I shrugged. "Relief that it wasn't me. Triumph that I was faster, meaner." I shrugged again. "It doesn't bother me to kill people, Richard. It just doesn't."
"Did it once?"
"Yes, it used to bother me."
"When did it stop bothering you?"
"I don't know. Not the first death, or the second, but when it gets to the point that you can't keep track of them all... It either stops bothering you or you find another line of work."
"I want it to bother me, Anita. Killing should mean something other than blood, and excitement, or even survival. If it doesn't, then I'm wrong, and we are just animals." His body reacted to the thought, too. And he did not find it exciting. He looked vulnerable and afraid. I wanted to tell him to get dressed, but I didn't. He'd chosen to be na**d very deliberately, as if to prove once and for all that I didn't want him, or that I did.
I didn't much like tests, but it was hard to bitch with the fear in his eyes. He'd walked away to stand in front of the bed. He rubbed one hand up and down the opposite arm as if he were cold. It was May in Saint Louis. He wasn't cold, at least not that kind of cold.
"You aren't animals, Richard."
"How do you know what I am?" And I knew that he was asking the question more of himself than of me.
I walked over to him. I took the Firestar out of the front of my pants and laid it on the night stand beside his cut glass lamp. He watched me do it, eyes wary. Almost like he expected me to hurt him. I was going to try very hard not to do that.
I touched his arm, gently, where he was rubbing it. He froze under my touch. "You are one of the most moral people I have ever met. You can kill Marcus and not become a ravening beast. I know that, because I know you."
"Gabriel and Raina kill and look what they are."
"You aren't like them, Richard. Trust me on that."
"What if I kill Sebastian or Marcus, and I enjoy it." His handsome face was raw with terror at the thought.
"Maybe it will feel good." I gripped his arm tighter. "But if it does, there's no shame in that. You are what you are. You didn't choose it. It chose you."
"How can you say there's no shame in enjoying killing something. I've hunted deer and I love it. I love the chase, and the kill, and eating the warm meat." As before, the thought excited him. I kept my eyes on his face as much as possible, but it was distracting.
"Everyone has different things that flip their switch, Richard. I've heard worse. Hell, I've seen worse."
He stared down at me like he wanted to believe me and was afraid to. "Worse than this." He lifted his right hand from its grip on his arm, he held his hand in front of my face. His power prickled over my hand, down my arm, until I gasped. It was force of will alone that kept my hand on his arm.
His fingers elongated, stretching impossibly long and thin. The nails grew into heavy claws. It wasn't a wolf hand, rather his own grown into a claw. Nothing else had changed that I could see. Only that one hand.
I was having trouble breathing, for different reasons than before. I stared at the clawed hand and realized for the first time that he was right. Watching the bones in his hand stretch and pop sickened me, scared me.
I kept my hand on his arm, but I was shaking. I found my voice, and it shook, too. "I saw Raina do that once. I thought it wasn't a common ability."
"Only Raina, Marcus, and I can do it within our pack. We can partially change at will."
"That's how you stabbed Sebastian last night."
He nodded, eyes searching my face. I was fighting to keep it blank, but what he saw there wasn't reassuring enough. He turned away from me, and I didn't have to see his eyes to feel the pain.
I grabbed his hand and wrapped my fingers around those long, thin bones. I felt muscles under my hands that had never been in Richard's hand before. It took everything I had to hold that hand. To touch him like that. Everything. The effort left me shaking and unable to meet his eyes. I didn't trust what he'd see in them.
He touched my chin with his other hand and turned me slowly to face him. He stared down at me. "I can taste your fear, and I like it. Do you understand? I like it."
I had to clear my throat to talk. "I noticed," I said.
He had the grace to blush. He bent slowly to kiss me. I didn't try to stop him, but I didn't help, either. I usually rose on tiptoe to meet him halfway. I stood there, too scared to move, forcing his tall body to bend at the shoulders, to fold down towards me. The long, thin-fingered hand that I was holding convulsed around me, the claws playing lightly on my bare forearm.
I tensed, and his power poured over me. I held onto his hand while the muscles and bones slid back into place. I held on with both hands while his hand re-formed under mine. My skin shuddered with the spill of power.
His lips brushed mine, and I kissed him back, almost swaying. I let go of his hand, my fingers brushed his bare chest, playing over his hardened ni**les. His hands slid around my waist, fingers kneading upward, over my ribs, along my spine. He whispered into my mouth, "You're not wearing anything under this T-shirt."