Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [184]
“Fuck,” I said.
One of the werehyena’s nerve broke, and he fired into the squirming mass of rats. The next sound was a second gunshot, and he fell with a hole in his back, fell into the mob of rats. They boiled over him, and his body vanished from sight. The sounds, though, nothing masked the sounds. I hadn’t been close enough to the gunshots to be deafened, and for the first time I was sorry about that. The sound of tiny teeth tearing flesh, squeaking voices squabbling over what used to be a man, seemed to drown us all.
One of the wererats was staring at the gun in his hand as if it had suddenly appeared. He turned a white face back towards us. I think he mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before Bobby Lee’s scream, “Guns down, guns fucking down, now. No one fire.” He threw his own gun spinning across the room, and the other wererats followed suit.
Some of the werehyenas lowered their guns, but only one threw his away. Bobby Lee went to his knees and clasped his hands on top of his head. Claudia did it next, then one by one all the wererats followed. I knew why, they were afraid Musette/Belle would use them against us. But I wouldn’t have wanted to be kneeling on the floor when the rats found me.
I finally could think enough to remember that Jean-Claude might be fighting for his life. But he wasn’t. Belle held his beautiful face in her hands, but he was still standing. His own hands cupped hers, pressing her hands against his face. His face was still perfect, untouched. A soft smile played along his lips. It was Belle’s eyes that were wide, her face that was unhappy. He couldn’t eat her as she had Asher, but strangely, she seemed to be having trouble eating him.
I knew that Belle/Musette had called the rats. I didn’t think she’d had a thing to do with the recuperative powers of the two children of the night. They were half crouched, one helping the other to stand, but they weren’t looking at Belle, or anyone else. I had a moment to wonder if they were going to hold a grudge, when the wave of rats jumped on the first werehyena, tiny teeth trying to tear through the black leather. People were screaming, and the werehyenas began to fire into the small rats, blasting their bodies into red ruin. But there were so many of them.
The rats parted around the kneeling wererats like they were big rocks in a stream.
“Can you stand?” Richard asked.
“I think so.”
He lowered me gently to the floor, then he glanced at the werewolves who were still standing in an unhappy group. Apparently Richard’s point to Sylvie had been violent enough that none of them had disobeyed. Well, Jason was struggling in a joint lock that Shang-Da had on his arm, but no one else had tried to help. What the hell had Richard done to Sylvie?
The world suddenly smelled like the musk of wolf fur, the damp richness of leaf mold, the Christmas tree scent of evergreen, as if my furred shoulder had just brushed it with dew still on it, on a calm, still morning. I felt that piece of me that was Richard’s beast pour up through my body and ease across my skin like wind.
Richard looked at me with amber wolf eyes. He’d opened the marks between us, opened them wide. He threw back his head and howled, and a dozen throats answered him, then the werewolves moved forward like a black wave of destruction.
Shang-Da and Jamil stayed at Richard’s back, and they showed claws where fingernails should have been, the half-change of the very alpha. For the rest, I felt them slip their skin, felt the rush of energy like small tugging explosions in my gut.
I could feel now that Jean-Claude had shut his end of our triumvirate down as tight as he could. I could look at him, but for once I couldn’t feel him at all. He’d expected to die, and he hadn’t wanted to take us with him.
I found one of the guns that the wererats had discarded and felt instantly better. The weight of it in my hand was a very