Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [80]
Which explained why there was a bodyguard leaning on the other side of the doorway watching us move into the room. He was slender, a little shy of six feet, though something about the way he stood made him seem shorter. A tangle of black hair fell into his eyes, and they glittered like black jewels from that fall of hair. His graceful hands caressed the edges of his leather jacket, and I caught glimpses of at least four knife hilts before he let the jacket fall closed. There might have been six hilts, but I was sure of four, and that was plenty.
I’d been told the wererats were here, plural, but I hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t really heard it. I’d been so busy not seeing Richard, that I hadn’t really looked at the room. I’d strapped on a knife and my gun, but I might as well have been unarmed for all the good they would have done me, if Fredo had meant me harm. I hadn’t seen him. He’d been standing just inside the door, opposite the side I came through, and I hadn’t seen him. Shit.
I managed to keep it off my face. I nodded to Fredo; he nodded back. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t trust my voice. I was thinking, Stupid, stupid. And that kind of stupid could get me killed.
Nathaniel was at the back of the kitchen by the sink, under the window that we’d once had to replace because of shotgun damage. The window was fine now, but I wasn’t. I lived in a world where I had to see the bad guys. Fredo was on our side, but he was definitely a bad guy. Not a bad guy that would kill me, but one that could, and I’d walked into the room right past him. It was a rookie mistake that let me know just how badly I was doing.
I kept walking until I stood beside Nathaniel with our backs to the room. Damian trailed me like a lost puppy that had found a likely handout. I’d let go of his hand when I realized I hadn’t seen Fredo, when I’d felt the movement of Fredo behind me. I wanted my hands free. I knew that Damian needed to touch me, but I needed my hands free. I was feeling claustrophobic. The kitchen’s a good-sized room. When the curtains are open it’s bright and shiny, but with the curtains shut and the overhead lights on, it was dim and shadowy, and I wanted light. I wanted to step out on the deck and watch the trees with the morning light on them. I didn’t want to stand here in the dark and hold the vampire’s hand. I wanted a choice, and I didn’t seem to have any. I was suddenly so angry, and it wasn’t Damian I was mad at.
The far drapes moved, and Clair came back in from the deck, all smiles. “It’s a wonderful view.”
“Thanks,” I said, and went back to watching Nathaniel make coffee. If I just kept not looking anywhere else, maybe I wouldn’t let my anger get the best of me. I wanted to rant at Richard, to scream and accuse. And I so did not want to do that in front of his new girlfriend or my boyfriends. Did I just say boyfriends?
I put my hands on the coolness of the counter, closed my eyes, and just tried not to think again. Not thinking was good. Not feeling was better.
A hand laid itself over mine, and the moment it did, I was calmer. I knew without opening my eyes who it was, because only one man’s touch calmed me. Calmed me because he’d spent centuries perfecting his calmness. I opened my eyes and met Damian’s green gaze. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to be furious at being trapped with him, tied, but I couldn’t be. With him touching my hand, with his eyes so ready to fill with pain, I couldn’t be angry, not with him. Shit.
I couldn’t breathe, not a good solid breath. He took my anger, but he couldn’t take the fear. I jerked away from him. “I need to be angry right now, Damian, it’s all I’ve got.”
A hand touched my arm, and I jerked away from it. Nathaniel’s eyes were cautious rather than hurt.