He started walking towards me. It made me look away as if we'd been at a restaurant or something, and I'd been caught staring at my ex. I remembered a night just after college when I'd been in a restaurant with some friends, and seen my ex-fiancé with his new girlfriend. He'd walked towards us as if he'd introduce me to her. I'd fled to the ladies' room and hid out until one of my girlfriends came and told me the coast was clear. Four years ago, I'd run for cover because he had dumped me and didn't seem to miss me. Now I stood my ground but not because I had dumped Richard. I stood my ground because my pride wouldn't let me hurry away through the trees and pretend I hadn't run away. I wasn't much into running lately.
So I stood there in the silvered dark, my heart beating in my throat, and waited for him to come to me.
Jamil and Shang-Da stood together in the dark, watching but not following him, as if he'd told them to stay put. Even from here, I could tell Shang-Da didn't like it. As far as I could see, Shang-Da hadn't changed clothes. He was still in his all-black, totally monochromed tailored suit, shirt, and accessories.
Richard came to stand about two feet in front of me. He just looked down at me and said nothing. I couldn't read his expression, and I didn't want to read his mind again.
I broke first, babbling. "I'm sorry about that, Richard. I didn't mean to invade you like that. I'm not very good at controlling the marks yet."
"That's all right," he said. Why is it that voices in the dark can sound so much more intimate?
"You okay with Asher's plan for tonight?" I asked, more for something to say while he stared down at me than for anything else.
Verne had learned through Mira that Colin believed that Asher was his replacement. Both masters were of an equivalent age. Colin was more powerful, but much of that extra power could have been from the ties that made him Master of the City. It was the first time I'd ever been told that just being Master of the City gave you extra power. Live and learn.
"I understand that Asher has to convince Colin that he doesn't want the job," Richard said.
Asher had decided that the way to do that was to convince Colin he was infatuated with me and with Jean-Claude. I wasn't sure how I felt about the plan, really. But we all agreed, even Richard, that the local vamps wouldn't believe that ties of friendship and nostalgia made Asher happy where he was. Vampires are like people in one respect, they'll believe a sexual explanation before an innocent one. Even death doesn't change the human trait of being willing to believe the worst of a person rather than the best.
"It's none of my business what you do or who you do it with, remember?" His voice was a great deal more neutral than his words.
"I was embarrassed in the bathroom. You caught me off guard."
"I remember," I said. He shook his head. "If we're supposed to flaunt our power tonight, that means we need to use the marks."
"Mira told them that you were interviewing new lupas. They know we're not an item," I said.
"We don't have to show them domestic bliss, Anita, just power." He held out his hand to me.
I stared at it. The last time he'd led me through summer woods had been the night he killed Marcus. The night when everything had gone wrong.
"I don't think I can take another stroll through the woods, Richard."
His hand closed into a fist. "I know I handled it badly that night, Anita. You'd never seen me shapeshift, and I shifted on top of you, while you couldn't get away. I've thought about that. I couldn't have chosen a worse way to introduce you to what I was. I know that now, and I'm sorry I scared you."
Scared didn't quite cover it, but I didn't say it out loud. He was apologizing, and I was going to accept it. "Thank you, Richard. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just ... "
"Couldn't handle it," he said.
I sighed. "Couldn't handle it."
He held his hand out to me. "I'm sorry, Anita."
"Me, too, Richard."
He gave a small smile. "No magic, Anita, just your hand in mine."
I shook my head. "No, Richard."
"Afraid?" he asked.
I stared up at him. "When we need to draw the marks, we can touch; but not here, not now."
He reached up to touch my face, and I heard the silk of his shirt rip. He lowered his arm and put three fingers in the ripped seam. "That's the third time that's happened." He spread the seam on the other arm, putting his whole hand in it. He turned and showed me his back. The seams at the shoulders had pulled apart on both sides like mouths.
I giggled, and I don't do that often. "You look like the Incredible Hulk."
He flexed his arms and shoulders like a bodybuilder. The look of mock concentration on his face made me laugh. The silk ripped with an almost wet sound. Silk sounds the closest to flesh of any cloth when you tear it; only leather sounds more alive under a blade.
His tanned flesh showed pale through the black cloth, as if some invisible knife were slashing rips in it. He straightened up. One sleeve had ripped so badly at the shoulder that it flapped around his upper arm. The seams at the top of his chest were like twin smiles.
"I feel a draft," he said. He turned and showed me his back. The shirt had peeled off his back, hanging in tatters.
"It's trashed," I said.
"Too much weight lifting since I was measured for the shirt."
"You are perilously close to being too muscular," I said.
"Can you ever be too muscular?" he asked.
"Yes, you can," I said.
"You don't like it?" he asked. He wadded his hands into the front of the shirt and pulled. The silk tore into black shreds, ripping like a soft scream. He tossed the silk at me. I caught it by reflex, not thinking.
He grabbed what was left of the shirt across his shoulders and pulled it over his head, exposing every inch of his chest, his shoulders. He strained his arms upward, making the muscles mold against his skin from stomach to shoulder.
It didn't just make me catch my breath, it made me catch and hold, forgetting to breathe for a few seconds, so that when I did remember, my breath came out in a shaky gasp. So much for being cool and sophisticated.
He lowered his arms and all that was left were the sleeves. He pulled them off like a stripper removing long gloves and let the bits of silk fall to the ground. He stood looking at me, nude from the waist up.
"Am I supposed to applaud or say, 'My, my, Mr. Zeeman, what big shoulders you have'? I'm aware that you have a great body, Richard. You don't have to rub my face in it."
He moved into me until he was standing so close that a hard thought would have made us touch. "What a good idea," he said.
I frowned at him, because I wasn't following. "What's a good idea?"
"Rubbing your face in my body," he said, his voice so low that it was almost a whisper.
I blushed and hoped he couldn't see it in the dark. "It's an expression, Richard. You know I didn't mean it."
"I know," he said, "but it's still a good idea."
I stepped back. "Go away, Richard."
"You don't know the way to the lupanar," he said.
"I'll find it on my own; thanks, anyway."
He started to reach out to touch my face, and I almost stumbled backing up. He flashed me a quick smile and was gone, running through the trees. I could feel the roil of power like wind in a sail. He rode the energy of the woods, the night, the moon overhead, and if I wanted to, I could go along for the ride. I stood there, hugging my arms, concentrating everything I had on blocking him out, cutting the power between us.
When I felt alone and locked within my own skin again, I opened my eyes. Jason was standing so close it made me jump. It also made me realize how careless I'd been.