“Texting Nicky.”

   “Non, ma petite, for something as delicate as this it should be in person.”

   “Nicky isn’t that formal a guy,” I said.

   “He is in love with you, ma petite, but he is not with me. He is also a very recent volunteer for donating blood to me. I would rather be overly solicitous than give offense.”

   I frowned at him. “Either that all means you like Nicky more than I think you do, so you don’t want to blow it, or you’re afraid of offending him for a different reason.”

   He smiled. “You are in love with him, ma petite, and yet he has not demanded to be included in the larger commitment ceremony with all of us. I value very much that Nicky is not being difficult about that.”

   “You mean like most of the weretigers?” I asked.

   “I do.”

   I sighed twice like I was trying to get enough air to swim a sprint. “The problem is that we can’t all agree on a weretiger to include.”

   “Mephistopheles is proving most amiable.”

   “Yeah, Dev gets along with everyone better than anybody else.”

   “You do not sound convinced, ma petite.”

   I broke from the hug, because it was hard to think sometimes when I was too close to him. I started pacing the room a little as I tried to explain. “Mephistopheles—Dev—is great in a lot of ways. I know you value that he actually is bisexual, so he’s your lover and mine.”

   “He is also in Nathaniel’s bed.”

   “Yeah, and he does everything with him, including things that Micah still can’t quite wrap his head around.”

   “Micah has never had a male lover before, ma petite. It can take some adjustment.”

   “I know it does for me with the women.” Then I realized that he might have said more than I’d understood, so I asked him, “You weren’t always bisexual, were you?”

   “There had been drunken explorations, but I believe that I would now call that heteroflexible.”

   “Did you cross the line with another man before you were taken to Belle Morte’s court?”

   “No, I did not.”

   I blinked at him. “Fuck, Asher was your first man, male lover, wasn’t he?”

   Jean-Claude nodded, then looked away so I couldn’t see his face, which meant he didn’t trust himself to be able to control his expression. It was incredibly rare for him to be unable to control himself like that.

   “God, Jean-Claude, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

   He spoke with his face still turned away. “Why should you be sorry, ma petite?”

   “It explains a lot about why you were willing to put up with Asher’s jealousy and temper tantrums over the centuries. It also explains . . . Your first lover gets a piece of your heart until you have enough therapy to take it back.”

   He laughed then. “Ah, ma petite, such a mix of romance and practicality—I value it a great deal that you do both equally well.”

   “I share enough of your memories to know that Belle was very good at both, too.”

   “But she was never in love with me, as you are. To find a second woman who could be everything I wished in the bedroom and in the boardroom was more than I thought I would ever find.”

   “I’m also better in an actual physical fight than Belle.”

   He turned and smiled at me; whatever emotion he’d been trying to hide, he’d managed. “Belle was powerful enough that she did not resort to fisticuffs.”

   “I’m a double threat. I’ll kick your ass with metaphysics and then I’ll just plain kick your ass.”

   He laughed, but it was his controlled laugh, the one that I’d thought was his real laugh for a long time. Now I knew that it was a sort of practiced laughter, one that showed joy, or humor, but he could trot it out at will, even if he didn’t get the joke. To be part of Belle Morte’s court he’d had to laugh at the jokes and not show disgust at other things.

   “It is true: you are the first warrior I have ever fallen in love with, ma petite.”

   “I’ve seen you and Asher do sword practice. Doesn’t that count?”

   “He is good at the sort of practice one does to impress a lady, or a lad, but in a real fight he tends to let his emotions overwhelm his knowledge, and blade work is about precision and control.”

   “All fighting is about precision and control,” I said.

   He nodded. “I concede that is true of most fighting, but not all. I have seen battles won through sheer uncontrollable rage. At the right moment it can turn the tide of battle and renew the bravery of those around the warrior who can show strength when all around him have given up.”

   “Agreed, though actual battle, I don’t think what I’ve done qualifies as actual battle yet.”

   “That is for you to define, ma petite, but Asher’s temper always unmanned him in a fight. He was much better at being a lover than a fighter.”

   “He’s great in bed, but he sucks at the relationship part.”

   “He does not suck, as you say, at all the relationship part, but I understand you have not seen the parts he is good at as much as I have.”

   “I’ve never been on a single date with him.”

   “You have been on dates with us both.”

   “Please, never take me to the opera again.”

   He laughed, but again it was that careful laugh, delightful to hear, but it was still camouflage.

   “Asher does like what is now called highbrow culture more than you do.”

   “The complete Tchaikovsky Sleeping Beauty made me want to hurt myself, and I thought I liked ballet.”

   “Most people like selections of the well-known ballets but have no idea how much has been cut for time.”

   I might have had to admit I was totally uncultured, but a knock at the door saved me. I started to ask who it was, but just thinking about asking, I could feel Nicky on the other side of the door, and . . . Cynric.

   “Why is Sin with him?” I asked out loud.

   “I do not know,” Jean-Claude said, and called, “Come in, Nicholas.”

   The door opened and Nicky’s broad shoulders filled it as he walked through, but there were a few inches of dark hair over his head, because Sin was the taller of the two.

   “I’ve told you before, Jean-Claude, it’s just Nicky. It’s not short for anything.”

   “I am sorry, Nicky, but it seems too little a name for the man you have become.”