Chapter 6

I t's a caricature of a roadside dive. A squat rectangular shack with a shallow-pitch faded green metal roof above raw pine logs, its windows so grimy as to be translucent, with flickering neon tube lighting proclaiming burgers and breakfast 24/7. The parking lot is a wide dirt circle around the building; horse-hitching posts frame either side of the front door. A tall white-and-brown horse is tied to one of the posts, tail swishing idly, ears twitching and rotating.

We pile out of the van again, and the horse bobs its head and whickers uneasily, nostrils flaring, dancing around on its hooves. The shifters give the horse a wide berth.

"Horses can smell our animal," Caleb says to me, catching my hand in his. "We make 'em nervous."

Inside, the floors are faded and worn wooden planks, the walls are the same raw pine logs, and the ceiling is the underside of the metal roof, sprayed with black insulation and crisscrossed with girders supporting HVAC and lighting. A handful of round four-person tables dot the interior, with a pair of two-way double doors leading to the kitchen opposite the front door. A window with a wide stainless-steel ledge shows a glimpse of the kitchen—a shelf lined with white ceramic plates and Styrofoam clamshells and bags of buns. On one side of the kitchen doors is a small counter with an antique cash register, a credit card machine from sometime in the 80s, and a glass case with a rotating cake display featuring a few sad slices of days-old carrot cake. On the other side, another short stretch of the counter with a few stools, opposite which, under the window, is a low stainless-steel table with an industrial Bunn two-pot coffee maker and the various coffee-making necessaries, as well as thermoses of milk and half and half.

A single male sits at the counter, a dirty white cowboy hat sitting crown-down on the counter beside him, sipping coffee and picking at fries.

On the other side of the counter, a gargantuan man leans thick forearms on the counter, chatting with the customer in a low, familiar tone. He's only six feet tall or so but built like an industrial freezer. Broad, bulging shoulders, cliff-like chest, tree-trunk arms straining the sleeves of a dirty white T-shirt. His lower half is hidden by the counter. His hair is brown, curly, and shaggy, and he wears a thick, bushy, chest-length brown beard, well-kept and clean.

He sees us enter, straightens, and passes stiffened fingers down through his beard. "Welcome in. Sit wherever." His voice is a slow, syrupy Georgia drawl. His nostrils flare, and his chin rises. "TwiceBlood brothers and sister."

Caleb steps forward. "TwiceBlood brother. Will you welcome our OnceBlood companions and our mate?"

The burly shifter's nose twitches, his upper lip with it, making his drooping mustache twitch. "Vampire and…" His eyes widen, fixing on me. "You're her."

"I'm me," I say with a smile. "My name is Maeve."

He rounds the counter and stops in front of me, expression inscrutable. "You're the one they call the Once-Mortal Queen. They say you're fighting for our kind."

"They do say those things about me, yes." I take his hands in mine, silencing Caleb's growls with a quick glare. "Will you welcome me?" I gesture at Caspian. "My vampire bloodmate?" At Philemon. "Our new fae friend?" At Sharon. "Our mortal friend?"

"If you bring peace, I welcome you." He drops to one knee. "Honored to have you here. Please, be welcome."

I tug him to his feet. "We're very hungry." I wrap my arm around Caspian's waist. "Except him."

The huge shifter eyes Caspian warily. "A hungry vampire makes anyone nervous, m'lady." For a brief moment, his southern drawl becomes something more European, but it's there and gone so fast I doubt my ears. "My name is Brutus."

"Well, Brutus," I say, taking a seat at the bar next to the silent customer. "Caspian isn't hungry."

Caspian chuckles. "Not exactly true. I am hungry." He nuzzles my throat. "But yours is the only blood that will satisfy."

The customer beside me turns his head slowly to eye Caspian, seated on the other side of Caleb, who is beside me. "Good answer," he says in a raspy smoker's drawl; his eyes flash golden white, and a thumb-size fireball dances across his knuckles. "Hate to have to interrupt my lunch."

"Jeremiah," Brutus says in a deep, warning rumble. "Unnecessary."

