Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [772]
I looked at Jean-Claude. “Is this just about sex, or would he do anything I asked, like a human rolled by a vamp?”
“I do not know, ma petite.”
“If you never plan to do this on purpose, what does it matter?” London asked, and he let me hear all the distrust in those words. I didn’t really blame him.
“I wouldn’t do it to any of our people on purpose, but sometimes I’m on my own in a nest of vamps that I’m supposed to kill. They get testy about stuff like that. I’m just wondering if I could raise the ardeur as a weapon? Is there a way to make it an asset instead of a disaster?”
London frowned at me, but said, “I don’t believe you, Anita.”
“London,” Elinore said, “never use that tone again with her.”
“I’ve seen what the ardeur can do, Elinore. You haven’t, not really.” His face tightened in lines of anger so raw it almost hurt to see it. “I’ve seen my face look like Requiem’s. I remember what it feels like.” His hands gripped the bedpost until the skin changed color, just a bit. The mottling would be more after he fed. The wood creaked in protest, and he dropped his hands. “Part of me still wants to feel like that. It’s like being on a drug all the time. Being pleasantly high, pleasantly happy. It may not be real happiness, but it’s hard to tell the difference when you’re in the middle of it.” He hugged himself tight. “The world is a colder, darker place without it. But with it, you’re a slave. A slave to someone who makes you do things…” He shook his head, so hard it looked dizzying.
“Maybe London should go before I start this,” I said.
“No,” he said, “no, if I can’t bear to watch you feed the ardeur on someone else, then I need to find a new master, and a new city. If I can’t bear this, then I need to go somewhere where no one carries the ardeur.”
“Jean-Claude is your master, London; you will need his permission to leave,” Elinore said.
“We have already discussed it,” Jean-Claude said.
“When?” I asked.
“He is an addict, ma petite, an addict to the ardeur. I saved him from Belle Morte, who would have addicted him again, but London and I discussed that even your ardeur, and mine, might be too much for him. If it is”—he gave that graceful shrug—“I will find him some place far away from such temptations, but it will take time to find a home for someone as potentially powerful as London. Especially someone with his bloodline, and male. If he were female, there is a waiting list.”
“But not for men,” I said.
“Non, ma petite, the female masters seem convinced they would become bespelled by males of our bloodline. The male masters seem convinced they could master the women of our line.”
“Well, isn’t that just typical,” I said. I looked back at London. “If this gets to be too much for you, promise me you’ll leave.”
“Why do you care?”
I raised a hand before Elinore could chastise him again. “Because I’m going to have enough trouble freeing Requiem’s mind; I don’t want to have to do it twice today.”
He nodded. “I swear to you that I will leave, if I feel it is too much.” The look on his face was very solemn, with none of that dark defiance, or anger.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the man on the bed. He gave me peaceful, eager eyes. It was as if the lamb wanted you to slit its throat.
I moved up beside him, so I could touch the unbruised side of his face. I cupped his face and he leaned into that touch, eyes closing for a moment as if that one innocent touch was almost too much to bear.
I called to him. “Requiem, Requiem, come back to me.”
He laid his hand against mine, pressing me tighter against his face. “I am right here, Anita, right here.”
I shook my head, because this wasn’t him. It was his body, but whatever made Requiem who he was, that wasn’t in his eyes. It was a stranger’s face. What makes people people is not just bone