Read Online Anita Blake 24 - Dead Ice by Laurell K. Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurell K. Hamilton
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old-fashioned and trapped in the past. They still believe that rulers are to concern themselves only with power, but your joy in performing onstage radiates from you, my lord.”
Jean-Claude did the head tilt as we both looked at Irene. I asked the question. “When did you see Jean-Claude onstage?”
She blushed and cast her eyes down. “My master feels that the more we know about the people we design our rings for, the better we will please them.”
“Were you there on a night when I was introducing the acts?” he asked.
She kept her eyes down, hands clasped tight, as she said, “You did introduce most of the acts.”
“But I did not introduce myself.”
“No, my lord, one of your charming young men did the honor of introducing you.” She stared studiously at the floor.
“I have only been onstage at Guilty Pleasures once since the engagement was announced. I did not see you in the audience.”
“I stayed near the back, my lord. I was there to observe, not to participate by being one of the audience you interacted with.” She finally gave a quick look up, and then back down.
Jean-Claude had caused a near riot stripping onstage after the engagement hit the media. He’d put together a new act that had more romance at the beginning, but the end was romantic only if you considered “sexy as hell” romantic. I tended to think of it that way, but the human media had been split between headlines stating I was jealous and angry at him for going onstage again, to wondering how long until I might join him onstage. I had done it a few times as the pretend “lady victim” from the audience for some of my lovers, but not lately. One, the customers didn’t like the idea of a plant in the audience who had already had the pleasure of, um, meeting the men for real, and two, the U.S. Marshals Service didn’t think much of one of their officers going onstage at a strip club. Technically I wasn’t stripping, but just helping out the show with a “victim” who wouldn’t make a fuss or pressure the dancers for real sex, but somehow helping out a friend didn’t cover getting up onstage at a strip club. The vampire community thought their king shouldn’t be shaking his booty onstage for a bunch of humans.
“I am an exhibitionist; do you know what that means, Irene?”
She blushed again. We took that as a yes.
“Did you enjoy the show, Irene?” and he added just a touch of power to her name. I felt it thrill down my skin and tug at things low in my body. I watched Irene to see if it affected her that way. She stood very still, and then, very slowly, raised her eyes to stare into his face the way that mice must stare at cats when they are too tired to run anymore and begin to realize just how beautiful the cat is, and how it wouldn’t be a bad way to die.
My voice was very firm as I said, “Stop it.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Irene?” Every word was thick with power.
Irene’s eyes were huge, her face slack, as she nodded.
“It’s what you’ve wanted since you saw me onstage, isn’t it?”
“Since before that, my lord; how can any of us stand near the flame of your beauty and not want to be closer to the heat of it?”
“But I am cold, Irene, not hot. There is no flame here, no light, only the chill of the grave and darkness.”
“She is your heat, my lord, and the shapeshifters, they burn very hot indeed.” Her voice was eager now, and when she said
heat
, I felt the temperature rise, and burn; it almost made me flinch, hot, holding the press of high summer.
“Do you feel it,
ma petite
?”
“Yeah,” I said, and got off his lap to stand at his side, just our fingers intertwined. “Cut the mind tricks, Irene, that shit don’t fly here.”
The next words from her lips were someone else’s; the inflection was wrong, as if a stranger were borrowing her voice. “You tried to take over my servant. I am merely demonstrating that we are not helpless against you.” Irene’s hands were at
Jean-Claude did the head tilt as we both looked at Irene. I asked the question. “When did you see Jean-Claude onstage?”
She blushed and cast her eyes down. “My master feels that the more we know about the people we design our rings for, the better we will please them.”
“Were you there on a night when I was introducing the acts?” he asked.
She kept her eyes down, hands clasped tight, as she said, “You did introduce most of the acts.”
“But I did not introduce myself.”
“No, my lord, one of your charming young men did the honor of introducing you.” She stared studiously at the floor.
“I have only been onstage at Guilty Pleasures once since the engagement was announced. I did not see you in the audience.”
“I stayed near the back, my lord. I was there to observe, not to participate by being one of the audience you interacted with.” She finally gave a quick look up, and then back down.
Jean-Claude had caused a near riot stripping onstage after the engagement hit the media. He’d put together a new act that had more romance at the beginning, but the end was romantic only if you considered “sexy as hell” romantic. I tended to think of it that way, but the human media had been split between headlines stating I was jealous and angry at him for going onstage again, to wondering how long until I might join him onstage. I had done it a few times as the pretend “lady victim” from the audience for some of my lovers, but not lately. One, the customers didn’t like the idea of a plant in the audience who had already had the pleasure of, um, meeting the men for real, and two, the U.S. Marshals Service didn’t think much of one of their officers going onstage at a strip club. Technically I wasn’t stripping, but just helping out the show with a “victim” who wouldn’t make a fuss or pressure the dancers for real sex, but somehow helping out a friend didn’t cover getting up onstage at a strip club. The vampire community thought their king shouldn’t be shaking his booty onstage for a bunch of humans.
“I am an exhibitionist; do you know what that means, Irene?”
She blushed again. We took that as a yes.
“Did you enjoy the show, Irene?” and he added just a touch of power to her name. I felt it thrill down my skin and tug at things low in my body. I watched Irene to see if it affected her that way. She stood very still, and then, very slowly, raised her eyes to stare into his face the way that mice must stare at cats when they are too tired to run anymore and begin to realize just how beautiful the cat is, and how it wouldn’t be a bad way to die.
My voice was very firm as I said, “Stop it.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Irene?” Every word was thick with power.
Irene’s eyes were huge, her face slack, as she nodded.
“It’s what you’ve wanted since you saw me onstage, isn’t it?”
“Since before that, my lord; how can any of us stand near the flame of your beauty and not want to be closer to the heat of it?”
“But I am cold, Irene, not hot. There is no flame here, no light, only the chill of the grave and darkness.”
“She is your heat, my lord, and the shapeshifters, they burn very hot indeed.” Her voice was eager now, and when she said
heat
, I felt the temperature rise, and burn; it almost made me flinch, hot, holding the press of high summer.
“Do you feel it,
ma petite
?”
“Yeah,” I said, and got off his lap to stand at his side, just our fingers intertwined. “Cut the mind tricks, Irene, that shit don’t fly here.”
The next words from her lips were someone else’s; the inflection was wrong, as if a stranger were borrowing her voice. “You tried to take over my servant. I am merely demonstrating that we are not helpless against you.” Irene’s hands were at
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