by Kallysten
As soon as they walked out of the room, Blake picked up the phone with one hand, his other hand already dialing the number he had memorized. The tone only rang once.
"They're out,” he said without any sort of greeting, and hung up right away.
Turning around to look at the room critically, he reviewed his battle plan. Lighting first, then he'd change the standard issue, low-thread-count cotton sheets to something a little more decadent. It hadn't been easy to find in this small town, not any more than the dress, the shoes, or the jewelry, but Blake had had a bit of cash squirreled away and this had been as good an occasion as he could imagine to spend it. He hadn't found any strawberries; a couple of traders had actually laughed in his face when he had asked. Even on the verge of destruction, though, humans had not abandoned making fine wine, and champagne, although expensive, had been easy to procure.
Mere minutes passed before he opened the door in response to a timid knock. Simon was standing behind the door, clutching his leather bag to his chest. He gulped as Blake motioned for him to enter, looking more scared than Blake had seen him in a long time. He took a small step forward, but did not pass the threshold.
Blake tapped his foot. “Come on, you're not losing your nerve, are you?"
Simon took another small step. “She'll know it's me.” He looked back as though speaking of Kate would make her appear behind him. “If she doesn't like it, she'll kill me!"
Snickering, Blake grabbed his arm and pulled him in. The door closed with a soft click behind them. “One,” he said, raising his forefinger, “she'll blame me, if anyone. Two, she doesn't have it in her to kill a human. Three, you promised."
Simon frowned as he pushed at Blake's hand. “Don't bat your eyelashes like that,” he muttered. “It's not fair. Plus, I'm completely over you."
It wasn't the first time Simon had claimed as much, but he still didn't sound all that convinced himself. Blake decided not to point this out, though, not now that Simon was finally walking further into the room and setting his bag on the edge of the bed.
"Good,” he said absently, watching the various powders and herbs Simon was pulling out of the bag. Even closed, the containers each had a distinctive smell, and mixed together these scents tickled Blake's nose until he rubbed it with the back of his hand. “So you're still going out with that kid, then?"
He picked up a jar filled with a fine, golden powder and shook it curiously. Simon glared at him and snatched the jar back. “He's not a kid!” His voice became shrill in outrage and he puffed up his chest. “He's a year older than I am!"
Blake bit the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn't grin too much. A year older than Simon still couldn't be much more than twenty-two or twenty-three. “Is he? Well, you need to stop worrying so much then; it ages you."
Looking crestfallen, Simon touched his face with tentative fingertips. “Really?"
"No.” Blake rolled his eyes at him. “Now get to it."
He stood to the side to let Simon work but continued to observe with avid eyes. He had always wished he had been able to do magic, but he had never had any talent for it. Simon, on the other hand, was a natural at it. With his bag of magic herbs and powders and given a few hours, he could come up with just about anything, from a spell that indicated whether a vampire fed from humans—that had been the first spell he had ever cast on Blake—to closing a breach or creating a special atmosphere for two special people.
Under Blake's careful watch, Simon forgot his initial reluctance and let himself be caught up in the magic. The more complex it was, the more focused he became, and while he had said this spell was not all that complicated, he had invented it himself and this was the first time he was performing it when it wasn't just a test. He mixed a few ingredients, then chanted the incantation he had worked out at Blake's request. The air shimmered throughout the room for a few seconds, before thin strands of lights materialized.
"Is that all right?” he asked, turning to Blake.
Blake nodded and smiled. “It looks great. Add more. I'm sure she'll love it. “
He really thought they would, but he couldn't help the nagging doubt that persisted at the back of his mind. Kate wanted this, but she was scared of what people would say, and in particular Daniel. As much as she had told her leader to mind his own business, Blake knew that she respected his opinion. Daniel wasn't merely her superior; he had become her friend over the years they had spent fighting side by side, and something of a big brother as well. Blake thought she would go through with it, however, if for no other reason than that she didn't back down once she started something. Of the two of them, she wasn't the one he worried about the most.
Marc had kept himself at some distance ever since Kate and Blake had come back from the City hand in hand. Once they had reached Lakeview, he had even suggested that Blake move in with her. He had given up on that particular nonsense after Blake had dragged him to bed. He should have known better, really, than to think Blake would let go of a lover because he had found another. He should have known Blake better.
Making Marc remember that he liked Kate—that he liked her a great deal, in fact—had been a simple matter. At first, he had protested whenever Blake shared any kind of details about his relationship with Kate, from the kind of underwear she favored to what position they had used on a given night. After a while, he had pretended to tune out Blake, but his scent never lied, and Blake knew he listened to every word. Eventually, he had admitted what Blake had known all along: he did want her. Working on her reluctance had been a little different, but it hadn't taken much more time to make her admit she wanted Marc.
In the decades they had spent together, Marc and Blake had never shared a lover like this, mostly because there had never been anyone they both liked, and who liked them both in return. They had found exactly that in Kate, and if she and Marc let him, Blake would make sure the three of them worked out. And while he had only been joking about the threesome—Kate was not ready for that yet—he hoped that, sooner or later, things would turn in that direction.
