Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [761]
“Not all of it,” Requiem said, “but much of it, yes.”
I looked at Jean-Claude. “And no one called the cops?”
He had the grace to look away, not embarrassed, but…“What did you do?” I asked.
“Mass hypnosis is not illegal, ma petite, only personal hypnotism.”
“You bespelled the crowd,” I said.
“I, and Asher.”
I laid my hand above the wound that looked like it had come closest to his heart. I had a bad thought. “You said she attacked Asher. Is he this hurt?”
“No.”
“I think she knew that you and Jean-Claude would kill her if she slew Asher. I think she believed I was of less value to you.” Again his voice was empty, but the very emptiness of it made me look at him.
“That sounded bitter,” I said.
He looked away from me, a small smile on his face. “I meant it to sound like nothing.”
“I’ve listened to a lot of empty vampire voices, and there’s flavor even to the emptiness.”
“I was a fool to tell her in a public place, but she pressed me, asked me, and I told the truth.” He looked at me then, and I had to fight to meet his gaze, not because of vampire powers, but because the bruises looked painful, and I knew somehow, weirdly, they were my fault.
“Did you really tell Meng Die that you dumped her because you thought I’d turned you down because of her?”
“Not in those words, but yes.”
I sighed, and shook my head. “Oh, Requiem. I mean I didn’t think she’d take it this badly”—I motioned at some of his injuries—“but her pride wouldn’t let her take it lying down.”
“Pride,” he nodded, then stopped in midmotion as if it had hurt. “She has much pride, and I seem to have none.” He looked at me, and emotion filled his eyes, his face, and the emotion was too strong for me to keep looking into his face.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
He slid to the ground, went to his knees. He made a small involuntary sound. It must have hurt. He took my hand, and I let him, because pulling away seemed petty. “What must I do to be in your bed, Anita? Tell me, and I will do it.”
I looked into his face, saw the pain there, and it wasn’t the pain of bruises and cuts. I looked at Jean-Claude. “It’s the ardeur, isn’t it?”
“I fear so,” he said.
I turned back to the vampire kneeling in front of me. I had no idea what to say.
“Am I ugly to you?” he asked.
“No,” and I traced the line of his uninjured cheek. “You are very handsome, and you know it.”
He shook his head, stopped in midmotion, again as if it hurt. “If I were handsome enough, you would have taken me to your bed and not turned to these strangers.” He lowered his head, both hands gripping mine. He finally raised his face, and he was crying. “Please, Anita, please, do not cast me aside so easily. I know that you did not enjoy the attentions I gave you as much as I enjoyed the touch of your body. But I will be better, I swear it, if only you will give me another chance to show you pleasure. I was trying to be too careful of you. I did not understand. I can do better, be better.” He buried his face against my legs, and wept.
“I believe we have our answer, ma petite.”
I stroked Requiem’s hair, and didn’t know what he was talking about. I was too stunned to think. “Answer to what?” I asked.
“The effect you have on vampires that have tasted the ardeur before. I think you are addictive, as Belle was addictive.” He motioned toward Requiem, who was clutching at me, still weeping into my legs. “He is powerful enough to be a Master of a City, ma petite, not powerful in the way of Augustine, or myself, but powerful. He lacks not power, but ambition. He does not wish to rule.”
“There is no shame to that,” Elinore said.
“Non,” Jean-Claude said, “but I want ma petite to understand that her effect on Requiem is not a small thing.”
Elinore had sat back in the chair, curling her legs under her, because her feet wouldn’t have reached the ground. “I had no idea she had bespelled him like