Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [21]
I was feeling better, much better. I shouldn’t have been recovering this quickly. I had been hurt before, badly. It didn’t just fade, not like this.
“Can you sit unaided?” Jean-Claude asked.
Surprisingly, the answer was yes. I sat with my back to the wall. The pain was still there, but it just didn’t hurt as much. Jean-Claude got a bucket from near the stairs and washed it over the floor. There was a very modern drain in the middle of the floor.
Theresa stood staring at me, hands on hips. “You certainly are recovering quickly.” Her voice held amusement, and something else I couldn’t define.
“The pain, the nausea, it’s almost gone. How?”
She smirked, lips curling. “You’ll have to ask Jean-Claude that. It’s his doing, not mine.”
“Because you could not have done it.” There was a warm edge of anger to his voice.
Her face paled. “I would not have, regardless.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Jean-Claude looked at me, beautiful face unreadable. His dark eyes stared into mine. They were still just eyes.
“Go on, master vampire, tell her. See how grateful she is.”
Jean-Claude stared at me, watching my face. “You are badly hurt, a concussion. But Nikolaos will not let us take you to a hospital until this . . . interview is over with. I feared you would die or be unable to . . . function.” I had never heard his voice so uncertain. “So I shared my life-force with you.”
I started to shake my head. Big mistake. I pressed hands to my forehead. “I don’t understand.”
He spread his hands wide. “I do not have the words.”
“Oh, allow me,” Theresa said. “He has taken the first step to making you a human servant.”
“No.” I was still having trouble thinking clearly, but I knew that wasn’t right. “He didn’t try to trick me with his mind, or eyes. He didn’t bite me.”
“I don’t mean one of those pathetic half-creatures that have a few bites and do our bidding. I mean a permanent human servant, one that will never be bitten, never be hurt. One that will age almost as slowly as we do.”
I still didn’t understand. Perhaps it showed in my face because Jean-Claude said, “I took your pain and gave you some of my . . . stamina.”
“Are you experiencing my pain, then?”
“No, the pain is gone. I have made you a little harder to hurt.”
I still wasn’t taking it all in, or maybe it was just beyond me. “I don’t understand.”
“Listen, woman, he has shared with you what we consider a great gift to be given only to people who have proven themselves invaluable.”
I stared at Jean-Claude. “Does this mean I am in your power somehow?”
“Just the opposite,” Theresa said, “you are now immune to his glance, his voice, his mind. You will serve him out of willingness, nothing more. You see what he has done.”
I stared into her black eyes. They were just eyes.
She nodded. “Now you begin to understand. As an animator you had partial immunity to our gaze. Now you have almost complete immunity.” She gave an abrupt barking laugh. “Nikolaos is going to destroy you both.” With that she stalked up the stairs, the heels of her boots smacking against the stone. She left the door open behind her.
Jean-Claude had come to stand over me. His face was unreadable.
“Why?” I asked.
He just stared down at me. His hair had dried in unruly curls around his face. He was still beautiful, but the hair made him seem more real.
“Why?”
He smiled then, and there were tired lines near his eyes. “If you died, our master would have punished us. Aubrey is already suffering for his . . . indiscretion.”
He turned and walked up the stairs. He moved up the steps like a cat, all boneless, liquid grace.
He paused at the door and glanced back at me. “Someone will come for you when Nikolaos decides it is time.” He closed the door, and I heard it latch and lock. His voice floated through the bars, rich, almost bubbling with laughter, “And perhaps, because I liked you.” His laughter was bitter, like broken glass.
10
I HAD TO check the locked door. Rattle it, poke at the lock, as if I knew how to pick locks. See if any bars were loose, though