Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [149]
They both drew long shuddering breaths, as if they’d come back to life, though I knew that wasn’t it. The blond, Clay, blinked at me from inches away. He looked surprised, and I couldn’t blame him. The one on top had hair the color of mine, though it was straight as straight could be. He blinked dark eyes at me as if he didn’t remember seeing me before, or know how he came to be lying on top of me.
He muttered, “Sorry, miss,” even as he started moving slowly, stiffly off the top of the pile.
Clay made small protesting noises as the first man began to get off him.
“How do you think I feel? I’m on the bottom,” I said.
Clay wasted a smile on me.
Buzz was getting stiffly to his knees from a few feet away. He caught my eye and gave me a look. I didn’t know him that well, but it seemed to say, well that solves that.
Jean-Claude was here, and his power filled the room like a warm blanket. It felt so good, and so unlike his power in some ways. I knew what was wrong, it felt too alive. But he was the Master of the City, and none of his vampires would defy him to his face. I believed that was the only excuse I have for letting my guard down and looking away from Primo. You’d think I’d learn that crazy is crazy, dead or alive.
“All of them could not stop me before, Jean-Claude. Three will not do.”
The way he said it, made me look back at Primo. He didn’t sound like he was giving up. That wasn’t right. Challenging Buzz was one thing. Challenging Jean-Claude was another thing entirely.
“They are not here to stop you, Primo, for you are stopped. I am the Master of this City, and I say you are stopped.”
“These humans bloodied me!” There was such rage in his words that they scalded along my skin. He fed on his own anger, as well as violence. I realized in that moment that he was a master vampire of sorts. At least some of his powers were master-level powers. That was bad.
Clay was on all fours, which meant I was finally able to get out from under him. I’d been looking around for my gun, but I couldn’t see it. It had to be here somewhere. Fuck, the shit was about to hit the fan, and I didn’t have a gun.
“How did a vampire of your power allow a mere human to bloody you?” Jean-Claude’s voice was easy, conversational, but in my head, his voice whispered something else, “I fear I have underestimated him.”
“No, shit,” I said.
Clay asked, “What did you say?”
I shook my head, my eyes still scanning the floor for my gun, but I couldn’t find it. Then I thought, Fuck it, I’d cut him twice without a gun. I could do it again. Part of me didn’t believe it. I told that part to shut the fuck up, too. I had enough problems without self-doubt creeping in.
Primo still had the man he’d picked as his scapegoat, but he was holding him sort of nonchalantly down at his side like a forgotten bag of laundry. I realized that the man had passed out, and got to my feet, trying to see if he was breathing. I didn’t like the way Primo had the man’s jacket collar twisted around his neck. Had I been so worried about the fist that I’d let Primo choke the man to death?
Jean-Claude’s voice breathed through my head. “He is not breathing, but his heart still beats.”
I said out loud, “We’re out of time.”
“Yes,” he said, and I think that was out loud. He reached out to me, not with his hand but with his power, and this wasn’t the warm living power of the lycanthrope. The cool grace of the grave touched me, and it flared that part of me that raised the dead. I suddenly knew how I’d cut him. I suddenly knew how it worked. It was like a puzzle box