Had it bothered me to see Jean-Claude and Richard with another woman? No. And then it hit me: What bothered me was that it hadn’t bothered me, and I felt vaguely like it should have, and more than that I thought Envy looked beautiful stretched between them. The thought of them doing the same to one of the other men while I watched tightened things low in my body, so I found that more titillating, but I hadn’t found Envy stretched between them unappealing. Was I having a homophobic moment? Was that really what was wrong? Or did I just think that I should have been jealous, and was surprised that I wasn’t?
I whispered into the thick fall of his hair, “I think I’m bothered that I’m not bothered.”
He drew away enough to see my face. “Two years of being with you and I actually understand that.”
I frowned at him.
He laughed. “Anita, you’ve never seen any of us with another woman. You think you should be jealous, but you weren’t.”
I shrugged, and moved a little way away from him. I took a deep breath and said, “And I’d like to see that with one of you guys in the middle, and that bothers me, and she wasn’t . . . she was beautiful.” I frowned and looked at him.
He smiled and moved toward me. “You’re bothered that you liked seeing another woman like that?”
“I think so, or I’m bothered that it didn’t bother me. Oh, hell, I don’t know.”
“Being bothered about seeing same-sex fun and games, welcome to our world.” He tried to hug me, but I stepped out of reach.
“Does it bother you?” I asked.
“No,” Nathaniel said. He came up to both of us. “We are not going to do this tonight.”
“What?” I asked.
He took me in his arms. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too,” I said, but I was studying his face, because I wasn’t sure where we were going.
“But you are trying to talk yourself out of sex.”
“I’m not,” I said, but I looked away, because he was right.
“Are, too,” he said.
I looked up and found him smiling at me. I didn’t want him to smile at me. I didn’t like the feeling that they were both more reasonable than I was. I didn’t like being treated like the difficult one. Of course, if the shoe fits . . . but this particular size-seven stiletto pinched.
“I guess I am,” I said.
“Please, don’t,” he said.
I hugged him, resting my head in the curve of his shoulder. “Something hit an issue,” I said.
He kissed my head, stroking his hand over my hair. “I know, but we need to bring Mephistopheles over.”
I raised my head and looked at him. “What do you mean, bring him over?”
“Make him yours, ours.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“It’s important, Anita.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, but I know that for me and for Damian the sex was part of the binding. We needed it to complete it. Maybe because sex is how you feed your vampire. To make him yours, you need to feed on him.”
“But . . . ,” I started to say.
Micah came in behind me. He insinuated his body against the back of mine, his arms sliding around me and as far around Nathaniel as he could reach so that I was sandwiched between them. I felt myself relax almost immediately.
Micah whispered, “We need to make certain that any new wereanimals or vampires, especially powerful ones, are completely ours, Anita.”
“Do you really think that if I’d fucked Haven sooner he wouldn’t have gotten out of control?”
They both hugged me tighter, but it was Micah who said, “I don’t know. Maybe he would have never been content with sharing you, but I know sex is the glue that binds Jean-Claude’s line of vampires together. We need to play to our strengths, sweetheart. We don’t have time to pretend we aren’t what we are.”
I tensed in their arms, started to try to push away from them, but forced myself not to. I made myself take a deep, slow breath, and another. I didn’t relax, but I didn’t fight, either.
“Tell me you don’t want to have sex with us, and we won’t have sex,” he said softly.
“You know that would be a lie,” I said, almost a whisper.
“Tell me you don’t find the weretiger attractive, and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Tell me you don’t want him, and this stops here, but if you want him the way I felt you want him, then don’t lie to yourself, or to him. Want him or don’t want him, but if you want him, let yourself want him.”
I swallowed and it almost hurt, like I was trying to swallow something hard. I turned and looked at Mephistopheles. His upper body was smooth and muscled, and beautiful. He didn’t have the muscle definition that some of the men in my life did, but the promise of it was all there in the muscled rise of his trapezius at the top of his shoulders by the wide, strong neck. He had the beginnings of a six-pack-like lines you could trace on his skin. His yellow hair was very straight, and I realized that the soft blond wasn’t just blond but had streaks of cream and almost white in it so the yellow was even more subdued. Both Pride’s and Envy’s yellow had been brighter. Mephistopheles could have passed for human easily with a different name. The name sounded like something you’d pick as a teenager when you went through the wearing-black-and-writing-death-poetry stage. It didn’t match someone who looked so college-normal.
Even his eyes with their circle of blue around the pupil and the ring of pale, pale, golden brown around the outer edge weren’t that far outside human-normal. The biggest difference was his skin’s pale gold color. It was probably permanent. But again it could be a pale summer tan.
He was one of those tall men who seem big; maybe it was the shoulders, or that wide chest, but he was someone you wouldn’t forget was physically big. Nicky and Richard were broader through the shoulders, but they hit the weights more. Mephistopheles had the potential to be a really big guy.
“You look like you’re making a list,” he said.
I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re looking at me, but you’re not seeing me.”
