Cerulean Sins
Chapter 47~48

47
The wolves chose that moment to come in through the far curtain. Their entrance stopped everything briefly because they doubled our bodyguards. I didn't need to see Belle's--or Musette's--face to know she didn't like it. It showed in the sudden stiffening of her shoulders, the slight clenching of her fists. I realized suddenly that I was seeing Musette begin to rise up through Belle like a fly caught in melting ice.
It was when I saw Jason in an outfit that was mostly dark blue straps, which covered about as much of his body as Nathaniel's outfit covered of his, that I realized that there had been no wolves present until now, except Stephen who had ridden with Micah from my house. I'd known that Richard was delayed, but I hadn't noticed that none of the wolves had been here. Usually, there were always some wolves here for Jean-Claude. Jason walked in smiling in his black over-the-knee boots, but there was something in his eyes, some small warning that I couldn't decipher. I'd expected to see him wearing makeup like Micah and Nathaniel, but he wasn't. None of the male wolves were.
Richard came into sight, easy to spot above the sea of black leather that was his pack. I knew that he had butchered his hair, but I hadn't really grasped how much until I saw him. I'm sure the hairstylist had done his or her best, but there was only so much they could do. They'd had to buzz his hair back to less than an inch of medium brown. It seemed darker this short, missing the gold and red highlights. He also looked remarkably like his older brother Aaron, and his father. The resemblance had always been strong, but now it was like they were clones.
He was wearing a black tux with a shirt of deep, rich blue and a matching bow tie. With the new haircut, and the more conservative clothes, he looked--out of place.
His eyes met mine, and the shock of how handsome he was still sent a thrill through me from head to toes. Without the hair to distract, you couldn't pretend that the cheekbones weren't knife-edge perfect, the dimple in his chin didn't soften the strong masculinity of his face. His shoulders were broad, his waist not slender, but small. Nothing about Richard was slender. He was built more like a football player than a dancer.
Jamil and Shang-Da, his Hati and Skoll, the Ulfric's personal bodyguards, flanked him. Jamil was wearing black leather straps for a shirt to complement almost ordinary leather pants and short boots. The bright red beads, worked into his cornrow braids, looked like drops of crimson blood against the darkness of his skin and the black of the leather. He met my eyes, and there was again that sense of warning that I'd gotten from Jason. Something was wrong, something beyond what was already happening, but what?
Shang-Da looked uncomfortable out of his usual suit, but black leather suited his tall frame the same way any kind of armor would have. Shang-Da was the tallest Chinese person I'd ever met. He was physically imposing by any standards. He was also a warrior, and protecting his Ulfric was all he did. He pretty much hated me, because so much of the pain I caused Richard was something he couldn't protect him against. Bodyguards can't do shit about emotional stress. He avoided my gaze.
Jason strutted towards me, making sure his body swayed seductively. He was by profession a stripper so he was pretty good at the seductive sway. His body language said sex, his eyes held a shadow of something else, and when he got to me, he slid an arm across my shoulders, pressing his body up against mine, but what he whispered in my ear wasn't sweet nothings, it was a warning.
"Richard has found his backbone, but he's decided to use it against Jean-Claude first." He smiled as he said it, his face full of the seductive promise that his walk had held. He ran his hands across the back of my neck, playing his fingertips in the hollow of my collarbone.
I whispered against the shell of his ear. "What does that mean?"
He turned my head towards his, so that my face was hidden from Richard and the pack. It looked like flirting. "Richard's going to try and take all his wolves away from Jean-Claude."
I was glad my face was facing only Jason, because I couldn't hide the shock. I fought to control my face, and Jason laughed at nothing that I'd said. He put a hand on either side of my face, giving me time to regain control of myself.
I whispered against his skin, "You too?"
He was still smiling, but he managed to let me see his eyes, his unhappy eyes. "Even me," he said, barely moving his lips and still smiling.
Shang-Da was suddenly beside us. He tried to grab Jason's arm, and Jason moved just out of reach. If you had been watching, you might not have realized what had happened at all.
A low growl trickled out of Shang-Da's human mouth, a sound that raised the hair on the back of my neck.
Jason growled back, and he was standing close enough that the growl whispered over my skin. It made me shudder, a shudder visible from a distance.
Richard said, "Shang-Da." One word, just his name, but the big man didn't try and grab Jason again. He lowered his head and spoke in a voice gone mostly to growl, "A man cannot serve two masters."
