons I gave her permission to move here."
"Permission to move here?" I said. "Why did she need your permission?"
"A werewolf has to get the permission of the local pack leader before they can enter a new territory. If they don't, it's considered a challenge to his authority."
"Did she have to ask your permission or Marcus's?"
"Both," Cassandra said. "Most werewolves won't come near Saint Louis while this power struggle is going on."
"Why did you come, then, my wolf?" Jean-Claude asked.
"I liked what I heard about Richard. He's trying to bring the pack into the twentieth century."
"Did you come planning to be his lupa?" I asked. Yes, a little twinge of jealousy had reared its ugly head.
Cassandra smiled. "Maybe, but the job's filled. I came here to avoid fighting, not to start it."
"You have come to the wrong place, I fear," Jean-Claude said.
She shrugged. "If I waited until the battle was over and it was safe, I wouldn't be worth much, would I?"
"You came to fight at Monsieur Zeeman's side?"
"I came because I agree with what he's trying to do."
"You don't approve of killing?" I asked.
"Not really."
"Why, Richard, you have found a kindred spirit," Jean-Claude said, smiling, and far too pleased.
"Cassandra believes in the sanctity of life; a lot of people do," Richard said. He wouldn't look at me.
"If she's a better match for you than I am, I won't stand in your way."
He turned to me, a look of astonishment on his face. "Anita..." He shook his head. "I'm in love with you."
"You'd get over it," I said. My chest was tight with the offer, but I meant it. Richard and I had a basic fundamental difference of opinion. It wasn't going away. One of us was going to have to compromise, and it wasn't going to be me. I couldn't quite meet Richard's eyes, but I didn't take it back.
He stepped in front of me, and all I could see was his bare chest. There was a scratch just below his left nipple, blood drying on his skin in darkening strings. He touched my chin, raising my face until I met his eyes. He studied my face like he'd never seen it before.
"I would never get over losing you, Anita. Never."
"Never's a long time to tie yourself to a killer."
"You don't have to be a killer," he said.
I stepped away from him. "If you're hanging around me waiting for me to soften up and become this good little girl, you might as well leave now."
He grabbed my arms, pulling me against his body. "I want you, Anita, all of you." He kissed me, arms locked behind my back, raising me up against him.
I slid my hands behind his back, Firestar still in one hand. I pressed my body against his hard enough to know he was happy to see me.
We came up for air, and I pulled back, but not out of his arms, half-laughing. I caught a glimpse of Jean-Claude standing to one side. The look on his face wiped the smile from my lips. It wasn't jealousy. It was hunger. Desire. Watching us together had excited him.
I drew back from Richard and found blood on my hands. It was hard to tell on the navy blue shirt but there were wet spots where I'd pressed myself against the bloody scratches. Some of the wounds were deep enough that they were still seeping blood.
Richard was looking at Jean-Claude, too, now. I stepped away from Richard, holding up the bloody hand. I walked towards the vampire, and his eyes stayed on the fresh blood, not on me. I stopped less than a foot from him, my hand held out in front of his face.
"Which would you rather have right now, sex or blood?"
His eyes flicked to my face, back to my hand, then to my face. I watched the effort it took for him to keep eye contact. "Ask Richard which he would rather have just after he changes into a wolf, sex or fresh meat?"
I glanced back at Richard. "What's your choice?"
"Just after the change, meat." He said it like I should have known the answer.
I turned back to the vampire. I slid the Firestar into the front of my pants, and moved the bloody hand towards his lips.
Jean-Claude grabbed my wrist. "Do not tease me, ma petite. My control is not boundless." A tremor ran through his arm and down his hand. He looked away, eyes closed.
I touched his face with my right hand, turning him back to face me. "Who says I'm teasing?" I said softly. "Take us to the coffin room."
Jean-Claude searched my face. "What do you offer me, ma petite?"
"Blood," I said.
"And sex?" he asked.
"Which would you rather have, right this minute?" I stared at him, willing the truth in his face.
He gave a shaky laugh. "Blood."
I smiled, and pulled my wrist away. "Remember, it was your choice."
A look passed over his face that was a mixture of surprise and irony. "Touche, ma petite, but I am beginning to have hopes that this will not be the last time I am given the choice." There was a heat to his voice, his eyes, just standing this close to his body, that made me shiver.
I glanced back at Richard. He was watching us. I expected to see jealousy or anger, but all I could read in his eyes was need. Lust. I was pretty sure that Richard's choice right this minute would be sex, but the thought of a little blood thrown in didn't seem to worry him. In fact, it seemed to excite him. I was beginning to wonder if the werewolf and vampire shared similar tastes in foreplay. The thought should have scared me, but it didn't. That was a very, very bad sign.
30
The last time I'd been in the coffin room under Circus of the Damned, I'd come to slay the current Master of the City. I'd come to slay every vampire in the place. My, how things had changed.
Track lighting in solid white fixtures clung to the walls, casting soft halos of light on each of seven coffins. Three of the coffins were empty, their lids propped open. All of the coffins were modern, new, roomy. They were all a rich varnished oak, stained nearly black. Silver handles graced the wood. The satin linings of the open coffins were different colors; white, blue, red. The coffin with the red interior held a sword in a specially made side sheath: a freaking two-handed sword as long as I was tall. A pair of the ugliest fuzzy dice I'd ever seen were suspended from the white satin coffin. It had to be Willie's. The blue satin held a small extra pillow. Standing over the coffin, the smell of herbs rose musty, vaguely sweet. I touched the small pillow and found it filled with dried herbs. "Herbs for sweet dreams," I said to no one in particular.
"Is there some purpose to you handling their personal belongings, ma petite?"
I looked at him. "What keepsakes do you have in your coffin?"
He just smiled.
"Why all the same coffins?"
"If you came in here to kill us, where would you start?"
I looked around at the identical coffins. "I don't know. If someone comes in, they can't tell who's the oldest or who's the Master of the City. It covers your ass but endangers the rest."
"If someone comes to kill us, ma petite, it is to everyone's benefit if the oldest are not killed first. There is always a chance that one of the older ones could awaken in time to save the rest."
I nodded. "Why the extra-wide, extra-high interiors?"
"Would you want to spend eternity on your back, ma petite?" He smiled and came to stand beside me, leaning his butt against the open coffin, arms crossed over his chest. "There are so many other more comfortable positions."
I felt heat rise up my face.
Richard joined us. "Are you two going to exchange witty repartee or are we going to do this?" He leaned on the closed end of the coffin, forearms resting on it. There was a bloody scratch on his right upper arm. He seemed at home. Jason, still furry and big enough to ride, padded over the stone floor, nails clicking. The wolf's head was high enough that it licked Richard's bloody arm while still on all fours. There were moments when I felt Richard was too normal to fit into my life. This wasn't one of them.
"Yeah, we're going to do it," I said.
Richard stood, running his fingers through his thick hair, getting it out of his face, and showing his chest off to good advantage. For the first time, I wondered if he'd done it on purpose. I searched his face for that edge of teasing that Jean-Claude had, that knowledge that even that simple movement touched me. There was nothing. Richard's face was guileless, handsome, empty of ulterior motives.