That was actually a smart thing to say. It made me think better of him, and of his chances of fitting in here. Smart was good, because a pretty package without it had never moved me much.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. You are handsome, cute, whatever, but I just met you minutes ago and I’m not usually that quick without metaphysical interference.”
“If the ardeur is what you need, then I’m okay with that.” He walked toward us slowly, as if he didn’t want to spook me. “Whatever you need, Anita. Whatever you want, just tell me.”
I turned but couldn’t see Micah with him at my back, and had to move out of their double hug, so I could see Micah’s face. “What did you do?” I asked.
“I just wanted someone easy to deal with, someone who wants to fit in, who wants to be here.”
“Were you thinking that while we put energy through him?”
“Yes.”
Mephistopheles said, “You said that the rest of the tigers are looking for someone who smells like home.”
I turned so I could see him. He was almost to us now. He reached out for me, again slowly, as if he were waiting for me to say, Stop. “But the gold tigers aren’t looking for a home.” His fingers traced the edge of my jaw, and when I didn’t say no, his hand slid back around my neck. His hand was big enough that he encircled the back of it with inches to spare. He was so warm.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“A master.” He began to bend over me, again slow, giving me plenty of time to protest.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Pride and some of the others said we should be our own master, that we’re stronger than most vampires in power, and maybe we are.” His face was so close that his hair spilled forward to tickle along my cheeks. “But I don’t want to be stronger than you. I don’t want to fight you. It feels like I’ve
been waiting my whole life to belong.” His mouth hovered over mine.
I whispered into his lips, “To belong to what?”
“To you,” and he kissed me. He kissed me and his mouth tasted like honey.
42
WE STARTED OUT doing something similar to what Jean-Claude and Richard had done, but we used the bed. One, I was shorter than Asher by a lot. Two, I wasn’t fast orally, and if you’re going to stand and kneel on a stone floor, you want fast. I lay back, cradled against Asher’s body. His leather pants were both soft and rough against the back of my body. He’d kept his clothes on, and technically Jean-Claude was still dressed through the foreplay we saw, but I hadn’t meant Asher to keep his. But we had a new boy in bed with us, and he was tall, athletic, and physically imposing—a lot like Richard, and Asher liked that body type. He didn’t discriminate, but his first choice was tall, athletic men. But the new guy was very interested in me. He didn’t seem to mind the other men, and liked Micah, but he wasn’t looking at the other men the way that Asher would have if we’d been without company. Richard had pegged Asher right; if he’d been more into girls he’d have been one of those men that loved to be a woman’s first. But he liked his women knowledgeable, and his men knowledgeable with women, and he got off on being a man’s first man. I had the memories to prove it. Mephistopheles was potentially exactly the kind of man Asher liked. Until he figured out what his chances were, he’d hide the scars.
It occurred to me as Micah and I helped ourselves out of our clothes that there might be another reason Asher stayed dressed. He’d had Jean-Claude the way he’d wanted him for so long, but Jean-Claude and Richard had both been enjoying the new girl, a lot. Did it bother Asher to see Jean-Claude showing such a strong preference for body parts that he didn’t have, or was I overthinking it? Maybe, but considering it was Asher, maybe not.
I got Micah out of his shirt, and he got me out of my bra, so we were still on our knees on the bed when everything waist up was bare. I ran my hands up his arms, and he moved into me so that we could press our naked upper bodies against each other. The hug turned into a kiss that started innocently enough but grew into mouth and tongue and gentle teeth.
“I don’t know where you want me,” Mephistopheles said.
It made us come up from the kiss and turn to him almost as if we’d forgotten he was there, and for a moment maybe we had. “Sorry,” I said, “don’t know what your comfort level is.”
“Comfort level about what?” he asked.
I looked at Micah and then back at Asher, who was still near the head of the bed just watching. What I could see of his face through all that shining hair was absolutely arrogantly handsome. It reminded me of the looks that Pride and Mephistopheles had been wearing earlier. Asher was hiding what he was feeling. He didn’t want to spook the new guy.
I glanced at Nathaniel, who had brought up one of the chairs from the fireplace so that he had a good view of the bed. Nathaniel shrugged and smiled.
I looked back at Micah. He said, “You can join us, Mephistopheles, anytime you want.”
He flashed a bright smile and climbed onto the bed. He was still wearing his jeans, but his shoes had gone. He crawled toward us and the bed was big enough that he had time to put a sinuous roll into it. It was graceful and lascivious, and promised sex like the air could promise rain. You just knew that anyone who could move like that would be good at it. I hadn’t yet seen anyone move like that and not live up to the promise of it.
He stayed on all fours, pushing his face against my stomach and then sniffing and rubbing just his lips ever so lightly against my skin. He kissed my breasts as he moved up my body, but it was a light kiss, until he was kneeling in front of me. Then he looked down at me and there was that heat that all men seem to have in their eyes somewhere. He leaned down and I raised my face to him. He kissed me and this time it wasn’t gentle. He kissed like Micah had kissed me, all lips and tongue and teeth. His big hands went behind my back not to hug, but to knead against my skin like a cat would. He broke from the kiss with a gasp as if he hadn’t gotten enough air. I was a little breathless myself.
