Dead Ice (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter) - Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,221

grinned. “Well, then what’s your mile time?”

“On stairs?” I said.

He nodded, still grinning.

“Shit, it’s less than two miles.” I texted both of the men back using a group message, and typed, “On stairs, less than 10 ETA.”

“It’ll be a lot less,” Sin said.

I put the phone back in my pocket and started down the stairs. I was a little afraid of trying my top speed on the stone steps, but the guys needed me now. Jean-Claude had only two weaknesses: me and Asher. I said a little prayer and let myself run, really run, down the steps. I was glad I’d worn jogging shoes to work today. Sin stayed with me in his less-stair-friendly boots. He could have gotten there sooner, but he stayed with me like I’d told him to; it helped me move faster knowing that I was slowing him down, and that Nathaniel and Micah needed me with them. I prayed that Jean-Claude wouldn’t do anything too stupid before I got there, and I ran.

58

I GOT TO the bottom of the steps in a rushed breathlessness that left me stumbling. Sin caught me, or I might have fallen. I was breathing too hard to speak, my heart in my throat like a drum. Sin was looking down at me with a huge grin on his face, deep blue eyes sparkling happily. “You did good!” he said, voice excited, but completely even.

I wanted to ask how much faster he could have run it on his own but didn’t have the air to waste on it. There were two guards on the door, which wasn’t typical. One was new, but the other one was Clay, tall, blond, athletic-looking, but he’d been taken off security at Guilty Pleasures for letting underage people slip past him because one of the ladies was flirting with him and vouched for her friend. Not my favorite guard. But he led the rush toward me, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Sin answered, because I still didn’t have enough air to speak. “Micah wants Anita at the meeting.”

“So do I,” Clay said. The other guard just watched everything quietly, dark eyes taking in details. I saw him clock all my weapons, or most of them. He’d have had to pat me down to find some of them.

“How bad is it?” I managed to gasp.

“Bad enough.” He touched his earpiece, which they didn’t always wear, and said, “It’s Anita.”

The big door swung open, and I could hear raised voices before I saw that it was Dino at the door. “Glad you’re here, Anita, but he can’t come into the meeting. Jean-Claude’s orders.” He motioned at Sin.

Micah’s voice: “Anita is on her way, Jean-Claude. I’d rather wait for her before any decisions are made.”

“Why are you even here, king of cats?” Asher asked. “You’re not in my bed, or Jean-Claude’s.”

“I am in Jean-Claude’s bed a lot more than you are.”

“You little bitch,” Asher said.

I told Dino that Sin was with me, and he accepted it, because I think he was more worried about the meeting than obeying Jean-Claude’s orders. I touched the drapes that were the walls to the living room, but Sin’s long arm reached over me and held it for me. He stayed behind me, but he held the “door.” I was okay with that.

I entered the room with “I think I’m the bitch here” to find that Micah and Nathaniel were sitting in the love seat by the door with Nicky, Dev, Bram, and Domino behind them as guards. I was glad to see Domino well enough to be back on duty. Nicky and Nathaniel were still in the suits they’d worn to Sin’s awards ceremony.

“Well, you’re certainly everyone’s pussy,” Kane said, from the big white couch across the room, with Asher at his side. The vampire’s hair fell in glittering gold waves past his shoulders, and I mean gold, not yellow. I’d never seen hair that looked metallic, but his was; some mix of blond and brown had made magic, and then those eyes—a pale, icy blue so pure in color that it was a pale match to Jean-Claude’s darkest of blues. Belle Morte, their originator, had collected beautiful blue-eyed men, and these two had been two of her greatest finds. Asher had spilled that shining hair over half his face to hide the burn scars, so that he peered out at us like some sort of feral angel, showing only the perfect half of his face to the room—the face that looked down from the painting