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I said his name, “Requiem,” just that and nothing more, but he came to me. He knelt in a fall of black-hooded cloak. He pushed the hood back to reveal hair as straight and black as the cloak itself. His eyes were a deep, rich blue like startled cornflowers in the white skin and black hair of his face. The thin mustache and Vandyke beard were as raven dark as his hair and the eyebrows that framed those startling blue eyes. He’d once told me that Belle had wanted to buy him from his old master. She’d wanted a third blue-eyed lover. Asher had the palest blue, Jean-Claude the darkest, and Requiem had the brightest. His master had refused, and they had fled France.

He knelt by my head, kneeling over us on his knees like some dark angel in the cloak he would not give up for any modern coat. “What would you have of me, my lady?”

My voice came breathy, but clear. Good for me. “If you take blood at the same time I feed on him, then I’ll feed on both of you.”

He didn’t argue. He simply laid down behind us, so that his face was close to mine. “As my lady wills it, so shall it be done.”

“Well if it’s to be done, do it fast,” Byron said, and his voice sounded more strained than mine.

Requiem looked up at him, propped on his elbows by my head. “Are you implying that you won’t last much longer?”

“Yes,” and his voice sounded half-strangled.

“You’re out of training,” Requiem said.

“You haven’t fucked her. Don’t criticize until you’ve tried.”

“Are you implying that she’s such a good shag that she’s going to bring you early?”

“Stop bickering,” I said, and my body still rose and fell with Byron’s. He was still fighting to keep the rhythm even and pretty, but he was beginning to lose that smooth glide, and I knew when he stopped dancing above me, that that would be it. “Hurry, or you’ll miss us.”

“As my lady bids.” Requiem dropped to his chest, his stomach, and ran his hands through my hair. “Bad angle,” he whispered, “may I improve the angle, m’lady?”

“Yes,” and it was a strangled sound.

He dug his fingers through my curls and pulled my head sharply to one side, exposing a long line of my neck. He balled his fist in my hair and pulled it sharp. I gasped, and it wasn’t a pain sound.

I found myself staring not into Byron’s gray eyes, but at Nathaniel. He was still there huddled near, but not too near. He looked both afraid and eager, and I didn’t understand the look. I wanted to, and I had an instant to feel how he saw this. One lover pinned my wrists to the floor, grinding his hand into a fresh bite, plunging himself into me over and over, while I writhed underneath him. Now another man had jerked my hair tight and painful, exposed my neck, and when I orgasmed, he would plunge his fangs into my neck. Both vampires would plunge inside me at the same time, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It didn’t matter to Nathaniel that I’d given permission. It mattered that I was trapped and helpless and at their mercy, and the entire scene did it for him. It just flat did it for him. He was enjoying watching, because this was the closest he’d come to what he’d wanted in months.

I felt his need like a weight in my mind, and I knew that he would have given almost anything to be the one on the bottom.

Byron’s body began to lose its smooth gliding rhythm, and he seemed to be fighting not to simply plunge in and out as fast as he could. “Close, very close,” he whispered.

I started to turn my head back so I could see his face, but Requiem’s hand tightened, and I couldn’t move. His breath was hot on my throat, and I knew that he’d borrowed that warmth from someone else. “Are you close, m’lady, are you close?” His voice spread like heat down my skin.

Byron leaned heavier on my wrists, grinding them into the floor, and his body took on a more urgent rhythm. I felt that weight in my groin, that grew and grew and would spill out, would spill out. I whispered, “Close, almost.”

Requiem’s lips touched my neck, just his lips, as if he kissed me. Byron fought for something smoother, more controlled, but his voice