Beauty: An Anita Blake Vampire Hunter Outtake
Author: Laurell K. Hamilton
Date: 2012-05-08 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Vampires; Urban Fantasy; Romance; Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Erotica; Short Stories; Shapeshifters; Fiction
Description: The steamy outtake that takes readers even further into Laurell K. Hamilton’s bestselling novel, Kiss the Dead. You’d think I’d get used to seeing such a beautiful man and knowing he was mine, but it never grew old, as if his beauty and the fact that he was mine, and I was his, would forever surprise me. With a vampire like Jean Claude around, it’s far too easy for Anita Blake to doubt her own appearance—and the hold it has on those who love her. But one hot tub and two incredibly sexy men—Jean Claude and Asher—will make her feel like the most lusted-after woman alive…or undead. Not bad for a
Publisher: Penguin Group

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Special preview from Kiss the Dead

About the author

Beauty

Laurell K. Hamilton

Berkley Books, New York

Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Novels

by Laurell K. Hamilton

Guilty Pleasures

The Laughing Corpse

Circus of the Damned

The Lunatic Café

Bloody Bones

The Killing Dance

Burnt Offerings

Blue Moon

Obsidian Butterfly

Narcissus in Chains

Cerulean Sins

Incubus Dreams

Micah

Danse Macabre

The Harlequin

Blood Noir

Skin Trade

Flirt

Bullet

Hit List

Strange Candy

eSpecials

Beauty

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This eSpecial is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

BEAUTY

A Berkley Book, published by arrangement with the author

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley eSpecial edition / May 2012

Copyright © 2012 by Laurell K. Hamilton.

Excerpt from Kiss the Dead copyright © 2012 by Laurell K. Hamilton. Cover design by Judith Lagerman. Cover image of woman © Dazo / Masterfile; metal plate © R-studio / Shutterstock.

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ISBN: 978-1-101-57930-5

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1

Once upon a time I’d had no one to go home to after a crime scene, but that was back in the day when I’d done nothing but hunt bad guys and raise zombies. I’d been more a consultant for the police than an actual cop. I had been grandfathered into the U.S. Marshals service along with most of the legal vampire executioners in the country who could pass the weapons test. I had a real badge now, and was doing more time as a cop than as my original day job of raising the dead. It paid better than the police work, but people didn’t usually die if I missed an appointment to raise a zombie for a historical society so they could question it on the accuracy of some battle information. People could die if I missed this job, but there were nights when I just needed to come home and wrap myself in my boyfriends’ arms and forget about the blood and death I’d just seen. This was one of those nights, and according to the schedule, I was coming home to Jean-Claude, the master vampire of St. Louis, and one of my main squeezes. We’d been dating for seven years, sometimes on-again, off-again, but for the last few years it had been very on.

Yeah, I did see the irony that I wanted to forget about the death I’d just seen on the job by getting up close and personal with a vampire, but trust me when I say vampires aren’t dead. They are undead, and that is way more lively than a lot of human men I’ve known. I’ve always had better luck dating the “monsters” than the humans. Some people say that’s because I’m one of the monsters. Some days I think they’re right, but other days I think they’re just jealous whiner babies. A lot of the shit I got was because I was a petite, attractive woman who slept with a lot of men, not casually, but on a regular I-date-you-basis. If I’d been a man I honestly think a lot of the complaining wouldn’t have happened. Some people, including other women, still think we should be waiting for Prince Charming so we can ride off into the sunset of happily-ever-after-land. This was one princess who could rescue her own damn self. I was fine with the prince fighting at my side, or, hell, I’d rescue him if he needed it. But I was so not the passive, wait-for-my-one-true-love type, and wonder of wonders, I’d found several men who loved me for being the stubborn, messy, violent, sexually-aggressive woman that I am. In fact, they totally encouraged that last part.

Normally I might have put on some lingerie, or let Jean-Claude get me out of my clothes, but after a crime scene, undressing was not usually part of foreplay. I never knew what I might have rubbed against, stepped in, or had sprayed on me. And even for a vampire, old blood and guts of someone I’d killed was not an aphrodisiac, and honestly it bothered me more than it bothered him. I just wanted the clothes off and put in the plastic bag I kept for such occasions. The weapons came off first, though, and most of them went in the gun safe that now stayed in the corner of his bedroom. We had too many people coming and going that weren’t gun savvy now. Hell, we had some with toddlers. Toddlers and guns do not mix. So, we had gun safes, and I only kept the guns with me that could fit on me, or at hand with me. The guards did the same.

So, a mountain of guns, blades, and ammo, placed in the safe, among all the other dangerous toys. Then the clothes stripped off and put in the plastic garbage bag so they could be washed later, and I was naked, and down to only one handgun I’d carry with me into the bath. I could hear water running in the bathroom as Jean-Claude filled the big tub. It had a quick fill on it, and there was an extra hot water tank just for the tub. I’d learned that was the magic reason it never seemed to run out of hot water.

I walked naked and armed into the bathroom with just the Browning BDM in my hand. I was probably as safe as I’d been all day this far into the underground of the Circus of the Damned. If anyone got through all the bodyguards, the fourteen rounds in the Browning wouldn’t really make that much difference, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was that I was finally comfortable naked; being unarmed, that I still didn’t like.

The bathroom was decorated in black marble with touches of charcoal gray, all the fixtures were shiny silver, and the double sinks had a large mirror that reflected half of the room. The mirror didn’t reveal the stool with its half wall that hid it from the big bathtub, which had an edge of marble big enough not just for sitting, but for Jean-Claude to lie down full length on one side so we could make love. Mirrors surrounded the tub on three sides so it looked like one of those tubs in an expensive honeymoon suite. But what was waiting for me in the bathtub would have made it a honeymoon you’d never forget.

