"Answer me, Verne," I said.
"Most of my pack passes for human, Anita. Do you really think some shithead would have kept his mouth shut?" He leaned forward in the chair, hands clasped together. Mr. Sincere.
"He was our only link to the other bad guys, Verne. The only one that was willing to talk to us."
Richard's arms wrapped just a little tighter around my arms. I realized that if he squeezed, I wouldn't be able to point the gun. "I'm not going to shoot him, Richard. Chill, okay?"
"Couldn't I just be hugging you?" he asked, voice so close to my ear I could feel his breath.
"No," I said.
His arms slid to either side, loosely around my waist, which put his hands almost in my lap, since I had my knees up. Under other circumstances, it would have been an interesting position, but when I have a point to make, I don't distract.
"The pack is my priority, Anita. It has to be."
"I would never do anything to endanger your pack, Verne. But I gave my word that if he told us what he knew, we'd take him to the hospital and let them try to reattach his arm. I gave my word, Verne."
"You take your word that seriously," he said.
"Yes."
"I respect that," he said.
"You killed him, didn't you?" I asked.
"Not personally, but I gave the order."
Richard's arms tightened around me. I felt him struggling to relax against me. He rubbed his chin against my wet hair, hands rubbing up and down my bare arms like you'd soothe a dog that you were afraid was going to bite someone.
"And I gave my word," I said.
"What can I do to make this right between us?" Verne asked.
I wanted to say, "Nothing," but Richard was right. We needed them. Or we needed someone, and they were all we had. What could he do to make this right? Raising the dead was my department, and bringing him back as a zombie wouldn't be the same thing, anyway.
"Truthfully, Verne, I don't know. But I'll think of something."
"You mean, I'll owe you a favor," he said.
"A man's dead, Verne. It would have to be one hell of a favor."
He looked at me for a long, measuring moment, then nodded. "I guess so."
"Okay," I said, "okay. We'll leave it there for now, Verne, but when I come up with something to ask for or of you, disappointing me again would not be a good idea."
He gave a quick smile. "I don't know if I'm looking forward to you and Roxanne meeting or dreading it."
"Who's Roxanne?" I asked.
"His lupa," Richard said.
Verne stood. "Richard said you and Roxanne would like each other if you didn't kill each other first. I know what he meant now." He walked over to us. He held his hand down, as if offering to help me off the floor. But call it a hunch, I thought it was more than that.
Richard's arms opened, and I took Verne's hand. He didn't so much pull me to my feet as just hold my hand while I stood. The other hand still held the Browning.
"If you ask for something that harms my pack, I can't promise that. But short of that, you have my word. Ask it of me, and it's yours." He grinned suddenly, then looked past me to Richard. "God, she is a tiny thing."
Richard, wisely, did not comment.
Verne knelt in front of me. "To seal my word, I'm going to offer you my neck. You understand the symbolism?"
I nodded. "If I were a wolf, I could tear your throat out. It's an act of trust."
He nodded and bent his head to one side so the big vein in his neck was just below the surface stretched tight under the skin of his throat. He kept hold of my hand the entire time.
I glanced back at Richard. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Kiss the big pulse in his neck, or bite gently over it. The harder you bite the less you trust the person, or the more dominant you see yourself to them."
I stared down at Verne. He was being very good. No trickle of power escaped him, and I was holding his hand, skin to skin. I'd felt how powerful he was; he could have made my skin crawl if he'd wanted to.
I squeezed his hand and moved to stand behind him. I tossed the Browning on the bed. I ran my hand along his neck, finding the big pulse with my fingertips.
I looked at Richard. You could almost see the "no" on his face -- the near-warning not to do what I was thinking of. Which in a way made it all the more tempting.
Verne drew me down towards him, pulling my hand across his chest like I was hugging him. It brought my mouth down to his neck, as if he'd done this before.
He smelled warm, as if he'd been out in the sun. The scent of trees and the ground itself clung to his skin. I ran my nose just above his skin. I could smell the blood. It was as if the skin on his neck was growing thinner and thinner, until there was nothing between the smell of sweet blood but a pliable warmth, as if the skin itself almost didn't exist.
My mouth hovered over that pulsing warmth. I was drowning in the smell of his body. The need to place my mouth over that pulsing, living thing was almost overwhelming. I didn't trust myself to do it, or rather, didn't trust myself not to do too much. Did Richard go through life tasting other people's blood? Could he feel their life like something fragile and touchable?
Maybe I hesitated too long. Maybe Verne felt the power that was trying to overwhelm me. His power broke over my body in a shivering rush that made me gasp. And it was too much. Too tempting a drink to offer a starving man.
My teeth closed over that evaporating warmth. The meat of his neck filled my mouth. My tongue found his pulse, and I bit down, trying to carve that jumping, beating thing out of the flesh.
His power roared over me, and something inside of me poured back like two tidal waves crashing, churning, destroying. Far below, there was a land and a beach, and it was all washed away in the pounding, drowning depths.
I felt eyes open, and they weren't my eyes. Jean-Claude opened his eyes all those miles away, surprised from a sleep that should have lasted hours yet. Shocked awake by his hunger, my hunger, our hunger, being fed.
Hands dragged me off of that pulsing warmth. Hands prying me away. I came to myself with Richard pulling me into the air, completely helpless. Verne still had my hand. He was holding on, trying to drag me back. His neck was bleeding. A near perfect imprint of my teeth sat in his flesh. His hand fell away as Richard pulled me off of him.
Verne's eyes looked heavy-lidded. He drew in a large, shaking breath and laughed. The low chuckle made my body react. "God, Jesus, girl, what the hell was that?"
I didn't fight to get back to him. I didn't fight to finish it. I lay passive in Richard's arms, blinking in a spill of morning light, staring at what I'd done to Verne's neck and not understanding.
When I could talk, I asked, "What the hell was that?"
Richard cradled me in his arms like I was a child. Since I wasn't sure I could stand, I wasn't bitching about it. I felt distant and light and horrible.
He hugged me against him, kissing my forehead. "Us being together has strengthened the marks. Jean-Claude thought it might."
I stared up at Richard. I was still having trouble focusing. "Are you saying that us having sex strengthened his hold on both of us?"
Richard seemed to think about that for a second or two. "It strengthened our hold on each other."
"Put me down."
He did what I asked. I slid to my knees, unable to stand, and pushed his hands away when he tried to help. "You knew and you didn't tell me."
"Would it have made a difference last night?" he asked.
I stared up at him, tears threatening, and I wanted to say yes, but I didn't lie. "No," I said, "no." Last night it would have taken a hell of a lot more than the knowledge that the marks would strengthen to keep me out of Richard's bed. Of course, last night I hadn't understood what it meant. Last night I hadn't just tried to eat my way through a man's throat.