Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [588]
“I know why you’re afraid of this thing,” I said.
He glanced toward me with the black lenses of his eyes, then back to the road, as if he hadn’t heard. Anyone else would have asked me to explain, or made some comment. Edward just drove.
“You don’t fear anything that just offers death. You’ve accepted that you’re not going to live to a ripe old age.”
“We,” he said. “We’ve accepted that we aren’t going to live to a ripe old age.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then stopped. I thought about it for a second or two. I was twenty-six, and if the next four years were anything like the last four, I’d never see thirty. I’d never really thought about it in so many words, but old age wasn’t one of my biggest worries. I didn’t really expect to get there. My life style was a sort of passive suicide. I didn’t like that much. It made me want to squirm and deny it, but I couldn’t. Wanted to, but couldn’t. It made my chest squeeze tight to realize that I expected to die by violence. Didn’t want it, but expected it. My voice sounded uncertain, but I said it out loud. “Fine, we’ve accepted that we’re not going to make it to a ripe old age. Happy?”
He gave a slight nod.
“You’re afraid that you’ll live like those things in the hospital. You’re afraid of ending up like them.”
“Aren’t you?” His voice was almost too soft to hear, but somehow it carried over the rush of wheels and the expensive purr of the engine.
“I’m trying not to think about it,” I said.
“How can you not think about it?” he asked.
“Because if you start thinking about the bad things, worrying about them, then it makes you slow, makes you afraid. Neither of us can afford that.”
“Two years ago, I’d have been giving you the pep talk,” he said, and there was something in his voice, not anger, but close.
“You were a good teacher,” I said.
His hands gripped the wheel. “I haven’t taught you all I know, Anita. You are not a better monster than I am.”
I watched the side of his face, trying to read that expressionless face. There was a tightness at the jaw, a thread of anger down the neck and into his shoulders. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself, . . . Ted?” I made the name light and mocking. I didn’t usually play with Edward just to get a rise out of him, but today, he was unsure, and I wasn’t. Part of me was enjoying the hell out of that.
He slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop on the side of the road. I had the Browning pointed at the side of his head, close enough that pulling the trigger would paint his brains all over the windows.
He had a gun in his hand. I don’t know where in the car it had come from, but the gun wasn’t pointed at me. “Ease down, Edward.”
He stayed motionless but didn’t drop the gun. I had one of those moments when you see into another person’s soul like looking into an open window. “Your fear makes you slow, Edward, because you’d rather die here, like this, than survive like those poor bastards. You’re looking for a better way to die.” My gun was very steady, finger on the trigger. But this wasn’t for real, not yet. “If you were really serious, you’d have had the gun in your hand before you pulled over. You didn’t invite me here to hunt monsters. You invited me here to kill you if it works out wrong.”
He gave the smallest nod. “Neither Bernardo or Olaf are good enough.” He laid the gun very, very slowly on the floorboard hump between the seats. He looked at me, hands spread on the steering wheel. “Even for you, I have to be a little slow.”
I took the offered gun without taking either my eyes or my gun off of him. “Like I believe that’s the only gun you’ve got hidden in this car. But I do appreciate the gesture.”
He laughed then, and it was the most bitter sound I’d ever heard from Edward. “I don’t like being afraid, Anita. I’m not good at it.”
“You