Лорел Гамильтон - Guilty Pleasures

He dangled the crucifix in front of my face. I grabbed it with one hand and squeezed until my hand shook. It didn't take long. Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes. I wasn't crying, not really. I was exhausted.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

I nodded and forced myself to sit, leaning against the bathtub.

“Can you stand up?” he asked.

I thought about it, and decided no, I didn't think I could. My whole body was weak, shaky, nauseous. “Not without help.”

Edward knelt beside me, put an arm behind my shoulders and one under my knees, and lifted me in his arms. He stood in one smooth motion, no strain.

“Put me down,” I said.

He looked at me. “What?”

“I am not a child. I don't want to be carried.”

He drew a loud breath, then said, “All right.” He lowered me to my feet and let go. I staggered against the wall and slid to the floor. The tears were back, dammit. I sat in the floor, crying, too weak to walk from my bathroom to my bed. God!

Edward just stood there, looking down at me, face neutral and unreadable as a cat.

My voice came out almost normal, no hint of crying. “I hate being helpless. I hate it!”

“You are one of the least helpless people I know,” Edward said. He knelt beside me again, draped my right arm over his shoulders, grabbed my right wrist with his hand. His other arm encircled my waist. The height difference made it a little awkward, but he managed to give me the illusion that I walked to the bed.

The stuffed penguins sat against the wall. Edward hadn't said anything about them. If he wouldn't mention it, I wouldn't. Who knows, maybe Death slept with a teddy bear? Naw.

The heavy drapes were still closed, leaving the room in permanent twilight. “Rest. I'll stand guard and see that none of the bogeys sneak up on you.”

I believed him.

Edward brought the white chair from the living room and sat it against the bedroom wall, near the door. He slipped his shoulder holster back on, gun ready at hand. He had brought a gym bag up from the car with us. He unzipped it and drew out what looked like a miniature machine gun. I didn't know much about machine guns, and all I could think of was an Uzi.

“What kind of gun is that?” I asked.

“A Mini-Uzi.”

What do you know? I had been right. He popped the clip and showed me how to load it, where the safety was, all the finer points, like it was a new car. He sat down in the chair with the machine gun on his knees.

My eyes kept fluttering shut, but I said, “Don't shoot any of my neighbors, okay?”

I think he smiled. “I'll try not to.”

I nodded. “Are you the vampire murderer?”

He smiled then, bright, charming. “Go to sleep, Anita.”

I was on the edge of sleep when his voice called me back, soft and faraway. “Where is Nikolaos's daytime retreat?”

I opened my eyes and tried to focus on him. He was still sitting in the chair, motionless. “I'm tired, Edward, not stupid.” His laughter bubbled up around me as I fell asleep.

Jean-Claude sat in the carved throne. He smiled at me and extended one long-fingered hand. “Come,” he said.

I was wearing a long, white dress that had lace of its own. I had never dreamed of myself in anything like it. I glanced up at Jean-Claude. It was his choice, not mine. Fear tightened my throat. “It's my dream,” I said.

He held out both hands and said, “Come.”

And I went to him. The dress whispered and scraped on the stones, a continuous rustling noise. It grated on my nerves. I was suddenly standing in front of him. I raised my hands towards his slowly. I shouldn't do it. Bad idea, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

His hands wrapped around mine, and I knelt before him. He drew my hands to the lace that spilled down the front of his shirt, forced my fingers to take two handfuls of it.

He cupped his hands over mine, holding them tight; then he ripped his shirt open using my hands.

His chest was smooth and pale with black hair curling in a line down the middle. The hair thickened over the flatness of his stomach, incredibly black against the white of his belly. The burn scar was firm and shiny and out of place against the perfection of his body.

He gripped my chin in one hand, raising my face towards him. His other hand touched his chest, just below his right nipple. He drew blood on his pale skin. It trickled down his chest in a bright, crimson line.

I tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into my jaw like a vise. I shouted, “No!”

I hit at him with my left hand. He caught my wrist and held it. I used my right hand to grip the floor and shoved with my knees. He held me at jaw and wrist like a butterfly on a pin. You can move, but you can't get away. I dropped to a sitting position, forcing him to strangle me or lower me to the ground. He lowered me.

I kicked out with everything I had. Both feet connected with his knee. Vampires can feel pain. He dropped my jaw so suddenly, I fell backwards. He grabbed both my wrists and jerked me to my knees, body pinned on either side by his legs. He sat in the chair, knees controlling my lower body, hands like chains on my wrists.

A high, tinkling laughter filled the room. Nikolaos stood to one side, watching us. Her laughter echoed through the room, growing louder and louder, like music gone mad.

Jean-Claude transferred both my wrists to one hand, and I could not stop him. His free hand stroked my cheek, smoothing down the line of my neck. His fingers tightened at the base of my skull and began to push.

“Jean-Claude, please, don't do this!”

He pressed my face closer and closer to the wound on his chest. I struggled, but his fingers were welded to my skull, a part of me. “NO!”

Nikolaos's laughter changed to words. “Scratch the surface, and we are all much alike, animator.”

I screamed, “Jean-Claude!”

His voice came like velvet, warm and dark, sliding through my mind. “Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, two minds with but one body, two souls wedded as one.” For one bright, shining moment, I saw it, felt it. Eternity with JeanClaude. His touch … forever. His lips. His blood.

I blinked and found my lips almost touching the wound in his chest. I could have reached out and licked it. “JeanClaude, no! Jean-Claude!” I screamed it. “God help me!” I screamed that, too.

Darkness and someone gripping my shoulder. I didn't even think about it. Instinct took over. The gun from the headboard was in my hand and turning to point.

A hand trapped my arm under the pillow, pointing the gun at the wall, a body pressing against mine. “Anita, Anita, it's Edward. Look at me!”

I blinked up at Edward, who was pinning my arms. His breathing was coming a little fast.

I stared at the gun in my hand and back at Edward. He was still holding my arms. I guess I didn't blame him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Say something, Anita.”

“I had a nightmare,” I said.

He shook his head. “No shit.” He released me slowly.

I slid the gun back in its holster.

“Who's Jean-Claude?” he asked.

“Why?”

“You were calling his name.”

I brushed a hand over my forehead, and it came away slick with sweat. The clothes I'd slept in and the sheet were drenched with it. These nightmares were beginning to get on my nerves.

“What time is it?” The room looked too dark, as if the sun had gone down. My stomach tightened. If it was near dark, Catherine wouldn't have a chance.

“Don't panic; it's just clouds. You've got about four hours until dusk.”

I took a deep breath and staggered into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and neck. I looked ghost-pale in the mirror. Had the dream been Jean-Claude's doing or Nikolaos's? If it had been Nikolaos, did she already control me? No answers. No answers to anything.