He was trying to be discreet, so he'd lowered his head over me, not Jason. I don't think he was worried that I'd take a chunk out of his face. I looked up into that face that was almost kissably close, and asked, "Your orders are to remind Jason who his pack leader is?"
His gaze slid from Jason, to me, and the look was equally unfriendly. "My Ulfric's orders are none of your business." He whispered it, because he was trying not to clue the bad guys into the division in the ranks. I realized in that moment that no matter how much Shang-Da hated me, he didn't entirely approve of what Richard was doing, not with enemies in town.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Jean-Claude had gone to Richard, and they were speaking, low and earnest. Jean-Claude tried to get close enough to whisper as we were doing, but Richard moved back. He didn't want to be that close.
I glanced farther away to see Musette still standing close to Asher. But they were not alone; the wereleopards were ranged around him, not protecting him exactly, but making sure you had to touch them before you touched Asher. Micah met my gaze, gave the tiniest nod. It said, clearly, I'll take care of it, 'til you're free. Micah didn't get distracted. Merle hovered over everything like an angry black leather mountain staring down at that petite figure in white. Musette stood there, looking very much herself, just herself.
Shang-Da was looking at Musette, too. It was almost as if he could smell where the danger lay. We turned back to meet each other's gaze at the same time. We were physically close enough to kiss, it should have been intimate, but it wasn't, it was almost frightening. Because we both understood each other, and that had never happened before.
I didn't argue that I was Bolverk for their clan, thus the Ulfric's orders weremy business. Shang-Da disapproved that I was anything to them. I tried for logic. I leaned in close and whispered, "Whatever Richard is doing, tonight is not the night for it. We're in trouble here."
Something flicked through his eyes, and he dropped my gaze, but leaned in a fraction closer, so that his short black hair brushed the top of my curls. "I have spoken with him. He hears no one tonight." His eyes came up to meet mine, and there was something there I could read now. Pain. "Sylvie has already argued for this to wait until our enemies leave."
"I don't see her," I whispered, again leaning in closer, not thinking about it.
"She is not with us." He breathed it against my cheek.
I must have reacted, because he added, "She is not dead."
I moved back just enough to see his eyes, "He fought Sylvie."
"She fought him."
I widened eyes. "He won."
Shang-Da nodded.
"Is she hurt?"
He nodded again.
"Badly?"
"Bad enough," he said, and for the very first time I saw something that wasn't approval in his face. Tomorrow he would go back to hating me, but tonight was a dangerous night, and Shang-Da was too much the warrior not to see that, even if Richard couldn't.
"Jason must come with me," there was no outright pleading in his voice, Shang-Da did not beg, but there was a softness there, room to compromise.
"For now," I said.
Jason had worked his way behind me, using me as shield against the bigger man. And being Jason, using the excuse to lean his nearly nude body against the back of my velvet and silk-clad one. He laid a gentle kiss on the back of my neck, and it made me shiver. "I can't go back to being just another pack member, I can't."
I knew what he meant, or thought I did. I answered without trying to make eye contact, as he kissed softly across the bare skin where neck met shoulders. Him playing with my neck was making it hard to concentrate. "Only for tonight."
"What is it with you, Anita? Does everyone want to fuck you?" It was Richard. When he was really angry he could be more hateful than anyone I'd ever dated. The fact that he said the word fucktold me exactly how nasty he was going to be tonight. God, I didn't want to do this, shovel emotional shit while the big bad vampires munched on us.
I was close enough to see the look in Shang-Da's eyes; he didn't like what his Ulfric had said. I touched his face, which made him jump. I leaned in close enough that from Richard's point of view it probably looked like a kiss, but I whispered against Shang-Da's mouth, "Jason's yours tonight, but this can't be permanent."
Shang-Da stayed close, so that he breathed his answer on my lips, "We will discuss it."
He began to lean back and I caught the back of his head with my hand. "There will be no discussion."
His face went hard with his usual anger. He moved back forcefully enough that I either had to let him go, or take a handful of hair to keep him close to me. I let him go.
He held his hand out and said, "Your Ulfric wants you to stand with the wolves." His voice held only one emotion, and that dimly--anger.
Jason slid out from behind me, trailing his fingers across every piece of bare skin he could find, until he left me shuddering. Shang-Da led him away one hand on the smaller man's arm. Jason kept his gaze on me, like a child being carried away by scary strangers. But he wasn't really in immediate danger, and I couldn't say that about everybody in the room. Unfortunately.
