Smolder (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #29)(62)

“You astonish me, mon lupe.”

“I’d rather not take one for the team, but if it happens in the heat of the moment, I promise no buyer’s remorse from me. Now release the ardeur and save us.”

The coils swirled, or flexed, I had no word for what they did around Jean-Claude’s chest, but it staggered him so that Richard and I let go of our hands to grab him. In the fraction of a second before I was touching them both again, Deimos filled me with terror that froze my breath in my throat and damn near collapsed my chest with dread. We were going to lose, we were going to die, we were . . .

“He cannot find his lust while I ride him; your master cannot save you now, wolf.”

“We just need the ardeur to rise,” Richard said, and he looked at me.

“Lust is the balm in which men have hidden their fear before battle, their terror on the battlefield in rape and ravage, but it is too late for Jean-Claude to give you such comfort.”

“I know that,” Richard said, and he gave me a look that was strangely peaceful, as if he’d made peace with it, whatever it might be. I’d never thought to see a look like that on his face again, our conflicted teacher who happened to be a werewolf. He stood there, the muscles in his arms flexing, holding Jean-Claude with my arm around his waist, one arm trapped between their bodies. He nodded, and I looked up at the snake’s head. I wanted to touch it to feel if it was solid enough to smash; once we’d freed Jean-Claude and ourselves, we’d test the theory. I looked at the pale gray eyes and they flickered again, maybe it was a blink without eyelids. Richard shared some of his resolute calm with me. I didn’t question where that sense of peace came from, because I needed it too badly to question. It helped me regain control of myself.

“Deimos, dread or fear, is the son of Ares, god of war,” I said.

“Yes, I am a god.”

I smiled and I knew it was the smile most unpleasant that I got when I was about to do something violent and usually fatal for the other guy. I’d made peace with that smile and what came with it because it kept me alive. “Do you know what my nickname is, Deimos?”

“You are the Executioner, and soon you will be slaying my enemies as I bid you.”

“My other nickname.”

“What other name?” He sounded impatient and he tried to send fear down my skin again, but it was too late for that to stop me; I’d made my decision and there was an untouchable stillness in the choice.

“War, the other preternatural marshals call me ‘War,’ that’s why I know Deimos is fear or dread of the battle to come: I researched it.”

“That is absurd; you are a tiny, delicate woman, you cannot be War.”

Jean-Claude sagged in our arms so hard we were going to have to go to our knees soon. “Hurry up,” Richard said.

I called the ardeur from inside me, not Jean-Claude’s power, but like the wolf that hid inside me, what had begun as his power alone was now mine. “What is this? What is happening?” Deimos sounded afraid, perfect.

“Who’s your daddy, Deimos?” I said, and then the ardeur engulfed us like a wave of summer heat.

I had a vague memory of Deimos screaming and then it was just the three of us with our hands and mouths on each other without Jean-Claude in enough control to save us from ourselves.





26

I DROWNED IN THE taste of Richard’s skin, and Jean-Claude’s mouth breathed along my skin so that I shivered between the two of them like wood trapped between different flames. The feel of my hands on both their bodies at the same time with no one to tell me to stop was intoxicating. The ardeur gave us to each other in ways that we had always denied. It was desire so pure there were no doubts, no protests, no stopping. The next clear memory I had was being on the floor with Jean-Claude above me. Richard’s face appeared above Jean-Claude’s shoulder, the rich brown waves intermingling with the black curls. I was pinned under their combined weight, trapped in a way I’d never been trapped before. Richard’s eyes turned wolf amber, glimpsed like a wild thing through the fall of their combined hair. Richard did something with his hips that made Jean-Claude spasm, thrusting deeper into me, which made me cry out.

“Up,” Richard said, an edge of growl in his voice. Jean-Claude lifted his upper body off me in a sort of push-up. A tanned arm encircled Jean-Claude’s pale waist. I loved the contrast of their skins, and then Jean-Claude did something with his hips that made my eyes roll back into my head, so I only felt his hands curve under the small of my back and hold me in place as he went up on his knees.

Normally I would have wrapped my legs around his waist to help hold myself in place but there was no way for me to reach around both men. I had a moment of not knowing what to do with my legs, but I needed the leverage of the lock. It was like being in guard in Brazilian jujitsu when the person above you is massive, you just can’t get a lock, but you need to find a way to get your leverage, except here I didn’t want to escape, I just wanted to be able to move.

“I need to wrap my legs around someone, or a headboard to hold on to,” I said, because that could make up for not being able to use my legs to help, but there was nothing within reach.

“We can come to you,” Richard growled.

“What?” I asked, but Jean-Claude seemed to understand just fine because he said, “Legs up, ma petite, put the heels I have been dreaming of seeing you in all day on my shoulders.” There was a heat, almost a hunger in his eyes that let me know he meant it about the shoes, and for that look in this moment I could wear more ridiculous shoes.