Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [409]
I threw power into the next command, “Edwin Alonzo Herman come and stand on your grave, now.”
He walked toward me, slowly, jerkily, like a badly made robot. He had to come now, but he was still fighting me. He should not have been able to do that. Even when he stood on the grave, facing us, his body jerked and spasmed, because still he fought my control.
I had the jar of salt open. I handed it to Requiem. “Just hold it.”
Graham handed me the machete, and suddenly the zombie’s eyes went wide. “What are you going to do with that great knife?” He sounded uncertain, not afraid, he was made of tougher stuff than that.
“It’s not for you,” I said. I’d already pushed the sleeves of the leather jacket up above my wrists. Now, I started to lay the machete tip against my arm, but Requiem’s hand was suddenly wrapped around the hand holding the machete.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I need blood to bind him to his grave. I’d rather do a smaller fresh wound than reopen my left wrist.”
His hand stayed around my wrist. “You do not need to lose more blood tonight, Anita.”
“I need blood to finish this,” I said.
“Does it have to be yours?” he asked.
“Normally, it’s animal blood, but I’m not going to slaughter a chicken just to lay a zombie. The chickens have survived this far. If I spill a little more blood, they can make it through the night.”
“Would my blood do?” he asked.
I frowned at him. “You’re seriously not going to let me do this without an argument, are you?”
“No,” he said.
I sighed, and relaxed my arm just a little to save muscle cramp. He kept his grip on the arm with the machete. “I’ve used vampire blood by accident, but it went a little . . . odd. I don’t need more odd tonight, Requiem.”
“Will his do?” He pointed at Graham.
“Will my what do?” Graham asked.
“Your blood,” Requiem said, as if it was an everyday request.
“How much blood?” Graham asked, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked.
“Just enough to touch the face, sprinkle or smear.”
“Okay,” Graham said, “I agree that you don’t need to lose more blood tonight. If mine will do, then okay. Where will you make the cut?”
“Lower arm, but above the wrist, less risk of hitting something that’ll bleed too freely. Also a wound in the wrist hurts more, because of all the movement that goes through it.”
He stripped out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground behind him.
I looked up into his face, searched it for some sign that he felt used, or abused. I didn’t see that. He looked like he said he was, okay with it.
“The look on your face,” he said. “Really, it’s okay. It’s not like I don’t donate blood on a regular basis.”
“Your neck and arms are clean,” I said, “no bite marks.”
“There are other places to donate from, Anita, you should know that.”
I blushed, which was bad, since I didn’t have enough blood to spare. There were other places to donate from, most of them intimate. “You someone’s pomme de sang?” I asked.
“No, not yet.”
“What does not yet mean?”
“It means that some of my brethren are hesitant to commit themselves to a single wolf, when your Ulfric has suddenly decided to share such bounty,” Requiem said.
“He asked for volunteers,” I said.
“Oh, I’m willing,” Graham said, “I just don’t like going around advertising the fact. Besides,” he said, and he put his hands on his hips, palms flat, “it is a wild,” he smoothed his hands down his jeans, “ride,” until his hands touched either side of his groin, “when they feed,” and his hands formed a frame of fingers and thumbs around the bulge in his pants, “down low.”
My gaze had followed his hands the whole way, like I was mesmerized. I think I was just tired. I blinked and tried to concentrate on what we needed to do. I was not going to feel well until I’d fed, but I also wasn’t feeding on anyone standing