Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,130
Thomas. It's the way of things."
I shot her a look. "What?"
Lara moved a shoulder in a shrug. "Thomas pulled himself away from her at the last possible instant," she said. "Truth be told, it was after that instant. I don't know how he managed it."
"And that bothers you?" I demanded.
"It was an unwarranted risk," she said. "It was foolish. It should have killed him to draw away."
I gave her a look that managed to be both blank and impatient.
"It's the intensity of it," she said. "It's… a unification. Thomas's store of life energy was all but gone. Forcibly breaking away from a vessel—"
"From Justine," I interrupted.
Lara looked impatient now. "Forcibly breaking away from Justine was an enormous psychic trauma, and he was at his weakest. Taking only lightly and breaking the contact isn't difficult. In fact, it's normally the way of things. But he'd been feeding regularly from the girl for several years. He could draw energy from her with a simple caress. To take her fully…" Lara's eyes grew a shade paler, and the tips of her breasts tightened against her blouse. "There's no thought involved in it. No judgment. No hesitation. Only need."
"That's horrible," Murphy said, her voice a whisper. "To force that on her."
Lara's pale eyes drifted to Murphy. "Oh, no. It isn't coerced, dear officer. She was more than willing to give. When prey has been taken so many times, they stop caring about death. There's only the pleasure of being fed upon. They're eager to give more, and they care nothing about the danger."
Murphy sounded sickened. "Maybe she broke it off instead."
Lara's mouth curled into a smirk. "No. By the time my brother took enough to restore him to his senses, the girl was little more than an animal in season."
Murphy's eyes narrowed as she stared at Lara. "And talking about it excites you. That's sick."
"Have you never made yourself hungry by talking about food, Officer Murphy?" Lara asked.
Murphy scowled, but didn't answer.
"In any case," Lara said, "what Thomas did was cruel. Justine cared for him as much as any of our prey ever can. There was little left when he drew away, of her body or her mind. Strictly speaking, she survived, Officer. But I'm not sure one could say that she is alive."
"I get it," I said. "She and Thomas had… made an impression on each other. A sort of psychic bond. And you think Justine might be able to tell us where he is."
Lara nodded. "It happens when we keep someone too long. Though I'm surprised you know of it."
"I didn't," I said. "But when Bianca took Justine from him, Thomas knew that she was being held in Bianca's manor. He wouldn't say how."
Lara nodded. "If there is enough of her mind left, she might be able to lead us to my brother. I do not think he will be far from here. Father does not often travel far outside the property he controls."
Bobby reached us with the girl, and Inari ducked into the house and came out with a wheelchair. She rushed it over to Justine, and Bobby settled her into it.
I knelt down by the wheelchair. Justine lay almost bonelessly, barely holding her head up. Her dark eyes were heavy and unfocused. A small smile touched her mouth. Her eyes were sunken and her skin was almost translucent. She took slow, shallow breaths, and I heard her make a soft, pleased sound on each exhalation.
"Man," I breathed. "She looks out of it."
"Tick-tock," Murphy reminded me.
I nodded and waved my hand in front of Justine's eyes. No reaction. "Justine?" I said quietly. "Justine, it's Harry Dresden. Can you hear me?"
A faint line appeared on her forehead, though her expression did not quite become a frown. But it was something.
"Justine," I said. "Listen to me. Thomas is in trouble. Do you hear me? Thomas is in danger, and we need you to find him."
A slow shudder rolled through her. She blinked her eyes, and though they didn't quite focus, they stirred, looking around her.
"Thomas," I said again. "Come on, Justine. I need you to talk to me."
She took a deeper breath. The languid pleasure on her face faded, replaced with a portion of both sadness, and desire. "Thomas," she whispered.
"Yeah," I said. "Where is he? Can you tell me where he is?"
This time her eyes lost focus completely, then closed. Her lovely face smoothed into an almost meditative concentration. "Feel."
"Where?" Frustration threatened to overwhelm me. "What do you feel?"