"You smell of sickness and death."
Sabin drew his hand back inside his cloak. "I am a visiting master. It is within my rights to ask for a bit of... companionship. I could ask for you, wolf."
Cassandra growled at him.
"No one's forcing anyone into anyone's bed," I said.
"Are you so sure of that, Ms. Blake?" Sabin asked. He floated around Cassandra. The cloak brushed her, and she shuddered.
I couldn't smell him; I didn't have a werewolf's sense of smell. But I'd seen some of what was under that cloak. It was worth a shudder or two.
"Cassandra is only on loan to Jean-Claude. She belongs to the pack, so yeah, I'm sure."
Cassandra glanced back at me. "You'd protect me?"
"It's part of my job description now, isn't it?"
She studied my face. "Yes, I suppose it is." Her voice was soft, the growling like a distant dream. She looked terribly normal except for the outfit.
"You've seen what I am, Ms. Blake. Do you shudder at my touch?"
I moved down a step until I was on the floor. Better footing than the stairs. "I shook your hand earlier."
Sabin floated to the floor. The darkness faded from inside the hood. He pushed it back to reveal that golden hair and that ravaged face.
Cassandra let out a hiss. She backed up until she hit the banister. I think Sabin could have pulled a gun and shot her right that second, and she wouldn't have reacted in time.
He smiled at her. His beautiful mouth pulling the rotted flesh loose. "Have you never seen anything like this?"
She swallowed hard enough for me to hear, like she was trying not to throw up. "I've never seen anything so horrible."
Sabin turned back to me. His one eye was still a clear, pure blue, but the other had burst in the socket in a welter of pus and thinner liquid.
I did my own swallowing. "Your eye was fine yesterday."
"I told you it was virulent, Ms. Blake. Did you think I was exaggerating?"
I shook my head. "No."
His gloved hand came out of hiding once more. I remembered the way his hand had squished when I shook it yesterday. I did not want him to touch me, but there was a look in his beautiful eye, some pain on what was left of his face, that made me hold still. I wouldn't flinch. I felt sorry for him, pretty stupid, but true.
That black glove hovered beside my face, not quite touching me. The Seecamp was forgotten in my hand. Sabin's fingertips brushed my face. The glove was liquid-filled, like some kind of obscene balloon.
He stared at me. I stared back. He spread his hand over my lower jaw and pressed. There were solid things inside the glove, thicker pieces, and bone, but it wasn't a hand anymore. Only the glove gave it shape.
A small sound crawled out of my throat. I couldn't stop it.
"Perhaps I should ask for you?" he said.
I eased back out of his grip. I was afraid to move too quickly. Afraid that sudden movement might tear off the glove. I did not want to see him spill out in a flood of foul-smelling liquid. He was a horror show enough without that.
Sabin didn't try to hold me; maybe he was afraid of the same thing.
"Are you abusing my hospitality again?" Jean-Claude said. He stood on the dance floor, looking at Sabin. His eyes were pure blue light. His skin had gone pale and smooth like carved marble.
"You have not yet shown me true hospitality, Jean-Claude. It is customary to offer me companionship."
"I didn't think there was enough of you left to have such needs," Jean-Claude said.