Jean-Claude was sitting against the far side of the bath, so that he had the best view of me walking through the door. His arms were stretched along the back of the tub, and his skin looked incredibly white against all that black marble. He’d pushed his hair behind him so that it pooled behind his shoulders; it was hard to tell where his curls ended and the marble began. His hair was truly black, like mine; no brunette for us, no matter how dark. The water was still below his upper chest and his nipples showed a little less pale, and the cross-shaped burn scar sat on one side of his pectoral, somewhere between the nipple and his heart. Some centuries ago a vampire hunter had shoved a glowing cross into his chest. I knew that Jean-Claude had killed the person who did it, just like I’d killed the people who branded me with my own cross-shaped burn scar on my arm. Mine was a brand, not a holy object reacting to vampire skin, but they looked the same. The vampire wannabes that branded me had thought it was funny to mark me up like a vampire; they’d thought it was funny right up until they died. So who was I to throw stones that Jean-Claude had killed the person who branded him? Fair is fair.

I finally let myself look at that face, and I felt like I had from almost the first moment I’d seen him: that he was simply one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen. The black curls touched the edge of his face, as if bringing attention to the curve of his mouth, the line of his cheek, and those eyes. They always looked blue, but they were so dark. Midnight blue with their double edge of black eyelashes like dark lace to frame the deepest blue I’d ever seen in anyone’s eyes. His eyes were a blue like deep ocean water, where it runs cold and will eventually spill down into something warm and mysterious, where creatures the light has never seen live and thrive. Those gorgeous eyes looked at me, and there was love in them, but the second he saw me in the doorway, walking toward him, there was lust, desire, and just a heat that brought a blush to my face and an answering heat to my own eyes. Six years after we’d first started dating I was still a little amazed that this most lovely of men still wanted me so badly. They talked about burning for each other, and we still did. I never seemed to get over the surprise of turning around and seeing him there. You’d think I’d get used to seeing such a beautiful man and knowing he was mine, but it never grew old, as if his beauty and the fact that he was mine, and I was his, would forever surprise me.

I walked toward him like I had a purpose, because I did. I smiled, and because the mirror was behind him I could see it, and it was a confident, possessive smile. The look on my face echoed his with its sheer lust, wanting, desire—I wanted him and he wanted me; still. I found that amazing, too, as if I’d thought we’d grow bored of each other, or he’d grow bored of me. If I was honest with myself, that was it. How could small-town, middle-class me keep the interest of this man, this centuries-old vampire, who had seduced his way across Europe and at least half of America? And yet, I had.

I heard his voice in my mind, like a breath. “How can you doubt your beauty even now?”

I looked at him in the tub, and frowned. I had to raise my voice over the still-spilling water. “You shouldn’t be able to read my mind without me lowering my shields, or at least knowing you’re in my head.”

“I did not read your mind, ma petite. I read your face, your body language. I saw that shadow of doubt cross over you.”

I stopped moving forward and looked at him, one hand going to my hip by habit. I’d found when I was nude I still had to do something with my hands. The gun took care of only one of them.

He laughed, and it was that touchable, hold it in your hand and let it melt into your skin sound that made me shiver. “So cheating,” I said.

“It would only be cheating if I was using it to seduce you. You want to be here with me. I do not have to use tricks.”

It was hard to argue, though part of me wanted to out of habit. I finally let it go, shook my head, and smiled. “Fine, yes, you don’t have to seduce me anymore, I’m pretty much as seduced as I can get.”

“That cynical expression, even now, it is very you, ma petite.”

I glanced up in the mirrors and saw that cynical look staring back at me. It made me smile, hand on hip, gun in hand, naked. I looked like the proverbial tough girl from some naughty movie. It made me laugh, and I had a sudden flash from Jean-Claude. The emotion was joy. He loved that I was standing there nude and laughing. I caught glimpses of him remembering how I had been when we first met. How uncomfortable with nudity, with him, with sex, with . . . so much. I felt his happiness that I stood there so bold, so comfortable with him. It made me come to the very edge of the tub, so I could look down at him in the water. I saw what he saw as he gazed up at me. He thought I was beautiful, and that always surprised me, too. I’d had so many people tell me I wasn’t when I was growing up, that not being tall, Nordic, blonde, and blue-eyed made me like some small, dark blot on the family tree.

He moved through the water, holding his hand out to me. I sat down on the edge of the black marble. The water was hot—not too hot, just right—but then Jean-Claude knew what temperature I liked the water. The tub was one of our favorite places for foreplay, though actual sex was on the edge, or in the bed. I took his hand and let him guide me through the water. I held the gun up out of the water. I put it on the towels on the side near where he liked to sit, like I usually did.

He drew me in against his body. To have this amazingly lovely man tell me I was beautiful, and mean it, was like some kind of miracle, or karmic balance for all the people who had made me feel less than beautiful, as if I’d done my time in ugly-duckling hell and woke up to realize I was truly that graceful swan after all.

The water was deep enough that I was half floating as I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself and leaned in for a kiss. His hands were loose at my back, but we only touched each other with our hands for that first kiss. It was a thing of gentle lips, with the steam from the water touching his lips with moisture, so that it was almost like drinking to touch his lips.

He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me, but the movement drew me in to him, so that our upper bodies caressed against each other, my breasts rubbing his chest in a happy shivering movement. It was only natural for my arms to encircle his shoulders, all that long, dark hair brushing my skin as I hugged myself closer to him.

We kissed again, but this time there was more movement to it, our mouths found each other in that long-practiced sweetness. I’d mastered the art of French kissing vampires years ago, and I proved it now, as our hands grew more eager, pressing us closer together with the water swirling between us as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Our height difference meant that though my naughty bits were pressed against him, his were still inches below mine, so that it was intimate, but not as intimate as it would be.

