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"So this little demonstration is out of the kindness of your heart," I said, and let my tone say how little I believed that.
"He's tried to tell you, duckie, but you didn't understand."
"I'm not sure I understand now," I said.
"But did it help, my little show?"
I wanted to say no, but it would have been a lie. Most vamps could smell or feel a lie, so why bother? "Hate to admit it, but yeah, it helped. Don't pull shit like this again, but you've made your point."
"Have I?" he said, sliding lower on the couch, so that he and Nathaniel were more intertwined. If it bothered Nathaniel to be that up close and personal with a naked man, it didn't show. Okay, a naked man who wasn't one of our sweeties. Had just a little hair pulling made him like Byron that much? Was Nathaniel's need that great, or had I just neglected his needs that much?
Byron hadn't done anything that I wasn't willing to do. He hadn't done anything bad. Would it be so bad to just tie Nathaniel up and have the sex we would have had without the tying up? Was that so awful? I looked at the two men, cuddled together, the look of peaceful contentment on Nathaniel's face, and realized that I'd been arrogant. I'd assumed that if our relationship ended, it would be me doing the ending. That I'd dump him for being too needy, or too something. In that instant I realized that he might dump me for simply not trying hard enough to meet his needs. The thought made my chest tight. I loved him, I really did. I could not imagine my life without him. So what was I willing to do to keep him? How far would I go, and did I need help to get there? I'd had sex with Byron once before. I'd fed the ardeur off him. Could Byron teach me how to dominate Nathaniel? Maybe, maybe not. But his little show had proved one thing: that I needed someone to show me how Nathaniel worked. I would never have dreamed that simply pulling his hair, putting a little force behind it, would get such an amazing reaction out of him.
"You look like you're thinking too hard, lover."
"I'm thinking about your little show; isn't that what you wanted?" I asked.
"I wanted it to excite you, but that's not excitement in your eyes." It was his turn to frown.
"She is not easily captured," Requiem said.
"She likes two men at once."
"Not just any two men," Requiem said, "just as she does not prefer just any single man."
"You're talking about me like I'm not here; I really hate that," I said.
"Sorry, duckie, but I was hoping that the sight of Nathaniel and me together would do something for you."
"It puzzled me."
Byron laughed, and it made his face look younger, gave you a glimpse of what he might have been at a human fifteen when a vampire found him and made sure he'd never see sixteen. "Puzzlement wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
I shrugged. "Sorry."
He shook his head. "Not your fault, dearie. I don't do it for you."
"I don't do it for you either," I said.
He laughed again. "The sex was lovely."
"But you'd have liked it better if it had been Jean-Claude."
A look slid through his eyes. He actually looked down, lowering his eyes in a show of coyness to hide the look. When he raised his gaze to me again, it was that smiling blankness that he hid behind. "Jean-Claude loves you, duckie; he's made that abundantly clear."
I might have asked what he meant by that, but the door opened and the vampire in question glided through. His clothes had just looked dark in the club; his usual black. The clothes were black, but they weren't usual.
He was wearing a tuxedo complete with tails - though once you made it out of leather, was it still a tuxedo? Braces like silk suspenders slid over the bare flesh of his chest. I stared at that bare skin the way some men stare at a woman's breasts. It wasn't like me. I mean, it was a nice chest, but to stop there and not look at his face was just wrong. Because as nice as the chest was, the face was better. I raised my gaze to that face. The hair fell past his shoulders in black curls. The line of his neck was encircled with a black velvet ribbon and a cameo I'd bought for him. Up to the kissable curve of his mouth, the curve of his cheek like a swallow's wing, all grace and... Swallow's wing? What the hell did that mean? I would never have described anyone's jawline like that.
"Ma petite, are you well?"
"No," I said, softly, "I don't think I am."
He moved closer and I had to move my eyes upward, had to meet that midnight blue gaze. It was like back at the movies when I'd first seen Nathaniel. I was too fascinated, too taken with him. I actually had to close my eyes so the vision of him didn't distract before I could say, "I think someone's messing with me."
