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My gun was just in my hand. I didn’t remember drawing it. I didn’t remember aiming it. My own pulse was hammering in my throat. Years of practice had a gun pointed at Byron’s face. He was staring at me, his gray eyes straight on, face still serious, but not threatening. I didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, someone was going to get hurt if it didn’t stop.

“Let him go,” I said, and my voice was as steady as the gun pointed at his forehead. I had a sense of Lisandro moving away from the door, coming toward us. I wasn’t sure if I wanted the interference, or even if I needed it.

“He doesn’t want me to let him go, do you, Nathaniel?” Byron’s voice was very careful, even, as if he finally realized that his game could turn deadly.

Nathaniel’s voice came strangled with the angle of his neck, and the force of the vampire’s hand on his hair, but what he said was, “No, no, don’t stop.”

I finally let myself glance at Nathaniel. I didn’t normally look away from someone I was pointing a gun at, but there was no sense of menace to Byron. Whatever we were doing, I wasn’t sure it was about violence. Nathaniel’s hands were gripping Byron’s arm, but not like he was trying to stop the vampire from hurting him, more like he was just holding on. But it was the look on Nathaniel’s face that made me lower the gun to point at the floor.

Nathaniel’s lips were half parted, his eyes fluttering closed, his face slack with pleasure. His body was tense with anticipation. He was enjoying the pain, enjoying being manhandled. Shit.

Byron let go of Nathaniel abruptly, almost with a throwaway gesture. Nathaniel fell back onto the couch, gasping for breath, his eyes rolled back into his head behind fluttering eyelids. His spine bowed, throwing his head back, making him writhe against the back of the couch.

Byron stood there and watched him. “Duckie, this much reaction, you have been neglecting your boy.”

He was right. I’d have liked to argue it, but he was right. The proof of neglect was writhing on the couch in some sort of ecstasy that I couldn’t even begin to understand. I liked a little force now and then, but it didn’t do this for me. Nathaniel began to grow quiet, eyes still closed, and a smile on his face. I understood for the first time that the violence could be sex for him, really, truly could.

I looked at Byron. “And your point?” I was pretty sure I knew what the point was, but I’d be damned if I’d help him make it.

“I heard rumors that you weren’t doing dominance and submission with the boy, but I didn’t believe it. I mean, how can you be with Nathaniel and not do BDSM? Bondage and submission is the boy’s bread and butter.”

I nodded, and put my gun up. “Do you know how close you came to getting yourself shot?”

“I did once I saw your gun pointed at my face.” The joking was gone again, so serious, and then he smiled. “So exciting.”

“Are you saying you got off on the fact that I damn near shot you?” I laughed a little at the end, but it was a nervous laugh.

“Not got off the way that Nathaniel does, but I like to be dominated sometimes.” He sat down on the couch, squeezed between Nathaniel and the couch arm. He wrapped his arms around Nathaniel’s shoulders again, though he was sitting on his knees so that he couldn’t put their faces next to each other. Nathaniel cuddled in against him, a peaceful look on his face. It creeped me out. But he cuddled Byron’s arms tighter around him, as if he were his favorite teddy bear. He’d never liked Byron that much, and now just a little abuse and he was his best buddy. I did not get it, I just didn’t.

Byron hugged him back and stroked the side of his hair. “I’m a switch, Anita, in every sense of the word.”

I frowned at him. “Switch means bisexual, right?”

“There’s another meaning for it, duckie.”

“Just tell me, Byron. I’m not very good at subtle.”

“It means that I’m both a sub and a dom.”

“Submissive and dominant,” I said.

He nodded.

“What are you offering?” I said.

“I could help you tame your kitty-cat