Лорел Гамильтон - Danse Macabre

I just nodded. Odd one about covered Remus. I'd thought my not understanding him was because I didn't know him that well, but I was beginning to think that months from now, I'd have no more clue to why he did or didn't do things. Some people are mysteries, and knowing them well doesn't make them less mysterious. Less confusing sometimes, but not less mysterious.

Asher leaned against the post of the bed, near us. He had a look on his face that I used to think meant teasing, but now I knew meant worse and darker things. «Richard,» he said, so pleasantly, «did you truly leave us because you worried for Damian's safety?»

Richard gave him narrow eyes. «Yes.»

«Really?» Asher managed to put in that one word a world of doubt.

Richard shifted, uncomfortably, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. «I didn't want to see Anita feed on Requiem. Does that make you happy, to know that?» he asked of Asher.

Asher leaned his cheek against the carved wood, and nodded. «Actually, yes, it does.»

«Why? Why does my discomfort please you?»

Asher wrapped his hands around the post, using it like a prop, as if the scene were staged. Most of the vampires had a certain flair for the dramatic.

Belle's vamps had more than their share sometimes. He didn't answer Richard's question, but made a statement. «You could have stayed, Richard, because she didn't feed on Requiem.»

«Stop it, Asher,» I said.

«Stop what?» he asked, and the glint in his eyes let me know he knew exactly what and that he was angry about something. Angry with Richard, maybe, or maybe angry about something else entirely. Mysterious and confusing didn't apply only to Remus.

«If you're mad about something, say so. If you're not, then stop the whole angry teasing routine.»

Damian's grip on my hand tightened. Maybe he was just feeling stronger, or maybe he was trying to remind me not to get angry. One of his jobs as my vampire servant was to help me fight off those angry impulses. His own iron self-control had been forged by she-who-made-him. Any strong emotion was eventually punished, horribly punished. I'd shared enough of Damian's memories to know that his creator made Belle Morte seem the heart of kindness by comparison. Damian had learned to control all his emotions, his urges, because to do otherwise had been disaster.

He gripped my hand, not as tight as normal. He wasn't well, by any means, but I felt calm flow from him to me. That calm not of gentle meditation and the modern ideal of peace of mind, but of the older ideal, when control was carved from pain and hardship, and painted in scars across your flesh.

«Is Damian whispering peaceful things in your head, Anita?» Asher asked. His tone was still teasing and light, but underneath was a razor's edge of spite.

«You know how wanting total honesty is just another way for me to be a pain in the ass,» I said.

Asher looked at me, his eyes like winter sky. «Yes.»

«What you're doing now is your way of being angry without being angry. Teasing with a bite to it.»

He wrapped his arms around the post, letting his hair slide forward to hide the scarred side of his face. It was an old trick, one he rarely did when it was just Jean-Claude and me. He gazed at the room with the perfection of his profile framed by his glittering froth of hair.

«Am I angry?» He made the question winsome.

«Yes,» I said, and it was a statement. «Question is, what are you angry about?»

«I have not admitted to being angry.» But he kept that perfect profile, that shine of hair, so that he showed himself to what he considered his best advantage. He was breathtaking, but I'd begun to value the full-face view, imperfections and all, more than this angry coyness. This show meant he was uncomfortable, or trying to persuade us to do something. Asher seldom flirted without an agenda. Sometimes it was foreplay, or just to make us smile, but other times… well, I did not trust his mood.

«Asher wants me to know who you fed on, and you don't want me to know.» Richard had summed it up nicely.

I hung my head. Damian laid his lips against my knuckles, not quite a kiss. I only had to open my eyes to stare down into his face, where he lay on the bed. He gazed up at me, and his eyes held not sympathy, but strength, control. You can do this , his eyes seemed to say, you can do this, because you must . He was right.

I looked up at Richard. I thought about raising the sheet and hiding my breasts, but everyone left in the room had seen them before. Modesty wouldn't get me out of Richard's reaction to my newest conquest.

«Who was it?» he asked.

I turned to Asher, and said, «You told me earlier today that you were sorry, that you were putting your hurt feelings ahead of my disaster. You apologized, and tried to make amends. Is that all your apology is worth, Asher? An hour of remorse, and you go back to being a bastard?»

His eyes flashed with anger, and his power trailed over my body like a cold wind. Then he swallowed it, the power, the anger. He turned a mild, if empty, face to me. «I can only apologize once more, ma cherie , you are absolutely right. I am throwing a fit.» He stepped away from the bed, and did a low, sweeping bow that trailed the edge of his hair on the floor. He rose up with a flourish, as if he were moving a cape with one hand.

«Why are you throwing a fit?» I asked.

«Truth?» He made it a question.

I nodded, not truly certain I wanted this particular truth.

«Because he will never be my lover. He will be your lover, but never ours together.»

For a moment I wasn't sure which he he was talking about it. The confusion must have shown on my face, because he said, «You see, ma cherie , that is it, that is it, exactement . My statement could refer to so many of your men that you do not even know to whom I refer.»

Damian's hand squeezed mine again. I wasn't certain whether it was to comfort me, or to comfort him. Damian was a touch homophobic, and Asher was not a comforting presence if that was your particular phobia.

«Are you saying you're pissed because I keep picking men who aren't bisexual?»

Asher seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded. «I believe I am. I don't think I knew until you asked so point-blank, but yes, I believe that is why I am angry.» He looked past me to Jean-Claude. «As he will not turn to me for fear you would leave him, so I do not turn to others for fear that he will use it as an excuse to pull even further away from me.»

«We agreed that we would have this discussion at a later time,» Jean-Claude said, in a voice that was as empty as any I'd ever heard from him.

Asher nodded. «I thought I could wait, but I am choking on things unsaid, Jean-Claude.» He pointed to Richard. «But we must be careful in front of him, too. It would not do to frighten him away. We wouldn't want him to know that we find him beautiful, would we?»

«Asher,» I started to say, but Micah finished it for me. «After the visiting masters leave town, and we know what we're doing about the baby, then we'll all sit down and talk about your… grievances.»

«No, we will not,» Asher said, «for there will be another crisis, another reason to put it off.»

«I give you my word that Nathaniel, Anita, and I will sit down and talk to you about it. I can't promise for anyone else.»

Asher turned that winter-blue gaze on me. «Does he speak for you?»

I nodded. «He does.»

Asher turned to Jean-Claude. «And you, master?» There was a lot of sarcasm to the master .

«I will not be bound by Micah's word in all things, but on this, I will agree. We will discuss it in detail, if you but leave it alone for a little longer.»