We both heard a noise on the other side of the closed door. I reached for my gun, other arm and legs still wrapped around Jean-Claude. He rotated in the water so that I had the gun pointed at the door when it opened.

Asher hesitated in the doorway, his blue silk top hat in one hand and the other hand on the doorknob, frozen unmoving as only a vampire can be, as if there is just a stop, no breathing, no pulse or beat of life, like a statue coming through the door. Only his shoulder-length golden hair moved slightly in the air of the ventilation system. The hair hid most of his face, giving only a glimpse of pale, ice blue eyes and that most handsome of profiles, the kissable mouth.

“Knocking would be good,” I said, voice low and careful as I raised the Browning skyward and Jean-Claude rotated in the water so that I could put the gun back on the towels.

Asher blinked, and just like that he moved, and it was as if magic had breathed life into some beautiful statue. He came forward in his painted-on blue satin pants tucked into knee-high boots. The cutaway tailcoat was blue, too, and all of it made his palest of blue eyes bluer still, like early spring skies instead of winter blue. His eyes were as pale a blue as Jean-Claude’s were dark.

Asher left the door open behind him and, hat literally in hand, said, “My deepest apologies, Anita, I should have knocked, because you are always armed.” He smiled then, and it was that particular smile of his that said part of him had enjoyed barging through the door just to see what would happen. He pushed his luck, did our Asher. I had some of Jean-Claude’s memories, so I knew that Asher had pushed his luck like that for hundreds of years. He just couldn’t seem to help himself.

“If only you were truly sorry,” I said, and cuddled closer to Jean-Claude.

He smiled then, wide enough that it was almost a grin, rare for him. It made me smile, and I felt some tension ease out of Jean-Claude, as if he’d held his proverbial breath, though he wasn’t actually breathing at the moment. Now that I’d noticed it, I had to put my hand over his chest to see if I could feel his heart beat; sometimes it did, sometimes it didn’t.

He pressed my palm to his chest and I felt the slow, thick rhythm of his heart. “It beats for the two of you, both of you,” he said, smiling. The last time he’d been able to say that about Asher and another woman had been over two hundred years ago with their beloved Julianna. She’d been Asher’s human servant, where I was Jean-Claude’s, but she had loved them both, and they’d been a happy threesome for over twenty years. She’d been executed by the Church as a witch because she consorted with vampires. Jean-Claude had been in time to save Asher’s life, but too late to save the woman they loved.

Now, they were together again with me, and it was the happiest I’d seen either of them since her death, because again I had memories of the three of them together. I remembered seeing her sitting by the fire, knitting, that quiet, happy smile on her face, and I remembered loving her, and on the end of that thought was the sorrow of losing her.

“You knew I was coming to join you in the bath, or the bed, after work, Anita, so really I didn’t surprise you.” He laid his hat down on the counter by the sink and started untying the blue silk tie, unsnapping the button of his white tux shirt, and smiled down at us in the bath.

“I just wasn’t sure how soon you’d be coming, that’s all.”

“Oh, I’ll be coming, but not too soon.” He undid the cuffs of his shirt.

It took me a moment to get the double entendre, and when I did I blushed, which made me hide my face against Jean-Claude’s neck—not out of embarrassment, but because I hated that I still blushed so easily.

Jean-Claude laid a gentle kiss against my face. “I love that you still blush, ma petite.”

“I don’t,” I mumbled from against the smoothness of his neck.

Asher laughed, and it had some of the touchable, sexual energy that Jean-Claude’s could have, as if just the sound of their laughter could tease along your skin. “We both prefer our women a little innocent.”

I turned and glared up at him, but since he had his shirt flapping open and was undoing his pants, the glare didn’t last long. I managed to say, voice a little unsure, “I am not innocent.”

“Not anymore,” he said, and stripped his pants down those long legs, leaving him in a silk white thong and the open tux shirt that hung down to his hips. He looked even taller than his six foot one as he stood there; his legs went on forever before getting lost in the shirttails.

I just stared at him, wordless, struck stupid by the sight of him. I felt Jean-Claude go very still as he held me, as if he was having the same inability to think that I was having. That smile curled his lips, the one I could only describe as evil. He smiled down at us with a shining, eager, beautiful, and evil smile, put his thumbs in the front of the thong, and began to slide it down his body, watching us as he did it. He stood up with it in his hand, still wearing the unbuttoned tuxedo shirt so that it framed his groin, the cloth only a little more white than his skin. He lay soft, not ready between his legs.

Jean-Claude had to clear his throat to say, “You haven’t fed yet.”

“I knew I would have Anita waiting for me, why would I want to feed on anyone else?”

Since one of Asher’s vampire gifts was the ability to make his bite orgasmic, I couldn’t really argue with his reasoning. “Works for me,” I whispered.

“Good,” Asher said, and dropped the thong on the floor. He used those long legs to simply step into the tub and let the water come up to his waist, soaking the bottom of the white shirt. As he moved deeper into the water the cloth clung to his body and turned opaque so that it didn’t so much hide but accentuate his body like wonderful impromptu lingerie.

He went to his knees and then suddenly submerged his upper body completely so when he stood back up the shirt clung to every curve and swell of his body. It showed the lean muscle of him, the slender waist and hips, the broad shoulders, the difference in skin texture from one side of his chest and stomach to the other, because the Church that had killed their Julianna had also used holy water to try and burn the devil out of Asher. Holy water was like acid on vampire flesh, and the scars were rougher under the wet cloth, but I loved that he was willing to flaunt his body like that, all of his body. He was still using his hair to hide the right side of his face where they’d scarred him so long ago. He was a master at using his hair, shadows, to hide his scars while still showing off his unscarred half. He traced his hands down the wet cloth, and my gaze followed his hands like it was meant to do, mesmerized as he caressed down the front of his body. His hands slid down toward his groin, which was just at water level, so that when he cupped his hands to play with himself, the view was half in the water and half out. I knew what I wanted to do next.

