Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [78]
Trish and I were the odd girls out. We had no old times to remember, so we drifted back to the edge of the group, finding a spot in the far conversational grouping. There was only a white sectional sofa with its back to the bedroom, because the dining table took up the room near the windows. We sat on the sofa, a discreet distance from each other, both of us a little uncomfortable. I never warmed up instantly to strangers, and I think Trish was waiting for me to be mad at Jason, or the other women.
They were on the sectional nearest the door with its back to the windows. There were chairs there, but none of the women were using them. They were all cuddled on the sectional, very Roman, as in ancient; very decadent, as in any century. The happy group was beginning to drink a little, except for Jason. He wouldn’t drink for the same reason that most lycanthropes didn’t drink. It lowered your inhibitions, and that meant it was harder to control the inner beast. No, drinking and drugs did not go with being a good little wereanimal.
“Doesn’t it bother you that Jason is flirting like that?” Trish asked, sipping her drink.
I glanced over at the group on the couch. At the moment, Lisa was draped in his lap, almost prone, while he stroked her hair. Kris was behind him, cuddled so close she was in danger of spilling her drink over him and Lisa. They’d all had their turns of hanging all over him.
I shrugged, and sipped my Coke. I never did drink, and almost for the same reason Jason couldn’t drink, neither could I.
“One, it’s Jason, he flirts like he breathes. Two, he’s a stripper, which has sort of encouraged his natural tendencies in this area. Third, he wants them to see him as attractive. He wants to flirt with his old girlfriends.”
“Wow,” Trish said, “that is like way more secure than I would be right now.”
I smiled, and tried to think if I’d feel the same if it were Nathaniel, or Micah, or Jean-Claude. I really tried to think about it. Micah almost never flirted. But Nathaniel did for many of the same reasons that Jason did, and Jean-Claude flirted when he wished to, to perfection. Would I have been more jealous of them than I was being of Jason? Maybe. Probably. I just didn’t know.
But it was more than the fact that Jason wasn’t my main squeeze. My version of the ardeur gave me the ability to see people’s desires, sometimes—if the ardeur was very active, or the people’s desires were that strong.
Jean-Claude had worked with me so that I could sense things with the ardeur but not have it rise for feeding. I was getting better. Tonight let me know how much better. I could feel that most of the women hanging all over him didn’t mean it. They were flirting, but not with intent. The flirting and the physical contact was an end in itself for most of them. The exception was the bride-to-be.
Lisa was desperate. It was the only word I had for her energy. She was desperate to fuck someone. It didn’t have to be Jason. Her need was the strongest of any over there, and it had an edge of panic to it.
I had not reached out with the ardeur on purpose, but the energies from the couch were strong enough that they leaked around me, like whiffs of perfume. The bodyguards were the biggest problem for sheer lust. Not all of them, and I tried not to pay attention to which ones were basically thinking thoughts that would have gotten them slapped if the women had known. I didn’t read minds, especially of strangers, but I caught touches of their desires. Not feelings exactly, because the ardeur didn’t work on emotions except those that had to do with desire, love, and the associated stuff.
Marianne, my metaphysical tutor, psychic, and witch,