"Maybe I should have made you Erato instead of Bolverk." Erato had been the muse of erotic poetry, among other duties. Now she was the title among most werewolves for the female that helps new little werewolves control their beast during sex. Eros, god of love and lust, was the male title. More first time shape-shifters lost control and killed people during sex than during any other single event. The point of orgasm is to lose control, after all.
I looked across the room at Richard, met his angry brown eyes, and felt nothing. I wasn't angry. It was too ridiculous that he was fighting like this in front of Musette and her people. It was beyond ridiculous, it was foolish.
"We'll discuss this when our company goes back home, Richard," I said, and there was no anger in my voice. I sounded reasonable, ordinary.
Something crossed Richard's face, something that leaked through his tight shields. Rage. He was soangry. He'd turned that anger inward, and the depression had eaten him, to the point where he cut his hair. He'd pulled himself out of the depression, but he was still angry. If the anger couldn't go inward, then it had to go outward. Outward seemed to be directed at me. Great, just great.
"If you're Bolverk, then come and stand with your pack," his voice vibrated with the rage that he was having trouble containing.
I blinked at him for a second. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"If you are truly Bolverk for our clan, then you need to stand with us." He met my gaze, and there was no flinching in him now, no softness. I'd waited for him to stop flinching. I'd never dreamed it could mean this.
Jamil walked back across the room with Stephen held in his arms. Gregory was still clinging to Stephen's hand, so they moved as a unit. When Jamil was back with the wolves, Richard said, "Gregory is not one of us. He cannot stand with us."
I couldn't hear what Jamil said, but I think he was trying to persuade Richard that that wasn't necessary. Richard shook his head, then Jamil made a mistake. He looked back at me, and with his eyes alone asked for help. He'd done it before, many times, most of them had. Tonight, Richard saw it, understood it, and didn't tolerate it.
He grabbed Gregory's wrist and tried to jerk him away from Stephen. Stephen screamed and reared up in Jamil's arms, clinging with both hands to his brother's arm.
I'd had enough. I didn't care if Belle heard it all. I moved across the floor toward the pack. "Richard, you're being cruel."
He didn't stop trying to pull them apart. "I thought you wanted me cruel."
"I wanted you strong, not cruel." I was almost to them, and not sure what I was going to do when I got there.
"You're strong and you're cruel."
"Actually, I'm strong and pragmatic, not cruel." I was beside them now, and I knew I didn't dare touch anyone. If I touched Richard, or the twins, it would lead to more violence. I could feel it.
Stephen was making a high piteous noise like a baby rabbit being eaten alive. He was scrambling with his hands, trying to hold on to Gregory. Gregory was crying and trying to hold on to his brother.
"Pragmatic is saying that you're making us look weak in front of a council member. Cruel is saying that I'm Bolverk because you don't have the balls to be."
He stopped pulling on the twins, and Jamil took that one moment of hesitation to slide away. Of course, that left me facing Richard alone. And it was one of those moments when I realized how physically imposing he was. Richard was one of those big men who don't seem big, until suddenly, they do, and you go, oh, God, and it's usually too late.
We stood, glaring at each other. I hadn't been angry until he'd tried to hurt Stephen and Gregory. But once you get me angry I usually stay there. I enjoy my anger, it's the only hobby I have.
A dozen cruel remarks danced through my head, and I kept my mouth closed. I was afraid of what would fall out if I opened it. I walked forward, closing the remaining distance between us. I got to see something else in his eyes besides anger--panic. He didn't want me this close. Great.
I kept moving forward, and Richard actually moved back a step, then he seemed to realize what he'd done. When I took another step towards him, he stood his ground. I walked until the full skirt of my dress brushed his legs; the skirt swirled out and covered the toes of his polished shoes. I was close enough that it would have been more natural to touch each other than to simply stand there, as we did.
I looked up the length of his body and met his eyes with the knowledge in my eyes that I knew what was under that conservative suit, every inch of it.
Richard wasn't looking at my face when I looked up; he was staring at my decolletage. I took a deep breath, making the mounds of my breasts rise and fall as if a hand were pushing them from underneath.