Jeremiah just grins, flicking the fireball from knuckle to knuckle, fingertip to fingertip in an impressive display of magical control. "Just making myself known."

The pack puts two tables together and we sit all together, along with Philemon and Sharon. Brutus takes orders all around, stopping last at Caspian. "I do keep some bags in the back. I'm the only immortal-friendly place in the county, so I keep 'em on hand for emergencies. You want one?"

Caspian grins. "That'd be great, Brutus, thank you."

I eye him after Brutus has vanished into the kitchen—a series of sizzles announces the burgers hitting the grill. "I thought you didn't like the bagged blood?"

He shrugs. "It's better than nothing, and who knows when we'll get privacy to feed the way I need? Plus, refusing hospitality is rude."

I nudge him. "You know we'll find a way."

He leans close and kisses the corner of my jaw behind my earlobe. "I know." He sips the coffee in his hands—more for appearances in case a non-immortal were to come in, and for something to do while the rest of us eat and drink.

Behind us, the pack makes desultory conversation with each other and Sharon and Philemon, trading unlikely stories.

Jeremiah finishes his fries and slides off his stool, sidling around the counter to refill his coffee and ours with a familiarity that speaks of being a long-time regular. "So." He glances at me. "Once-Mortal Queen, huh? When's the coronation?"

"Nothing like that," I answer.

"Hear Atlanta is a real warzone." He peers at me sidelong through a haze of steam. "Immortals roving around in gangs, openly doing magic and shifting and feeding. Scared mortals are forming their gangs, I hear, and attacking anyone reported to be different."

"So I've heard," I answer, noncommittal.

"Seems like a queen oughta do something about that."

"I'm working on it. I can't settle things one city at a time. I can't fix everything on my own. We're making our way to New York, where I'm hoping to sort of…set an example."

He nods. "Hear it's a real mess up there. Not just petty squabbles between civilians, but actual organized fighting."

"So we've heard too, which is why I'm starting there."

He nods. "About time somebody did something." He examines me. "Figured it'd be someone a little more… experienced, I'll admit, but if you're willing to take on the job…"

I laugh ruefully. "The job was sort of thrust onto me, but I won't shirk it. You have my word I'll do my best to see our people accepted and included, no matter what it takes or how long it takes."

He nods again. "You've got some good answers, girly."

Caleb growls. "Do not address my mate as 'girly,'" he snaps, his voice crackling with Alpha Prime authority.

Brutus emerges from the kitchen with a long, black-handled flipper in his huge paw. "You're a Prime."

Caleb nods. "I am."

Brutus bows his head. "Alpha."

Caleb waves him off. "All good, Brutus. Thanks."

Jeremiah tosses a $20 on the counter. "See ya 'round, Brute."

Brutus waves with the flipper. "See ya 'round, Jer. Say hi to Mags for me."

Jeremiah nods, plopping his hat on his head and exiting to swing onto his horse. Hooves clop, and then he's out of sight.

Brutus makes several trips, dropping off plates of burgers and fries for everyone, except Caspian, for whom he brings a now-familiar white pouch of blood.

Once we've all dug into our food, Brutus leans on the counter by Caleb. Caleb sniffs the air. "You're a bear?"

"I am. But my pack is…complicated."

Caleb takes a big bite of his burger. "Damn good burger, my friend," he says between chews. "All packs are complicated."

Brutus hums a noncommittal sound. "Mine especially so."

Caleb finishes his burger and turns to catch Nico's eye—the other male lifts his chin and brings his plate over to the counter.

"You doing okay with the pack, Nico?" Caleb asks.

Nico nods. "I get along with most people." He sighs. "My behavior this morning was extremely out of character."

Caleb claps him on the shoulder. "I understand. Worry for a loved one will do that to the strongest male. Especially one without a pack."

Nico eats his fries four at a time. "Bears don't tend to form packs, Alpha. Not like you others. We bears like to keep our company. Family units are as big as things get, usually."

I glance at Caleb—the question must be in my eyes because he answers it before I ask it.

