Dead Ice
Page 132

“Well, you’re certainly everyone’s pussy,” Kane said, from the big white couch across the room, with Asher at his side. The vampire’s hair fell in glittering gold waves past his shoulders, and I mean gold, not yellow. I’d never seen hair that looked metallic, but his was; some mix of blond and brown had made magic, and then those eyes—a pale, icy blue so pure in color that it was a pale match to Jean-Claude’s darkest of blues. Belle Morte, their originator, had collected beautiful blue-eyed men, and these two had been two of her greatest finds. Asher had spilled that shining hair over half his face to hide the burn scars, so that he peered out at us like some sort of feral angel, showing only the perfect half of his face to the room—the face that looked down from the painting above the fireplace where his perfect profile had made Belle commission him painted as Cupid to Jean-Claude’s Psyche in the same picture. The painter had taken some liberties, as they do, but they really were that heartrendingly beautiful, or could be.
I looked around the room and nodded. “I am actually sleeping with almost everyone in this room, but I don’t think my pussy belongs to everyone here; I see it more as, all the cocks belong to me.”
“Slut,” he said.
“Who’s your daddy, Kane?” I asked.
“What? Asher is.”
I shook my head. “Not in the locker room earlier today he wasn’t.”
He actually started to get up, but Asher pulled him back down and cuddled him closer to his side; he’d already put him on the far side against the couch arm so he wasn’t in touching distance of Richard and Jean-Claude. I hadn’t expected to see Richard here, especially not with his arm around Jean-Claude’s shoulders. He’d put his arm across the back of the couch, but not actually around the other man’s shoulders, especially not without me sitting with them. They looked as they usually did, like they didn’t match: Jean-Claude in one of his white shirts with all the lace at the sleeves and collar and going down the V to midchest, black leather pants that looked like someone had sewn him into them with the stitching on the sides of his long legs, and a pair of boots that only went to his knees, conservative for his footwear. Richard in blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt that made his spring tan look even darker, with nice brown leather hiking boots that had begun to soften because he actually hiked in them. Jean-Claude’s black curls that fell almost to his waist, Richard’s shoulder-length brown waves. Jean-Claude’s almost androgynous beauty, Richard’s face so very masculine in its handsomeness. Richard was only an inch taller, but with the swell of his muscled arm across Jean-Claude’s shoulders it made the other man seem fragile, though I knew he wasn’t. Richard was one of those big men who doesn’t look that big most of the time, until he does.
Richard’s main bodyguards were Shang-Da, the only six-foot-five Chinese man I’d ever met, and Jamil, who was darkly African American with cornrow hair to his waist. One was dressed in a black suit tailored big to hide the weapons I knew he was carrying, and the other was dressed in a white suit, red shirt, and tie to match the red beads in his hair. Jamil was the only man I’d ever known who could really pull off a white suit and not look silly. He made it look just right.
Sin took my hand and said, “I think I missed something, but it sounds good.”
“I told you to stay away, Sin,” Jean-Claude said.
“He’s earned the right to be here, Jean-Claude.”
“She defies you at every turn, Jean-Claude.” Kane again.
“Even your young prince obeys her over you, mon amour,” Asher said.
“The guards were all talking about how Anita handed you your ass in the locker room,” Nicky said. “They found you flopping around on the floor. You couldn’t even stand up.”
Richard laughed, and once he did the guards joined him in a round of very masculine laughter. Micah joined them; only Nathaniel and Jean-Claude stayed somber. Nathaniel was watching Asher with a very solemn look as he sat holding hands with Micah. Jean-Claude’s hand was playing with the lace on his shirt, which was something he did to calm himself, or when he was trying to calm himself. Richard had his other hand pinned against his thigh. I wasn’t sure if they were holding hands, or if Richard had just pinned Jean-Claude’s hand so it wouldn’t keep petting his thigh, which was another nervous thing he did. It was usually my thigh, or Asher’s, or occasionally Micah’s.
“Did you hit him that hard?” Sin asked.
“I didn’t hit him.”
“She ate his anger,” Nicky said. “I hear that leaves you pretty messed up afterward, Kane.” He stared at Kane; it was a speculative look, somewhere between sizing someone up on the practice mat and watching someone you were thinking about fucking, or maybe just about tearing their throat out and eating them. It was an incredibly predatory look, the kind a serial killer might give his victims, all violence, sex, and cannibalistic speculation.
“Not as messed up as being her fucking Bride makes you.” Kane said it with an unpleasant smile.
Nicky smiled back, but it was a pleased smile, an anticipatory smile.
Kane’s smile wilted around the edges. He knew something was wrong, but not quite what. He might have been intelligent, I’d give Asher the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t fuck stupid, but one thing was for sure; Kane was not wise.
“I say again, why are you even here, Micah?” Of course, Asher wasn’t the wisest cookie in the jar either.
“I’m here because I have a relationship with more people in this room than you do, and I represent the interests of all the shapeshifters in Jean-Claude’s immediate territory and beyond.”
“Tell that to Narcissus, whom you have imprisoned,” Asher said.
“He wanted to kill you both, when he learned what you had done.” Jean-Claude’s voice was as empty as his face, as if he couldn’t bear to show any emotion.
“I know you bargained for our lives, mon amour, and I am grateful,” Asher said.
“Then act like you’re grateful,” Micah said.
“Was it you who made Jean-Claude deny me my own bodyguards, as due me?”
“Due you? Nothing is due you, Asher.”
“I am a master vampire and my animal to call is the most powerful shapeshifter group in this city.” His eyes flared to icy blue fire for a second, then calmed.
“Was,” I said, “your animal to call was the most powerful shapeshifter group in the city. Past tense.” I wanted to sit down, but I didn’t want to sit that close to Kane, or Asher, and I sure as hell didn’t want to take Sin closer. I could sit beside Nathaniel and Micah, but if I did then it might bother Jean-Claude, and Kane would certainly remark on it; that would not go well.
“I know you’ve been plotting behind my king’s back,” Kane said.
“It was Narcissus who tried to persuade Asher to overthrow Jean-Claude and take over the city,” I said.
Kane frowned. “No, that’s not true. He lied to you about my Oba.” He pointed at Micah, rather dramatically I thought.
I looked at Asher. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
Kane looked at Asher. “What don’t I know?”
“Narcissus did try urging me to help him in a bit of kingmaking, but I refused like a loyal second-in-command should.” Asher gave a little bow toward Jean-Claude, but sitting on the couch made it a halfhearted gesture at best.