Free Anita Blake 20 - Hit List by Laurell K. Hamilton

look, and I wondered if there was just a touch of sexual jealousy there. It wasn’t that Raborn wanted to sleep with me, but there is a type of man who feels if a woman is sleeping around he shouldn’t be left out. It’s almost not personal to the woman; it’s just a guy thing.
    “You sound jealous, Raborn,” I said. I’ve found a direct assault is best on shit like this.
    “So you admit it.”
    “Accuse me of something and maybe I will admit it, but don’t make snide remarks and tiptoe around the question; just fucking ask, or don’t.”
    He glared at me and Edward. “Fine, you want me to ask, fine! Did you fuck Forrester last night?”
    “No,” I said.
    “Bullshit,” he said.
    “We shared a room so he could keep me alive and safe, because I trust him to do that more than any other person on the planet. But you and every other son of a bitch here is going to believe what they believe, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I learned a long time ago that I can’t prove a negative.”
    “What the hell does that even mean?”
    “It means I can’t prove that I didn’t sleep with someone. It’s easier to prove you did something than that you didn’t. You know that from court cases, every cop does, but cops love rumors, they fucking love ’em, so either way, believe what you want, but if you’re not going to believe the truth, don’t ask.” I finished the last sentence pretty much up in his face, as much as the height difference would allow. I was perilously close to touching him, and hadn’t realized it. I was angry, that fine burning anger that made the tips of my fingers tingle. It was disproportionate to the situation.
    I took a step back, took a few deep even breaths, and said, “I need some air.”
    “You’re outside,” he said.
    “I need away from you, then,” I said, and I walked away. Why was I this angry? And down low in my body, lower than a gut, deeper than anything a surgeon would ever reach with a scalpel, I felt something stir. My beasts, the animals I carried inside me, were moving, responding to my rage. I couldn’t afford to lose control of myself like that. I didn’t actually shift form, but I still carried the beasts inside me, and they could still try to tear their way out of the prison of my body. I had almost gotten to the point where it didn’t happen, but now I felt the beginnings of it, and realized I’d skipped everything but coffee. Feeding the physical body helped control all the hungers, the beasts, theardeur , and the anger, because I’d learned to feed off that, too. It was something Jean-Claude, my supposed master, couldn’t do. I needed to eat something, and soon.
    Edward caught up to me. “Why’d he get to you like that?”

    “I forgot to eat real food. I need protein and I need it now.”
    “Beasts?”
    “Yes.”
    “We’ll get breakfast,” he said. He walked toward the car we were sharing, and I followed him.
    We’d have to make it quick and unhealthy, going through some kind of drive-up, but anything would help.

9
    I WAS EATING my Egg McMuffin as Edward drove. He’d gotten the breakfast burrito, which always puzzled me, but hey, it wasn’t my stomach. He’d eaten his before he put the car in gear.
    He still had that guy and cop ability to inhale food because you might not get to finish it otherwise. I’d never mastered it. If I’d been a regular cop I’d have starved by now.
    “I know the food helps,” he said, as he watched the road and drove carefully, precisely, as he did most things, “but you need to feed theardeur soon, or am I wrong?”
    “You’re not wrong,” I said, between bites.
    “You could go into any bar in the city and find someone.”
    “No,” I said.
    “You complicate your life, Anita,” he said, as he turned onto the street that the motel was on.
    “I just can’t do casual. I don’t think I ever will.”
    “I thought theardeur wiped out all that, and you just had sex.”
    “It can, but it can