• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Sexual contact.” His face was very serious, eyes solemn, as if he, too, could think again. “I said I would do anything to be your Nimir-Raj, Anita. What do I have to do to convince you I mean it?”

“What are you offering, Micah?”

“Whatever you need.” He looked past me to Jean-Claude. “Whatever you both need.”

I felt Jean-Claude’s attention sharpen, almost like a physical force, and the ardeur was back, thick enough to drown in. My breath froze in my throat, my pulse was too fast to swallow. Jean-Claude’s voice came, I think in my head, because his lips never moved. “Be careful what you offer, mon ami, my control is poor tonight.”

Micah answered, as if he’d heard Jean-Claude too. “You were a ménage a` trois with the Ulfric. He’s gone. I’m here, and I’m staying. I will be Anita’s Nimir-Raj, whatever that means.”

I managed to say, “Who said that we were a ménage a` trois?”

“Everyone,” he said.

I wondered who everyone was, because I knew it wasn’t everyone.

Jean-Claude was moving forward again, painfully slow, every movement so full of energy, so full of potential violence and grace, that it almost hurt to watch. It made my pulse race, my breath hard to take—made my body run moist. Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.

“Jean-Claude, no,” but my voice was a whisper.

His mouth hovered over mine, then his face turned for a second to Micah. I watched the two of them gaze at each other from inches away and felt the power pulsing in the air between. Jean-Claude moved so slowly to close the distance between them that it was like watching slow motion. Micah sat there, waiting. He didn’t move in to him, but he didn’t move away either. I thought at first they’d kissed, then some trick of the light let me see a thin line of space between their mouths. Not touching, not yet. I watched their lips so tremblingly close, and part of me wanted them to touch, but Jean-Claude held his place, held his place until Micah closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand to meet those glowing orbs, like looking away from the sun, too brilliant to bear.

And still Jean-Claude did not close that small distance. It was the distance of a breath, the flick of a tongue and still he held himself almost touching, almost there, but not quite. The tension grew, grew, grew, until I wanted to scream. I didn’t realize that I’d moved in towards them, until they both turned at once and looked at me from inches away. My eyes flicked from one to the other. Eyes like blue fire; eyes like yellow-green clouds. Micah’s eyes grew more green as I watched, until they were pale, pale green, like spring leaves. He focused on me. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew that this was the look he hunted with, that sharp focus, the pupil nearly lost in the color of his eyes.

I realized that I’d pushed the ardeur back. I was attracted to both, but I could think again, feel something besides the burn. You practice one kind of metaphysical control, and I guess it gives you an edge on all of them. The relief made me feel weak, as if I could have curled on the floor and slept. We weren’t going to fall on each other like ravening lust-monsters. Yippee.

I eased away, started to crawl backwards. Jean-Claude’s gaze followed me, but he made no move to touch me. There was something about the way he stayed on all fours that let me know the ardeur was still riding him. But if I could keep from touching him, we’d be alright. He watched me, like a starving man, who was watching his first meal in days crawl away. But he played fair, he stayed where he was, he let me crawl away. He knew the rules. Micah didn’t.

He reached for me, and I threw myself back to the floor in a blur of speed that I’d never had before, but Micah wasn’t human either. He followed me in a movement that was too fast for my eyes to follow, so that he was above me before my mind could see that he’d moved. It was magical.

He was frozen just above me, his body balanced on hands and feet, almost like he was doing a push-up. I reached out, around him, trying not to touch him. I had