Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter #11 - Cerulean Sins by Laurell K. Hamilton

Author:Laurell K. Hamilton [Hamilton, Laurell K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

30

CALEB HAD CLIMBED into the back of the Jeep to get the plastic I’d started carrying, for when I transported something messier than chickens, and spread it on the seat so Nathaniel could drive. I’d tried to insist on driving but Jason had growled at me. He had a point, I wasn’t feeling my steadiest. Nathaniel, his eyes bled back to their normal lilac, had told me, “You passed out. You stopped breathing. Jason shook you, and you did this sort of gasp.” Nathaniel shook his head, face very serious. “We had to keep shaking you, Anita. You kept not breathing.”

If they’d been human I might have argued with them, that they only thought I’d stopped breathing, but they weren’t human. If a bunch of shape-shifters were unable to hear or see me breath, I had to believe them.

Had Mommy Dearest tried to kill me? Or had it been accidental—or incidental? She wouldn’t have meant to kill me, but she might have done it by accident. And I’d touched enough of her thinking to know it wouldn’t bother her. She wouldn’t be sorry, she would feel no guilt. She didn’t think like a person, or rather she didn’t think like a nice, normal, civilized human. She thought like a sociopath—no empathy, no sympathy, no guilt, no compassion. In a strange way, that must be a very peaceful existence. Did you need more emotions than she possessed to be lonely? I’d think so, but I really didn’t know. Lonely was not a word I would have applied to her. If you didn’t understand the need for friendship or love, could you be lonely? I shrugged and shook my head.

“What is it?” Nathaniel asked.

“If you don’t feel love or friendship, can you be lonely?”

He raised eyebrows at me. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“We’ve all just brushed up against the Mother of all Vampires, and she’s more like the Mother of All Sociopaths. Human beings are rarely pure sociopaths. It’s more like they’re missing a piece here and there. True, pure sociopathy is really pretty rare, but Mommy Dearest qualifies, I think.”

“It doesn’t matter if she’s lonely,” Caleb said.

I glanced back at him. His brown eyes were very large, and underneath his fading tan he was pale. I sniffed the air before I could think, and the car was a playground of scents; the sweet musk of wolf, the clean vanilla of Nathaniel, and Caleb. Caleb smelled . . . young. I wasn’t sure how to explain it but it was as if I could smell how tender his meat would be, how fresh his blood. He smelled clean, the scent of some lightly perfumed soap coated his skin, but underneath was another scent. Bitter and sweet all at the same time, the way blood is salty and sweet at the same time.

I turned as far as the seat belt would allow and said, “You smell good, Caleb, all tender and scared.”

He was the true predator, not me, but the look he flashed me was all prey—huge eyes, face soft, lips opened just a breath.

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