Nathaniel turned from us and reached for Micah. He hesitated a moment, but then went to him, and they kissed. Micah tried to keep it chaste, but that wasn’t what Nathaniel wanted, and instead of drawing away from the other love of our lives, he let Nathaniel draw him into the kiss. Nathaniel’s hands went underneath Micah’s suit jacket the way mine had with Jean-Claude, but there was something about watching those strong arms wrap around each other that moved me more. They kissed each other in private and public, but this was probably one of the most passionate ones I’d seen from them where outsiders could see.

   Normally, it would just have been exciting seeing my men together, but I had a flash of emotion from Nathaniel that he couldn’t keep to himself behind his metaphysical shields. He was happy, fiercely happy. It was the wedding and that we were planning our own commitment ceremony. He’d never thought he’d ever have anyone who loved him enough to put a ring on his finger, and now he had two people.

   We’d told Tomas that we weren’t just survivors, we were thrivers, and we were, we all were.

   Love makes you closer, but when you have metaphysical ties to each other, it can be a level of emotional and mental closeness that is either heaven or hell. With Nathaniel it was usually heaven, and that was good, because Jean-Claude and I had had our share of being tied to people who were hellish. Think about being able to feel someone’s emotions, get glimpses of exactly what they’re thinking, and the love you had for one another had turned to hate years ago; now think of being bound like that forever, literally forever, with no way to break free. Hell about covers it.

   We were thrivers; all four of us were that and so much more.

   “This one needs a ring, and soon, ma petite,” Jean-Claude whispered through my mind, as if a thought could talk back to you. Years ago “hearing” someone in my head like that had scared the crap out of me, and I’d fought hard to stay free of it, but it was a heck of a lot more private than whispering.

   I had to concentrate hard to think back at him without speaking out loud. “Yeah, he’s got wedding fever like a girl.”

   “You will never be so moved by a wedding, ma petite.”

   Out loud I said, “No, but I’m still going to marry you.”

   He drew me into his arms again, and this time the kiss was less careful, lipstick be damned.

In her twenty-fifth adventure, vampire hunter and necromancer Anita Blake learns that evil is in the eye of the beholder . . . keep reading for an excerpt from

   CRIMSON DEATH

   Available now!

I’D FALLEN ASLEEP cuddled between two of the men I loved most, with one arm flung across their naked bodies so I could touch the third. All three of them were warm when I fell asleep, but when my phone woke me hours later, only two of the bodies in the bed were still warm. The only vampire in the bed had died when the sun came up a mile over our heads in our nice safe cave of a bedroom. It was great for vampires, but if you were afraid of the dark or didn’t like the idea of tons of stone pressing down on your head, well, you couldn’t sleep with us.

   I scrambled over Nathaniel’s almost fever-hot body for my phone, which was plugged in on the bedside table, but when the screen came on it was his phone, not mine, because his lock screen was a picture of the three of us and mine was a close-up of our hands entwined with the new engagement rings. I finally got my phone and hit the button, but it had already gone to voice mail.

   Micah asked in a voice thick with sleep, “Who was it?”

   I squinted at the bright screen in the very dark room and said, “I don’t recognize the number, or hell, the area code. I think it’s international. Who the hell would be calling me from out of the country?”

   Nathaniel snuggled against the front of my body, burying his face between my breasts, as he tucked himself lower under the covers. He mumbled something, but since he was both the heaviest sleeper and the most likely to talk in his sleep, I didn’t pay much attention.

   “What time is it?” Micah asked, his voice less sleep-filled and closer to awake.

   “Five a.m.,” I said. I clicked my phone to black and tried to put it back on the bedside table, but Nathaniel had pinned me and I couldn’t quite reach.

   “We’ve only been asleep for three hours,” he said in a voice that was starting to sound aggrieved.

   “I know,” I said. I was still trying to push my phone back on the edge of the table with a now firmly asleep Nathaniel weighing me down.

   Micah wrapped his arm around my waist and Nathaniel’s back and pulled us both closer to him. “Sleep, must have more sleep,” he said with his face buried between my shoulders. If I didn’t slide down into the covers soon, they’d both be asleep and I’d be pinned with my arms and shoulders bared. The bedroom at night was about fifty degrees; I wanted my shoulders covered. I gave one last push to my phone, which fell to the floor, but it didn’t light back up, which meant it was still plugged in, so I was good with it on the floor. Screw it, I was going back to sleep.

   I had to force both men to give me enough room to slide down between them so we were all covered and warm again. I was just starting to drift back to sleep to the sounds of their even breathing when my phone rang again, but this time it played a different song, George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone.” It was the personalized ringtone for one of my best friends, Edward, assassin to the undead and fellow U.S. Marshal Ted Forrester. Interestingly, Edward and Ted were the same person; think Clark Kent and Superman.

   I flung the covers off all of us and scrambled, falling to the floor and fumbling for the phone that was glowing in the pile of clothes beside the bed. I hit the button and said, “Here, I’m here!”

   “Anita, are you all right?” Edward’s voice was too cheerful, which was all the clue I needed that he was with other police officers who would be overhearing everything.

   “Yeah, I’m good. You sound awfully chipper for five a.m.,” I said, trying not to sound like I was already getting cold outside the body heat of the bed. I started to fumble in the clothes pile for something that was mine but kept coming up with just the guys’ clothes.

   “It’s eleven a.m. here,” he said.

   He wasn’t home in New Mexico then, so I asked, “Where are you?”

   “Dublin.”

   “Dublin what?”

   “Ireland,” he said.

   I sat naked and shivering on the floor, scooping through the pile of clothes around me like a bird trying to make a nest, and tried to think. I failed, so I asked, “Why are you in Dublin, Ireland?”

   “For the same reason I’m calling you, Anita.”

   “Which is?” I tried not to get irritated at him, because it usually amused him, and Ted usually took longer to tell anything. Edward was far more abrupt. Yes, they were the same person, but Edward was more of a method actor, and trying to get him to break character wasn’t a good idea.