"Anita, please, please!" Richard again.
"She will kill you if she can. She will kill you from the grave itself, Anita. Stop fighting. Embrace it, or it will destroy you."
I screamed, "No!" Then, suddenly, I could see again. I stared up into the tree-lined darkness. There was a sparkle of moonlight through the leaves. It seemed as bright as sunlight, only softer. I lay very still, blinking up at them all. Richard had my shoulders pinned. Verne had my legs. Shang-Da had my right arm. Lucy had my left. I'd been having convulsions. I remembered that.
Marianne was kneeling near my face, keeping my face still between her hands. "Anita?" she made it a question.
"I'm here." My voice was quiet but clear. I felt light and empty, but not alone. I wasn't fooled. The munin hadn't left. It wasn't finished.
"Is the munin gone?" Richard asked.
Marianne shook her head. "It's still here."
It made me think better of her that she wasn't fooled.
"Do we let her up?" Verne asked.
"Anita?" Marianne asked me.
"Let me up."
They let me go, slowly, as if almost afraid. Afraid of me or for me, I wasn't sure which. They moved away from me. Only Richard stayed kneeling. I leaned my back against him and let him hold me in his arms. I closed my eyes and let him take it all away for just an instant. I'd never had anyone's arms feel as safe as his. No one's.
My leg brushed something in the leaves. I pulled away from him enough to find my knife. I sheathed it.
From across the small clearing, Jason said, "Here's the other one." He held it up by the blade.
I went to him, taking the blade from his hand. I could feel all of them watching me. Like I was something new and uncertain that had just appeared. I sheathed the second blade.
Jason grinned up at me. "Don't take this wrong, Anita, but someday I'd like to do that for real."
"Why not tonight?" I said.
Jason stared up at me. "What did you say?"
I walked back across the clearing. I felt their eyes following me as I moved. I smelled of blood and power and flesh, and there was nothing better than that for attracting werewolves.
Richard stood there in his jeans and T-shirt. His hair foamed around his shoulders, a soft, rich brown in the moonlight.
I grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and forced his face low enough for me to kiss. The kiss was long and full, and he tasted all the blood I'd had. Every skin I'd touched. I pulled his shirt out of his pants in a long motion, running my hands across his bare stomach, across the smooth hardness of his chest.
He grabbed my arms and pulled my hands away. "What's wrong with you?"
"Is she not good enough for you either?" It was Lucy striding towards us. Her impressive br**sts strained against the white material of her halter top. Either she had very large ni**les or she was cold, because the outline of her ni**les was clear, even in this dim light.
I stared up at Richard. I'd been sleeping with Jean-Claude. He'd been sleeping with Lucy and Mira -- mustn't forget Mira. It was fair that he had other lovers. Really. But I hated it and hated me for minding. Hated me for wanting him. Hated me for being with Jean-Claude and not being happy with it. Hated me for knowing that even if I'd been with Richard instead, I'd have been missing Jean-Claude. I was f**ked no matter what I did.
I knew as I stared at her that the hands that held my arms with such tender strength had cupped those large, round br**sts. I knew that she'd touched him, all of him. That she'd held him na**d inside her. And I knew jealousy so strong that the only word for it was hate.
I pulled away from Richard and unsheathed one of the knives.
Shang-Da moved forward as if to step between us, but Richard stopped him and made him step back. He just stared at Shang-Da until he stepped out of reach, but you could tell from his face that he was really unhappy about it. I didn't blame him. Richard turned back to me, stared at me, but made no move to protect himself. I don't know if he didn't believe I'd hurt him or was sure I couldn't. I was sure I could.
My hand was already on the downward stroke before I could stop myself. I sliced through his shirt, not deep, but the wound bled.
He winced, eyes so lost, hurt. Fuck him.
Shang-Da was there, and it was Richard who struggled with him. Richard who kept him from grabbing me, disarming me, hurting me.