"What are you grinning about?” Simon asked, peering at him curiously. “It's not like you're even going to enjoy any of this."
He waved a hand at his hard work. Snapping back to the immediate present rather than dreams of an indistinct future, Blake nodded approvingly. It looked great.
"Don't worry about me,” he said with a small smile. “If they enjoy themselves, that's good enough for me."
At least for now, he added to himself.
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Chapter 3
Her eyes wide as she stared at Marc, Kate covered her mouth with her napkin to muffle her laugh. “He didn't!"
Grinning, Marc nodded. “I swear he did. Not a stitch on him, just the scabbard on his back and Seneca in his hand. I thought he'd get himself sliced to bits but the worst that happened was that he cut his foot on a shard of glass. He whined about it like a baby, too."
The mental image of Blake fighting demons stark naked and pissed off that he had been interrupted in the middle of some one-on-one time with his hand was too much, and Kate couldn't resist laughing aloud. A couple of the restaurant's other patrons glanced at her curiously. It wasn't often, these days, that someone would find cause to laugh so hard. She didn't even remember the last time she had been so amused.
Once she had calmed down, she took a sip of wine before asking, tongue in cheek, “I can completely believe he'd go and fight naked, but it's harder to believe he'd need to masturbate when you're nearby."
Marc chuckled quietly, inclining his head as though conceding a point. “We had argued about something."
Kate felt like laughing again. This, she could also easily believe. “Aren't you always arguing about something?” she teased.
Her gaze followed Marc's throat as he finished what was left of his wine, tilting his head back. Just below the edge of his shirt collar, she thought she could see two puncture marks. They were healed, but still looked recen
t: Blake's. Warmth coiled inside her, and she returned her eyes to her plate of pasta.
"I think he actually enjoys making me mad,” Marc said, oblivious to the excitement that had just sparked inside her. “You know how stubborn he can be."
She took a bite of her food and nodded. She knew, yes. That was why she was there, after all.
Or rather, she thought, feeling heat in her cheeks as she twirled spaghetti onto her fork, that was one of the reasons. Blake had sneaked up inside her heart, but on that first night in the City, it was Marc that had attracted her eyes first, and every conversation she had had with him afterwards, every sparring session or reconnaissance patrol had only deepened her attraction to him.
Could she do this, though? She raised her eyes to him again and found him staring at her. Her breath caught in her throat. Could she let herself love these two men?
"Kate?” His voice was a quiet rumble, serious when only a moment ago it had been full of laughter. “Is everything all right? You just looked..."
He didn't finish, for which she was grateful. She didn't like being scared, and liked even less having to admit she was. To change the subject, she pointed at his glass on the table. He was making it turn back and forth with two fingers around the stem.
"Do you like the wine?"
He nodded. “It's pretty good for something they had to relearn how to make from scratch. Do you like it?"
She swallowed her pasta before answering. “I'm not too fond of alcohol, but I can do a glass or two, once in a while with a good dinner.” Her gaze fell to the empty plate in front of him, and she felt a little awkward at mentioning food when local restrictions meant he couldn't have any. Some vampires, Blake included, enjoyed the taste of food even if they didn't need it to survive, but in a city where supplies were sometimes scarce, food was reserved for humans. Had she been dining with Blake, Kate would have offered him a bite from her fork, but she wasn't sure yet whether to do the same with Marc.
"Did you have dinner before we came here?” she asked, filling the silence again.
He stopped playing with the glass and reached across the table instead, tracing the knuckles of her left hand where it rested by her plate. “I did, yes. I like how you call it having dinner."
She kept her eyes locked with his as she spread her fingers, capturing his between them and squeezing lightly. “What else should I call it?"
He didn't reply and simply smiled at her, watching her eat. She caught herself torn between whether to go faster or take her time. It had to be boring for him to watch her do something so mundane. Then again, the sooner she finished, the sooner she would need to make her decision about how the night would end.
"Will you have dessert?” Marc asked, smiling sweetly, when she put down her fork and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
It was time to see if Blake had told the truth, she decided. “I think I'd rather dance."
He stared at her for a long time before finally saying very slowly, “I'm going to kill him."
She laughed. Standing, she held her hand out to Marc. “Come on, he told me you dance very well."
He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet, but his expression was still thunderous. “I'll torture him first, and then I'll kill him."
This time, she snickered. She had heard them both proffer threats toward the other and knew not to worry about it. “Does that mean you don't want to dance with me?"
He answered by tucking her hand into his arm and leading her to the music box in the corner. “I haven't done so in years,” he said, glancing at her before he made his selection. The slow notes of a mourning saxophone fell from the speakers above them. “So we'll keep it simple, if you don't mind?"
As he settled his hands at the small of her back, his touch strong and confident but surprisingly light, she found that she didn't mind at all. She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him as they started swaying together to the sound of the music. His eyes shone, though not as brightly as his smile.