He looked up from my chest, and met my eyes. The rage in his face was a nearly pure thing. An anger without purpose, without form. It was like one of those huge wildfires, that begins by eating the trees. Then somewhere along the way the fire takes on a life of its own, almost as if it doesn't need fuel anymore, it doesn't need anything to exist. It burns and grows and destroys, not because it needs fuel but because that's what it does, what it is.
I faced Richard's rage with my own. His was new and fresh, it hadn't had time to burn its way down to his soul, to hollow out a space that held nothing but the anger. Mine was old, almost as old as I could remember. If Richard wanted to fight, we could fight. If he wanted to fuck, we could fuck. At that moment either one would have been almost equally damaging. To both of us.
His beast rose to his anger like a dog to its owner's voice. Any strong emotion could bring on the change, and this was about as strong as emotions got for Richard.
The energy of his beast flared like heat off a road on a summer's day, a visible wave of power. It danced along the bare skin of my body. Once upon a time he'd brought me using nothing but his beast thrusting through my body. But tonight, we'd do other things. I doubted they'd be as fun.
Musette glided close to us in her blood-spattered white dress. Her eyes were blue again. She wove her hands through the energy of Richard's beast, playing between the two of us, not touching, literally playing with the energy. "Oh, you would be very good to eat, tres bon, tres tres bon." She laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that would make you look twice in a bar, a laugh made to get attention. The sound didn't go with the blood drying like a mask on her face.
Richard let the rage fill his eyes and directed it at her. It was a look that I think would have backed up anyone else in the room. Musette laughed again.
Richard turned to face her. His anger really didn't care who the target was, anyone would do. "This is none of your concern. When we're done with pack business, then, and only then, we'll talk to the vampires."
Musette threw her head back and chortled, there was no other word for it. She laughed until tears leaked down her face, carving runnels in the drying blood. The laughter died slowly, and when she opened her eyes again, they were honey-brown.
Richard's breath caught in his throat. I was close enough to him to know that he stopped breathing, just for a moment.
The smell of roses was everywhere. "You remember me, wolf, I can feel it in your fear." That purring contralto shivered down my skin, and I saw Richard shudder, too. "I will play with you later, wolf, but for now," and she turned and looked at Asher, "for now I will play with him."
Asher was still pressed to the wall, doing that utter stillness that the old ones can do. He had sunk into the silence of eternity, trying to make this not happen, trying to hide in plain sight. It wasn't going to work.
As Musette's body glided towards him, Belle began to spill out of her. The dark gold gown overlaying the white like a ghost. The black hair spreading like phantom flames around her, moved by a wind that trickled through the room, the wind of Belle's power.
"What's happening?" Richard whispered, and I don't even know if he meant to have an answer, but I replied anyway.
"Musette is Belle Morte's surrogate."
His eyes were all for Belle's ghostly form overriding the other body, when he said, "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means we are in a shit load of trouble."
He looked at me then. "I am Ulfric, Anita, that doesn't change just because some high-ranking vampire comes to town."
"Be Ulfric, Richard, great, knock yourself out, but don't destroy us all while you do it."
Some of the anger had leaked away on the tide of fear. It was impossible to be up close and personal with Belle's power and not fear it.
"I am either Ulfric, or I'm not, Anita. I am either master or slave, I can't be both."
I raised eyebrows at him. "Yeah, actually, you can." I held up a hand. "I don't have time for this tonight, Richard. Tomorrow if we're all still alive, then we can discuss it, okay?"
He frowned. "She's not here in flesh, Anita, it's only metaphysical games. How bad could it be?"
I realized in that moment that Richard was still living in that other world. The world where people played fair and horrible things never really happened. It must have been a peaceful place to live, the planet that people like Richard called home. I'd always admired the view, but I'd never lived there. The trouble was that Richard didn't live there either.
The first scream cut through the silence. The wereleopards had all backed away, crouching at Belle Morte's feet. Only Micah stayed standing. He'd put himself in front of Asher, but he was small like me, and he couldn't hide Asher completely.
I looked at Richard, and he had a look of such hurt in his eyes. He was never going to wake up and smell the blood. He wasn't going to truly change.
I turned away from him and started walking towards Asher and Micah. Jean-Claude moved up beside me, offered me his hand, and I took it. No one else moved with us. The wererats couldn't attack Musette. The wereleopards were doing their best, but it wasn't going to be enough. Only the wolves could have helped us, and Richard wouldn't let them.
In that moment I wondered how long it would be before I started hating Richard.
