Smolder (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #29)(61)

“I am not a lizard,” the hissing voice said.

Richard sniffed the air almost nose to nose with the massive head. “It doesn’t smell real; it doesn’t smell like snake or lizard.”

The hissing voice came through our heads. “I am real enough to crawl into your souls and control you for the rest of eternity.”

“Rest of eternity? Isn’t that redundant?” I asked.

“Should it just be, you’ll control us for all of eternity?” Richard asked.

“No,” I said, “even that’s too much. It should be he’ll control us for eternity, because after you say that there is no more. Eternity is it.”

“Are you making fun of me?” the hissing voice asked, but the snake head never opened its mouth when it spoke; it wasn’t real enough to have to open its mouth. What the fuck was this thing?

Jean-Claude laughed. “I had almost forgotten that Richard shared your sense of humor once, ma petite.”

The snake body flexed around his chest and the laughter stopped. Jean-Claude staggered and started to fall, but Richard caught him. I tensed to see the snake hit him, too, but the coils were like mist that held its shape so that I could see Richard’s body through it. I pushed my hand through it to touch Richard’s arm and it felt less real than mist, there wasn’t even any moisture to it. I still had Jean-Claude’s hand in mine, though his grip seemed weaker. I moved my other hand to his chest, and the snake that looked so solid and black evaporated like clouds around my hand, graying out so I could see through it.

The hiss ran through us all. “You have left the door open a crack, Jean-Claude; did you think the words meant nothing? The fourth mark can only be completed two ways, by absolute force and will of the vampire involved, or by saying the spell along with the actions. Real magic is more than just rutting like beasts and thinking strongly at something, but you are so young, you don’t remember when the Mother was one of us, not the queen of us. Magic was everywhere, but there were rules, there are

still rules, and you don’t know what they are, little would-be king. That lack of knowledge is going to be your death, and then your human servant, the greatest necromancer in over three thousand years, will be mine, and your beast, wolf king of the local werewolves. Not so powerful, but once he is mine I will fill him with such magic that none will stand before him.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Names are old magic. I will not share mine.”

“If you’re going to be our new master, shouldn’t we have your name?”

“You may call me Deimos.”

“The personification of dread before the battle, right?”

The strangely solid snake head looked at me and something flickered in the shining gray eyes. I’d surprised him. “Most unexpected that you would know that.”

“Ma petite is full of surprises, Deimos.” The snake coils moved as if someone had walked through mist to send it swirling around my arm where I touched Jean-Claude. He sagged as Richard took more of his weight with the one arm that was free; neither of us wanted to let go of Jean-Claude’s hands, as if that was more important than just touching his skin.

“Raise the ardeur, Jean-Claude,” Richard said.

“I will not force myself upon you, I gave you my word.”

This was news to me but made sense for the two of them. “You raise the ardeur and chase this cold-blooded bastard back to his den, or I will,” I said.

“If a man’s word is no longer good, then he is without honor.” He sagged until Richard had to brace to hold him and withdrew the hand I was holding so he could at least partially use both arms.

The stupid heels made me stumble and almost fall. Jean-Claude’s skin was cool and clammy; it should have been warm and full of all the lust from the crowd. Deimos didn’t have to send fear into me, I was suddenly terrified all on my own. The fear chased back my own ardeur. Fuck. I had to swallow hard before I could look at Richard. His eyes were solid, chocolate brown with no hint of Jean-Claude’s power in them. Mine were probably just brown again, too.

I said, “I don’t know what bargain you made with him, but it is not worth him dying in our arms.”

“If I thought we could both survive I might have once, but that was then, and Deimos would not be an improvement.”

I started to say that if he let Jean-Claude die it wouldn’t matter if he survived because I’d kill him, but I’d learned enough to keep the more self-sabotaging things to myself. Somewhere in that sentence he’d agreed to help Jean-Claude.

Richard kissed Jean-Claude’s cheek. I had no idea why; it wasn’t something I’d ever seen them do before. Jean-Claude moved his face back to see Richard more clearly; those dark blue eyes were having trouble focusing.

“Would you really let him kill you and give Anita and me into slavery just so you didn’t accidentally ravage me?”

“I gave you my word.”

“That’s a yes,” I said.

“Oui.”

“Honorable men are so easily manipulated,” Deimos said.

“We can be,” Richard said, still staring into Jean-Claude’s face like he was trying to memorize him, and then he kissed him full on the mouth. It was a chaste touch of lips, but in nearly ten years of off-again, on-again it was the first time I’d ever seen them kiss. He drew back first, and Jean-Claude’s face showed the astonishment we were both feeling at our so-heterosexual Richard.