Danse Macabre   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

She was mean, and powerful, but not that powerful. I also trusted her to be smarter than to start shit bad enough that the only penalty would be death. She was like most of the old vamps, a survivor at heart.

Micah was looking at me, almost like he'd followed my line of reasoning. Out loud he said, «Jean-Claude and Asher can handle it.»

«You didn't read my mind,» I said.

He smiled, that smile that made him seem so gentle. «I read your face.»

«Great.»

He raised his eyebrows, and shrugged, as if, sorry.

Nathaniel said, «How can both of you still be wanting to be Meng Die's pomme ? She's not dependable.»

Graham laughed, a loud abrupt sound that almost startled. «Dependable. I don't want to be her pomme because she's dependable . I want to be her pomme because we are fucking amazing together.»

Clay shrugged. «I love her, at least I thought I did.»

«You don't sound very sure,» Nathaniel said.

«Jean-Claude made us both bunk over with you and Anita a couple of times. Meng-Die was upset, but not that upset. I thought it was because she knew that we'd be back. That I cared about her enough not to be lured away. Then Requiem turned her down because he thought that was why Anita wouldn't take him as her next pomme de sang .» Clay's face showed something close to pain. «She went ballistic. Jean-Claude rips us out of her bed, forces us to sleep with you, and she's cool about it. Losing Requiem bothered her, more than losing us.»

I watched the look in his pale eyes. That had hurt him. He really did care for her. Damn. «Some women, especially of Belle Morte's line, seem to take rejection really badly. You guys had no choice. Jean-Claude said bunk over, and you had to do it. Requiem chose to leave her. That cuts a certain type of woman, or man, real deep.»

Clay put those puzzled, pain-filled eyes on me. «You mean it hurt her pride.»

I nodded. «Trust me, most master vamps have more than their share.»

He shook his head. «I know you're trying to make me feel better, Anita, but what you've just said is that her hurt pride means more to her than whatever she feels for me. Thanks for trying to make me feel better.»

«But I failed miserably,» I said.

He actually touched me voluntarily, rare for Clay lately; he squeezed my shoulder, very guy. «Yeah, you really suck at this whole comfort thing, but thanks.»

He had never been very handsy, but after he bunked over and felt the ardeur rise in the bed, he'd touched me only when he absolutely had to. I think he was afraid to touch me. The hints of the ardeur made Graham chase me harder. The same kind of hints scared Clay. One man's heaven, another man's hell.

«We should introduce ourselves to our guests,» Micah said, «and you need to change shoes.»

I sighed. «So we're on our own for this little cocktail party.» I knelt down, careful of my hose on the stone floor, and took off the jogging shoes.

«I'm afraid so,» Clay said.

«Great, just great.» I stood up and let Nathaniel slip the first high heel on, then Micah balanced me while Nathaniel did the other shoe. Four-inch heels, what had I been thinking? I never did like cocktail party talk, but that wasn't the problem this time. I could fake small talk if I had to. The problem was that the two masters in the other room had brought along candidates to be my new pomme de sang .

It was my own damn fault. I hadn't chosen from any of the local talent. I had also expressed concern about bringing this many Masters of the City into our territory. It just didn't sound safe to me. So Elinore, one of our new British vamps, had an idea. A wonderfully, awful idea. Since Masters of the City were coming from all over the United States, why didn't we have a sort of contest? The masters could bring some candidates for my new pomme de sang .

I'd said no. In fact, I'd said hell no, but Jean-Claude had pointed out that I could simply turn them all down. That the chances of my finding someone I liked well enough to keep were slim. He had a point. And Elinore was right, it was a way to get all the masters to behave themselves while they were visiting us. I mean, if you're looking at what amounts to your new inlaws, you mind your manners. I couldn't argue with the reasoning, but it meant that I felt like a piece of prize beef. Or would that be cheesecake?

Why was I such a prize? Because I was Jean-Claude's human servant and he was the first American master to become his own sourdre de sang , fountain of blood. Basically he'd hit the power curve where he was his own bloodline. It was rare, very rare, for any master vamp to hit that level of power, and he was our first in this country. It was a very big deal. We hadn't advertised the fact, but the Vampire High Council over in Europe knew it, and apparently they hadn't kept it entirely secret. We'd gotten a lot of overtures of friendship in the last few weeks. All right, we'd gotten a lot of people trying to align themselves with us. Not the same thing as friendship, actually, but better than the alternatives.

But when I agreed to all of it, I had never dreamt that I'd be doing the first introductions without Jean-Claude on my arm. Shit.

Micah took my arm in his. «It's going to be fine.»

Nathaniel hugged me. «We'll help you be charming.»

«I'm just not the Cinderella type,» I said.

«But you're not Cinderella, Anita, you're the prince. You're Prince Charming.»

I stared into Nathaniel's lavender eyes, and felt the first cold hand of fear in my stomach. Me, Prince Charming? There had to be some mistake.

Though I guess if you have to choose between being the woman who is trying to catch the prince's eye, or the prince who doesn't want to be caught, prince is better. Or at least that's what I told myself as Clay led us through the door, and the drapes that formed the walls of the living room.

I let Micah and Nathaniel each take an arm. Yeah, I couldn't get to my weapons fast, but what was waiting for me in the next room wasn't a problem that guns and knives could solve. It was a problem that only diplomacy, witty banter, and sly seduction could maneuver us through. We were so screwed without Jean-Claude and Asher.



5

THE ROOM WAS all gold and white and silver from the drapes to the couch, the love seat, and the two chairs framing the empty white brick of the fireplace. It looked denuded without the picture of Jean-Claude, Asher, and their lost love, Julianna. A picture painted about five hundred years before I was born. Yeah, the wall looked bare, but the room didn't. The room seemed positively drowning in vamps and shapeshifters. I really did not want to play hostess without Jean-Claude.