He laughed, rich, arrogant, so happily full of himself, and he didn’t need any vampire powers to make me shiver happily. Jean-Claude shifted in the water as he held me. It made me glance at his face, to find a look that mirrored my own; we were both appreciating the show.

“I love that you both look at me like that. That you both want me.”

“Who wouldn’t want you?” I asked.

He smiled down at me then, but it wasn’t just lust in it, or even being pleased with himself; it held something more tender than either. “Thank you, ma Chou. That you truly believe that means even more. Trust me, there are those who see me as spoiled.”

“They’re fools,” I said, gazing up as he towered over us, looking like an ad for some high-class erotic magazine.

He laughed again, and this time it did hold his power, so that the sound of it danced down my body, made me shiver in Jean-Claude’s arms. But since my legs were still wrapped around his waist, it made certain parts of me rub against the solidness of his body. It made me want to rub against him, but there were other, much better ways of doing it. The possibilities with both Asher and Jean-Claude in the tub with me were almost endless. Anticipation began to do a lot of the prep work for me. Just thinking about what I’d done with them in the past, knowing their skills, sped my pulse just a little.

Asher knelt in the water so that it came to just below his nipples, which showed like slightly darker circles behind the wet shirt. I unwound my legs from Jean-Claude and the two of us moved toward Asher. We separated and came in from both sides, as if we meant to outflank him. The water that only reached their upper chests was to my chin on my knees, so that I half swam toward him.

“Who’s topping whom tonight?” Asher asked in a voice that had already gone slightly lower. He gazed at me, half lost in the water, then back to Jean-Claude, bare-chested and so close.

“I thought we’d top ma petite together,” Jean-Claude said.

They both looked at me. It was a predatory look. I stood up in the water, taller by a few inches with them on their knees. I’d done it, because being neck deep in water didn’t seem very dominant, but standing bared my breasts to the air, and to their gaze. I was caught between wanting to cover up and loving the way they looked at me. Conflicted; who, me?

I said the only thing I could think to say. “Yes.”

2

I licked water off both of them, taking turns running my mouth down their chests and stomachs, and finally ending with Asher sitting on the edge of the tub, where the marble spread out into the mirror-edged platform. I knelt in the warm, warm water, with his long legs on either side of me, while I went down on him. He still hadn’t taken blood from me, so he was limp and as small as he got as I sucked and rolled my mouth over him. I loved the feel of a man before he got big, and with most men a little oral sex and they were anything but little almost immediately. But until a vampire took blood there wasn’t enough blood pressure to have that wonderful change of texture and size, so I could suck to my heart’s content without it turning into a challenge to breathing around something much too big to go down my throat that far. I loved deep-throating, but my body didn’t always like not being able to breathe. I was able to press my mouth completely over him until my lips kissed against his body with all of him inside my mouth. It was an amazing sensation.

I rolled my eyes upward and watched Asher’s face as he stared down at me, eyes wide, breath panting, but not building to release. Until he took blood from me, there would be no release for him.

Jean-Claude had chosen to watch. He’d said, “I want to watch his face as you pleasure him, knowing he has no release until he takes blood from you.”

It so totally worked for me.

I felt the water move around me, sloshing and caressing my body, and knew before hands touched me that Jean-Claude had grown tired of watching and was about to join us. That totally worked for me, too.

He knelt in the water, and I felt enough of his body to know he was lower in the water than I’d expected. I moved back enough from Asher’s body to start to glance back at him, but he touched my face and told me, “I didn’t tell you to look, or to stop.”

Normally I wouldn’t have taken the “tell,” but he was top, which meant he was in charge, and in the bedroom I gave up that power sometimes. Sometimes it was one of the most relaxing things in the world to not be the one in charge for a change.

I turned back to Asher, one hand playing over the delicate looseness of his testicles, and lowered my mouth back over the rest of him.

Jean-Claude’s hands caressed my ass, smoothing between my thighs, spreading my legs wider. Then his fingers found my opening and, with the practice of years, he slipped a finger inside me. It made me gasp and stop, frozen with Asher buried as deep as he could go in my mouth.

“The water always makes you so very tight, but I didn’t tell you to stop. I want you to scream your pleasure with him in your mouth,” Jean-Claude said.

Asher said, “Let me take blood first, and when you bring her we will both go.”

“No,” Jean-Claude said, “I want to watch your face while her screams vibrate around your body, but you cannot have release from all that sensation.”

I rolled my eyes upward to watch Asher’s face. He looked almost pained. I rolled my mouth over him until the tip slipped from between my lips, and I kissed him there before swallowing him down again. He stared down at me with wide, almost panicked eyes, then up at Jean-Claude. “I thought we were topping Anita, not me.”

“I changed my mind,” Jean-Claude said, and he began to work his finger in and out of me until I made small helpless noises around Asher’s body, as if he were a living gag.

“Mon Dieu.” Asher breathed it out almost in a sigh.

“If you complain, I won’t let you have release,” Jean-Claude threatened, and his voice held that edge of darkness that the rare moments of sadism reared.

I watched the look of surprise on Asher’s face as he looked at him, as if he couldn’t believe Jean-Claude meant it, but whatever he saw on the other vampire’s face convinced him, because he said, “I will not complain.”

“Good,” he said, and then he made his fingers go in and out of me faster and faster, as if he were fucking me with them. The combination of Asher in my mouth and Jean-Claude’s fingers between my legs brought me screaming with my mouth pressed as tight against the front of Asher’s body as I could get.

