Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [1025]
35
I HATE BEING awake at three in the morning. It is the godforsaken heart of darkness when the body runs slow, and the brain runs slower, and all you want to do is sleep. But I had promises to keep, and miles to go before I could sleep. Or at least a couple of miracles to perform before I could go to bed.
Dr. Lillian had unhooked Gregory’s IV, but he was still bundled in the quilts. He sat on the picnic table on the deck, cradled between Zane and Cherry. Dr. Lillian kept touching Gregory, checking his pulse, how clammy his skin was. She was frowning and clearly not happy. Nathaniel stayed by them, keeping the picnic table between him and Richard. Richard hadn’t tried to hurt him again; in fact, he’d ignored him studiously. The other cats milled around near the sliding glass doors. The two wererat bodyguards, Claudia and Igor, were standing to one side of me as I leaned on the railing. They started following me around when Richard came out with his bandaged arm and Jamil and Shang-Da at his back.
Richard’s power crept on the summer darkness like close thunder, making the hot, sticky night even thicker and making it harder to breathe. I think it was the press of his power, the edge of his anger, that made the wererats start acting like bodyguards. I’d tried telling them that Richard wouldn’t hurt me, but Claudia had shrugged, and said, “Rafael told us to keep you safe, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“Even if I tell you that there is no threat?”
She shrugged again. “I’d say, you’re a little too close to this one to make a sound judgment call.”
I’d glanced at Igor. “You agree with her?”
“I never argue with a lady, especially one that can beat me at arm wrestling.”
Igor’s logic was hard to argue with, but it meant that I had acquired two tall, muscular shadows, and it irritated me. But neither of them gave a damn whether I was happy or not. They were following Rafael’s orders, and my wishes didn’t count.
So Richard and his bodyguards, and me, with mine, stood on the deck, facing Stephen, who had stripped off in preparation for the change. If you made the change with clothes on, you ruined them. Shapeshifters either haunted the thrift shops, looking for old clothes to wear on the night of the full moon, or went nude.
We all stood there in the circle of Richard’s power. The energy built around us like invisible lightning lashing around us. The power literally crackled, raising the hair on our arms, raising the hair on our heads, like the hackles on a dog.
Jamil said, “Richard . . .” But one glance from Richard stopped him in mid-sentence. The power rose another notch, squeezing around us like some kind of giant hand.
“What’s wrong, Richard? What’s with the power display?” I asked.
He turned to me, and the anger in his face made me want to step back, but I didn’t. I stood my ground, but it took effort.
“Do you want to save your cat?” he asked, voice thick with the emotion that showed on his face, that crackled in his power.
My voice was almost a whisper, “Yes.”
“Then watch,” he said.
He spread his hands in front of Stephen, keeping them about eight inches away from the smaller man’s shoulders. The energy squeezed tight, and tighter, until I had to swallow to try and clear my ears, as if there’d been a pressure change. But swallowing didn’t help. It wasn’t that kind of pressure.
Richard’s hands convulsed, as if his fingers were digging into something invisible just in front of Stephen. He staggered towards Richard, one step, and I was close enough to hear a small pained sound come from him. Richard balled his hands into fists, and something shimmered between them like heat caught in the close summer darkness. The bones in my face ached with the building