He let me go, and started for the door, Asher at his side.
«It seems wrong to keep kicking you out of your own bed,» Micah said.
Jean-Claude turned back, and said, «Ma petite is not comfortable when I die at dawn. We will respect her sensibilities in this tonight. She has had enough shocks for one night.»
Asher slipped his arm through Jean-Claude's. «We'll be in my room.» I'd seen them arm in arm a hundred times. I'd sent them off to bunk in Asher's room dozens of times. But for the first time, I wondered what they would do once they got there. Would they have sex? Would they do with each other what Jean-Claude and I did with Auggie? Did the thought bother me? I wasn't sure.
Micah looked at me. «Damian doesn't die at dawn if he's with you. Shouldn't we find out if the same applies to Jean-Claude?»
«Don't push me, Micah.» I felt almost frantic with the need for some kind of normality tonight. My voice didn't sound frantic, it sounded angry.
«He can sleep on the other side of me, so if he dies at dawn, you won't be touching him.»
I shook my head. «Why is this so important to you? Why tonight?»
«I do think we need to find out if Jean-Claude has gained some of the same powers Damian has, but truthfully, Belle Morte had a harder time controlling you once he touched you. I'd like to keep him close to you tonight, just in case.»
I blinked at him, then sighed. «Practical as always,» I said.
«Eminently practical,» Asher said. He let go of Jean-Claude's arm. «I will go to my lonely bed.»
«Asher,» I said, «please, I can't deal with any more hurt feelings tonight.»
He smiled at me, and came back to me. He hugged me, gently, and gave me an almost brotherly kiss on the forehead. «I will not cause either of you more distress tonight. But I would like a chance to test this theory of vampires in the day. If it works for our Jean-Claude, then perhaps it might work for me.»
«It only works for Damian if Nathaniel is in the room. I think without Richard it won't work for Jean-Claude either.»
Asher stepped back, gave that Gallic shrug, and went for the door. He waved at us lightly, but I had too many centuries' worth of memories of his body language, thanks to Jean-Claude's memories. Asher was bothered. I guess I couldn't blame him. He was the only one kicked out of the room. But I didn't call him back. I didn't really want to have one corpse in the bed, let alone two.
I turned back to the corpse in question. He stood there in his elegant robe. A triangle of his chest showed, so pale, surrounded by the black of the fur lapel. His hair was a foam of curls, softer than mine.
Tiredness came over me in a wave. No, it wasn't being pregnant, it was just everything. I had had all I could handle for one night.
Micah hugged me from behind. Nathaniel came to stare down at me. He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. He gave me the gentlest of smiles, then said, «You're beat.»
I nodded, his fingers still under my chin.
He kissed me on the mouth, still gentle, no demand to it. He took my hand and started leading me toward the bed. Micah let his arm fall away but kept my other hand, so that Nathaniel led us both to the bed.
The bed was draped in red tonight. Crimson, from the curtains that graced the four posts to the mounds of pillows. The sheets underneath the bedspread either would match the rest perfectly, or would be some high-contrast color. Once upon a time Jean-Claude's decoration had been exclusively black and white. I'd complained. I still remembered the first night I'd seen the bed draped in red. I'd stopped complaining about the monochrome color scheme after that, afraid of what he might do next.
Nathaniel had to let go of my hand to wiggle the coverlet out from under the mound of pillows. The sheets were black, like a splash of darkness in all that red. Some of the smaller pillows would get piled in the room's two chairs, beside the false fireplace. Thanks to modern technology it could actually make flames, but in all the time I'd been with Jean-Claude I'd never seen anything in the fireplace but an antique fan framed behind glass.
Nathaniel and Micah went back and forth like busy ants until the seats were piled high with pillows, and there were still plenty left on the bed.
Jean-Claude had come to stand on the other side of the bed from me. We stood there staring across the expanse of red and black silk. When I say expanse, I mean it. The bed was larger than a king-size. Orgy-size is what I'd started calling it, but I hadn't actually shared that with Jean-Claude. I didn't mean to imply anything about what he was doing when I wasn't here. The bed was just the biggest one I'd ever seen. Then I realized, that wasn't entirely true. Belle's bed was this size. I really wished I hadn't thought of that. Suddenly I was cold.
«What is wrong, ma petite?» he asked.
I shook my head. I didn't want to share the observation, as if talking about it would make it more true.
Micah and Nathaniel came back to the bed. Micah stopped and looked from one to the other of us. Nathaniel started unbuttoning his shirt.
«I think you might want to wait on that,» Micah said, still looking from one to the other of us.
Nathaniel kept unbuttoning. «They'll work it out.» He slipped the shirt off, and went for the large armoire. It was dark rich wood that matched the bed. Nathaniel opened it, and started hanging up his shirt. The armoire was empty except for our extra clothes. Nathaniel's, Micah's, mine. Jean-Claude had a room the size of a small warehouse that was full of clothes. He'd started hanging an outfit at a time in the armoire, but he still kept his room as clean and empty as he could. He'd gotten in the habit when he used to entertain strangers on a regular basis. You don't keep things you value in a room where you're going to have one-night stands. Jean-Claude didn't do one-night feedings and fucks now, but old habits die hard. Vampires, I'd found, once they have a habit, really don't like giving it up. Old dogs, new tricks, that sort of thing.
Nathaniel came back to the bed wearing absolutely nothing. I had one of those moments of discomfort. I'd seen him nude more times than I could count. I'd seen him nude in front of Micah and Jean-Claude more times than I could count. So why was I blushing?
Nathaniel climbed into the bed, pulling the sheet up just enough to keep me from yelling at him. Left to his own devices I think Nathaniel would have been nude all the time. He lay back against the red and black pillows. His hair was still in its braid so that his face was framed by all that black and red silk. His face had started to fill out; bone structure that had only been a promise six months ago was somehow more real, more masculine. He was moving from the pretty handsomeness that some young men get, to the more handsome handsomeness that most of them grow into. He'd also grown nearly an inch taller in the six months we'd been together. At twenty he was growing into what some people hit at seventeen, or earlier. Genetics is a wonderful and confusing thing.
He smiled at me, and the smile was all male. That pleased smile that said he knew I was looking at him, and how much he liked the effect he had on me. He'd been in my bed for half a year, naked in it for about a month, and I was still staring at him as if it were the first time.
It made me blush and look away.
«Come to bed, Anita,» he said, «you know you want to.»
The anger was instantaneous. I wasn't blushing when I raised my eyes back to him. «I don't like being taken for granted, Nathaniel.»
He sighed, and sat up, putting his muscular arms around his knees. «Don't let the whole baby thing push you back. You've made a lot of progress in your comfort zones, don't lose ground now.»
«And what exactly is that supposed to mean?» I asked, hands on hips, glad to be angry. Anger was so much better than sad, or scared, or embarrassed.
His lavender eyes went all serious, not scared, or worried, but grown-up serious. «Are you really going to make us do this?»
«Do what?» I demanded.
He sighed, and said, «Why is my being nude bothering you?»
I opened my mouth, closed it, and finally said, quietly, «I don't know.» That was the truth; stupid, but the truth.
Micah came to me, touched me tentatively. I went to him, wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me close, and I turned my face in against his neck, so I could smell the warmth of him. Just the smell of his skin made something hard and cold inside me loosen. I breathed in the scent of him, and underneath the smell of clean skin and aftershave, Micah had that nose-wrinkling smell, an almost sharp smell, of leopard. The smell of home.