Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [918]
I hugged him, partially because I wanted to, and partially to hide the expression on my face. On one hand, I loved him to pieces; on the other hand, I wished he had come with an instruction book. More than almost any other man in my life, he confused me. Richard hurt me more, but most of the time I understood why. I didn’t like it, but I understood his motivation. Nathaniel was so far outside my comfort zone sometimes that I had no clue. That I understood vampires that had been alive over five hundred years better than I understood the man in my arms said something. I wasn’t sure what it said, but something.
“Let’s go inside before Jean-Claude wonders what happened to us.”
He nodded, still looking happy. He got out on his side with the box in hand. I got out, hit the button to make the Jeep beep, and eased between the cars onto the sidewalk. He’d put his hat back on. Nathaniel in disguise. I put my left arm through his, and we walked over the melting snow toward the club. He was still all glowing from the “our” comment I’d made. Me, I wasn’t glowing. I was worried. How far would I really go to keep him? Could I send him to a stranger for slap and tickle? Could I share him if I couldn’t meet his needs? I didn’t know. I really didn’t know.
6
I OPENED THAT metaphysical connection I had to Jean-Claude. Opened it and thought, Where are you? I felt him, or saw him, or some other word that they hadn’t invented yet for seeing and feeling what someone else was doing in another room. He was on stage, using that voice of his to announce an act.
I drew back enough to be solidly on Nathaniel’s arm. Sometimes when I tried mind-to-mind stuff, I had trouble walking. “Jean-Claude is on stage, so we’ll go in the front.”
“Whatever you say,” he said.
Once, in our relationship, he’d meant that. He’d been my little submissive wereleopard. I’d worked long and hard to make him more, to force him to be more demanding. Try to do a good deed and it bites you on the ass.
The bouncer at the door was tall, blond, and way too cheerful for the job. Clay was one of Richard’s werewolves, and when he wasn’t bodyguarding someone, he worked security here. Clay’s gift was avoiding fights. He was really good at calming things down. A much more useful ability for a bouncer than brute strength. Last week Clay had been helping guard my body. No pun intended. There’d been a metaphysical accident, and it had looked for a while like I’d be turning into a wereanimal for real, so I’d had different lycanthropes with me so that whatever I changed into, I was covered. But I had gotten some control over it all, and it looked like I still wasn’t going to turn furry. Clay had been one of my watch-wolves. He was happy to be off the duty. I scared Clay. He was afraid the ardeur would make him my sexual slave. Okay, he didn’t say that exactly. Maybe it was just me projecting my terrors on him. Maybe.
His smile slipped a little when he saw me, his face going all serious. He gave me a hard look as he said, “How’s it going, Anita?” He wasn’t just being polite; as afraid as he was of some of my metaphysical abilities, he’d been convinced it wasn’t a good idea to take all my guards off duty. He thought it was too soon.
“I’m fine, Clay.”
He peered at me, leaning that six-foot frame down to my five foot three. He studied me as the crowd behind us grew to four. His gaze went to Nathaniel. “Has she really been fine?”
“She’s been fine.”
Clay stood up straight and motioned us through. He looked positively suspicious as he did it, though.
“Honest,” Nathaniel whispered as we went by, “not a twinge of anything furry.”
Clay nodded and turned to the next group. He was the gatekeeper tonight. We entered the permanent dimness of the club. The noise was soft, murmurous, like the sea. The music picked up, and the crowd noise both was drowned out and got louder. The murmur of it was drowned out with the rise of the music, but the screams