“Are you saying I did that?” Damian asked.

   “And this.” Nathaniel showed the bite on the other side of his neck.

   “I’ve got one of those, too,” I said.

   Damian looked from one to the other of us. “I asked for more blood, so we could keep having sex. Didn’t I? Didn’t I?”

   “Yes,” Nathaniel said, standing upright. His anger was beginning to fade. He always had a hard time holding on to a fight. I guess that helped balance out my own temper.

   “But the bites on your back—that wasn’t so I could feed.”

   “I asked you to bite me,” Nathaniel said, turning around so he could see the other man’s face.

   Damian was frowning hard. He was lucky he was eternally youthful or he’d have ended up with permanent creases between his eyes if he kept doing that often. “When? I mean, what were we doing that I’d bite you there?”

   “Do you remember biting me here?” Nathaniel turned his leg to one side to expose the inside of his thigh. He moved the leg of his workout shorts to show the bite on his thigh.

   “I’ve got one of those, too,” I said, and this time I moved the legs of my shorts until I found the bite very high up on my thigh. If we’d worked out for real today I’d have felt that.

   “How many times did we . . . do it?” Damian asked.

   I answered, “Four.”

   “One per bite,” he said, “except not the back.”

   “You still don’t remember, do you?” Nathaniel asked, and he looked sad.

   “I remember you kissing me.” I could see Damian struggling to remember, chasing the memory, but sometimes the harder you chase, the faster it runs away.

   “That’s right. We kissed.”

   Damian looked at me. “Do you remember everything?”

   I shook my head.

   He frowned and looked at Nathaniel. “Do you remember?”

   “More than Anita remembers.”

   Damian rubbed his forehead. “Why can’t I remember?”

   Nathaniel sighed, and started to say something, but I interrupted. “We raised more power between the three of us than we ever had before.”

   “So why don’t I remember? Why don’t you? Why does Nathaniel remember more?”

   “Jean-Claude thinks it’s because you and I are conflicted about the three of us and Nathaniel isn’t conflicted.”

   “So because Nathaniel is all right with anything the three of us do, he remembers what we’ve done?”

   “Something like that,” I said.

   Nathaniel looked at me, his face soft. He held his hand out to me and I took it. We’d raised the most power ever between us, and were closer to being a real triumvirate of power than ever before, and it wasn’t my doing, or Damian’s; it was Nathaniel’s. Maybe every triad needed someone who wasn’t afraid to grab the power and run the metaphysical bus. Jean-Claude drove the bus for his own triumvirate with Richard Zeeman and me, because Jean-Claude was the only one of us who wasn’t conflicted six ways to Sunday.

   “What do you think would have happened to Jean-Claude’s triumvirate with Richard and me if it had been up to the Ulfric and me to control things?”

   Damian frowned, but said, “It wouldn’t have worked, not even as well as it works now.”

   “Why, or why not?”

   “Richard hates being a werewolf, hates being attracted to Jean-Claude, hates that he loves rough sex and bondage.”

   “And I used to be as conflicted as Richard about most of the same things,” I said.

   Damian nodded. “If you had been less conflicted about you and me . . .” He shook his head and ended with, “That’s not fair, or maybe it’s just useless. You didn’t want me enough and you did want Nathaniel enough.”

   “I found a way to fit into Anita’s life, and Micah was willing to open his life up enough to love us as a threesome.”

   Damian blinked those big green eyes of his and said, “Threesome, we were a threesome. We didn’t just take turns having sex with Anita, did we?”

   Damian stared at us, a look of soft horror on his face. “You rolled us. You said, I want this, and your eyes glowed.”

   “You said the same thing, Damian. I remember hearing you say it, which is almost the last clear memory I have,” I said.

   “I asked both of you every step of the way, and you said yes. I didn’t know that I could roll both your minds. I didn’t know I could roll anyone’s mind. I’m not supposed to have those kinds of powers as a wereleopard.”

   Damian put his hands over his face and mumbled something.

   “What?” I asked.

   He spoke up but kept his eyes covered as if he couldn’t bear to look at us. “I asked you to go down on me, because Cardinale couldn’t because of the fangs. I don’t like pain and the fangs make it hard to do without it hurting.”

   “Yes,” Nathaniel said.

   “I asked for it, but I didn’t ask Anita to do it. I just said, go down on me. I remember both of you . . . taking turns.” He lowered his hands, and he still looked horrified, but he said, “It had been so long for me and it felt so good.”

   “I swear to you, Damian, that if you had told me to stop, I would have,” Nathaniel said.

   “I didn’t tell you no. I remember that now. I remember the first time I rolled someone’s mind that completely. I didn’t know exactly what I had done. I thought the woman wanted me. I didn’t understand until the second night, when I tried to see her again and she didn’t remember me at all.”

   “You’re not mad?” Nathaniel asked.

   “No, I remember what it’s like when the mind powers first happen. It’s heady stuff. I’m the vampire. I should have been the one helping you learn, but I was too worried about you being a man and . . . Oh gods, I remember when I bit your back.” He put his hand over his mouth. I couldn’t read the look in his eyes, but it wasn’t anything good. We could have all dropped our shielding and felt everything between the three of us emotionally, but we were all too afraid to do it. No, we were all fairly sure that we wouldn’t like what the other ones were feeling.

   I got a glimpse, a memory of Nathaniel on top of me, inside me, and then Damian’s face over his shoulder. The vampire’s eyes had been full of green fire, his own power, not Nathaniel’s.

   “I thought you were enjoying yourself,” Nathaniel said, at last. The anger was gone and now so was the contented happiness he’d woken up with. Fuck.