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Nathaniel went very still beside me.

Jason was sitting up, rubbing his bare arms. “What was that?”

I tried not to move, not to breathe, to just be as still as Nathaniel. I tried to think of something besides the warmth of his body pressed against the length of mine. Tried not to feel the press of him hard and ready through the satin of the jogging shorts. I grabbed the sheet and jerked it off of us in one violent movement. I gazed down the length of his body, of our bodies, pressed together. The shorts clung like a second skin to the back of him. The ardeur rushed through me again like a new pulse I’d never felt before, and my beast rose up through the depths with it. It was as if they were tied together. I hungered, and my beast woke, rolling inside me like a lazy cat, stretching, eyeing the mouse. Except what this cat wanted to do to the mouse was not only against the laws of nature, but physically impossible. The trouble was this mouse smelled of vanilla and fur, and he was warm and full against me. I wanted to roll him over on his back and tear off the shorts and see what I was feeling. I wanted to lick down his chest, down his stomach, and . . . The visual was so strong that I had to close my eyes against the sight of him lying there. But sight wasn’t my only problem. The smell of his skin was suddenly overwhelming, sweet. And I had a desire to roll my body on top of his, not for sex exactly, but to paint his scent on my body, to wear it like a dress.

“Anita,” it was Jason. “What’s happening?”

I opened my eyes to find him bending over me, propped on one elbow, and the ardeur widened to include him. It did not discriminate. I touched his face, ran my fingers down the edge of his cheek, traced the fullness of his lower lip with my thumb.

He moved his mouth back just enough to speak. “Jean-Claude said you’d inherited his need, his incubus. I don’t think I believed him . . .” My hand traced down his face, his neck, his chest. “. . . until now,” he whispered.

My hand stopped over his heart. It beat against my hand, and I could suddenly feel my pulse in my palm beating against his skin, as if my heart had spilled down my arm to cup against his body.

“Ask me why Jean-Claude insisted I stay in here today.”

I just looked at him. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. I could feel his heart, almost caress it. His heart sped, beating faster. My heart sped to catch it, until our hearts were beating together, and it was hard to tell where one pulse stopped and the other began. I could taste his heartbeat in my mouth as if it pulsed inside me already, caressing the roof of my mouth as if I had already taken a bite of him.

I closed my eyes and tried to distance myself from the ebb and flow of his body, his warmth, his need.

“Jean-Claude was afraid you’d try to feed on Nathaniel. I’m supposed to keep that from happening.” His voice was breathy.

I raised up, and Nathaniel’s arms curled around my waist, pressing his face into my side. I sat up beside Jason with Nathaniel like a tempting weight wrapped around my body. My hand stayed on Jason’s chest, cupping his heart. He should have moved away, but he didn’t. I could feel his desire, feel the need in him. It was a pure desire, not for power, or anything else, just simply for me. It wasn’t love, but it was purity of a sort. He simply wanted me. I stared into his blue eyes, and there was no deceit, no agenda. Jason didn’t want to secure his power base, or gain mystical energy, he just wanted to have sex with me, to hold me in his arms.

I’d always treated Jason as lesser than a friend, young and amusing, not serious. Jean-Claude’s ardeur let me see into his heart, and I found it the most pure of any that I’d looked into in a long time.

I stared down at Nathaniel where he lay clinging to me. I knew his heart, too. He wanted me physically, but more, he wanted me to want him. He wanted to belong to me in every way. He longed for safety, a home, someone to take care of him, and to take care of. He saw in me all the things that he’d lost over the years. But he didn’t really see