"What do you mean, ma petite?"
"You mean like at the movie theatre," Nathaniel said. His voice was closer than the couch. He must have moved toward us.
I nodded, eyes still closed.
Jean-Claude's voice came from right in front of me. "What happened at the theatre?"
Nathaniel explained. "She had to get her cross out before it got better."
"But I'm wearing my cross now," I said.
"It's inside your shirt now. It was in plain sight before," Nathaniel said.
"That shouldn't matter unless the vampire is in the room with me."
"Try bringing it into the light," Jean-Claude said.
I opened my eyes a crack, glancing at him. He was still heartrendingly beautiful, but I could think again. "That shouldn't matter for this." I stared up into his face, straight into those wondrous eyes. They were just eyes, beautiful, captivating, but not literally. "It's gone again."
"What's going on, duckies?" Byron asked. He walked up to us, looking from one to the other.
"Lisandro, leave us," Jean-Claude said.
Lisandro seemed to think about protesting, but he didn't. He just asked, "Do you want me to stay on the door, or go back to the club?"
"The door, I think," Jean-Claude said.
"Don't our guards need a heads-up?" I asked.
"This is not the business of the rodere."
"Lisandro raised a point before you came in, that if we're going to endanger them, they have a right to know why."
Jean-Claude looked at Lisandro. It was not a completely friendly look. "Did he?"
Lisandro gave him a flat look back. "I was talking about when Anita picks another animal to call, nothing about your orders, Jean-Claude."
"All that concerns ma petite concerns me." There was a dangerous purr to his voice.
Lisandro shifted a little and visibly let out a breath. "No offense, but don't you want her to pick a stronger beast next time? Someone who will help your power base?"
Jean-Claude stared at him, and Lisandro fought to both look at the vampire and not look - a trick that I'd mastered over the years, but was glad I'd become powerful enough to give up. So hard to be tough when you can't look someone in the eyes.
"Is my strength the concern of the rats?" Jean-Claude asked.
"Yes," Lisandro said.
"How?" One word, flat and unfriendly.
"Your strength keeps us all safe. The wererats remember what St. Louis was like when Nikolaos was Master of the City." Lisandro shook his head, face darkening. "She didn't protect anyone or anything but the vampires. You think about the entire preternatural community, Jean-Claude."
"I think you will find it is ma petite who thinks of such things."
"She's your human servant," Lisandro said. "Her actions are your actions. Isn't that what the vampires believe, that their human servants are just extensions of their masters?"
Jean-Claude blinked and moved farther into the room, collecting me by the hand as he moved. "A pretty conceit, but you know that ma petite is her own person." His hand in mine felt solid, real, and the world was suddenly safer. Just the touch of his hand and I felt more myself.
"Whatever or whoever is messing with me is still here," I said, "around the edges somehow, but still here."
"What do you mean, ma petite?"
"When you touched me, I felt more solid. Your touch chased back a fuzziness I didn't even know was there."
He drew me in against his body, so that it was almost a hug. I caressed the butter softness of his leather lapels. "Is that more solid still?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Try touching skin to skin," Requiem said.
He had stayed in the chair by the desk. We'd moved until we were close to him, not intentionally, at least not on my part.
I kept one hand in Jean-Claude's, but the other I put against his bare chest. The moment I touched that much of his skin, it was good. "Even better," I said. I traced my hand over the smooth, firm muscles of his chest. I traced the cross-shaped burn scar. Better still.
"Why did you want to speak to Byron and me, Jean-Claude?" Requiem looked up at us, his face fighting for blankness but failing around the edges. He reclined in the chair, body at ease, but his eyes gave him away: tight, careful.
"You've seen this before, haven't you?" I asked.
"Once," he said, his voice more neutral than his eyes.
"When?" I asked.
He looked at Jean-Claude. "The wererat should leave."
Jean-Claude nodded. "Go, for now, Lisandro. If we can tell you more, we will."
Lisandro looked at me as he left, as if he thought I was the one most likely to tell him the truth later. He was right.
