Obsidian Butterfly (An Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, Book 9)
Laurell K. Hamilton
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter backlist takes flight with a whole new look.
In her ninth adventure, vampire hunter Anita Blake owes a favor to a friend-a man almost as dangerous as the ancient evil she's about to face.
problem. I was always willing to compromise my soul if it would take out the great evil. But there always seemed to be another great evil coming down the road. No matter how many times I saved the day and took out the monster, there was always another monster, and there always would be. The monster supply was unlimited. I was not. The parts of myself that I was using up to slay the monsters was finite, and once I used it all up, there would be no going back. I’d be Edward in drag. I could save
animal form,” I said. He frowned, and it was very close to being angry. “You must honor us.” “I plan to.” I rolled the sleeve of my jacket back over my left arm. The wrist sheath had to go. I undid the straps, propping the blade, sheath and all between my legs. The monster hovered behind me, peering curiously. It was distracting me. I couldn’t save them today, and didn’t want to see it anymore until I could fix it. “Can you order it to leave the room?” He looked at me. “Scared?” “I can feel
didn’t take months to recover. What more do you want me to say?” He draped his stethoscope over his shoulders, holding onto the ends, frowning at me. “Nothing. I’ll tell Detective Ramirez that he can tell you about the case now and that you are getting out today.” He glanced at the flowers and the balloons. “You’ve been here, what, five days?” “Something like that.” He touched a balloon, making them bounce on their strings. “You work fast.” “I don’t think it’s me that works fast.” He gave
I said softly. I closed my eyes again. It was so hot, so very hot. With my eyes closed, I could hear the hiss of the oxygen, the whisper of the nurse’s booties as she came towards us, and small sounds from the bed as he twitched and strained against padded restraints at his wrists and ankles. Restraints? I’d seen them but hadn’t really registered them. All I could see was the body. Yes, body. I couldn’t keep thinking of the man as a “he.” I had to distance myself or I was going to lose it.
The dark-haired woman got the strap to slide over the smooth bone of his hip, and the blonde used it as a chance to plunge her hand under the cloth. His eyes closed, head going back, body reacting automatically, even as his hand grabbed her hand and tried to pull her hand out of his pants. Apparently, she was hanging on, not hurting him exactly, but not letting go. I doubted the club would have tolerated this level of abuse if the performer had been a woman and the audience member a man. Some