“She wouldn’t want your body if you were a werewolf,” he growled next to my face.
“Why not?” I asked, again.
“She can’t control wolves.” I felt him tense. I don’t think he was supposed to share that.
“Only cats,” I said.
“Yes.” The growl was beginning to fade a little, and it was more of a bass whisper, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. The Harlequin had bugged all our businesses in St. Louis once, so we were probably being listened to, if not watched, right this minute.
I did my best not to move my lips, and the whisper this time was more just breathing out. I didn’t want them to hear us. “The mother couldn’t control you?” My wolf began to trot up that long, dark path inside me. It was my visual for an impossibility. It was impossible that there were animals inside me that wanted to come out through my skin, but they were still in there, so I “saw” them as walking down a path, when there was no path, no space between me and them. In a very real way, they were me. Intellectually I knew that; to stay sane I visualized a path.
He sniffed harder, as if he would breathe me into him. He settled more of his body against the back of mine. My hands were in the way, so he couldn’t spoon me completely, and he kept his face next to mine, so that the height difference put only his upper body against my hands. He had a long torso. I fought to keep my hands still where they lay pressed between the two of us. Cuddling was better than being threatened; I just had to not rush, and not do anything to make him remember he was here to scare me.
“No,” he whispered, and used his arm to pull me in tighter to his body.
I breathed, “She forced you into wolf form.”
“She couldn’t; my master forced me.”
I pressed my face into the smooth chill of the mask, letting it hide as much of my face as possible in case the camera could see my face. The scent of his wolf was stronger this way; it made my wolf trot faster up that invisible path. The light was better so that I could see her dark saddle in all that white fur, as she trotted through the light and shadow of the tall trees that lined the path. The trees, like the rest of the landscape, were no place I’d ever been.
I breathed in the scent of him, and down the long metaphysical cord, I smelled another wolf, several other wolves. I smelled my pack and they always smelled good to me, of pine trees and thick forest leaves.
He sniffed harder, hugged me tighter. “You smell of more than just your wolf. You smell like pack. How can that be?”
“I’m the lupa of my pack, the bitch queen.”
He snarled behind his mask, drawing back enough that he could see my face. “Liar!”
“If you’re powerful enough to shift just your claws, you’re powerful enough to smell a lie. I am the lupa of our pack; I swear it.”
“But you’re human,” he growled, and it was almost a yell.
My wolf broke into an easy lope, almost a run, as if to prove the truth of what I’d said. But there were shadows in the dark around her, not us, as if I had called the ghosts of our pack. Their scents came with me, not the sight, but then for a wolf, smell is more real than sight. It’s one of the reasons that wolves aren’t bothered by hauntings, unless there’s a scent to go with it. You can wail and moan all damn day, but if you don’t smell like something, a wolf won’t care.
I felt the loneliness in the man beside me. Not a loneliness of sex, or even love, but of not having another furry body to press side to side, tail to nose, as they slept. I’d been told that the
“You’re the only wolf,” I whispered.
“We had one other, but he left us.” The regret in his voice was like weeping without the tears.
“I know where he is,” I said. Jake was one of the Harlequin on our side.
“He’s with you, we know that,” and this time his voice was a snarl, “but he left us long before that. He betrayed us.”
“He did what wolves do,” I said. “He took care of the pack, not just one wolf.”
“Tigers are not wolves!” He grabbed my arms, sat me up, shook me just a little; let me feel the strength in his hands.
“No,” I said, “but he has wolves in St. Louis. He has our pack. He’s not alone.”
His fingers dug into my arms. The strength in them vibrated against my skin, as if he were fighting not to dig in farther, or maybe he was fighting not to send claws slicing through my flesh. Some people are grateful when you offer them what they want most, but some people are terrified of it. Because to gain your heart’s desire you have to lose some part of your old life, your old self. To do that you have to have courage; without it, you can’t make the leap. And if you don’t make the leap, you have only three choices: You can hate yourself for not taking the chance, you can hate the person for whom you’ve sacrificed your happiness, or you can hate the one who offered you happiness, and blame them for your lack of courage, convince yourself it wasn’t real. That way, you don’t have to hate yourself. It’s always easier to blame someone else.
I looked into his green wolf eyes and watched the fight. He growled, “They said all you offered was sex.”
“They lied,” I said, softly. I let it be implied that maybe they’d lied about other things, too.
He let go of me as if I’d burned him, stood up, and went for the door in a swirl of black cape. He stopped at the door, and spoke without turning around. “You have defeated me twice, Anita Blake. There is more magic to you than just being a succubus.”
“I never said otherwise.”
He opened the door, went out, and I heard a bolt shoot behind him. I was locked in, and still tied up, but I was sitting up, drug free, and alone. Alone wasn’t bad.
36
THE ROOM WAS about the size of an average bedroom, but the walls were all stone, and the floor was concrete that looked like it had been poured too thick and never smoothed, so it had dried in odd shapes. Water stains discolored the wall nearest to where I’d come to, and in one corner the water stains had become a shallow standing puddle. No wonder I’d woken up cold. Were we underground? There was only one dim, bare bulb in the center of the room. The only furniture in the room was a large wooden table that looked solid and heavy, which was probably why it was still in the room; too heavy to take out. I actually looked back at the door and realized that the table must have been put together inside the room; otherwise how had it fit? I stopped trying to do the math of furniture moving, and looked at the only other things in the room: a pile of wooden boxes against the far wall with a stained tarp thrown carelessly over them, as if someone had started to cover them, but never quite finished. There might be something else under the tarp, but I’d have to inchworm my way over there, and I had no way of knowing if it was worth it. Besides, they were watching me. I doubted they would let me get close to anything that could cut through the ropes. I still might try to get closer to the boxes. They were the only thing I could see in the room that had any promise to them. Everything else was useless for cutting through the ropes, as far as I could see. I realized that once I’d have thought the room was dark, but I’d spent the last year and change living in the underground at the Circus of the Damned. The rooms were actually part of the cave system that ran under St. Louis, so my idea of dim lighting had changed. My night vision had always been good, but I’d begun to wonder if all the animals I carried inside me had given me more than just superhuman strength and speed. My night vision was getting better.
I heard someone at the door. I hadn’t moved anything but my head and body to look around the room, so I just sat there and waited for the door to open. I actually didn’t have to scramble to hide anything, which was kind of disappointing.
It was another Harlequin in the black hooded cloak and white mask. He was taller than the werewolf, so someone new, or someone I’d seen briefly in the woods earlier with Edward. I wouldn’t let myself hope that he’d