48
I couldn't figure out why Asher was screaming. There was no blood, no rending of flesh, but he screamed all the same. Then as we got closer I watched the flesh of his face begin to seep away. It was as if his skin collapsed around the bones of his skull, as if Belle's touch were draining him dry, not of blood, but of everything.
I risked a glance at Jean-Claude, and he looked stricken, a second before his face showed nothing. I felt him pull away into that emptiness where he hid. "She could drain him to death this way." His voice was remarkably empty.
"But you're immune to it, right? She didn't make you."
"She is our sourdre de sang,none of us are immune to her touch."
I stopped and pushed him back. "Then you stay. I don't need two of you to worry about."
He didn't argue, but his gaze went past me to Asher. I wasn't sure he'd even heard me, and there wasn't time to check. I was half-running, when Micah pushed Belle back, pushed her back, using his whole body, broke her touch on Asher's face.
Asher collapsed slowly down the wall, and Belle's glowing face kissed Micah. The moment their lips touched, I felt the ardeurfill the room like hot water, spilled in stinging drops across my skin. It froze me in mid-step, made me stumble. I stood there, caught between Asher against the wall and Micah lost in that glowing embrace. I knew that I could have drained Micah to death with the ardeurover a matter of days, but part of me knew that Belle could do it faster.
Asher's hand reached out to me, skeletal thin, like sticks in paper. Micah was trying to push himself back from Musette/Belle's body, but she rode him, arms at his back, glowing crimson lips like a red fog across his face. I had a moment of feeling Asher dying, fading, for lack of a better word. Jean-Claude went to him, but I knew that Jean-Claude had no life to share. Then the cross taped to my chest blazed to life.
It burned against my flesh as if the black tape held all the heat in. I half-screamed as I ripped the tape away and the cross spilled out into the light, white, hot, like a captive star on a chain.
Micah stumbled back from Belle Morte. Jean-Claude spilled the black velvet coat over himself and Asher. The other vampires hid their faces and hissed at the light. I saw movement from the corner of my eye, a second before Angelito slammed into me. There was no one to stop him now. The cross was a two-edged sword.
He grabbed me in one arm, completely off the ground, the other hand wrapping around the cross. I poked him in the throat with three fingers, stiffened to a spear point. He gagged and dropped me, but he held on to the cross, and as I fell, the chain broke, cutting into my neck as it came away. The moment the cross was his, the glow began to fade.
Musette's body turned to me, but her eyes were pools of dark gold fire, and it wasn't a ghostly image superimposed over her body this time, it was as if I were seeing double. My eyes saw Musette with the wrong color of eyes. But inside my head it was Belle. Belle in the flesh, a little taller than Musette, long black hair falling to her knees in waves, the dark gold of her dressing gown showing a triangle of white flesh, her face like something sculpted from a pearl, her lips a perfect red pout. She wrapped white hands around my arms, long dark nails, playing along the velvet of the sleeves. She pressed me against her body and leaned in to lay a kiss with that mouth upon mine.
A small voice in my head screamed, "Don't let her touch you." But I couldn't move, couldn't get away, wasn't sure I wanted to get away.
That red, red mouth hovered over mine. Her breath pushed against my lips. The world smelled of roses. Then, suddenly, I could taste Asher's kiss upon my lips. Tasted it as if I had kissed him but a second before. That one taste opened my eyes, helped me draw back from Belle's mouth. Helped me want to draw back.
Her eyes stared down at me, pools of golden fire like brown water in sunlight. I realized that I had swooned, and she held me as if she'd dipped me in a dance. Her hand was behind my head, raising me up to meet her kiss.
I felt movement and rolled my eyes back to see Richard. Belle saw him, too, "Interfere, and I will raise the ardeurin you again, wolf. You brought no women with you. Did you think that would save you? It won't. The ardeuronly wants to be fed, wolf, it doesn't care how."
Richard hesitated. I could taste his fear in my mouth, but underneath that was still the taste of Asher's kiss.
Jean-Claude was suddenly beside Belle. "It is me you want." He spread his arms in a wide dramatic gesture that spread the darkness of his coat, spilled his hair around him. "I am here."
I don't know what would have happened, or what she would have said, because the next thing that overwhelmed me was the memory of Asher's love making. It came on me like it had once with Jason, but this was more, worse, better. It bowed my back, convulsed me in Belle's arms, surprised a scream from me, made my hands scratch at the air, and at Belle's face. She dropped me then, and I saw, dimly, as if through a white window, her hands grab Jean-Claude.
