Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [616]
When Edward came back into the room, without Bernardo, I was sitting on the white couch with my feet stretched out underneath the coffee table. I had my hands clasped over my stomach and was trying to picture a roaring fire and a cold winter evening. But somehow the fireplace looked too clean, too sterile.
He sat down beside me, shaking his head. “Happy?”
I nodded.
“What do you think?”
“It’s not a restful room,” I said, “and for Heaven’s sake look at all the wall space. Get some paintings.”
“I like it this way.” He had settled down on the couch beside me, feet stretched out, hands on his stomach. He was mimicking me, but even that couldn’t ruin my mood. I was going to see every room in detail before I left. I could have tried to be cool about it, but I didn’t sweat being cool with Edward. We’d moved beyond that in our strange friendship. I really wasn’t trying to play king of the hill with Edward. The fact that he was still playing the game with me just made him look silly. Though I hoped the game-playing was over for this trip.
“Maybe I’ll get you a painting for Christmas,” I said.
“We don’t buy Christmas presents for each other,” Edward said.
We were both staring at the fireplace as if visualizing that make-believe fire. “Maybe I’ll start. One of those big-eyed children or a clown on velvet.”
“I won’t hang it if I don’t like it.”
I glanced at him. “Unless it’s from Donna.”
He was very still suddenly. “Yes.”
“Donna added the flowers, didn’t she,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“White lilies, or an orchid maybe, but not wild flowers, not in this room.”
“She thinks they brighten up the place.”
“Oh, they do,” I said.
He sighed.
“Maybe I’ll tell her how much you love those pictures of dogs playing poker and she can buy you some prints.”
“She wouldn’t believe it,” he said.
“No, but I bet I could come up with something that she would believe that you’d hate just as much.”
He stared at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might.”
“This sounds like the opening to blackmail. What do you want?”
I stared at him, studying that blank face. “So you’re admitting that Donna and her crew are important enough for you so that blackmail would work.”
He just looked at me with those pitiless eyes, but the blank face wasn’t enough now. There was a chink in his armor big enough to drive a truck through. “They’re hostages, Edward, if anyone ever thinks of it.”
He looked away from me, closing his eyes. “Do you really think you’re telling me something I haven’t thought about?”
“My apologies, you’re right. Like teaching your grandmother to suck eggs.”
“What?” He turned and was half-laughing.
I shrugged. “Just an old saying. It means that I’m lecturing someone who taught me what I’m lecturing about.”
“And what have I taught you?” he asked, humor dying, face turning serious.
“You can’t take all the credit. My mother’s death started the lesson early, but I learned that if you care for people, they can die. If other people know you care for someone, they can use that person against you. You ask why I don’t date humans. Hostages, Edward. My life is just too damn violent for cannon fodder to be near and dear to my heart. You taught me that.”
“And now I’ve broken the rule,” he said, voice soft.
“Yep,” I said.
“And where does that leave Richard and Jean-Claude?” he asked.
“Oh, I make you uncomfortable and now it’s my turn.”
“Just answer the question.”
I thought about it for a second, or two, then answered truthfully, because I’d spent a lot of the last six months thinking about it, about them. “Jean-Claude is so not cannon fodder. If anyone I’ve ever met knows how to take care of himself, it’s Jean-Claude. I guess you can’t be a four-hundred-year-old anything without being a survivor.”
“And Richard?” Edward was watching my face as he asked, studying me as I so often studied him, and I wondered for the first time if my face was empty more often than it was full, if I hid my emotions,