He cried out above me, and I knew he wasn’t having orgasm with me, because he couldn’t, but the vibrations of my screams bowed his neck, made his hands clutch at the towels he was sitting on. “Please, Jean-Claude, please,” he begged.

“No.”

Jean-Claude raised my hips higher up in the water, until I was on my feet. I started to raise my face up, but Jean-Claude’s hand pressed the back of my head, keeping me where I was. “Hold her in place, your body is her gag while I fuck her. If she moves from your body I will deny you release tonight.” Jean-Claude moved his hand away, and Asher’s hand was suddenly there, pressing my head to his groin. He was soft, so I could breathe and actually stay comfortably where I was, but I couldn’t help but try to rise up. Asher let me feel the strength in his hand as he simply kept me there around his body. The strength and the force made me start to struggle, because I couldn’t help it. Then Jean-Claude moved my body and I could feel the tip of him firm and oh-so-ready as he pushed himself inside me.

I started screaming almost as soon as he began to enter me, not orgasm exactly, but pleasure. And I loved the feel of Asher in my mouth while he held me down as Jean-Claude pushed his way inside me. The combination made me struggle to get away, knowing I couldn’t, knowing I didn’t really want to, but sometimes struggling is part of the game.

Jean-Claude found his rhythm, long, deep strokes caressing over and over inside me, while Asher held me in place and his body filled my mouth. The orgasm caught me by surprise, one moment building, and the next Jean-Claude brought me screaming, raking my nails down Asher’s thighs as he held me in place while my body bucked hard enough to splash water over all of us.

Jean-Claude cried out, and I felt his body do one last hard thrust, and the sensation of him going inside me brought me again. Asher was cursing softly in French, his body the only gag to muffle my screams. I dug my nails into his thighs and smelled the sweet copper of fresh blood. I’d bled him. My eyes rolled back into my head, and only Jean-Claude’s arm around my waist and Asher’s hand on the back of my head stopped me from sinking down into the water.

“You may let her up,” Jean-Claude said in a breathless voice that showed the effort he’d just put in.

Asher let me go, and I rose up, so that I was half standing with Jean-Claude’s body still inside mine, his arm holding me upright. He wrapped his free hand in my hair and pulled me backward in one harsh movement that took my breath away and did nothing to help me regain control of my legs. He used my hair as a handle to stretch my neck to one side.

Asher pushed himself into the water, to stand in front of us, but Jean-Claude didn’t wait. He plunged his fangs into my neck, and I was left shrieking my pleasure to echo around the mirrors. I watched my face; I looked in pain, but I wasn’t. I’d had enough sex that the bite translated directly into orgasm, and I danced in Jean-Claude’s arms, writhing and twisting, while he drank me down. When he’d reduced me to eye-fluttering limpness, he used my hair to turn my head and expose the other side of my neck. “Feed.”

Asher didn’t need a second order. He pressed himself to the other side of me, his arms circling around us both, pressing himself against me as hard as he could, so that they were both holding me up. I felt his hand on my face and then his lips were on my neck. He kissed me, gently, and then he plunged his fangs into me, and his bite did what no other vampire could do: it translated directly into pleasure. One minute I was limp, trembling from the orgasms Jean-Claude had given me, and the next I was back to screaming my pleasure to the glass and marble room so that my own screams echoed back to me, as if every image of me in all the mirrors were all screaming together as I watched myself writhe, nails digging into Asher’s upper arms. His body grew thick and hard between us, so that when he pulled back from the bite I knew he was tremblingly ready.

“Now, we trade places,” Jean-Claude said. He half carried me, half pulled me through the water until he sat where Asher had started, and he let me collapse to my knees in the water. Asher caught me around the waist, and his body was hard and ready. Jean-Claude had time to push my mouth over him, but he wasn’t small; he was already growing bigger as my mouth slid over him, with his hand still wrapped hard and fast in my hair, until it almost hurt, was almost too much. He’d rinsed in the water, but I could taste myself on him, and faintly him. Then Asher slid himself as deep and sudden and hard inside me as he could. It stole my breath before Jean-Claude’s body could.

Asher was all out of patience, because he began to fuck me as fast as he could, finding a hard, fast rhythm, so that our bodies smacked together with a thick, meaty sound. Water was splashing up around us, drenching me and almost them.

Jean-Claude had done too much prep work and I orgasmed almost immediately, screaming my pleasure around Jean-Claude’s body as he pushed himself as far down my throat as he could go. And then there was no more screaming, because there was no more air to scream with. He held my head down there, his body buried as deep as possible. Waves of pleasure were still spilling over and through me as Asher pounded into me, but now my body was also trying to breathe and couldn’t, so the struggling was no longer entirely a game. I knew he’d let me up, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but my body didn’t. It just knew it needed to breathe, and it couldn’t.

“I am close,” Asher said in a hoarse, deep voice.

“Together,” Jean-Claude said. “But pause.” Asher buried himself as deep inside me as he could, but he stopped moving. Jean-Claude let me come up far enough to breathe, and asked, “Are you all right with our game, ma petite?”

I took two gasping breaths and said, “Yes, very yes.”

He smiled at me, and then forced my head back down the hard, thick length of him, until he was buried deep down my throat and I had to swallow him down because he gave me no choice. “Now,” he said, and Asher pulled himself almost out of my body and then in and out, in and out, over and over again. I felt the warmth building deep inside me, and I struggled to come up enough to tell them. Jean-Claude let me rise up enough to breathe, and then pushed me back down before I could say anything. And when his body hit that point in my throat where I had to struggle to go deeper, he pushed farther until my lips were pressed tight against the front of his body. And then Asher plunged himself in one last time and I orgasmed again, but there was no screaming this time, there was just the feel of Jean-Claude and Asher as far in my body as the two of them could get. And then they went together just like Jean-Claude had said. I swallowed that sudden hot spill of liquid because that far down my throat I had no choice.