Richard caught me before I hit the ground, cradled me in his arms. He looked so worried. His hand touched my face. "Anita, are you hurt?"
I managed to shake my head, but even with Richard this close, his face soft and worried about me, I turned my head to look towards Asher. I couldn't help myself. Asher's hair was like golden Christmas tree tinsel, lifeless, hanging around a face that was more skull than flesh. His lips were a thin hard line around teeth that were mostly fangs. Only his eyes were still Asher, pools of pale blue fire, as if a winter sky could burn.
The moment I saw his eyes, I tried to crawl out of Richard's arms, tried to crawl to Asher.
"Anita, Anita, what's wrong?" He held me, turned me to look at him.
I found my voice, but all I could say was, "Asher."
He glanced at the fallen vampire, and the disgust was plain on his face. "I know, Anita, I'm sorry."
I wasn't sure what he was apologizing about, and I didn't care. There was something else I should have been more worried about, something I'd forgotten. But I couldn't think of anything except Asher's eyes and that I had to go to him. Had to.
Richard stood up, suddenly, with me still in his arms. I heard scrabbling as if of a thousand tiny claws. Rats, thousands of rats, flowed in a furry, squeaking wave across the floor of the cave.
Asher's power receded, and I knew it had cost him dear to let me go. Knew in that instant that I was the only one who could feed him enough energy to keep him alive.
Richard made a small sound of dismay and turned so that I could see what had paled him. The two vampires that had had the tops of their heads blown off were slowly rising to their feet. They were healed. Those strange cat-eyed faces were whole. There wasn't even a scar to mark where the bullets had struck.
"Fuck," I said.
One of the werehyena's nerve broke, and he fired into the squirming mass of rats. The next sound was a second gunshot, and he fell with a hole in his back, fell into the mob of rats. They boiled over him, and his body vanished from sight. The sounds, though, nothing masked the sounds. I hadn't been close enough to the gunshots to be deafened, and for the first time I was sorry about that. The sound of tiny teeth tearing flesh, squeaking voices squabbling over what used to be a man, seemed to drown us all.
One of the wererats was staring at the gun in his hand as if it had suddenly appeared. He turned a white face back towards us. I think he mouthed, "I'm sorry," before Bobby Lee's scream, "Guns down, guns fucking down, now. No one fire." He threw his own gun spinning across the room, and the other wererats followed suit.
Some of the werehyenas lowered their guns, but only one threw his away. Bobby Lee went to his knees and clasped his hands on top of his head. Claudia did it next, then one by one all the wererats followed. I knew why, they were afraid Musette/Belle would use them against us. But I wouldn't have wanted to be kneeling on the floor when the rats found me.
I finally could think enough to remember that Jean-Claude might be fighting for his life. But he wasn't. Belle held his beautiful face in her hands, but he was still standing. His own hands cupped hers, pressing her hands against his face. His face was still perfect, untouched. A soft smile played along his lips. It was Belle's eyes that were wide, her face that was unhappy. He couldn't eat her as she had Asher, but strangely, she seemed to be having trouble eating him.
I knew that Belle/Musette had called the rats. I didn't think she'd had a thing to do with the recuperative powers of the two children of the night. They were half crouched, one helping the other to stand, but they weren't looking at Belle, or anyone else. I had a moment to wonder if they were going to hold a grudge, when the wave of rats jumped on the first werehyena, tiny teeth trying to tear through the black leather. People were screaming, and the werehyenas began to fire into the small rats, blasting their bodies into red ruin. But there were so many of them.
The rats parted around the kneeling wererats like they were big rocks in a stream.
"Can you stand?" Richard asked.
"I think so."
He lowered me gently to the floor, then he glanced at the werewolves who were still standing in an unhappy group. Apparently Richard's point to Sylvie had been violent enough that none of them had disobeyed. Well, Jason was struggling in a joint lock that Shang-Da had on his arm, but no one else had tried to help. What the hell had Richard done to Sylvie?
The world suddenly smelled like the musk of wolf fur, the damp richness of leaf mold, the Christmas tree scent of evergreen, as if my furred shoulder had just brushed it with dew still on it, on a calm, still morning. I felt that piece of me that was Richard's beast pour up through my body and ease across my skin like wind.
