Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [135]
“Any bright ideas?” I asked.
“Feed them the blood in the bowl,” Dominic said, “but hurry before it grows colder.”
I didn’t argue; there was no time. I wiped the knife on my jeans and sheathed it. I’d have to clean it and the sheath later, but I needed my hands free. I dipped my fingertips into the blood. It was still warm, but barely. The eyes were still brown as they followed my hand, but it wasn’t Willie looking out of them. It just wasn’t.
I lifted the gold bowl to Willie’s mouth and said, “Willie, drink.” His throat moved, swallowing furiously, and I felt that click. He was mine again. “Stop, Willie.”
He stopped, and I took the bowl away from him. He didn’t grab for it. He didn’t move at all. His eyes were blank and empty above his bloody mouth. “Go back to your coffin, Willie. Rest until nightfall. Back to your coffin to rest.”
He turned and walked back down the hallway. I’d have to trust he was going back to the coffin. I’d check later. One down, two to go. Liv left like a good little puppet. The blood was getting pretty low by the time I raised it to Damian’s lips.
He drank at it, his pale throat swallowing. The blood passed down his throat and something brushed me. Something that wasn’t my magic. Something else. Damian’s chest rose in a great breath like a man struggling back from drowning. And that something thrust me backwards, cast out my power, turned it back on me. It was like a door slammed, but it was more than that. A force thrust at me, hit me, and the world swirled around. My vision was eaten away in greyness and white spots. I heard my own heartbeat impossibly loud. The thudding chased me down into the darkness, then even that was lost.
33
* * *
I WOKE, staring up at the white drapes above Jean-Claude’s bed. There was a damp washcloth folded over my forehead and voices arguing. I lay there for a few seconds, just blinking. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten here. I remembered the sensation of being cast out of Damian. I’d been cast out like an intruder, something to be protected against. The force that touched me hadn’t been evil. I’d felt evil before, and that wasn’t it. But it certainly hadn’t been a beneficent force, either. More neutral, maybe.
The voices were Jean-Claude and Richard. The argument was about me. Big surprise.
“How can you let her die when you could save her?” Richard asked.
“I do not believe she is dying, but even if she was, without her permission, I will never again invade her mind.”
“Even if she was dying?”
“Yes,” Jean-Claude said.
“I don’t understand that.”
“You don’t have to understand it, Richard. Anita would agree with me.”
I brushed the rag from my head. I wanted to sit up, but it seemed too much effort.
Richard sat down on the bed, taking my hand. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to, but I was still too weak to stop him.
Jean-Claude stood behind him, watching me. His face was blank and perfect, a mask.
“How do you feel?” Richard asked.
I had to swallow before I could speak. “Not sure.”
Dominic walked into view. He had, wisely, stayed out of the argument. Besides, he was already a vampire’s human servant. What was he going to say? That the mark was evil, or that it was no big deal. Lies either way.
“I am very glad to see you awake.”
“It thrust me out,” I said.
He nodded. “Indeed.”
“What thrust her out?” Richard asked.
Dominic looked at me.
I shrugged.
“When the power that animates the vampire returned and found Anita still inside the body, the power cast her out.”
Richard frowned. “Why?”
“I shouldn’t have been there.”
“Did the soul return as you touched it?” Jean-Claude asked.
“I’ve felt the brush of a soul before, that wasn’t it.”
Jean-Claude looked at me.
I looked back.
He was the one who looked away first.
Richard touched my hair where it had gotten wet from the rag. “I don’t care if it was a soul or the bogeyman. I thought I’d lost you.”
“I always seem to survive, Richard, no matter who else dies.