Лорел Гамильтон - The Lunatic Cafe

"I didn't do it. You didn't do it. I know magic when I smell it. It had to be him."

Smell it? I turned back to Jean-Claude. "Well?"

He laughed. The sound trailed down my spine like the brush of fur, soft, slick, startling. It was too soon after the rushing power we'd shared. I shuddered, and he laughed harder. It hurt and you knew you shouldn't be doing it, but it felt too good to stop. His laughter was always dangerously delicious, like poisoned candy.

"I swear by whatever oath you would trust that I did nothing on purpose."

"What did you do by accident?" I asked.

"Ask yourself the same question, ma petite . I am not the only master of the supernatural in this room."

Well, he had me there. "You're saying one of us did it."

"I am saying that I do not know who did it, nor do I know what it is. But Monsieur Zeeman is correct it was magic. Raw power to raise the hackles on any wolf."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Richard asked.

"If you could harness such power, my wolf, even Marcus might bow to it."

Richard pulled his knees up, hugging them to his chest. His eyes looked distant, thoughtful. The thought intrigued him.

"Am I the only person in this room not trying to consolidate my kingdom?"

Richard looked at me. He looked almost apologetic. "I don't want to kill Marcus. If I could make a great enough show of power, he might back down."

Jean-Claude smiled at me. It was a very satisfied smile. "You admit he is not human, and now he wants power, so he can be leader of the pack." His smile widened just this short of a laugh.

"I didn't know you were a fan of sixties music," I said.

"There are many things you do not know about me, ma petite ."

I just stared at him. The image of Jean-Claude boogying down to the Shangri-Las was stranger than anything I'd seen tonight. After all I believed in nagas, I didn't believe that Jean-Claude had hobbies.

A hot bath. Once more in the oversize T-shirt, sweatpants, and socks. I was going to be the worst-dressed person in the room. I was planning to replace that black robe at the first opportunity.

They were sitting on the couch, each as far away from the other as they could get. Jean-Claude was sitting like a mannequin, one arm on the back of the couch, the other on the arm of the couch. One foot rested atop his knee showing his soft boots to perfection. Richard was curled on his side of the couch, one knee clutched to his naked chest, the other knee curled on the couch.

Richard looked comfortable. Jean-Claude looked as if he were waiting for a roving photographer to come by. The two men in my life. I could barely stand it.

"I've got to get some sleep, so everybody who isn't staying, out."

"If you are referring to me, ma petite , I have no intention of leaving. Unless Richard goes with me."

"Stephen told you why I'm here," Richard said. "She's hurt and doesn't need to be alone."

"Look at her, Richard. Does she look hurt?" He held up a graceful hand. "I admit she has sustained some damage. But she does not need your help. Perhaps she doesn't even need mine."

"I invited Richard to stay over. I did not invite you."

"But you did invite me, ma petite ."

"First, please stop calling me that. Second, when did I invite you?"

"'The last time I was here. In August I believe."

Shit, I'd forgotten. It was beyond careless. I'd endangered Richard. Things were working out, but I hadn't known that when I left him here alone, alone in a place where Jean-Claude could come and go at will.

"I can take care of that right now," I said.

"If a dramatic gesture will please you, then be my guest. But Richard must not spend the night."

"Why not?"

"I think you are one of those women that where you give your body, there, too, is your heart. If you sleep with our Monsieur Zeeman, I think it might be the point of no return."

"Sex isn't a commitment," I said.

"For most people, no, but for you, I think it is."

The fact that he knew me that well brought heat in a rush up my face. Damn him. "I don't plan on sleeping with him."

"I believe you, ma petite , but I see the way your eyes follow him. He sits there looking luscious and warm and very alive. If I had not been here when you came home, would you have resisted?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. "Perhaps. Your strength of will is frightening, but I cannot take that chance."

"You don't trust me not to molest him?"

Again that shrug that could have meant anything. His smile was inviting and condescending.

"Why? You got the hots for him yourself?"

The question caught him off guard. The surprise on his face was worth the outraged look on Richard's face. Jean-Claude looked at Richard. He gave him his full attention. He stared at Richard, eyes roaming his body in a slow, intimate dance. His gaze ended not on his groin or his chest, but on his neck. "It is true that the blood of shapeshifters can be sweeter than human blood. It is a wild ride if you can manage it without getting torn apart."

"You sound like a rapist," I said.

His smile blossomed in a surprised flash of fangs. "It is not a bad comparison."

"That was an insult, you know," I said.

"I know it was meant as such."

"I thought we had an agreement," Richard said.

"We do."

"You can sit there and talk about taking me for food, and we've still got an agreement."

"It would be enjoyable to take you for many reasons, but we have an agreement. I won't go back on it."

"What agreement?" I asked.

"We are exploring our mutual powers," Jean-Claude said.

"What does that mean exactly?" I asked.

"We're not sure," Richard said. "We haven't worked out the details yet."

"We've just agreed not to kill each other, ma petite . Give us a little time to plan beyond that."

"Fine. Then both of you get out."

Richard sat up straighter on the couch. "Anita, you heard Lillian. You need to be woken every hour just in case."

"I'll set an alarm. Look, Richard, I'm fine. Get dressed and go."

He looked puzzled and a little hurt. "Anita."

Jean-Claude didn't look hurt or puzzled. He looked smug.

"Richard's not spending the night. Happy?"

"Yes."

"And you're not spending the night, either."

"I had not planned to." He stood, turning to face me. "I will leave as soon as I've had my good-night kiss."

"Your what ?"

"My kiss." He came around the couch to stand in front of me. "I will admit I had envisioned you wearing something a little more" — he tugged on my sleeve—"salacious, but one takes what one can get."

I jerked the sleeve out of his fingers. "You haven't gotten anything yet."

"True, but I am hopeful."

"I don't know why," I said.

"The agreement between Richard and me is predicated on the fact that we are all dating. You date Richard, and you date me. We both woo you. One cozy little family."

"Can you speed this up? I want to get to bed."

A slight frown appeared between his eyes. "Anita, you are not making this easy."

"Hurrah," I said.

The frown smoothed out as he sighed. "You would think I would give up on you ever being easy."

"Yes," I said, "you would."

"A good-night kiss, ma . . Anita. If you truly intend to date me, it will not be the last."

I glared up at him. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but there was something about the way he stood there. "If I say no kiss, what then?"

"I go away for tonight." He took that step closer to me that put us almost touching. The cloth of his shirt brushed the front of my T-shirt. "But if you give Richard kisses and do not allow me such privileges, then the agreement is off. If I cannot touch you, and he can, it is hardly fair."