"In the TwiceBlood world, we refer to any group of shifters as a pack. But not all shifters even form true packs. It falls roughly along animal species lines. Wolves obviously form packs, because we're wolves. Hyenas, lions, the social predators all form recognizable packs. But solitary hunters like bears, tigers, and serpents do not. At most, they form family units and occasionally large but loose groups of family units. Which is what I suspect our new friend Brutus is calling his pack—a group of families." He gestures at Nico with his head. "Bears are territorial and don't usually get along well with unknown bears in their territory."

"How would they know? Usually, I mean?" I ask.

Nico answers. "Smell. I knew we were in a bear's territory before we got out at the last place. I knew he was a bear before we entered the restaurant."

"Remarkable." I sniff the air, closing my eyes, drawing on my senses. I shake my head. "Nothing."

Nico laughs. "You're not a shifter. And it's a certain scent only another bear would recognize. A wolf might smell it but wouldn't necessarily know what it means. Just like I might recognize a wolf's mark on a tree somewhere, but it doesn't register to me as 'here be wolves' like it would to another wolf." He indicates me. "You wouldn't smell it at all."

"How does your human brain translate your animal senses?" Sharon asks from the other table. Been wondering that."

Caleb answers. "I'm not sure we do, exactly. How a shifter's two selves co-exist isn't very well understood. For a long time, it was thought our animal lives inside us, and we let it out. But recent studies and experiments show a new understanding—we co-exist in different realms: The Waking and The Dreaming. When we shift, our selves switch. But we are always whole, always ourselves. So, I think the answer to your question is that my animal self still processes the sensory information that my human brain cannot conceive of—how the world looks to a canine, for example. Our nose gives us more information about the world around us than sight or sound. Bears too. But the human brain cannot perceive it that way. So I think the magic does the translation."

Sharon laughs. "That makes sense, logically, but part of me is kinda thinking it sounds a little like you're using magic to explain things you just don't understand."

Colin laughs. "I think you're right. But then, magic does explain a lot of things."

Sharon just shrugs. "I wouldn't know. I thought magic was just some Harry Potter shit till about last week. I thought all the news reports were just some bullshit, and then I saw some old dude flick his fingers and a dude across the road caught fire and burnt up in about fifteen seconds flat. Freakiest shit I've ever seen."

"You'll see freakier," Callahan says. "Just stick with us."

Sharon's eyebrows rise toward her hairline. "I got all sorts of jokes lined up, but I know you're not kidding, big boy. And that's what scares me."

He indicates me. "You're in good hands. She's the most powerful glamourworker alive."

I shrug. "That's not known to be true."

"You defeated Zirae, who was acknowledged by every elder to be the most powerful fae to ever live," Philemon says. "I believe that makes you more powerful than him."

I bob my head from side to side. "Perhaps. I didn't defeat him—he still lives, and I have to assume he's planning his revenge."

Philemon nods in accession to my point. "You still did what many thought was impossible, however. Zirae is no longer in power. He knows fear. He knows someone out there can challenge him."

"And that makes him even more dangerous," I say. "Now he has something to prove."

Onward and northward.

Callahan's burgeoning connection with Sharon. I know he knows better, but what am I supposed to do or say? She's beautiful, smart, funny, and accepts all of us without hesitation. So, I get it. But it worries me, for both of their sakes—I have Alistair front of mind as I think about this.

Given that, I check in with him mentally. How are things there?

Quite well. Sorren has arrived with several elder shifters of various tribes. Updates to the property are progressing apace. How is your journey going?

Slow. We have to take all back roads and surface streets because the freeways are mostly impassable. We've encountered some resistance from mortals, but we've also been joined by a mortal, as well as a shifter and a fae.

Collecting an army, then. That's good. I fear you'll need it to get into Manhattan. The news reports from there are not good. It's a volatile situation and it's only getting worse.

Awesome , I reply, with a mental sigh. It's not going to be a quick trip up there, either.

You can only do your best. And I think what you are doing, collecting people along the way, is just as important and necessary.

I hope so because I don't see any other way. But I'm actually hoping you can give me some advice on another issue.

I can certainly try. What's going on, my love?

