My knees buckled, and I was left gasping on the floor on all fours. My skin felt as if it were trying to pull away from my body. I could taste my heart in my throat and couldn't breathe past it. Everything was sort of golden around the edges, and spots of light danced before my eyes. I was in danger of passing out.
"What the hell was that?" It was Richard. His voice seemed to come from farther away than it should have. I'd never heard him cuss before.
Jean-Claude knelt beside me. He didn't try to touch me. I looked into his eyes from inches away. The pupils were gone, nothing but that lovely midnight blue remained. It was the way his eyes looked when he was getting all vampiric on me. I didn't think he'd done it on purpose this time.
Richard knelt on the other side. He started to reach out to touch me. When his hand was an inch away, a little jump of power ran between us, like static electricity. He jerked his hand back. "What is that?" He sounded a little scared. Me, too.
"Ma petite, can you speak?"
I nodded. Everything was in hyperfocus, the way the world gets on an adrenaline high. The shadows on Jean-Claude's chest where his shirt spilled around him were solid and touchable. The cloth looked almost metallic black, like the back of a beetle.
"Say something, ma petite."
"Anita, are you all right?"
I turned in almost slow motion to Richard. His hair had fallen over one eye. Each strand was thick and perfect like a line drawn apart. I could see every eyelash around his brown eye in startling contrast.
"I'm all right." But was I?
"What happened?" Richard asked. I wasn't sure who he was asking. I hoped it wasn't me because I didn't know.
Jean-Claude sat beside me on the floor, back against the island. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When he let it out, his eyes opened. They were still that drowning deep color as if he were about to feed on something. His voice came out normal, or as normal as it ever got. "I have never tasted such a rush of power without spilling blood first."
"Trust you to think of the perfect thing to say," I said.
Richard sort of hovered over me as if he'd like to help but was afraid to touch me. He glared at Jean-Claude. "What did you do to us?"
"I?" Jean-Claude's beautiful face was nearly slack, eyes half-closed, lips parted. "I did nothing."
"That's a lie," Richard said. He sat Indian fashion a little ways from me, far enough away to make sure we didn't accidentally touch but close enough that that lingering power crawled between us. I inched away and found that closer to Jean-Claude wasn't much better. Whatever it was, it wasn't a one-time deal. The potential was still there in the air, under our skins.
I looked at Richard. "You sound awfully sure that he's up to something. I'm willing to believe it. But what do you know that I don't?"
"I didn't do it. You didn't do it. I know magic when I smell it. It had to be him."
Smell it? I turned back to Jean-Claude. "Well?"
He laughed. The sound trailed down my spine like the brush of fur, soft, slick, startling. It was too soon after the rushing power we'd shared. I shuddered, and he laughed harder. It hurt and you knew you shouldn't be doing it, but it felt too good to stop. His laughter was always dangerously delicious, like poisoned candy.
"I swear by whatever oath you would trust that I did nothing on purpose."
"What did you do by accident?" I asked.
"Ask yourself the same question, ma petite. I am not the only master of the supernatural in this room."
Well, he had me there. "You're saying one of us did it."
"I am saying that I do not know who did it, nor do I know what itis. But Monsieur Zeeman is correct it was magic. Raw power to raise the hackles on any wolf."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Richard asked.
"If you could harness such power, my wolf, even Marcus might bow to it."
Richard pulled his knees up, hugging them to his chest. His eyes looked distant, thoughtful. The thought intrigued him.
"Am I the only person in this room not trying to consolidate my kingdom?"
Richard looked at me. He looked almost apologetic. "I don't want to kill Marcus. If I could make a great enough show of power, he might back down."
Jean-Claude smiled at me. It was a very satisfied smile. "You admit he is not human, and now he wants power, so he can be leader of the pack." His smile widened just this short of a laugh.
"I didn't know you were a fan of sixties music," I said.
"There are many things you do not know about me, ma petite."
I just stared at him. The image of Jean-Claude boogying down to the Shangri-Las was stranger than anything I'd seen tonight. After all I believed in nagas, I didn't believe that Jean-Claude had hobbies.
31
A hot bath. Once more in the oversize T-shirt, sweatpants, and socks. I was going to be the worst-dressed person in the room. I was planning to replace that black robe at the first opportunity.
They were sitting on the couch, each as far away from the other as they could get. Jean-Claude was sitting like a mannequin, one arm on the back of the couch, the other on the arm of the couch. One foot rested atop his knee showing his soft boots to perfection. Richard was curled on his side of the couch, one knee clutched to his na**d chest, the other knee curled on the couch.
Richard looked comfortable. Jean-Claude looked as if he were waiting for a roving photographer to come by. The two men in my life. I could barely stand it.
"I've got to get some sleep, so everybody who isn't staying, out."
"If you are referring to me, ma petite, I have no intention of leaving. Unless Richard goes with me."
"Stephen told you why I'm here," Richard said. "She's hurt and doesn't need to be alone."
"Look at her, Richard. Does she look hurt?" He held up a graceful hand. "I admit she has sustained some damage. But she does not need your help. Perhaps she doesn't even need mine."
"I invited Richard to stay over. I did not invite you."
"But you didinvite me, ma petite."
"First, please stop calling me that. Second, when did I invite you?"
"'The last time I was here. In August I believe."
Shit, I'd forgotten. It was beyond careless. I'd endangered Richard. Things were working out, but I hadn't known that when I left him here alone, alone in a place where Jean-Claude could come and go at will.
"I can take care of that right now," I said.
"If a dramatic gesture will please you, then be my guest. But Richard must not spend the night."
"Why not?"
"I think you are one of those women that where you give your body, there, too, is your heart. If you sleep with our Monsieur Zeeman, I think it might be the point of no return."
"Sex isn't a commitment," I said.
"For most people, no, but for you, I think it is."
The fact that he knew me that well brought heat in a rush up my face. Damn him. "I don't plan on sleeping with him."
"I believe you, ma petite, but I see the way your eyes follow him. He sits there looking luscious and warm and very alive. If I had not been here when you came home, would you have resisted?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Perhaps. Your strength of will is frightening, but I cannot take that chance."
"You don't trust me not to molest him?"
Again that shrug that could have meant anything. His smile was inviting and condescending.
"Why? You got the hots for him yourself?"
The question caught him off guard. The surprise on his face was worth the outraged look on Richard's face. Jean-Claude looked at Richard. He gave him his full attention. He stared at Richard, eyes roaming his body in a slow, intimate dance. His gaze ended not on his groin or his chest, but on his neck. "It is true that the blood of shapeshifters can be sweeter than human blood. It is a wild ride if you can manage it without getting torn apart."
"You sound like a ra**st," I said.
His smile blossomed in a surprised flash of fangs. "It is not a bad comparison."
"That was an insult, you know," I said.
"I know it was meant as such."
"I thought we had an agreement," Richard said.
"We do."
"You can sit there and talk about taking me for food, and we've still got an agreement."
"It would be enjoyable to take you for many reasons, but we have an agreement. I won't go back on it."