Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [393]
I cut that particular visual off. I didn’t need to go there—ever. Did I really think that Richard was going to stay chaste while I boffed Jean-Claude? Did I really expect him to just wait around? Maybe I had. Stupid, but maybe true.
The bathroom door was still closed. I could hear water running. Was he taking another shower? Maybe he was just wetting down his hair. Maybe. Or maybe he was cleaning off. Sex was never as neat as the movies made it. Real sex was messy. Good sex was messier.
Three months with Jean-Claude, and I was a sex expert. It was almost funny. I’d been chaste until he came along. Not virginal. My fiancé in college had taken care of that. I’d fallen into my fiancé’s arms with the trust that only first love can give you. It was one of the last naive things I ever did.
Richard and I had been engaged, briefly. But we’d never had sex. We’d both been chaste since our first experience in college with other people. Just a personal choice that we both shared. Maybe if we’d given in to that lust, there wouldn’t be so much heat left between us. Of course, lately, we’d been mostly fighting.
Richard had been too kindhearted, too tender, too squeamish to rule the wolf pack. He’d had a chance to kill the old Ulfric, Marcus, twice; and twice Richard refused the kill. No kill, no new Ulfric. I urged him to kill Marcus. And after he did it, I dumped him. Unfair, wasn’t it? Of course, I hadn’t told him to eat Marcus, just to kill him. What’s a little cannibalism between friends?
The water was still running in the bathroom. If I hadn’t been afraid he’d answer dripping wet in nothing but a towel, I’d have knocked and asked him to hurry. But I’d seen enough of Mr. Zeeman for one day. Less was definitely more.
There were pictures pinned above the desk. I walked towards them. I’d had one semester of Primate Studies: North American. We’d all called it troll class. The Lesser Smokey Mountain Troll is one of the smallest of the North American trolls. They average between three and a half feet to five feet. They are mostly vegetarians but will supplement their diet with carrion and insects. I let all the stats run through my head as I walked towards the pictures. They were covered in blackish fur from head to foot. Crouched in the trees, huddled together, they looked like tall chimpanzees or slender gorillas, but there were pictures of them walking. They were completely bipedal. The only primate except man that walked upright.
The close-up shots of faces were startling. Their faces were more furry than the great apes and more manlike. Some early theories had said trolls were the missing link between man and ape. There had been at least two famous cases of circuses in the early 1900s that toured with trolls but listed them as wild men. American settlers had been killing trolls for centuries. By the early 1900s, they’d been rare enough to be oddities.
Two things happened in 1910 that saved the trolls from utter destruction. One: a scientific article was published that said that the trolls used tools and buried their dead with flowers and personal articles. The scientist very carefully did not project anything beyond the basic findings, but the newspapers did. They declared that trolls believed in an afterlife, that they believed in God.
An evangelical minister named Simon Barkley felt that God spoke to him. He went out and captured a troll and tried to convert him to Christianity. He wrote a book about his experiences with Peter (the troll), and it became a best-seller. Suddenly, trolls were a cause célèbre.
One of my biology profs had kept a black-and-white photo of Peter the Troll up in his office. Peter had his head bowed and his hands clasped. He was even wearing clothes, though Minister Barkley was always distressed that without constant supervision, Peter disrobed.
I wasn’t sure how good a time Peter had with Barkley, but he saved his species from almost certain extinction. Peter had