The mortal we've adopted, Sharon? She and Callahan are developing a thing. And I don't know what to do about it, or if I SHOULD do anything or say anything. I mean, is it my place? He's a couple hundred years old and I know he knows the risks. We've made Sharon aware of the reproductive situation with immortals, so she knows, too. Do I say and do nothing and let the situation play out? Talk to Callahan? Talk to Sharon?

Alistair's response is slow in coming. That is quite a difficult situation, Maeve. On one hand, they're both adults. They are both aware of the risks. But emotions have a nasty tendency to override reason. I suppose my advice would be to talk to the mortal first. Make sure she really understands the risks in getting involved with Callahan and that you're only coming to her out of concern for her wellbeing.

That does make sense. Thank you, Alistair. I miss you guys.

We miss you, too, dearest one. Be safe.

I'll do my best. You too!

The risk here is minimal at best. But we will keep watch.

I resolve to get Sharon alone at some point.

The actual driving is easy enough—we made good time and didn't hit any obstacles. We're on a low-traffic county highway going through rural Georgia, so our progress is good.

And then we reach a small village around sunset and decide to stop for the night, and that's when things get interesting.

We top off our fuel tanks and then gather at a diner. Caspian fed from me discreetly on the drive, a quick but intense drink from my wrist as we pulled into town—enough to put some pink to his skin and make him less obviously a vampire.

The diner is mostly empty, with only a few tables being used. The waitress is a short, stout, older mortal woman with curly gray hair and the raspy voice of a lifelong smoker. With so many of us trooping through the door, we're worried she'd turn us away simply due to being overwhelmed, but she counts us silently and begins shoving tables together without a word.

We order quickly, and she sets about getting everyone drinks while the cook started our food. So far, so good. The food, understandably, takes a while to come and does so in waves since there's only one cook.

The trouble starts when one of the other customers, a teenage girl dining with who I assume are her parents, recognizes me.

Which is weird enough for me on its own—I certainly didn't have nationwide—if not global—fame on my bingo card. It's when she comes over to me that the trouble begins.

"Um, hi?" She shuffles over to me, her phone in her hands.

I blink, startled. Look up at her, confused. "Hi."

She turns her phone to face me—it's a screenshot of me from the viral video that began all this. "Is this you?"

The hum and hubbub of chatter and clinking utensils quiets. "Uh, yeah." I sip Diet Coke. "I'm Maeve." I hold out my hand for her to shake.

She stares at my hand like it's got some contagious disease visible on it. "I'm Tilly." She's about fifteen or so—only four years younger than me but somehow seems like a baby after all I've been through. "What are you doing here ?"

I drop my hand. I can't tell if she's excited, awestruck, disgusted, confused… "Well, I'm headed to New York. Do you live around here?"

She shrugs. "Yeah. Can you really do magic? Like, real magic? Not, like, illusions or whatever?"

"Um, well, yes."

She looks at Caspian. "And…he's a real, actual vampire?"

"Yes, he is." I take Caspian's hand in mine. "He's my mate. Kind of like a husband."

"Can you show me some magic?"

"Tilly! Get back over here!" Her mother says in a low, venomous hiss. " Now ! Stay away from those…those… things !"

"Mom, god, stop !" Tilly turns to look at her mother over her shoulder with a bug-eyed glare of embarrassment. "Don't be such a bigot. Geez."

I try to smile, but it's wobbly and weak. "Um, well?" I look at her parents: her mother is red-faced with anger, sporting an impressive "I'd like to speak to your manager" super-Karen bob, and her father is muscular but big-bellied, wearing camo cargo shorts, a black "wifebeater" style tank top, and Crocs with calf-high white tube socks. "Your mom may not like that."

She rolls her eyes. "She doesn't like anything except rosé wine and The Bachelor ." She smiles at me, bouncing up and down a couple of times. "Please?"

I flourish my hand and conjure a rose. Present it to her with a smile. "Here."

Her eyes widen and she slaps her palm over her mouth. "SHUT—UP! That was so cool!"

I shrug, grin. "Thanks. It's just a little trick."

