• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Jean-Claude transferred both my wrists to one hand, and I could not stop him. His free hand stroked my cheek, smoothing down the line of my neck. His fingers tightened at the base of my skull and began to push.

“Jean-Claude, please, don’t do this!”

He pressed my face closer and closer to the wound on his chest. I struggled, but his fingers were welded to my skull, a part of me. “NO!”

Nikolaos’s laughter changed to words. “Scratch the surface, and we are all much alike, animator.”

I screamed, “Jean-Claude!”

His voice came like velvet, warm and dark, sliding through my mind. “Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, two minds with but one body, two souls wedded as one.” For one bright, shining moment, I saw it, felt it. Eternity with Jean-Claude. His touch . . . forever. His lips. His blood.

I blinked and found my lips almost touching the wound in his chest. I could have reached out and licked it. “Jean-Claude, no! Jean-Claude!” I screamed it. “God help me!” I screamed that, too.

Darkness and someone gripping my shoulder. I didn’t even think about it. Instinct took over. The gun from the headboard was in my hand and turning to point.

A hand trapped my arm under the pillow, pointing the gun at the wall, a body pressing against mine. “Anita, Anita, it’s Edward. Look at me!”

I blinked up at Edward, who was pinning my arms. His breathing was coming a little fast.

I stared at the gun in my hand and back at Edward. He was still holding my arms. I guess I didn’t blame him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Say something, Anita.”

“I had a nightmare,” I said.

He shook his head. “No shit.” He released me slowly.

I slid the gun back in its holster.

“Who’s Jean-Claude?” he asked.

“Why?”

“You were calling his name.”

I brushed a hand over my forehead, and it came away slick with sweat. The clothes I’d slept in and the sheet were drenched with it. These nightmares were beginning to get on my nerves.

“What time is it?” The room looked too dark, as if the sun had gone down. My stomach tightened. If it was near dark, Catherine wouldn’t have a chance.

“Don’t panic; it’s just clouds. You’ve got about four hours until dusk.”

I took a deep breath and staggered into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and neck. I looked ghost-pale in the mirror. Had the dream been Jean-Claude’s doing or Nikolaos’s? If it had been Nikolaos, did she already control me? No answers. No answers to anything.

Edward was sitting in the white chair when I came back out. He watched me like I was an interesting species of insect that he had never seen before.

I ignored him and called Catherine’s office. “Hi, Betty, this is Anita Blake. Is Catherine in?”

“Hello, Ms. Blake. I thought you knew that Ms. Maison is going to be out of town from the thirteenth until the twentieth on a deposition.”

Catherine had told me, but I forgot. I finally lucked out. It was about time. “I forgot, Betty. Thanks a lot. Thanks more than you’ll ever know.”

“Glad to be of help. Ms. Maison has scheduled the first fitting for the bridesmaid dresses on the twenty-third.” She said it like it should make me feel better. It didn’t.

“I won’t forget. Bye.”

“Have a nice day.”

I hung up and phoned Irving Griswold. He was a reporter for the Saint Louis Post-Dispatch. He was also a werewolf. Irving the werewolf. It didn’t quite work, but then what did? Charles the werewolf, naw. Justin, Oliver, Wilbur, Brent? Nope.

Irving answered on the third ring.

“It’s Anita Blake.”

“Well, hi, what’s up?” He sounded suspicious, as if I never called him unless I wanted something.

“Do you know any wererats?”

He was quiet for almost too long; then, “Why do you want to know?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You mean you want my help, but I don’t get a story out of it.”

I sighed. “That’s about it.”

“Then why should I help you?”

“Don’t give me a hard time, Irving. I’ve given you plenty of exclusives. My information is what got you your first front page byline. So don’t give me grief.”

“A little