Jean-Claude brought me up slowly off his body, as if enjoying every inch. Asher was collapsed over me, one arm around my waist and the other on the tub edge as if it were all that held him upright.

Jean-Claude leaned over and they kissed, long and tenderly, and then Jean-Claude kissed me just as thoroughly and tenderly. Asher kissed me last, his tongue licking my lips, and I knew he was tasting that saltiness that was Jean-Claude.

“Thank you, ma petite.”

When I could talk, I managed to whisper, “My pleasure.” And it had been.

Read on for a special preview of the next novel in

Laurell K. Hamilton’s

Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series

KISS THE DEAD

Available June 2012 from Berkley Books

On TV, interrogation rooms are roomy and have big windows so that you can watch everything. In reality, the rooms are pretty small, and there are almost never big picture windows; that’s why real police footage is grainy and black-and-white rather than Technicolor gorgeous. The interrogation room was painted pale beige, or maybe it was taupe, I’d always been a little fuzzy on the difference between them. Either way it was a bland color described by real estate agents as a warm neutral; they lied. It was a cold, impersonal color. The small table was all shiny metal, and so was the chair. The idea was that the prisoners couldn’t scratch their names, or messages, in the metal like they could have in wood, but whoever thought that had never seen what a vampire, or a wereanimal, could do to metal. There were plenty of scratches in the shiny tabletop, most done with just fingernails, superhuman strength, and the boredom of hours of sitting.

The vampire sitting at the small table wasn’t trying to carve his initials on anything. He was crying, so hard that his thin shoulders shook. He’d slicked his black hair back from his face in a widow’s peak that I was betting was a haircut and no more natural than the ink-black color.

He was mumbling in a tear-choked voice, “You hate me because I’m a vampire.”

I spread my hands flat on the cool metal table. My jacket’s jewel-tone blue sleeves looked too bright against the naked metal, or maybe it was the crimson nail polish. That had been for my date the night before; it looked out of place while I was U.S. Marshal Anita Blake. I counted to ten to keep from yelling at our suspect again. That was what had started the crying; I’d scared him. Jesus, some people don’t have enough balls to be undead.

“I don’t hate you, Mr. Wilcox,” I said in a smooth, even friendly voice. I had to deal with clients every day at Animators Inc.; I had a customer voice. “Some of my best friends are vampires and shapeshifters.”

“You hunt and kill us,” he said, but he raised his eyes enough to gaze at me between his fingers. His tears were tinged pink with someone else’s blood. His putting his hands over his eyes had smeared the tears around so that his face was trailed and marked with the drying pink tears. It didn’t match the perfectly arched black eyebrows, or the eyebrow ring that sat dull blue metal above his left eye. He’d probably done it to bring out the blue in his eyes, but at best they were a watery pale blue that didn’t work with the dyed black hair, and the dark blue of the eyebrow piercing just seemed to emphasize that his eyes were too pale, and matched the pink traces of blood way better than the artificial additions. I was betting he started life as a white-blond, or maybe pale, nondescript brown.

“I’m a legal vampire executioner, Mr. Wilcox, but you have to break the law to bring me to your door.”

Those pale eyes blinked at me. “You can look me in the eyes.”

I smiled, and tried to shove it all the way up into my own dark brown eyes, but was pretty sure I failed. “Mr. Wilcox, Barney, you haven’t been dead two years yet. Do you really think your weak-ass vampire mind tricks will work on me?”

“He said people would be afraid of me,” and this was almost a whisper.

“Who said?” I asked. I leaned forward just a little, keeping my hands still, trying to be pleasant and not spook him.

He muttered, “Benjamin.”

“Benjamin who?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Just Benjamin. The old vampires only have one name.”

I nodded. Old vampires had one name, like Madonna, or Beyoncé, but what most people didn’t know was that they fought duels to see who got to use the name. A powerful vampire could demand that another lesser vampire give up the use of a name he’d had for centuries, or fight for the right to keep it. I didn’t say that part out loud, because most people, even us vampire experts, didn’t know it. It was an old custom that was dying out as the modern vampires kept their last names, and duels were illegal now that vampires weren’t. Dueling was looked on the same under the law regardless of whether the participants were alive or undead. I would have bet a lot of money that this Benjamin wasn’t old enough to know the history behind vampires having only one name.

“Where can I find Benjamin?”

“I thought you were so powerful that no vampire could resist you.” There was a flare of sullen anger in his pale blue eyes. There was temper in there, under the tears.

“I would need a connection with him, someone who was metaphysically joined with him in some way, so I could follow the psychic connection. Someone like you.” I let the hint of threat ride into that last part.

He looked sullen and arrogant. “You can’t do that; no one can.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, and my voice dropped a little lower.

“You’re a U.S. Marshal, you’re not allowed to do magic on me.”

“It’s not magic, Barney. It goes under psychic skills, and law enforcement officers are allowed to use psychic abilities in the performance of their duties if they think that is the only way to prevent further loss of life.”

He frowned, rubbing one pale hand across his face. He sniffed loudly, and I pushed the box of Kleenex toward him. He took one, used it, and then gave me angry eyes. It was probably his hard look, but as hard looks go, it wasn’t. “I have rights. The new laws won’t let you hurt me without a warrant of execution.”

“And a minute ago, you were worried I’d kill you. Barney, you need to make up your mind.” I raised a hand and spread it flat in the air as if I were holding something he should have been able to see. “Am I a danger to you, or”—and I held up my other hand—“not able to hurt you at all?”

His anger sputtered down to sullenness. “Not sure.”

“The girl that Benjamin and the others took is only fifteen. She can’t legally agree to become a vampire.”

“We didn’t take her,” Barney said, indignant, slamming his hand on the table.