"Can I learn how to do that?"

I wince. "Well, no, probably not."

"I heard you were mortal like me, once, though."

"Well, it's a little more complicated than that." I try to decide how to explain it to someone without an understanding of magic. "I wasn't actually a mortal. There was a glamour, what you might think of as a spell, making it seem like I was. It stopped working, and I became who I really am. So, I didn't become immortal, really, I just stopped looking and feeling like a mortal."

Her face falls. "Oh."

"Sorry." I gesture at the rose. "You can keep that, though. It was nice to meet you."

"Can I get a selfie with you?"

I hesitate, thoroughly weirded out by this whole situation. I force a smile. "Sure!"

Tilly lowers herself into a crouch next to me, phone held out at arm's length, and snaps a few quick selfies.

"Tilly Margaret Alanson!" Her mother screeches loudly, irate, marching over to us. "That is quite enough, young lady. These creatures are dangerous."

She reaches for her daughter, snatching the phone with such abrupt violence that the device clatters to the floor, the screen shattering.

"MOM!" Tilly yanks her arm away. "You're such a bitch!"

The father lurches out of his seat and takes two stomping, lumbering steps toward his daughter, hand raised.

Caspian is a blur of shadows even to my eyes—to the mortals, he'll have simply appeared between the father and Tilly. "Strike your child, and I strike you," he snarls, venomous and vicious. "And trust me, mortal , I strike far harder than you."

"Fuck you, punk ," the father grunts, and lashes out with a punch.

He's a big man and probably cut quite an intimidating figure twenty years ago. As it is, had Caspian been a mortal twenty-year-old, the punch would have broken his jaw. But since Cas is what he is, the man only succeeds in breaking his own fist.

Caspian chuckles. "Is it my turn now?"

"Cas," I warn, muttering quietly.

He sighs, annoyed. "So I can't rip his arm off and beat him to death with it?"

"No," I say. The man looks pale and worried, cradling his broken hand, looking from me to Caspian. "Maybe just a finger or two as a lesson."

Caspian is barely holding back laughter—it's wrong, I know, but so am I.

Caspian picks up a glass from their table—empty, but for melting ice and the dregs of Diet Coke. He stares at the man as he slowly closes his fist. The glass cracks, just hairlines and spiderwebs at first, and then a chunk splinters away and tinkles on the floor; he squeezes harder and shards rain down. He clenches his fist closed, grinding, and the glass becomes dust trickling from the bottom of his hand. He opens his hand, showing a multitude of cuts dribbling blood, which heal in real-time.

Tilly turns to look up at Caspian. "Please don't hurt them," she whispers. "I know they're assholes, but they're my assholes and they're all I've got."

Caspian brushes his palms together and then dusts them on the thighs of his jeans. "No one is hurting anyone." He smiles. "I admire your bravery and open-mindedness, Tilly." He stares hard first at the father then the mother. "You could learn something from your daughter, the both of you. It's not smart to antagonize someone who offered neither harm nor insult, especially when that someone could end you before you could blink. Remember that I didn't harm you, even after you struck me."

A tall middle-aged mortal male, thin and scrawny everywhere but with a protruding potbelly, scurries over. "I think you should leave. All of you. Now. I'll comp your meals—just leave."

Caleb rises to his feet and towers over the mortal. "Why?"

"You're causing a scene and scaring my customers." He pales but holds his ground before Caleb.

Caleb arches an eyebrow. " We're causing a scene? They approached us . She yelled at her daughter in public for talking to us. Her father would have struck her. Yet we're causing the scene?"

I sigh. "I won't argue with recalcitrant mortals, Caleb." I rise to my feet. "I believe most of us are finished anyway."

Tilly stomps her foot. "This whole thing is stupid! You're supposed to be adults, but you're acting like scared little children!" She glares at her parents and then the manager. "You're going to comp their meal? Which has to be, what? A hundred dollars? Two hundred? You're an idiot." She turns back to me. "I'm sorry, Maeve. I didn't mean to cause you trouble."

I smile at her. "You did nothing wrong. This is what we're facing. People don't understand us. We just need more people to be like you."

