“Do not frown at me, ma petite. It is you who is being silly. You have a Viking warrior in front of you, as striking and beautiful a man as Cardinale is a woman, and yet you refuse to touch him. Even friends touch more than the two of you.” He strode farther into the room dressed in his own comfort robe, but it wasn’t threadbare; it was as beautiful as all his other favorite clothes. The robe was black with more thick black fur at the lapels and sleeves. I knew the fur was even softer and more luxurious than it looked. I loved the way it framed a triangle of his chest, making it look even whiter and more perfect than it was. He’d tied the robe loosely so that it showed more of his chest, enough so the cross-shaped burn scar on his chest showed faint and darker against his skin. Some human had shoved a cross into him in a bid to survive, but I knew that long-ago person had failed. I had a cross-shaped burn scar on one arm; a vampire’s human servant had branded me with it, thought it was funny that it would make me look like holy items burned me like a vampire. I’d killed him, before his master could kill me. Jean-Claude and I had done the same thing for the same reason: If something hurts you and tries to kill you, you fight back. If something tries to kill you, you try to kill it first. Sometimes life comes down to very simple rules.

   I looked up at Jean-Claude as he stood there motioning at Damian. I looked up into those green eyes and that face that was more perfect now than when I’d met him, because something about becoming my servant had literally changed his bone structure so he was an even more perfect, more handsome, more sexy vamp than he’d been before. I hadn’t done it consciously, but I had changed things about Damian that had been true for a thousand years, and yet I was nervous about giving him a hug. It was ridiculous when you thought about it.

   I stepped forward and put my arms around his waist, feeling the harsher rub of the old velvet. Real velvet isn’t like the modern version; it’s not soft and squishy, more soft but rougher, but Damian was real and solid as I hugged him, and that was the point.

   He hesitated a second, then put his arms around me. He seemed to like the way the silk slid under his hands. He looked down at me and smiled. “Greetings, my master.”

   “Hey, Damian.”

   We smiled at each other and hugged for real, then broke apart.

   Jean-Claude threw his hands up at us. “You are exasperating, both of you, and where is our cat? We must to bed before dawn decides things for us.”

   He was right. I could feel the press of it in the air even deep underground where we were. It wasn’t as easy to feel the pull of it, but sensing sunrise and sunset seemed to be a natural ability for most animators and necromancers. I’d fought many a night with dawn my only hope of surviving, and I’d had days when sunset meant the monsters would rise and eat me.

   “We’re less than two hours out,” I said.

   Damian shuddered.

   I touched his arm. “It will be all right.”

   “Enough of this,” Jean-Claude said, and took off his robe. His body looked incredibly white against the black of the robe, as if his skin were carved of marble, and he was absolutely nude. He looked like some Renaissance statue come to life, like a male version of Galatea come to make all your romantic wishes come true.

   Damian looked at the floor as if the rug at the foot of the bed had suddenly gotten much more interesting. You’d think after a thousand years of “life” he’d be less embarrassed by nudity, or maybe it was the nudity in question. Jean-Claude could have that effect on people, or maybe it was the whole heterosexual-man-outside-the-locker-room thing.

   “We’re just sleeping with Damian, remember?” I said, half laughing.

   “Since I am not sleeping beside Damian but on the other side of you, ma petite, I think my lack of clothing will not infringe upon his virtue.”

   Damian was so not looking at the other man in the room. I tried not to laugh again at his discomfort because there’d been a time when I’d have been just as uncomfortable for other reasons. I’d tried so hard not to have sex with Jean-Claude, to not let him seduce me. For Damian, nudity just wasn’t a thing that straight men did with other men much, at least not in the modern day, and Damian was very straight, much to Nathaniel’s disappointment. My happily bisexual fiancé would have loved for Damian to be at least as friendly as Richard was with Jean-Claude. Oddly, Richard was just about as heterosexual as Damian, but he did bondage with us. There were needs we met in Richard’s life and he in ours because of it. Damian was utterly vanilla—not a fault, but for the rest of us in these relationships it made it even more awkward, because we were so rocky road with extra cherries, gobs of whipped cream, and sprinkles on top.

   Damian looked at me, and the look seemed to ask a question as I stood there in my blue robe.

   “I’m wearing jammies, under my robe,” I said.

   Damian smiled. “Should I say thank you, or aww?”

   That made me smile. “Either, neither, let’s get some sleep.”

   “We are still waiting for Nathaniel,” Jean-Claude said, “but we can get into bed while we wait.” He walked to the side of the bed nearest the outer door, which had become his side. He flung the black coverlet aside to reveal sheets the same royal jewel-tone blue as my robe.

   “You matched my lingerie to the sheets,” I said.

   He smiled, obviously pleased with himself, but it was as he swept back the blue sheets with a flamboyant gesture that I realized he was nervous. It had taken me years to figure out that though he could be flamboyant, it wasn’t his preference, and when he was doing it when it wasn’t necessary it meant he was nervous. Why the nerves? I wondered, as he climbed between the sheets and lay down. His long black curls spread across the pillow perfectly so that they framed his face, caressed the pale spill of one shoulder and still managed to leave half his face almost bare of hair so that the royal blue pillowcase framed the perfect line of his cheek. It also brought the blue very close to his eyes so that they went from a blue so dark as to be almost navy to suddenly a brighter blue set off by the thick black lace of his eyelashes, the perfect arch of his eyebrows. It was the kind of show he’d put on for me when he was trying to convince me just how beautiful he was, except then he’d worn pajamas, because he’d known that him nude made me run for the hills in the early days.

   Did he want Damian to see him as beautiful, or was one of the most gorgeous men on the planet needing reassurance that I still appreciated his beauty? If it was for Damian’s benefit, that was a conversation for another night, but if it was for mine, that I could do something about. If it was something else altogether, I’d ask Jean-Claude later when we were alone. I smiled at him and let him see that I saw every bit of theatrical-worthy beauty on display in the bed. If we’d been willing to let down our metaphysical shields he could have felt exactly how much I admired the view, and I’d have known precisely what his motives were, but then Damian was my servant, as I was to Jean-Claude, so maybe we’d all have gotten a peek into each other, and that might have made Damian run for the hills, depending on what we were all thinking and feeling.