“Legally, she’s a minor, so it’s kidnapping, regardless of whether she went willingly or not. It’s kidnapping and attempted murder right now; if we find her too late, it’s murder, and I’ll get that court order of execution for you and Benjamin, and every other vampire that may have touched her.”

A nervous tic started under his eye, and he swallowed so hard that it was loud in the quiet room. “I don’t know where they took her.”

“The time for lies has passed, Barney; when Sergeant Zerbrowski comes back through that door with an order of execution, I’ll be able to legally blow your head and heart into bloody ribbons.”

“If I’m dead, I can’t tell you where the girl is,” he said, and looked pleased with himself.

“Then you do know where she is, don’t you?”

He looked scared then, wadding the Kleenex up in his hands until his fingers mottled with the pressure. He had just enough blood in him for the skin to mottle. He’d drunk deep of someone.

The door opened. Barney Wilcox, the vampire, made a small yip of fear. Zerbrowski’s curly salt-and-pepper hair fell around his half-open collar, his tie at half-mast with a spot of something he’d eaten smeared down it. His brown slacks and white shirt looked like he’d slept in them. He might have, but then again, his wife, Katie, could dress him neat as a pin and he still fell apart before he reached the squad room. He pushed his new tortoiseshell glasses more firmly up on his face and held a piece of paper out to me. The paper looked very official. I reached for it, and the vampire yelled, “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything, please, please don’t kill me!”

Zerbrowski drew his hand back. “Is he cooperating, Marshal Blake?” There was the slightest of twinkles in Zerbrowski’s brown eyes. If he grinned at me, I’d kick him in the shins. He stayed serious; there was a missing girl.

I turned back to Barney. “Cooperate, Barney, because once I touch that piece of paper I am out of legal options that don’t include lethal force.”

Barney told us where the secret lair was, and Zerbrowski got up and went for the door. “I’ll start the ball,” he said.

Barney stood up and tried to move toward Zerbrowski, but the leg shackles wouldn’t let him get far. It was standard operating procedure to chain vampires. I’d removed the cuffs to try to gain his trust, and because I didn’t see him as a danger. “Where’s he going?”

“To give the location to the other police, and you better pray that we get there before she’s been turned.”

Barney turned that pink-stained face to me, looking puzzled. “You aren’t going?”

“We’re forty-five minutes away from the location, Barney; a lot of bad things can happen in that amount of time. There’ll be other cops closer.”

“But you’re supposed to go. In the movies it’d be you.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t the movies, and I’m not the only Marshal in the city.”

“It’s supposed to be you.” He almost whispered it. He was staring into space, as if he couldn’t think clearly, or like he was listening to some voice I couldn’t hear.

“Oh, shit,” I said. I was around the table before I had time to really think what I’d do when I got there. I grabbed a handful of Barney’s black T-shirt and put our faces inches apart. “Is this a trap, Barney? Is this a trap for me?”

His eyes were wide, showing too much white. He blinked way too fast; the unblinking vampire stare took decades to perfect, and he hadn’t had that much time. The pale watery blue bled over his entire eye, so it was like looking at water with sun shining through it—his eyes with vampire power in them. He hissed in my face, snapping fangs at me. I should have backed off, but I didn’t. I was so used to dealing with vampires who wouldn’t hurt me that I forgot what it meant that he was a vampire, and I wasn’t.

He moved, too fast for me to blink, his arms around my waist, lifting me off my feet. I was fast enough to have time to do one thing before he slammed me down on the table. Once I would have pulled out my cross, but it was in the locker with my gun, because a new law had declared it unfair intimidation against preternatural suspects. I had a split second to choose between my only two options: Do I slap my hand on the table to take some of the impact, or put my arm against his throat to keep his fangs away from mine? I chose my arm in his throat, and I was down. The table shuddered with the force of the blow, but his arm was between my back and the table and it took some of the impact. I wasn’t stunned, good.

The vampire snarled in my face, fangs snapping; only my forearm shoved against his throat kept him from tearing mine out. I was more than human-strong, but I was a small woman, and even super-strong, I wasn’t as strong as the man pinning me to the table. He grabbed my wrist where it pushed against his throat and tried to pull it out of the way. I didn’t fight him for it; the best he was going to do was turn more of my arm into his throat. He didn’t know how to fight, didn’t understand leverage, he’d never grappled for his life—I had.

I heard the door slam open but didn’t glance at it. I had to stare into those burning blue eyes, those fangs; I couldn’t afford to look away, even for a second, but I knew the door meant help was in the room. Arms grabbed him from behind, and he snarled, rising up off me, taking his arm from behind my back so he could stand up and face them. I was left lying on my back on the table, watching the vampire hitting the men, careless blows with no training behind them, and my knights in uniform went flying. I took the moment they’d given me to roll off the other side of the table and to the floor beyond. I landed on the balls of my feet and fingertips; the heels of my Mary Jane–style stilettos didn’t even touch floor as I crouched.

I could see legs: the vampire still shackled, the other legs uniforms and slacks; police. Two of the policemen went flying. One uniform didn’t get back up, lying in a painful heap against the wall, but two other sets of legs, one uniform and one slacks, were still struggling with the vampire. The shoes with the slacks were shiny and black like they’d been spit-polished, and I was almost sure it was Captain Dolph Storr.

The vampire popped the chain on his shackles, and suddenly the fight was on. Shit! In the bad old days I could have gotten my gun from the locker where it was stored and shot his ass, but I didn’t have a warrant of execution for this vampire. Zerbrowski and I had lied to him. Without the warrant, we couldn’t just shoot him. Fuck.

