Circus of the Damned - Laurell K. Hamilton [29]
“I had a class in college.”
I shook my head. “So did I, but I didn’t know about shapeshifters collapsing.”
“You’ve got a degree in preternatural biology?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Me, too.”
“So how do you know more about lycanthropes than I do?” I said.
Stephen moved in his sleep, flinging his good arm outward. The blanket slid off his shoulder, exposing his stomach and part of a thigh.
Richard drew the blanket back over the sleeping man, covering him, like tucking in a child. “Stephen and I have been friends a long time. I bet you know things about zombies that I never learned in college.”
“Probably,” I said.
“Stephen’s not a teacher, is he?”
“No.” He smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant. “School boards frown on lycanthropes being teachers.”
“Legally, they can’t stop you.”
“Yeah, right,” he said. “They fire-bombed the last teacher who dared to teach their precious children. Lycanthropy isn’t contagious while in human form.”
“I know that,” I said.
He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just a sore topic with me.”
My pet project was rights for zombies; why shouldn’t Richard have a pet project? Fair hiring practices for the furry. It worked for me.
“You are being tactful, ma petite. I would not have thought it of you.” Jean-Claude was in the hallway. I hadn’t heard him walk up. But I’d been distracted, talking with Richard. Yeah, that was it.
“Could you stamp your feet next time? I’m getting sick of you sneaking up on me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking, ma petite. You were distracted talking to our handsome Mr. Zeeman.” His voice was pleasant, mild as honey, and yet there was a threat to it. You could feel it like a cold wind down your spine.
“What’s wrong, Jean-Claude?” I asked.
“Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?” Anger and some bitter amusement flowed through his voice.
“Cut it out, Jean-Claude.”
“Whatever could be the matter, ma petite?”
“You’re angry; why?”
“My human servant does not know my every mood. Shameful.” He knelt beside me. The blood on his white shirt had dried to a brownish stain that took up most of the shirt front. The lace at his sleeves looked like crumpled brown flowers. “Do you lust after Richard because he’s handsome, or because he’s human?” His voice was almost a whisper, intimate as if he’d said something entirely different. Jean-Claude whispered better than anyone else I knew.
“I don’t lust after him.”
“Come, come, ma petite. No lies.” He leaned towards me, long-fingered hand reaching for my cheek. There was dried blood on his hand.
“You’ve got blood under your fingernails,” I said.
He flinched, his hand squeezing into a fist. Point for my side. “You reject me at every turn. Why do I put up with it?”
“I don’t know,” I said, truthfully. “I keep hoping you’ll get tired of me.”
“I am hoping to have you with me forever, ma petite. I would not make the offer if I thought I would grow bored.”
“I think I would get tired of you,” I said.
His eyes widened a bit. I think it was real surprise. “You are trying to taunt me.”
I shrugged. “Yes, but it’s still the truth. I’m attracted to you, but I don’t love you. We don’t have stimulating conversations. I don’t go through my day saying ‘I must remember to share that joke with Jean-Claude, or tell him about what happened at work tonight.’ I ignore you when you let me. The only things we have in common are violence and the dead. I don’t think that’s much to base a relationship on.”
“My, aren’t we the philosopher tonight.” His midnight blue eyes were only inches from mine. The eyelashes looked like black lace.
“Just being honest.”
“We wouldn’t want you to be less than honest,” he said. “I know how you despise lies.” He glanced at Richard. “How you despise monsters.”
“Why are you angry with Richard?”
“Am I?” he said.
“You know damn well you are.”
“Perhaps, Anita, I am realizing that the one thing you want is the one thing I cannot give you.”
“And what do I want?”
“Me to be human,” he said softly.
I shook my head. “If you think your only shortcoming is being a vampire, you’re wrong.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re an egotistical, overbearing bully.”