She smiles, twirling the rose between her finger and thumb. "I'm glad I got to meet you."

"So am I, Tilly." I use a tendril of prana to scoop up her broken phone and fix it, floating it into her hands.

Her eyes widen and shimmer. "Ohmygod. THANK YOU!"

I hear her mother gasp in outrage.

My eyes go cold as I regard her. "Did you have something to say?" I reach out a tendril of prana and wrap it around her—she can't see it, but she can feel it, a warm, invisible coil. I taste her, feel her. "Your name is actually Karen? Wow." I drop my voice to a whisper only she can hear. "Does your husband know about the lawn boy, do you think? I know your daughter does."

Her eyes widen. "No, please. It was…it was just once."

I smirk. "You can lie to yourself, Karen, but you can't lie to me."

"It…it doesn't mean anything."

"You're religious, Karen. You read your Bible, don't you?"

She swallows hard. "Y-yes?"

"Maybe you should read the part where Jesus tells the Pharisees that whichever one of them hasn't ever sinned can be the first one to throw stones at the prostitute." I saw a TikTok about that once, in LA before Mom died. I guess it stuck with me for some reason.

"I…I…"

I pull my prana back in and walk away. "Someone pay for our meal. Let it be known that the Once-Mortal Queen pays her debts." I sweep out of the restaurant without looking back, hoping my exit is as dramatic as I intend.

Sometimes, you just have to make a statement.

A few minutes later, the rest of our crew has left and is piling into the vehicles.

A small crowd has gathered—curious locals who've heard about some hubbub at the restaurant. They record us with cell phones and snap photos with their phones held over their heads as if I'm some A-list actress.

There's a motel a mile or so down the road, a sad, dilapidated place that's probably thirty years past its best days, such as they may have been.

"Maybe y'all oughta let me negotiate," Sharon says.

I scan the motel—a long, low, single-story building with a dozen rooms. I frown, realizing that at some point, I stopped thinking about money; I have no idea who paid for our meal, or how, or how we paid for gas.

Caspian touches my mind with his, feeling my question and answering it. We're a wealthy coven, he says. You don't need to worry about money.

A few minutes later, Sharon emerges from the motel office with a handful of tarnished brass keys attached to oversized white plastic squares with room numbers printed beneath peeling lamination.

"They're all the same," she says, "So take a key and pick a room, y'all."

Another few minutes later, the keys are distributed, and the rooms have been claimed. I have one with Caleb and Caspian. We set our bags on the king-size bed, looking around at the room.

Faux wood-paneled walls, dirty, worn green shag carpeting, a TV that would have been cheap thirty years ago.

"The Ritz it is not," I murmur. "But it's somewhere to sleep for the night."

"Sleep," Caspian says, sidling up behind me. "Right."

Caleb cups my jaw in a hand. "My pack and I need to run," he murmurs. "Don't wait up."

I tug on a lock of his messy, over-long blond hair. "Wake me when you're back."

A small smile touches the corner of his lips. "Maybe." He glances at Caspian. "Take good care of our girl."

Caspian grins, already unbuttoning my jeans. "Oh, I will."

Caleb's eyes track the movement of the zipper, and his nostrils flare as he scents my sex when Caspian tugs my jeans down past my butt. "Dammit," he mutters to himself. "Fuck it. The run can wait."

He peels off his shirt, shucks his jeans and underwear, and prowls toward me, dropping to his knees in front of me. Caspian tugs up my shirt—I lift my arms, and he tosses it aside. Caleb drags my jeans around my ankles, helps me out of them, and then hooks one finger in the front of my panties. Caspian unhooks my bra, and Caleb pulls down my underwear.

I reach behind me, grasping for Caspian's manhood, but he snags my hands and lifts them up over my head and behind me; I find his hair and hold on.

My bra vanishes, and my panties, too. Caleb's beard tickles my thighs as he kisses up from my left knee; Caspian's lips kiss behind my right ear and then down my neck. I shiver and widen my stance.

