"Perhaps, but I did not invite Requiem, or anyone, into my lands so I could enslave them. I wanted to give them shelter, not chains."
"Auggie said you were too sentimental for your own good sometimes."
Out loud he said, "Perhaps, but you have taught me that sentiment is not always a bad thing."
I stared up at that impossibly beautiful face, and felt love swell up inside me like a physical force. It filled my body, swelling upward until it made my chest ache, my throat tighten, and my eyes burn. It sounded so stupid. But I loved him. Loved all of him, but loved him more because loving me had made him better. That he would say that I had taught him about being sentimental made me want to cry. Richard reminded me at every turn that I was bloodthirsty and cold. If that were true, then I couldn't have taught Jean-Claude about sentimentality. You can't learn, if you don't have it to teach.
He kissed me. He kissed me softly, with one hand lost in the hair to the side of my face. He drew back and whispered, "I never thought to see that look upon your face, not for me."
"I love you," I said, and touched his hand where it lay against my face.
"I know that, but there are different kinds of love, ma petite, they are equally real, but..." He smiled, and said, "Such soft tenderness I thought you had reserved for others."
"What others?" I asked, because I couldn't leave it alone.
He gave me a chiding look, as if I knew the answer to the question, and I guess I did. I knew Richard was almost desperately jealous of Micah and Nathaniel, but for the first time I realized Jean-Claude was jealous, too. And jealousy always hurts. I was sorry I ever made him doubt how much I loved him. He would never hold my hand in a delivery room, or vacuum a floor, but within the parameters of his life, I could ask anything of him.
"I don't mean to interrupt this little lovefest," London said, in a tone of voice that said clearly he did want to interrupt, and maybe be cruel on top of it, "but could you try to free Requiem? Or did you not mean to free him, and it was all just talk?"
"London," Elinore said, with a warning in that single word.
"I am allowed my cynicism, Elinore. I have been disappointed too many times in too many different masters."
"Haven't we all," Wicked said.
Truth just nodded.
I frowned at all of them, and suddenly even cuddling with Jean-Claude wasn't quite as comforting. "Thanks guys, no performance anxiety here."
"We do not mean to make things more difficult for you," Truth said, "but like most vampires who have not spent their entire existence with one master, we have been ridden hard, and cruelly, by those who were supposed to take care of us."
"The idea of the feudal system is that the people at the top take care of the needs of those on the bottom, but I have seldom seen it work that way," Wicked said.
"Yeah," I said, "it's like trickle-down economics; it only works if the people at the top are really good, decent people. The system is only as good as the people in power."
The brothers nodded, as if I'd said a wise thing. Maybe I had.
I laid a kiss on Jean-Claude's bare chest, caressing the slicker skin of the cross-shaped burn mark. I drew away from him and went for the bed. I prayed as I walked toward Requiem. "Let him be free, but don't let me hurt him."
27
I TOLD REQUIEM to lie down on the bed, and he did, without hesitation. Elinore was right. He was like a human hit by a vampire's gaze. I knelt beside him, the robe tucked up under my knees, tied close around my waist. I stared down at him and wondered if there was anything I could ask him to do that he would refuse. Was there really no limit to it? I'd seen humans rolled by vampires who had turned on their friends in the blink of an eye, and tried to kill people they loved. Would Requiem have killed for me? For no reason than that I asked it of him? I wanted to know, and I didn't.
I looked at Jean-Claude. "Is this just about sex, or would he do anything I asked, like a human rolled by a vamp?"
"I do not know, ma petite."
"If you never plan to do this on purpose, what does it matter?" London asked, and he let me hear all the distrust in those words. I didn't really blame him.
"I wouldn't do it to any of our people on purpose, but sometimes I'm on my own in a nest of vamps that I'm supposed to kill. They get testy about stuff like that. I'm just wondering if I could raise the ardeur as a weapon? Is .there a way to make it an asset instead of a disaster?"
London frowned at me, but said, "I don't believe you, Anita."
"London," Elinore said, "never use that tone again with her."
"I've seen what the ardeur can do, Elinore. You haven't, not really." His face tightened in lines of anger so raw it almost hurt to see it. "I've seen my face look like Requiem's. I remember what it feels like." His hands gripped the bedpost until the skin changed color, just a bit. The mottling would be more after he fed. The wood creaked in protest, and he dropped his hands. "Part of me still wants to feel like that. It's like being on a drug all the time. Being pleasantly high, pleasantly happy. It may not be real happiness, but it's hard to tell the difference when you're in the middle of it." He hugged himself tight. "The world is a colder, darker place without it. But with it, you're
a slave. A slave to someone who makes you do things ..." He shook his head, so hard it looked dizzying.
"Maybe London should go before I start this," I said.
"No," he said, "no, if I can't bear to watch you feed the ardeur on someone else, then I need to find a new master, and a new city. If I can't bear this, then I need to go somewhere where no one carries the ardeur."
"Jean-Claude is your master, London; you will need his permission to leave," Elinore said.
"We have already discussed it," Jean-Claude said.
"When?" I asked.
"He is an addict, ma petite, an addict to the ardeur. I saved him from Belle Morte, who would have addicted him again, but London and I discussed that even your ardeur, and mine, might be too much for him. If it is"—he gave that graceful shrug—"I will find him some place far away from such temptations, but it will take time to find a home for someone as potentially powerful as London. Especially someone with his bloodline, and male. If he were female, there is a waiting list."
"But not for men," I said.
"Non, ma petite, the female masters seem convinced they would become bespelled by males of our bloodline. The male masters seem convinced they could master the women of our line."
"Well, isn't that just typical," I said. I looked back at London. "If this gets to be too much for you, promise me you'll leave."
"Why do you care?"
I raised a hand before Elinore could chastise him again. "Because I'm going to have enough trouble freeing Requiem's mind; I don't want to have to do it twice today."
He nodded. "I swear to you that I will leave, if I feel it is too much." The look on his face was very solemn, with none of that dark defiance, or anger.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the man on the bed. He gave me peaceful, eager eyes. It was as if the lamb wanted you to slit its throat.
I moved up beside him, so I could touch the unbruised side of his face. I cupped his face and he leaned into that touch, eyes closing for a moment as if that one innocent touch was almost too much to bear.
I called to him. "Requiem, Requiem, come back to me."
He laid his hand against mine, pressing me tighter against his face. "I am right here, Anita, right here."