Richard looked at me with amber wolf eyes. He'd opened the marks between us, opened them wide. He threw back his head and howled, and a dozen throats answered him, then the werewolves moved forward like a black wave of destruction.
Shang-Da and Jamil stayed at Richard's back, and they showed claws where fingernails should have been, the half-change of the very alpha. For the rest, I felt them slip their skin, felt the rush of energy like small tugging explosions in my gut.
I could feel now that Jean-Claude had shut his end of our triumvirate down as tight as he could. I could look at him, but for once I couldn't feel him at all. He'd expected to die, and he hadn't wanted to take us with him.
I found one of the guns that the wererats had discarded and felt instantly better. The weight of it in my hand was a very good thing.
Unfortunately, I wasn't the only human servant that had found a gun. Angelito fired at a werehyena, sending him spinning round, falling into the mass of biting rats. He screamed and writhed, trying to beat them off him.
I shot into the rats close to him, but there were too many. It was like trying to shoot water, you moved it, but didn't hurt it.
I knew one way to stop the rats. I sighted down the barrel at Musette/Belle's head. If I killed her, the rats would go back to wherever they came from.
I let out my breath, stilled myself for a shot that was far too close to Jean-Claude for my comfort. A rat jumped on my hand, dug its teeth into me. The wave of them began to jump on my dress, their claws catching in the heavy fabric. I screamed, and suddenly Micah was there, half-crouched, hissing at the rats. Those on the floor scattered, squealing in terror. The ones already on my body seemed immune to the fear. He helped me pick them off and threw them into the scurrying mass. The rats poured over their injured comrades and ate them, too.
The rats seemed more afraid of the wereleopards than of the wolves, and the wereleopards began to spread out from the wall, hissing, sending the small rodents back, gaining an ever-widening space.
The two vampires that I thought I'd killed had grown claws and fangs that no vampire ever had. They were wading through the werewolves in a spray of blood and white bone.
One great hand was raised at Shang-Da's back, and without thinking I fired, able to aim because I stood in the circle the leopards had made. The vampire's head exploded again. I knew now that if we wanted him to stay dead, we needed to take his heart and burn it all. Scattering the ashes over different bodies of running water wouldn't have hurt either.
Shang-Da had time for the barest of glances my way, then the other vampire launched himself and sent all three of them to the floor for the rats to engulf.
Belle's voice rose over the noise like a storm, a thunderclap that froze all of us in mid-action. Even the furred sea of rats froze. "Enough!"
She stepped back from Jean-Claude, and he began to laugh. It wasn't his magical laugh that slithered across the skin and made you think of sex, it was just laughter, pure unadulterated joy.
"We will fight no more," Belle said, and though her voice was still deep, it had lost its sexy purr. She sounded not angry, but put out, as if she'd gotten badly surprised.
The rats pulled back like a furry ocean draining away. They squeaked and squealed, but they left. Most of the werewolves were covered in tiny crimson bite marks. The remains of the fallen werehyena looked like it had been mauled by something much bigger.
Jean-Claude found his voice, and it was as joyous as his laughter had been. "You cannot feed from me. You cannot take back what you gave me, because I am no longer of your line. I am sourdre de sangof my own line now."
Belle stared at him, her face that blank emptiness that I knew so well. She was hiding how she really felt. "I know what it means, Jean-Claude."
"You can no longer treat me as a lesser member of your line, Belle. There are different niceties to be observed between two sourdres de sang."
She smoothed her hands down her full skirt, and I knew that gesture, it was one of Jean-Claude's. Nervous, Belle Morte was nervous. "I was within my rights to do as I have done, for I did not know, nor did you."
"True enough, but now that we do know, you must take all your people and go. Leave our lands tonight, for if you are found in our territory come tomorrow night, your lives will be forfeit."
"You would not truly kill my Musette?" But her voice held the lightest thread of uncertainty.
"To be able to kill Musette, legally, with no political repercussions." He made a small tut-tut sound. "That has been the fondest wish of many a Master Vampire, and I will do it, Belle. You can taste the truth of my words."
She stiffened, just a little. "I will retain control of Musette until we are out of your lands. She has an unfortunate temper at times."
"It would be a bad thing if she lost her temper here in St. Louis," Jean-Claude said, and his voice was empty, the joy seeping away.
Cherry appeared at my elbow. "Sorry to interrupt, I'm not an expert on vampires, but I think Asher's dying."