Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [1035]
“Where’s Jean-Claude?”
“Did you expect him to wait by your bedside?”
“Maybe.”
“He and Asher are busy elsewhere, together. I was left to tend you while they had more important things to do.”
I stared at him. Was it on purpose? Was he trying to make me doubt them? I’d nearly died, and was still hooked up to tubes; fuck it, I’d ask. “Are you implying that they’re having sex together somewhere, and that that is more important to them than me?”
He looked down; I think he was trying to be coy. “They are off together, and they left me to tend you. I think the situation speaks for itself.”
“You really shouldn’t try to play coy, Requiem. You’re not good at it.”
He gave me the full weight of those blue, blue eyes, with that swimming shadow of green around the iris. Eyes you could sink into and swim away in, or be drowned in. I actually looked down, rather than meet his gaze. Normally he wasn’t a problem, but I was hurt, weak, and I didn’t like his mood.
“My evening star, you are thinking too hard. Let us rejoice that you live, that we all live.”
That gave me other questions to ask; maybe since they weren’t about Jean-Claude, he’d answer them. “Then Peter is all right?”
His face went blank, even that pressing need in his eyes fading away. “He is in a room nearby.”
“Is he all right?”
“He will heal.”
“I don’t like how you’re saying that, Requiem.”
I heard the door open as a male voice said, “God, you are a gloomy bastard.” Graham strode into the room.
I watched him for signs that the Harlequin were messing with his mind, signs of that panicked false addiction. He was his usual smiling self. Okay, his usual self when he wasn’t feeling grumpy about me not fucking him.
“Are you wearing a cross?” I asked.
He drew a chain out of his shirt, and on the end of it was a tiny Buddha. I stared at it. “You’re a Buddhist?”
“Yep.”
“You do violence, you can’t be a Buddhist,” I said.
“So I’m a bad Buddhist, but it was still the way I was raised, and I do believe in the chubby little guy.”
“Will it work if you’re not following the tenets of the faith it represents?” I asked.
“I could ask you the same question, Anita.”
Did he have a point, or not? “Fine, I just wouldn’t have pegged you for a Buddhist.”
“Neither would my parents, but when Claudia told us to get a holy item, I realized I didn’t believe in the Jewish carpenter, never raised in that faith.” He shook the little Buddha at me. “This I believe in.”
I gave a small nod. “Okay, whatever works.”
He grinned at me. “First, Peter will be fine, but he heals human-slow.”
“How hurt is he?”
“About as hurt as you were, but not healing as fast.”
Graham came to stand beside Requiem. He was still in the red shirt and dark pants, but somehow it didn’t bug me now. Graham would answer questions better than Requiem. He also seemed to be himself, while the vampire was being weird even for him.
I started to ask how fast I was healing, but I wanted to know about Peter before I asked questions about me. I felt amazingly well. “I’m going to ask this again, and I want a straight answer. How hurt is Peter?”
Graham sighed. “He got a lot of stitches—like the-doctor-lost-count stitches. He’s going to be fine, honest, but he’s going to have some manly scars.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Tell her the rest,” Requiem said.
I glared at Graham. “Yeah, tell me the rest.”
“I was getting to it.” He flashed an unfriendly look at the vampire. Requiem gave a small nod, almost a bow, and moved back from the bed.
“Then get to it, Graham,” I said.
“The doctors are offering him the chance for the new antilycanthropy therapy.”
“You mean the inoculation they offer?”
“No, something brand new.” He said “brand new” as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.
“How new?”
“St. Louis is one of only a handful of cities that are experimenting with it.”
“They can’t experiment on an underage kid.”
“Underage?