This was it, she realized. This was the moment when she could pull back, thank Marc for a lovely evening, and go back to her room alone. They had both told her it was up to her, but even if they hadn't, she wasn't one to do anything she didn't want to. It wasn't that she had never had one-night stands before. She had, a couple of times, and she had been fine with it. She was a soldier, and she had no time to hunt down a partner that would accept her as she was—and no desire to turn to one of her fellow soldiers and complicate her life. But she hadn't needed to hunt Blake or Marc. They had entered her life by complete happenstance, and now she couldn't imagine living without them. Without both of them, she finally admitted to herself. While she had grown very close to Blake, she had first been attracted to Marc, and in the past weeks she had missed him when he gave her and Blake space to get to know each other better.
Even if he had never verbalized it other than through jokes, she had a rather good idea of where Blake hoped they would all end up: in the same bed. The thought should have scared her, but she realized, in that instant, with Marc's eyes locked with hers and his hands stroking her back over the dress Blake had bought for her, that she wasn't scared. Not about them, not about her feelings, and not really about what others might say. The three of them were fighters. Death hung over them every time they set out for a battle. She didn't have time to be scared.
The butterflies in her stomach settled at last. She relaxed fully for the first time that night and, hoisting herself up to the tip of her toes, she laid her lips on Marc's and kissed him.
Kate's lips tasted sweet, sweeter even than the wine Marc had shared with her earlier. She felt light in his arms, warm, and he was drowning in her scent: a faint lavender he had smelled so often on Blake after Blake had spent a few hours with her.
He set her down in front of her door, reluctantly breaking the kiss. Her arms remained around his neck but loosened so that he could smile down at her.
"It doesn't have to go any further than this,” he reminded her, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. “If you want—"
"I want this,” she whispered. Her right hand dropped from his shoulder to pull her key card out of her purse. She swiped it and opened the door. “I want you."
He captured her mouth again, and they stumbled into the room wrapped in each other's arms. Marc pushed blindly at the door to close it, but opened his eyes again when Kate gasped against his lips. He followed her gaze and shook his head in wonder at what he saw.
Glittering strands of light floated across the room, moving slowly as though carried by a light breeze. Kate reached for the closest one, and the strand left gleaming sparkles on her skin before continuing through the air. The light was just strong enough to cast an eerie glow on the room. Marc hadn't taken a good look at the room earlier—he had been too captivated by Kate—but it was hard to miss Blake's improvements to the room. There were rose petals on the floor, leading from the door to the bedside table on the right of the bed. A small bottle of champagne waited there in a bowl filled with melting ice. Next to it, three champagne flutes had been placed side-by-side, two of them ready to be filled and the third one turned upside down.
"He was rather sure we'd end up here,” Kate said as she led the way along the path of petals. Her free hand trailed over the bed; the sheets, drawn back to invite them in, had a soft sheen in the flickering light. No doubt they were Blake's as well.
Letting go of her hand, Marc picked up the champagne bottle and uncorked it slowly, allowing the carbonation to escape without spilling a drop. “He's always too cocky for his own good,” he said as he poured a couple of fingers into the two glasses meant for them.
She laughed as she accepted hers. “Cocky, huh? Interesting choice of words."
They clanked their glasses together. They rang like wind chimes.
"To Blake,” she said with a slight grin.
Marc returned her smile. “To Blake. Meddlesome and pushy, but tonight I don't think I mind."
&nb
sp; The champagne tickled Marc's lips and tongue, then easily slid down his throat. It didn't make him anywhere near as lightheaded as kissing Kate had. He leaned down to brush his mouth against hers. His lips tingled at the touch.
"Would you like more champagne?” he breathed against her lips.
She pulled away just enough to take his glass and put it down on the bedside table along with hers. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were sparkling. “Maybe later. Right now I'd like to kiss you some more."
Marc was all too happy to oblige. He cupped Kate's face in both his hands and laid his mouth on hers. She pressed back hard, her tongue slipping in to meet his. Her hands gripped and kneaded his shoulders for a moment before sliding to the front of his shirt. She quickly worked through the buttons, and he soon had to let go of her face so she could push the shirt off him. She blinked when he stood bare-chested in front of her, and licked her lips. Marc groaned.
The rest of their clothes came off fast, maybe too fast—Careful, please, it was a gift from him.—but soon they were both naked, standing in front of each other under the shimmering lights. Marc had been hard since she had first kissed him at the restaurant, and his cock bobbed between them, brushing against her stomach, leaving a wet trail there. Her gaze remained locked with his, never straying down, and it was as though she were telling him their bodies didn't matter so much. She saw him.
For just a second, the memory of the last woman Marc had cared so much for resurfaced, along with how much her betrayal had hurt. He chased the thought away with a brush of his fingertips along Kate's cheek. She was here now, and she was all that mattered.
Kate's hand slid over his. She took a step back, then another, sitting on the bed and pulling Marc down next to her. Smiling, she lay down on the pillow, tugging Marc closer still. He reclined next to her, his body pressed alongside hers; her warmth was scalding.
"Kiss me,” she demanded, and Marc was glad to comply.
His lips brushed hers, coaxing them open. His tongue darted in for a taste, receiving a quiet hum in return. He had tasted her lips so often on Blake's that her sweetness was familiar. There was another part of her he had tasted by proxy already and wanted to discover for himself.
