Nathaniel put his hand over ours, wrapping his hand so that we were all touching the ring, or maybe the ring was touching us. “It’s a promise ring not just for you and Anita, but for all of us.” He raised his face for a kiss, and who would be able to turn Nathaniel down? They kissed, and just watching them so close, while we all held hands, made things low in my body tighten. It was a less chaste kiss than the one they’d had in the bedroom when Damian was with us. I realized that both times it had been Nathaniel who upped the ante, not Jean-Claude. Was the great seducer being seduced? I didn’t have a problem with it. The men in my life being closer to each other usually worked in my favor. Micah might feel differently, but he wasn’t here right now, so I just enjoyed touching them both and having my ringside seat for their kiss.
“Jean-Claude, you cannot allow them to go to her island,” said a voice from behind us. It was Asher. He was tall, pale, handsome, with long golden hair spilling around his shoulders. Nothing would ever make Asher physically less than gorgeous, but physical wasn’t everything.
The bodyguards around the room came to attention, because the last time we’d interacted with Asher it had gotten nasty. I knew they were under orders to not let us be alone with him. His emotional instability made him dangerous, and sometimes that danger wasn’t just to your heart.
“This is for my job, Asher. Jean-Claude doesn’t control that.” My voice was as angry as I felt. Nathaniel was right—we missed Asher topping us in the dungeon. I missed him being part of a threesome with Jean-Claude and me. I hated that I hadn’t found anyone to replace Asher in those two places in my life. The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference, and I wasn’t indifferent to him yet. Which pissed me off, because I knew better.
Asher had spilled his hair across half his face like a golden veil, and like most veils, it was hiding things. His eyes were as pale a blue as Jean-Claude’s were dark, a brilliant, icy blue. I caught the gleam of one through the lace of his hair, but the other eye was bright and visible, set in a face that was so gorgeous that he’d been the artists’ model for paintings of angels and gods. “I have always respected your job, Anita. Whatever mistakes I have made in the past, I never presumed to tell you your job, and I am not now, but do not take Damian back to his old master and do not give her Nathaniel.”
“We aren’t taking him back to his old master, and we sure as hell aren’t giving her anyone, let alone Nathaniel.”
Asher held his hand out toward us, but it was to Jean-Claude he was giving the weight of those eyes, that face. “Jean-Claude, you have been at her mercy as well as I. You know what she is and what she is capable of. Please, by all that is holy, all that is left us, do not put our flower-eyed boy within her grasp.”
“I’m not your flower-eyed boy anymore, Asher,” Nathaniel said.
Asher’s eyes glittered and I realized it was unshed tears. “And that is my fault, my flaw that drove you away. You have no idea how much I regret what I have done in the past few months. Only Julianna’s death is a greater regret to me.”
We all stared at him. Julianna’s death had been the great tragedy that had driven a wedge between him and Jean-Claude. She had been their heart, and when she’d died it died with them.
“That is a bold statement, mon ami, if only you meant it.”
“I swear to you, Jean-Claude, that I mean every word.”
“Your word of honor?”
“Yes.”
Asher was an old enough vampire that his word of honor meant something. An oath breaker was not trusted among the older vampires, and for some broken oaths it was a death sentence.
“Sudden contrition does not seem like something you would feel,” Jean-Claude said.
“I have been full of regret for weeks, but I could not . . . decide . . . create . . . a way to convince you of my deep regret until I heard what you are planning, and then I did not care if you believed. I would rather give up Nathaniel forever than let him go to that cursed . . . beast.”
That was the first thing he’d said that I was really interested in. I asked, “Do you mean that literally? Is She-Who-Made-Damian old enough to be a lycanthrope and a vampire like the Mother of All Darkness was? And do you mean a real curse, or are you just being dramatic?”
Asher shook his head so that his hair swung just enough to give a glimpse of the scars that he was using it to hide. He used his hair a lot like Nicky did, except Asher simply let the long waves spill down over his scars; of course he had more of them to cover. He had two good eyes, but an inch or two out from the corner of his kissable mouth were burn scars. They trailed down his cheek and skipped his neck, but the right side of his chest looked like it had melted and re-formed. Holy water acts like acid on vampire flesh, and that was what the Church had used to try to burn the devil out of Asher centuries ago.
“She is a beast in the old sense of being a monster, but she cannot transform her physical body. She is a vampire and we are all cursed, but beyond that I am being dramatic, as you say.”
“We were with her a few centuries ago. You are being overly dramatic,” Jean-Claude said.
“I was with her longer than you, Jean-Claude.”
Jean-Claude drew Nathaniel and me into his arms so he could hug us both. I don’t know if it was to comfort himself or to rub Asher’s losses in his face. I didn’t care. I was good with both. Asher deserved to be reminded that he’d behaved so badly he’d lost all of us and more in one fell swoop.