Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [262]
“I didn’t feel you wake. I always feel you wake.”
“You are both shielding very, very hard,” he said, as he strode into the room. His bare feet were very pale against the dark carpet. “I heard your last comment, ma petite, should I take it as an insult?”
“Sorry, but we need soldiers not seducers. We’ve got plenty of those.”
He gave that wonderful Gallic shrug that meant everything and nothing. It was a graceful movement. Sometimes I wondered if shrug was the right word. If what American’s do is a shrug, whatever Jean-Claude did wasn’t the same.
“I told your Nathaniel to go and feed his new and surprising form. He will be even more popular when the ladies see this new shape of his.” He was being very pleasant, very casual. His face held a smile, and his movements were graceful and a little flamboyant. He was hiding something. I’d learned long ago that this wasn’t the real Jean-Claude. This was one of his many faces that he used when reality would be too harsh, or too shocking, or too something.
“What’s up, Jean-Claude?”
“Whatever do you mean, ma petite?” he asked, and came to sit down on part of the bed near me. Part that I’d removed the sheets from, so we were sitting on the relatively clean mattress. The bed bobbed unevenly as he settled on it. He looked at Richard, as the bed moved oddly. “I think you are going to owe my pomme de sang a bed frame, Richard.”
Richard actually had the grace to look embarrassed. “I lost my temper, I am sorry for that. I’ll replace the frame.”
“Good,” he crossed his legs, one a little higher than it needed to be, so he could lace his hands around the knee, and expose a line of pale leg. Was he flirting. No, that wasn’t it.
It wasn’t me who said the next part, but it was like my thoughts came out Richard’s mouth—scary. “Cut the act, Jean-Claude, just tell us what’s happened now?”
The face he gave us was way too innocent. “Whatever do you mean, mon ami?”
Richard and I exchanged glances that said worlds. Richard spoke for us. “No games, Jean-Claude, remember.”
“You are beginning to sound painfully like ma petite.”
“Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
That earned him a smile and a nod from me.
Richard smiled at me, and it was the first real smile I’d seen on him since he stepped into the room. It was good to see it, and I found that I had one of my own to give back. There, we were all being friendly.
“You’re doing your flamboyant, happy, casual act,” I said. “Cut the act, and tell us what’s up.”
“You do realize, ma petite, that Richard has become almost as blunt at times as you are.”
“And I’m starting to have moments when I sound like you, Jean-Claude. Let me guess, the closer binding last night has had some interesting side effects.”
“Not just us being closer, ma petite, but you’re binding of a new triumverate to you. That has upped the side effects, I believe.” His face was still lovely, but the nearly pretentious movements were fading, changing to a seriousness that I didn’t like seeing. He wasn’t happy about something. I didn’t know what it was, but it had to be something that he either thought both, or at least one of us, really wouldn’t like.
He started by confessing that my being willing to do Byron and feed Requiem was probably his less-finicky tastes coming out through me. I stopped him before he got through it. “If I hadn’t fed on Byron and Requiem, you wouldn’t have had enough energy to control Primo. He would have slaughtered the audience. My virtue versus the lives of dozens of people, hmm, let me think.” I shrugged. “It’s okay, though I’d rather not make a habit of it.”
“You surprise me, ma petite.” But he relaxed against the bed. His posture was still perfect, a lot of the old vamps had good posture, but it was more relaxed all the same.
“I’ve learned that a little sex isn’t a fate worse than death, Jean-Claude.”
“Is that all?” Richard said. “Or is there more that you’d rather we don’t know, but feel that we need to