Cerulean Sins - Laurell K. Hamilton [190]
“He just needs power,” I said, “it doesn’t have to be yours.”
“If he had a human servant, or an animal to call, but he has nothing,” Belle said, and there was a tone of satisfaction in her voice that she couldn’t, or didn’t try to, hide. “He is alone, and binding himself to me again is the only choice he has, unless you wish him to spend the rest of eternity as he is now.” The note of satisfaction slid into cruelty without blinking an eye.
“You can’t leave him like this,” Richard said, and there was pity on his face, yes, but more, there was horror. “Being tied to Belle Morte isn’t worse than this.”
“If you had ever known her embrace,” Jean-Claude said, “you might not be so quick to decide.”
Richard looked at him, then back at Asher, then at Belle Morte. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” I said, “you don’t.” Then I looked up at him, touched his arm, very lightly. “Think of yourself trapped forever with Raina.”
A look of disgust and personal revulsion skipped across his face, before he could hide it. I still carried a piece of Raina’s munin, her spirit memory, in me. She was a sexual sadist, but she’d also fiercely protected the very people she tortured. The woman had needed some serious therapy. In the end, the only therapy she’d gotten had been silver bullets. I never felt bad about killing Raina. Funny that.
Richard nodded. “I understand that, but . . .” he made a helpless gesture towards Asher, “this is not . . .” He seemed at a loss for words.
I couldn’t blame him. I had no words at the thought of this being Asher’s fate for the next few centuries. It wasn’t bearable. It simply wasn’t. But I couldn’t make Belle give him the energy without strings attached. It was the nature of vampire energy that there was always strings attached. It was designed to bind a vampire to its maker, and through its maker, to the council, to the entire power structure of their world. Everything would fall apart if you didn’t belong to somebody. There are masterless shape-shifters, but no masterless vampires. There are vampires who have lost their masters, but they are compelled to find a new master, to swear new blood oaths, to hunt someone else to rule them. A truly lesser vampire can even die without a master vampire to rule them. They go to sleep at dawn and never wake up again.
I knew all this. Knew all of it, and didn’t care. I could feel Asher’s—not thoughts—but will. He preferred a clean death to this. Or to being Belle’s slave again.
I dropped to my knees beside him. I could give him a clean death. I knew all about death. I started to touch him, my hand hesitated. I didn’t want to touch him. Didn’t want to feel that once-living skin turned to this. Didn’t want my last memory of him to be this. But I hate cowardice, almost worse than anything else, and if Asher could be trapped inside this body, then I could touch him one last time.
I laid my hand against his face, gently, oh, so gently. The skin felt thin as paper, dried, and brittle. I was afraid if I pushed, my fingers would go through his skin like the pages of an ancient book handled too roughly.
I’d forgotten that all vampire powers are stronger with touch. One second I was holding his face as delicately as I could, the next moment I had collapsed across his body, and was writhing with the memory of Asher’s body on mine.
Hands grabbed me back, ripped me away from Asher, and I fought those hands, drove my elbow back into a groin. The hands didn’t let go, but dimly I heard someone yelling my name, “Anita, Anita, Anita,” over and over.
I blinked, and it was like waking, but I knew my eyes hadn’t been closed. Richard’s hands were still on me, but he was standing like something hurt.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but what came out wasn’t an apology. “Why did you stop us?”
“I thought you were going to crush him.”
Staring up into his so sincere face, I knew he meant it. Hadn’t I