Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [273]
I’d learned a long time ago that if something sounds too good to be true, it is. If someone promises you everything your heart desires, they lie.
He drew me into the circle of his arms, so that the front of my body was pressed against his. He buried his face against my chest, still covered by silk, but the weight of his face against me made me close my eyes, and when I opened them, I was looking at Jean-Claude. He looked not at Richard’s bare back, but at me, at my face. I watched him be afraid. Be afraid that I’d say, no.
Richard rubbed his face against the silk, and his breath came through the cloth like something that should have burned, but it didn’t. It made me shiver as if I were cold, but held in the circle of his arms with his breath hot on my skin, I felt as if I would never be cold again. I couldn’t stop my hands from stroking his hair. Still woefully short, but thick and heavy, and just . . . Richard’s.
Jean-Claude was on his knees. He didn’t raise his hands, but he put the word please into his face, those eyes. His voice whispered through my head, “Ma petite, we endanger everyone that depends on us by this hesitation. Everything we have worked so hard to build hangs upon the next challenge to my power, or to Richard’s. If we do not embrace our power as a triumverate, there will come a night when someone sweeps over us and we will not prevail. The worst that could happen is not that Richard may come to your bed, then come no more, or that you may grow discontent with Micah and Nathaniel. The worst is that we are dead, and our people will be at the mercy of others that do not love them.” He held his hand out to me. “Come to us, ma petite, come to us, and let us build a fortress behind which our people, all of our people, may be safe.” That last he said out loud.
Richard raised his face enough to gaze up the line of my body. “Please, Anita, don’t punish everyone because I’ve been a bastard.”
Jean-Claude was close enough that I could have taken his hand, while Richard still held me in his arms. “Please, ma petite, if there is word or deed that would move you, I would say it, or do it. Tell me only what to say, or what to do, and it is yours.”
I took in a lot of air, and let it out slow. I reached out and let his fingers brush mine. He came that fraction closer so he could take my hand, and that was the deed. He took my hand, and I knew that nothing he’d whispered in my head had been a lie. What would I do to keep my leopards safe? Anything. What would I do to undo the damage that Richard had done to his wolves? Almost anything. What would I do to keep Jean-Claude’s vampires from being at the mercy of masters like Belle Morte? Anything.
A night of metaphysical, or not so metaphysical, sex, with one man that I loved and another man that kept breaking my heart, so I must love him, too, or he couldn’t keep doing that, seemed a small enough price. Or maybe I just wanted to be with them both in a bed for the first time. Yes, the first time, contrary to all the rumors. Maybe I feared the chance would never come again, and I simply