Chapter 4

Chapter Four

V adisk pounded his fist into his pillow, trying to beat it into a comfortable shape. Sleep had been alluding him for the better part of an hour as he tossed and turned, wishing for a do-over of the day.

He'd royally fucked things up with Dahlia and Montana, coming off like a grade-A dick, right out of the gate.

Despite the way he'd acted toward them, Vadisk had been incredibly impressed by his spouses. They were intelligent and interesting, and under different circumstances, he imagined they were probably quite fun.

Dahlia had a smile that put people at ease and a sharp intelligence that promised she wouldn't suffer fools lightly. Montana was easygoing yet meticulous, with a quick wit. Several times throughout the day, the two of them had engaged in brief but funny banter that had helped cut through some of the never-ending tension they all felt.

As angry as he was over this uneven trinity—with him the odd man out—Vadisk couldn't deny his attraction to…both of them. He'd known from a pretty young age that he was bisexual, his tastes not tied to a specific gender, but rather to personality traits and physical attraction instead. He was drawn to people who were bright, kind, mentally strong, and entertaining, and he'd been pleased to discover Dahlia and Montana checked all those boxes.

His spouses were also exceptionally good-looking. So much so, he'd been hard-pressed to keep his desires under control. Especially whenever one of them got too close. Half of the arguments he'd waged with Montana this afternoon had been his attempt at dampening his arousal, rather than genuine annoyance. Not that the spats had helped much.

He'd hesitated joining them on the patio this evening, thinking it best to keep his distance if he was going to be able to keep his wits about him. However, that plan had failed when—against all common sense—he found himself sliding open the door and stepping outside. It was as if he'd been drawn to them much like opposing magnets. He'd had to continue looking around at their surroundings to keep himself from staring at Dahlia's full pink lips as she took a sip of her wine or admiring the auburn scruff on Montana's chiseled jaw.

Fuck.

Crimea sure as shit wasn't the time or place for him to indulge in this attraction. His spouses were a distraction he could not afford. Not when so much was on the line.

He groaned to himself when he realized exactly how much time remained between now and when he could freely—and safely—take them to his bed. Vadisk's balls would be tinted a permanent blue before the three of them could consummate this marriage.

As Vadisk lay there, he came up with a million different ways he could have approached them and their unexpected union better. Instead, he'd taken the path of most resistance, acting like a miserable asshole right out of the gate, bickering with Montana over every little thing and failing to comfort Dahlia the way he'd wanted to after she told them about her failing vision.

It had taken everything he had not to reach out to grasp her hand, but to do so would have been a monumental mistake if someone was watching. And while he hadn't seen anyone in the surrounding area or found any cameras or bugs in the villa, Vadisk was still cautious enough and smart enough to know someone was most definitely watching them.

Too much was riding on them completing this mission successfully, and not just in terms of them catching the blackmailer and figuring out how he or she knew about the Masters' Admiralty. Failure wouldn't just put the Masters' Admiralty at risk; it could very well put his, Montana's, and Dahlia's lives at risk. Crimea was swarming with people who wouldn't hesitate to bring them down should their duplicity be discovered, and considering the current state of the world, the Russian government didn't need to look too hard for a reason to detain, or even eliminate, Americans or Ukrainians.

They couldn't let their guard down. Not for a single second.

When it became obvious sleep wasn't coming, Vadisk rose from the bed and pulled on a pair of lounge pants. Making his way to the large sliding glass door in his room, he stepped out onto the terrace that spanned the entire side of the villa for some fresh air.

Glancing down at the pool, he jerked back, every part of him coming to attention as he quickly glanced over his shoulder for a weapon.

Someone was standing on the patio.

Stealing another glimpse, it took several seconds for his ready-for-battle brain to process that there was no threat.

It was Dahlia.

Apparently, she was struggling to sleep as well. Her back was toward him as she looked across the pool and down over the mountainside to the moonlight reflected on the Black Sea. She was barefoot and wearing a thin cotton robe over her pajama shorts and T-shirt. Her attire was more functional than sexy. Not that his libido was registering that.

Dahlia, his wife, was a very beautiful woman. She tied the belt of her robe, and his gaze slid over her generous curves, her hourglass shape. She'd pulled her hair up in a short ponytail, though several strands had escaped and were curling around her shoulders.

Vadisk imagined himself stepping up behind her, wrapping his arms around her tiny waist as she tilted her head, allowing him to run his lips and tongue along her delicate neck before lifting his hands to cup her breasts. His cock thickened at the thought.