I stood up in time to see Dolph’s six-foot, eight-inch frame wrapped around the much smaller body of the vampire. Dolph had his arms around the vampire’s shoulders, with his own hands behind the vampire’s head. It was a classic full nelson, and Dolph was big enough that against most humans he’d have won, but he was struggling to keep the hold on the vampire, as the uniform struggled to pin one of the vampire’s arms. Then the uniform’s face went slack, and he tried to hit Dolph in the face. Dolph saw it coming, and ducked using the vampire’s trapped head as a shield.

I yelled, “Don’t look the vampire in the eyes, damn it!” I went back over the table, sliding to the fight, because it was the quickest way I could think to get to Dolph. One of the other uniforms was struggling with the officer who had been mind-fucked by the vampire. The vampire reared back and bucked against Dolph’s hold, and his hands came loose. There was movement by the door, but the vampire was twisting in Dolph’s grip, and I was out of time to see what the backup was going to do.

I kicked the vampire in the ribs, the way I’d been taught, visualizing the kick going into the ribs, through the body, and a few inches out the other side. That was the goal I’d been taught in judo, and even now that I was taking mixed martial arts the old training kicked in, and I aimed through the ribs and the wall beyond. I forgot two things: one, that I was more than human-strong now, and two, that I was wearing three-inch stilettos.

The kick drove the vampire stumbling away from Dolph, a hand going to his ribs, as he leapt for me still on the table on my side. I kicked him again, this time aiming for the sternum, aiming to take the breath out of him, as if he’d been human and needed to breathe all the time. In a fight, you fall back on training, no matter what you’re fighting.

My foot caught him square in the chest, my stiletto sank into his sternum, and the force of the kick drove my heel upward toward his heart. I had a moment to feel the heel sink home, a second to wonder if three inches of stiletto would hit his heart, and then he reacted to the stab, and I realized there was a strap on my shoe, and my heel was stuck in his chest, because he moved away, and my foot went with him, and the rest of me slid off the table. I was short enough that I had to put my hands on the floor to keep from just dangling from his chest. There was nothing I could do to protect myself, or to keep my skirt from inching down. I had a moment of modesty fail as the thigh-highs and thong were exposed to the room. Shit! But if my modesty took the worst of it, I could live with that.

A bright white light began to fill the room. The vampire hissed and backed up. I had to hand-walk as he dragged me across the room. My heel began to slide out of his chest, my body weight finally too much for it. My foot slid all the way out as someone walked into the room with a holy object blazing white, strangely cool, as if the cold light of stars could be held in your hand. I’d never seen a holy object glow this bright when I didn’t have my own glowing along with it. It was even more impressive as I lay on the floor, tugging my skirt down, and watched Zerbrowski walk past me, hand held high, most of his body lost in the bright glow of his cross. I had afterimages of the cross in my eyes when I blinked, as if I needed a welder’s helmet. It never seemed this bright when my own cross was shining alone, but we were allowed holy objects in the interrogation room only if the vampire was under arrest for assault or murder. Then we could say we needed the protection of something that couldn’t be taken away from us like a weapon could.

Dolph offered me a hand, and I took it. There’d been a time when I wouldn’t have, but I understood that from Dolph it was a sign of respect and camaraderie, not sexism. He’d have offered Zerbrowski a hand, too.

We watched Zerbrowski drive the vampire into the far corner with the light of his faith, because a holy object doesn’t shine unless the holder believes, or the object has been blessed by someone holy enough to make it stick. There were a few priests that I wouldn’t let bless my holy water, because I’d had it not glow for me at critical moments. The Church actually surveyed the vampire executioners around the country, asking what priests had failed that test of faith. I’d felt like I was tattling.

The vampire curled into the corner, trying to make himself as tiny as possible, his face hidden between his arms. He was yelling, “Please, stop it! It hurts! It hurts!”

Zerbrowski’s voice came out of the shining light. “I’ll put it away after you’re cuffed.”

A uniform had brought in some of the new cuff-and-shackle sets that were designed specifically for the preternatural suspects. They were expensive so even RPIT didn’t have a lot of them. Barney was a new vampire; we didn’t think he was dangerous enough to need them. We’d been wrong. I looked at the one uniform still lying against the wall. Someone was checking his pulse, and he moved, groaning, as if something hurt a lot; he was alive, but not because of anything I’d done. I’d been stupid and arrogant and others were hurt because of it. I hated it when it was my fault. Hated it, fucking hated it.

The uniform had wide eyes but he went toward the vampire. Dolph and I both reached out at the same time to take the cuff set with its single solid bar connecting the hands and ankle shackles. We looked at each other.

“I was the one who took off his cuffs to play friendly cop.”

He studied my face. His dark hair, cut short and neat, was actually just long enough on top that it was mussed from the fight. He smoothed the hair in place, while he gave me serious eyes.

“Besides, the captain shouldn’t be wrestling suspects even if he’s the biggest guy here,” I said with a smile.

He nodded, and let me go first. Once he would have protected me and gone first, but he knew that I was harder to hurt than anyone in the room except the vampire. I could take a beating and keep on ticking, and he also understood without having to say anything else that I was blaming myself for it all getting out of hand. Protocol was that you left vampires completely shackled. I’d taken his cuffs off so he would talk to me. I’d been convinced I could handle a baby vampire like Barney with his hands free. We were lucky no one was dead.

Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Novels

by Laurell K. Hamilton

Guilty Pleasures

The Laughing Corpse

Circus of the Damned

The Lunatic Café

Bloody Bones

The Killing Dance

Burnt Offerings

Blue Moon

Obsidian Butterfly

Narcissus in Chains

Cerulean Sins

Incubus Dreams

Micah

Danse Macabre

The Harlequin

Blood Noir

Skin Trade

Flirt

Bullet

Hit List

Strange Candy

eSpecials

Beauty

Laurell K. Hamilton is a full-time writer. She lives in a suburb of St. Louis with her family.

Visit her official website at www.laurellkhamilton.org.