“You’ve got a scar on your back. Can I see it?”
I just turned so he could. “What caused that?” he asked, and his fingertips were already touching it, tracing it delicately.
“A broken wooden stake,” I said.
“You fell on it?”
“No, a human under a vampire’s control tried to stake me.”
“I’ve got one, too, and mine’s bigger.”
“What?” I asked.
He turned around so I could see his back, and he did have a scar and it was longer, though mine was wider. Men, they’re always more impressed with length than width. Because he seemed to expect it, I traced it with my fingertips. It was a thin curve of white scar tissue from the right side to the spine.
“How’d you get cut?” I asked.
He turned around. “My cousin Thorn did it in a practice match.”
“You use real silver blades for practice matches?” I asked.
“If you don’t use silver, then you don’t know how you react to being hurt. Pain is all theory until you get hurt. You have to know how you’ll react.”
I studied his expression trying to read something behind that handsome, eager face.
Micah said, “Thorn is one of the weretigers we didn’t bring down for you to meet.”
I looked at him. “What was wrong with cousin Thorn?”
“He has a temper, and he tried treating me like I was small.”
“Oh, so not winning points with me.”
“I told Jake that Thorn could only stay if he didn’t cause problems. If he caused trouble then he’s not our problem, and he has to go,” Micah said.
Mephistopheles touched the mound of scar tissue on my left arm. “Did a wereanimal do this?”
“Vampire, same as the collarbone scar.”
He traced it with his fingertips. He touched my shoulder and the shiny flat scar there. “Gunshot,” I said.
“Silver?”
“It was before I was Jean-Claude’s human servant, so no.”
He traced the cross-shaped burn scar with the claw marks that made it slightly off-center now. “And this?”
“A vampire’s Renfield thought it would be funny to brand me.”
He traced the claw marks with his fingertips. “That’s a shapeshifter.”
“Shapeshifted witch, not a lycanthrope.”
“You mean like a magic belt made out of one of our skins?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What happened to the witch?”
“Dead,” I said.
“Are they all dead, everyone that hurt you?”
“Yes,” I said.
He looked at Asher. “Jake told us what the Church did to you. Can I see?”
Asher went very still, that still that they can do after a few hundred years, but he moved his hair to one side, showing the scars on his face to the light.
Mephistopheles knee-walked to him and, without asking, touched Asher’s face, traced the scars with his fingertips as he had mine. I knew how delicate the touch was, butterfly light. Asher showed nothing while the other man traced the scars.
“My cousin Martino is going to be so jealous.”
Asher looked at me. I said, “Jealous about what?”
“Martino thinks he’s the most beautiful man ever, but he isn’t even close to Asher. Or to Jean-Claude, for that matter, but you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Asher pulled away from him, letting his hair fall back beside his face. “You’ve just finished touching the scars; you know that’s not true.”
“The scars barely cover any of your face, just this little part.” He reached out to touch the scars again. Asher turned his head so Mephistopheles couldn’t touch them. But he was a persistent boy, and his thumb slid across Asher’s lower lip.
Asher jerked back. “Why did you do that?”
&nb
sp; “Because I wanted to,” he said, as if that made perfect sense, and I guess it did.
“I am not beautiful,” Asher said, and he started unbuttoning his shirt. He unbuttoned the tight white fabric and pulled it wide to expose both the smooth muscles and the deep runnels of scars, like a before-and-after shot.
Mephistopheles said, “Wow, that must have hurt.”
“You have no idea,” he said.
He reached out to touch it. Asher started to move back and it was Nathaniel who said, “You want him to touch you, don’t you?”
Asher shot him a not entirely friendly look, but he let the weretiger run his delicate fingers over the scars and then move his hands to the untouched side. He ran a hand up and down both sides, exploring the difference in texture. “How far down do the scars go?”
“Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?” Asher asked.
Mephistopheles looked surprised and said, “Isn’t that the idea? Aren’t we all getting out of our clothes?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel said, and he was looking at Asher. The look said clearly, Don’t blow this for yourself because you are a pain in the ass.
“Then can I see?” he asked.
Asher looked at me. I don’t know why, because I was totally out of my depth. It was Micah who said, “Don’t you want to?”
Asher looked back at me and I understood the pleading now. I crawled to him, so that I was on one side and Mephistopheles on the other. “Want some help?” I asked.
Asher nodded. I realized that he was nervous. A man he was attracted to was trying to get him out of his clothes and had called him the most beautiful man he’d ever seen; I think Asher thought it was too good to be true, and it scared him. I couldn’t blame him. I’d spent a few years watching him chase after men who didn’t like men as much as he did, and the men who liked him best he was almost disdainful of. It had been a recipe for unhappiness.
“Lie back,” I said.
Asher hesitated, and then he did what I asked, lying back against the pillows. His hair spilled out around his face and he didn’t try to hide his face. He just lay back, and I agreed with Mephistopheles. He was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen.
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