"Sure." I'd forgotten about the girls. I'd forgotten about Jeff Quinlan. I'd have traded them all for Jean-Claude to blink his eyes at me. Not if the choice had been offered to me as an either-or, but just now they were strangers. He wasn't.
"More blood, maybe," Jason said softly.
I looked at him. "You offering?"
"Neither of us can feed him back to full strength without dying, but I'll help," he said.
"You fed him once tonight already. Can you donate twice?"
"I'm a werewolf. I heal quick. Besides, my blood has more kick to it than a human's, more power."
I really looked at him then. He was covered in slime. A big black smear covered most of one cheek. His blue eyes didn't look wolfish; they looked haunted, hurt. There are things that harm a lot more than physically.
I took a deep breath and slid one of my knives out of its sheath. I sliced my left wrist. The pain was sharp and immediate. I placed the wound against Jean-Claude's lips. Blood welled into his mouth. Blood filled his mouth like wine pouring into a cup. It seeped out the corner of his mouth and slid down his cheek. I stroked his throat to make him swallow the blood.
How he'd laugh to know I'd finally opened a vein for him. More blood spilled from his unresponsive lips. Dammit.
I breathed into his mouth and got a taste of my own blood. I made his chest rise, breathing in my own blood. I thought one word at him: Live, live, live.
A shudder ran through the body. The throat convulsed, swallowed. I pulled back from him. He caught my wrist as I moved it back from his chin. His grip hurt. I could feel that unnatural strength that could break bone. His eyes were still closed; only the grip on my wrist let me know we were making progress.
I put a hand on his chest. He wasn't breathing on his own yet. No heartbeat. Was that bad? Good? Indifferent? Hell, I didn't know.
"Jean-Claude, can you hear me? It's Anita."
He raised up in a small motion and pressed my bleeding wrist to his mouth. He bit me, and I gasped. He used both hands to press my wrist to his mouth and sucked me. In the middle of sex it might have felt good; now it just hurt.
"Damn," I said.
"What's wrong?" Larry asked.
"It hurts," I said.
"I thought it was supposed to feel good," the blonde girl said.
I shook my head. "Not unless you're under hypnotic control."
"How long will this take?" Larry asked.
"As long as it takes," I said. "Watch the door."
"Which one?"
"Oh, hell, just shoot anything that comes through it." I was feeling lightheaded. How much had he drunk?
"Jason, I'm getting a little woozy here." I tried to pull my wrist free, but his hands were like iron forged to my skin. "I can't get him off."
Jason pulled at the pale hands, but couldn't budge them. "I could tear the fingers off one at a time and get you loose, but..."
"Yeah, Jean-Claude would be pissed." Dizziness was coming in waves, nausea starting to build in the pit of my stomach. I had to get him off me.
"Let go of me, Jean-Claude. Let go of me, dammit!"
His eyes were still closed, his face blank. He fed like a baby with single-minded determination, but this baby was draining my life away. I could feel it going down my arm. My heart was beginning to pound in my ears as if I'd been running, pumping the blood faster. Feeding him faster. Killing me faster.
Spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The darkness beginning to eat the light. I drew the Browning.
"What are you doing?" Jason asked.