Hamilton - Narcissus in Chains

[eText Version 1.3 - January 9, 2002 - fixed formatting, and a fewtypos]

by Laurell K. Hamilton

[Blurb]

With the highly acclaimed Obsidian Butterfly, Laurell K. Hamilton'svampire hunter, Anita Blake, came into her own. She survived asupernatural onslaught unlike any she had ever faced before--and she didit without the two men in her life.

Now, six months have passed since Anita has seen either Jean-Claude orRichard. Six months of celibacy. Six months of indecision. Six months ofdanger. For her body carries the marks of both vampire and werewolf, anduntil the triumvirate is consummated, all three remain vulnerable.

But when a kidnapper targets innocents that Anita has sworn to protect,she needs all the help she can get. In an earth-shattering union, Anita,Jean-Claude, and Richard merge the marks--and melt into one another.Suddenly, Anita can harness both their powers. She can feel their hearts... hear their thoughts ... know their hungers ....

Nothing can save Anita from a twist of fate that draws her ever closer tothe brink of humanity--to finally surrender to the bloodlust, the beast,and the desire transforming her body and consuming her soul.

Copyright (c) 2001

This one's for J., who renewed my faith in men, love, and happiness.Thank you.

Acknowledgments

To my writing group, who didn't get to see this one before it went to NewYork. Tom Drennan, Rett MacPherson, Deborah Millitello, Marella Sands,Sharon Shinn, and Mark Sumner. May this be the last book that doesn't getto go through the group due to time constraints, or any other reason.Thanks to Joan-Marie Knappenberger for letting Trinity come over to playwith Melissa while I did last-minute things. Thanks to Darla Cook, whohelps keep me sane, and Robin Bell, for almost the same reason. Thanks toall the fans for their enthusiasm. Anita and I, both, appreciate it.

JUNE HAD COME in like its usual hot, sweaty self, but a freak cold fronthad moved in during the night and the car radio had been full of therecord low temperatures. It was only in the low sixties, not that cold,but after weeks of eighty- and ninety-plus, it felt downright frigid. Mybest friend, Ronnie Sims, and I were sitting in my Jeep with the windowsdown, letting the unseasonably cool air drift in on us. Ronnie had turnedthirty tonight. We were talking about how she felt about the big 3-0 andother girl talk. Considering that she's a private detective and I raisethe dead for a living it was pretty ordinary talk. Sex, guys, turningthirty, vampires, werewolves. You know, the usual.

We could have gone inside the house, but there is something about theintimacy of a car after dark that makes you want to linger. Or maybe itwas the sweet smell of springlike air coming through the windows like thecaress of some half-remembered lover.

"Okay, so he's a werewolf. No one's perfect," Ronnie said. "Date him,sleep with him, marry him. My vote's for Richard."

"I know you don't like Jean-Claude."

"Don't like him!" Her hands gripped the passenger-side door handle,squeezing it until I could see the tension in her shoulders. I think shewas counting to ten.

"If I killed as easily as you do, I'd have killed that son of a bitch twoyears ago and your life would be a lot less complicated now."

That last was an understatement. But ... "I don't want him dead, Ronnie."

"He's a vampire, Anita. He is dead." She turned and looked at me in thedark. Her soft gray eyes and yellow hair had turned to silver and nearwhite in the cold light of the stars. The shadows and bright reflectedlight left her face in bold relief, like some modern painting. But thelook on her face was almost frightening. There was a fearful determinationthere.

If it had been me with that look on my face, I'd have warned me not to doanything stupid, like kill Jean-Claude. But Ronnie wasn't a shooter. She'dkilled twice, both times to save my life. I owed her. But she wasn't aperson who could hunt someone down in cold blood and kill him. Not even avampire. I knew this about her, so I didn't have to caution her. "I usedto think I knew what dead was or wasn't, Ronnie." I shook my head. "Theline isn't so clear-cut."

"He seduced you," she said.

I looked away from her angry face and stared at the foil-wrapped swan inmy lap. Deirdorfs and Hart, where we'd had dinner, got creative with theirdoggy bags: foil-wrapped animals. I couldn't argue with Ronnie, and I wasgetting tired of trying.

Finally, I said, "Every lover seduces you, Ronnie, that's the way itworks."

She slammed her hands so hard onto the dashboard it startled me and musthave hurt her. "Damn it, Anita, it's not the same."

I was starting to get angry, and I didn't want to be angry, not withRonnie. I had taken her out to dinner to make her feel better, not tofight. Louis Fane, her steady boyfriend, was out of town at a conference,and she was bummed about that, and about turning thirty. So I'd tried tomake her feel better, and she seemed determined to make me feel worse.

"Look, I haven't seen either Jean-Claude or Richard for six months. I'mnot dating either of them, so we can skip the lecture on vampire ethics."

"Now that's an oxymoron," she said.

"What is?" I asked.

"Vampire ethics," she said.

I frowned at her. "That's not fair, Ronnie."

"You are a vampire executioner, Anita. You are the one who taught me thatthey aren't just people with fangs. They are monsters."

I'd had enough. I opened the car door and slid to the edge of the seat.Ronnie grabbed my shoulder. "Anita, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't bemad."

I didn't turn around. I sat there with my feet hanging out the door, thecool air creeping into the closer warmth of the car.

"Then drop it, Ronnie. I mean drop it."

She leaned over and gave me a quick hug from behind. "I'm sorry. It's noneof my business who you sleep with."

I leaned into the hug for a moment. "That's right, it's not." Then Ipulled away and got out of the car. My high heels crunched on the gravelof my driveway. Ronnie had wanted us to dress up, so we had. It was herbirthday. It wasn't until after dinner that I'd realized her diabolicalscheme. She'd had me wear heels and a nice little black skirt outfit. Thetop was actually, gasp, a well-fitted halter top. Or would that bebackless evening wear? However pricey it was, it was still a very shortskirt and a halter top. Ronnie had helped me pick the outfit out about aweek ago. I should have known her innocent "oh, let's just both dress up"was a ruse. There had been other dresses that covered more skin and hadlonger hemlines, but none that camouflaged the belly-band holster that cutacross my lower waist. I'd actually taken the holster along with us on theshopping trip, just to be sure. Ronnie thought I was being paranoid, but Idon't go anywhere after dark unarmed. Period.

The skirt was just roomy enough and black enough to hide the fact that Iwore the belly band and a Firestar 9mm. The top was heavy enough material,what there was of it, that you really couldn't see the handle of the gununder the cloth. All I had to do was lift the bottom of the top and thegun was right there, ready to be drawn. It was the most user-friendlydressy outfit I'd ever owned. Made me wish they made it in a differentcolor so I could have two of them.

Ronnie's plan had been to go to a club on her birthday. A dance club. Eek.I never went to clubs. I did not dance. But I went in with her. Yes, shegot me out on the floor, mainly because her dancing alone was attractingtoo much unwanted male attention. At least with both of us dancingtogether the would-be Casanovas stayed at a distance. Though saying Idanced was inaccurate. I stood there and sort of swayed. Ronnie danced.She danced like it was her last night on Earth and she had to put everymuscle to good use. It was spectacular, and a little frightening. Therewas something almost desperate to it, as if Ronnie felt the cold hand oftime creeping up faster and faster. Or maybe that was just me projectingmy own insecurities. I'd turned twenty-six early in the year, and,frankly, at the rate I was going, I probably wouldn't have to worry abouthitting thirty. Death cures all ills. Well, most of them.