Caleb traces a finger down my seam, teasing me as his lips slowly kiss upward and then go to my other leg. Caspian kisses my throat, my jugular, and then licks…and licks…and licks, and venom sizzles into my flesh and into my veins, bubbling in my blood. My sex heats, pulses, and floods with the wetness of need.

Caleb catches the scent of my desire, rumbling in his chest. "Now, bond-brother," he whispers.

His tongue laps against my clit and his lips fuse around it, and at the exact same time, Caspian punctures my flesh with his fangs; my blood sings, and ecstasy surges through me.

I cry out, going limp as release blasts through me, plunging me into throes of heady bliss. Caspian draws at my blood, and his hands cup my breasts; I feel his erection nestle between the globes of my buttocks, still hidden behind the clothes he still wears.

Meanwhile, Caleb is devouring me. He tongues me eagerly, ravenously, as if I'm his last meal. The first initial foray into orgasm was a mere precursor to what's building, now.

Caspian pinches my nipples, squeezing hard and pulling them away and then releasing, timed in synch with his slow suckling of my blood. Caleb, in counterpoint to Caspian's slow deliberation, is hungrily feasting upon me, licking, flicking, sucking, while his hands grip my ass, toying, teasing his touch closer and closer…

But then, as I hover, gasping, on the edge of the orgasm, Caleb pulls away and gets to his feet, wiping his lips with his wrist.

"No-no-no," I whimper, "I was right there!"

Caleb doesn't respond in words. He waits until Caspian withdraws his fangs and closes the wound, and then steps into me. He palms my ass in his hands, claims my mouth with his, and lifts me while kissing me. I moan into his mouth, tasting myself on him—I draw prana from him and feel him opening to me, offering it freely; I, in turn, hold myself open so he can pull at my mana.

Caspian knots his hands in my hair and kisses the back of my neck, between my shoulder blades…licks down my back, touching each knob of my spine with his tongue so his venom spikes into me, sending white-hot lances of need shivering through me. The orgasm I'd been on the cusp of swells through me once more, building rapidly to a shuddery new intensity.

Caleb's cock nuzzles my opening, and I cling to Caleb's neck, taking his tongue into my mouth and drawing at his prana, tasting his soul as he offers it up to me. Life billows through me—a wild, manic energy. Need shatters, a desperate starvation for my mates.

And then, with a sharp thrust, Caleb is inside me, pushing deep, stretching me apart with his huge, hot, hard cock. I cry out into his mouth, whimpering into the kiss. He pulls me down onto him until I'm seated on him as deep as he can go, and then he thrusts even deeper until I ache with him, can't kiss anymore, can't breathe, can't think, can only scream silently as the orgasm smashes me into shaking, shivering paroxysms.

All the while, Caspian kisses my flesh everywhere—shoulders, throat, spine, sides, hips, thighs…pushing venom into me until I'm writhing and gasping breathlessly.

Caleb sinks to his knees, sitting on his shins, and then thrusts—I scream, finally catching my breath.

Behind me, Caspian lets my hair go to spill down my back, caressing my cheek. I open my eyes, see him standing next to me, watching. His cock stands at attention, begging. I reach for him, holding Caleb's neck for balance with one hand and clutching Caspian's cock with the other. Caress his hot length and pull him closer. My vampire takes over for a moment, and I tilt his cock away, softly stroking him, licking the soft, tender skin next to his balls, and then suckling one delicate egg-like weight into my mouth, let it go, and lick his inner thigh. My venom makes him groan, and his cock pulses in my hand. I puncture his femoral and blood spurts hot and sweet into my mouth, and the bloodbond spreads through me. I feel him, feel his pleasure in my veins, in my body. The hot, taut, hard pulse of his cock, the tight weight of his balls, the anticipation in his belly, I feel it all—it's as disorienting as it is erotic because it's layered over and through my own pleasure. I feel my pussy split open to a throbbing hot ache by Caleb's cock, the wild line of climax rising from my core, my breasts heavy and my nipples hard.

I stroke Caspian's length and feel his pleasure at my touch spread through me, making my own pleasure multiply; I squeeze around Caleb, and he thrusts into me. I feel Caspian moan, and I know he feels my sensations as I feel his.

