The Killing Dance - Laurell K. Hamilton [73]
He glanced back at the little tableau. “Just a volunteer from the audience.”
“She wasn’t a volunteer,” I said. There had been a half dozen people that would have volunteered, but the vampire had chosen the one who was afraid. That extra little bit of sadism—they just couldn’t resist it.
“Tell Jean-Claude that if he doesn’t stop this, I will.”
He blinked at me.
“Just do it,” I said.
He walked around the edge of the dance floor, vanishing into the darkness. I could sort of follow him, more an impression of movement than anything else. I couldn’t see Jean-Claude at all.
Damian passed his hand above the woman’s face, and when his hand came away, she blinked, awake at last. Her hands flew to her blouse, eyes frantic. “What’s happening?” Her voice carried, thin with fear.
Damian tried to take her in his arms, but she drew away, and all he caught was a wrist. She strained against him, and he held her easily. “Let me go, let me go, please!” She reached out to someone in the crowd. “Help me!”
The crowd had gone very quiet, quiet enough that I could hear the voice of her supposed friend, “Enjoy it. It’s just part of the show.”
Damian jerked her around to face him, hard enough that there would be bruises. As soon as her eyes met his, her face went blank. She sagged to her knees, still held by one wrist.
He raised her to her feet, gently now. He clasped her against him and drew her hair to one side, exposing a long line of neck. He turned in a slow circle as if they were dancing, showing her bare flesh to all.
Willie leaned forward, tongue dancing over his lower lip as if he could taste her skin already. Willie was my friend, but it was good to remember that he was also a monster.
The vampire waiter was coming back. I could see him moving towards me.
Damian curled his lips, exposing fangs. He thrust his neck back giving everyone a view. I saw his neck muscles tense and we were out of time.
Willie looked up as if realizing the shit was hitting a different fan, but there was no time.
I shouted, “Don’t do it, Damian.” I pointed the gun at his back, about where the heart would be. When a vamp gets around five hundred, one shot to the chest, silver bullets or not, doesn’t always guarantee a kill. But we would by God find out if he bit her.
Willie raised his hand toward me.
“Don’t, Willie.” I meant it. Just because nobody else was allowed to kill him, didn’t mean I couldn’t.
Willie sank back into his chair.
Damian relaxed enough to turn his head and look at me. He turned so that the girl was in front of him like a shield. Her hair was still back on one side, her neck still exposed. He stared at me, running one finger down her naked flesh. Daring me.
A dim spotlight shone on me, and the illumination built as I walked very carefully to the two steps that led down to the dance floor. Vaulting the railing might have looked better, but it made it damn hard to hold a target. I could probably have made the head shot from the railing, but with an unfamiliar gun, it was too risky. I didn’t want to accidentally shoot the woman in the head. Killing the hostage is always frowned upon.
The vampire waiters and waitresses didn’t know what to do. If I’d been some schmuck off the street, they might have tried to jump me, but I was their master’s beloved, which made things a little sticky. I kept a sort of peripheral eye on them. “You guys back up and give me some room—right now.”
They all glanced at each other.
“You don’t want to crowd me, boys and girls, so move it!” They moved.
When I was close enough to feel confident that I could make the shot, I stopped. “Let her go, Damian.”
“She will not be harmed, Anita. Just a little fun.”
“She’s unwilling. That’s against the law, even for entertainment purposes, so let her go, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
“Would you really shoot me in front of all these witnesses?”
“You bet,” I said. “Besides, you’re over five hundred years old. I don’t think one shot to the head will kill you, not permanently at least. But it’ll hurt like hell and may