Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [57]
“What are you asking, ma petite?”
I crawled around Damian’s body. The blood was cool through my hose. My hand trailed up his arm, never losing contact with his body, with that power curled inside of him. The power that animated him had thrust me out once, cast me out, hurt me. But it was like once having brushed each other, we were linked.
“You’re linked to Damian, but you’re also linked to me. I can feel Damian in my head. I don’t know if it’s a link, but it’s something. Use it,” I said.
“You mean draw on your power to help strengthen my hold on him?” Jean-Claude said.
“Yeah.” I dragged Damian into my lap, on his side, the sword still spitting him. When Jean-Claude saw what I was doing, he helped me. I cradled Damian on his side, shoulders in my lap, his head resting on my arm. I slid my hand down his chest, searching for his heart, and found the blade instead. It had pierced his heart. Even with my help, even with Jean-Claude’s help, if he hadn’t been over five hundred, he’d be dead. Five hundred seemed to be an age where vamps gained a great deal of power. Being over a thousand could only help him. I could feel him, through my body, my head. Through the growing power, I realized I’d turned my back to the hallway. It was hard to think, but I said, “Do we have a truce until we raise him?”
“You mean will they attack us while we save him?”
“Yes.”
“I will guard you,” Warrick said. He stood and took Damian’s sword.
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” I asked.
“If he does not rise, I will be punished for killing him. It is not just sorrow at my own carelessness that prompts me to help you. I fear what my mistress will do.”
Jean-Claude stared down at Damian. “Padma wishes to kill us for the power the triumvirate has given us, ma petite. Now that he knows you have called Damian from his coffin like a zombie, he will fear you even more.”
“Is Warrick going to tell him?”
Jean-Claude gave a gentle smile. “There is no need for Warrick to tell, is there, Traveler?”
A voice sighed around us. “I am here.”
I stared up at the air, at nothing. “You little son of bitch, you’re an eavesdropper.”
Willie stumbled. Hannah jerked back from him. “I am many things, Anita.” Willie turned to us with that ancient intelligence burning in his eyes. “Why have you withheld this information from us, Jean-Claude?”
“You see us as a threat without this bit of information, Traveler. Do you blame me for hiding it from you?”
He gave a small smile that was both gentle and condescending. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
Jean-Claude gripped the hilt of the sword. He put his hand on Damian’s chest to brace himself. His fingers brushed my hand. “You might wish to move your hand, ma petite. The sword is sharp.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to make his heart beat. I can’t do that if I’m not touching it.”
Jean-Claude turned his head to one side, looking at me. “The magic grips you, ma petite, and you forget yourself. At least use your left hand.”
He was right. The magic, for lack of a better word, was building. I’d never felt my own power so strongly outside of a blood sacrifice. Of course, there was plenty of blood, just none that I’d spilt myself. But I could sense Damain’s heart inside his chest. It was almost as if I could have reached inside and caressed the muscle. Like I was not seeing it, but feeling it, and that wasn’t it either. I had no word for it. It wasn’t touch or sight, but I could feel it just the same. I pulled my right hand away and slipped my left over Damian’s still heart.
“Are you ready, ma petite?”
I nodded.
Jean-Claude rose on his knees. “I am the Master of the City. My blood you have drunk. My flesh you have touched. You are mine, Damian. You gave yourself willing to me. Come