With his blood warm and sweet in my mouth, I close Caspian's flesh and find Caleb's wrist and waste no time licking his wrist and sliding my fangs into his vein, and now…oh, fuck, oh fuck, I feel him too, I can feel the tight wet heat of me clenching around him, the pulsing pressure of orgasm building inside him, the flow of prana leaving him and mana flooding in.

Three-way ecstasy pounds inside me, confusing and overwhelming and incredible. Our united sensations weave through us, uniting us in a whole new way—I stroke Caspian's cock, and Caleb moans as well. Rise up and slam down, squeezing as hard as possible the whole way, and Caspian growls at the same time as Caleb.

Caleb presses a thumb against my clit, and all three of us gasp.

Whenever I think I have this multiple mates business figured out, the magic of it goes and does something new—like this.

Caleb drives up into me, and I gasp and caress Caspian's length. We all shudder as orgasm shivers and hovers just out of reach.

"Need your mouth, my love," Caspian murmurs. "Please."

I lick Caleb's wrist. Pull Caspian's cock toward me and wrap my lips around him, slide my tongue against him—we all groan, and my sex tightens involuntarily, and Caleb thrusts into me.

And, oh god, it's wild, then. Caleb fucks me soft and slow, and Caspian stands with the statue-like stillness only a vampire is capable of as I take him to the back of my throat, and both men growl and gasp and groan, and I whimper.

When I feel Caspian reaching his edge, I pull away. "Need you inside me, my love," I whisper, leaning into Caleb.

He takes the cue and moves to his back on the floor. I crush my breasts against his chest and tilt my backside high. Caspian vanishes for a moment and then returns with a cracking click of a plastic lid, and warm wetness floods down my ass and his fingers smear it over me and into me—one finger delves in, and then two, and I hear the slick squelch of his hand on his cock—I turn to watch over my shoulder, biting my lip in anticipation and desire. His cock glistens with lube, and his fist slicks down it.

"Oh fuck, please," I whisper. "Please."

He presses the tip against me. "This? You need me?"

"Need you," I agree, writhing on Caleb with eager flutters of my hips. "Please, my love."

I crane my head to watch over my shoulder as he presses in, slowly, gently; his eyes are subsumed with black as he penetrates me, and I cry out, feeling the ecstasy of it threefold—my own, as well as his and Caleb's in rippling echoes.

An eternity later, he bottoms out inside me, and I'm so full it hurts, but it hurts beautifully, perfectly. The rippling echoes of pleasure shudder through me, and I have to move. I shift forward, taking Caleb deeper, and Caspian withdraws…and then Caspian pushes in and Caleb slides out, and the slick slide of them is too much, and feeling it echoing and echoing and echoing is almost more than I can handle—more than my brain can process.

I whimper and let them take over. All I can do is keen in my throat as my men take me, love me. They move in unspoken synch, our spirits united in a way I never knew possible, and tears sting my eyes, glowing with prana and tinged scarlet with blood.

Faster, then, and I feel Caspian's orgasm pulsing at the edge of my mind and feel it throbbing inside my body, and Caleb is losing control of his thrusts, and now I feel him break apart first, with a loud guttural shout—I feel it in my pussy and in my soul, and Caspian feels it too, and he snarls with a dark, primal release, and now I'm coming, we're all three of us roaring like beasts, and our interwoven orgasms build upon each other and I see myself through Caleb's eyes and Caspian's at the same time, with my eyes closed, and then I open them and see Caleb beneath me, watching me, shocked wonder on his face, and turn to watch Caspian go through the same emotions, and I know my face must show them as well.

I feel Caleb's spirit, and Caspian's, and mine, a distinct union, three souls made one, and the physical sensations, as intense as they are, pale in comparison to the wonder of the spiritual.

Slowly, we settle back to earth, and the distorting, triplicate sensations fade, and I'm only me, feeling only my body and only my spirit.

For a moment, I'm lost without them.

They pull out, clean me, and cradle me between their bodies.

I sleep, and do not dream.