“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.