"Shit," he whispered, aware he'd done what he'd just told himself he couldn't. He'd allowed himself to be distracted by her. He issued his dick the old "down boy," shutting away the image of the two of them together.

Once his arousal was under control again, his inner soldier took over, telling him to get down there and drag her ass back inside. It wasn't safe for her to be outside alone, and he intended to make sure she realized that.

Before he took a single step, Montana walked out of the villa and joined her.

It looked like none of them were getting any sleep tonight.

Vadisk remained where he was, aware he was hidden from their view, as the shadows cast by nearby trees left the part of the terrace where he stood in relative darkness, concealing him.

"Can't sleep?" he heard Montana say softly.

The way Dahlia startled slightly, quickly raising her hands to her eyes before turning around, told Vadisk she'd been crying. He hadn't even noticed.

His chest grew tight at the thought—and the realization—that he was most likely responsible for those tears.

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said, her thick voice also betraying the tears she'd shed.

"Dahlia?" Montana stepped closer, his hands landing on her shoulders. He studied her face for a moment before cupping her cheek with one hand. "Are you crying?"

"No." She shook her head hastily, even though there was enough proof to the contrary. "I don't cry."

Montana tipped her face upward with a finger under her chin. "What's wrong?"

Dahlia turned her head away, swiping her eyes once more. "God. I hate crying. I never do it." Her tone was suddenly angry, and it was clear she was pissed off at herself for the moment of weakness.

Montana remained close, though Vadisk thought he saw a ghost of a smile on the other man's face in the light. "You hate it, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm usually better at controlling my emotions. I shouldn't have let this get to me."

Vadisk mentally corrected her statement, changing this to him . He'd gotten to her by acting like a petulant child, kicking his feet over the prospect of having to uproot his life in Ukraine. Maybe if he explained what the hell was happening with his admiral, his certainty that if he wasn't there she might not survive, they'd understand.

"There's nothing wrong with crying, Dahlia. My mom loves a good cry. Says it's cleansing. Sometimes she goes out of her way to do it, putting on sad movies just to get the tears out."

Dahlia gave him a small smile. "What does she watch?"

Montana grinned widely, and Vadisk appreciated the deft way his husband was distracting Dahlia from her sadness.

"Usually The Notebook or Return to Me ."

" Return to Me ?" Dahlia asked. Vadisk wasn't familiar with that film either.

"A romantic comedy with David Duchovny that's at least twenty years old. Mama says it's stupid and the heroine's dumb, but Mom swears it's one of the best movies ever made and she's always crying within ten minutes of hitting play. Of course, Mom also loves Overboard and Twister , so you might want to take her movie recs with a grain of salt."

Dahlia laughed. "I'll have to look it up."

"You want to talk about it?" Montana asked, drawing knuckles along one cheek to wipe away the last of the tears.

"It's just…" She paused, drawing in a deep breath before looking away.

"Just what?" Montana prompted.

"I was looking forward to getting married."

Montana's brow creased in confusion, but Vadisk understood exactly what she meant.His gut ached, hating that he'd made her cry.

Rubbing the back of his neck wearily, Montana asked, "Are you unhappy?"

"No," Dahlia replied quickly, reaching out to grip Montana's forearm. "No. Not with you."

Montana nodded slowly. "With Vadisk?"

Dahlia sighed. "No. Not with him either."

Vadisk felt a fleeting moment of relief, until she continued.

"But he's clearly angry and… How do we make this work if he never accepts the marriage or us?"

Her response went through Vadisk like a dagger. His first impression had been way worse than he'd thought. Again, he was tempted to walk downstairs and pull Dahlia into his arms. To apologize to her for his shitty attitude and for making her think he was unhappy with them.

At first, he'd been shaken by the idea of leaving his home, his country, his job. Even now when he considered those things, a heavy lead weight settled in his stomach.

But none of that was their fault.

The problem was this mission, and Montana and Dahlia's insistence that they present themselves as a couple traveling with their translator. It left Vadisk on the outside, with no way to touch them or talk to them the way he needed—no, wanted to.

Montana rubbed his jaw as he considered her question. "You and I are legacies, so we've had a lifetime to think about and prepare ourselves for when we would be called to the altar. I suspect that you, like me, approached the day we would be assigned our trinities with excitement, secure in the knowledge that we were embarking on something truly incredible."

Dahlia nodded. She'd already admitted as much when she'd told Montana how much she'd been looking forward to getting married.

Montana reached out and took her hand in his. "Vadisk isn't a legacy, so he didn't grow up in the same environment. He's coming at this union from a completely different perspective. He probably would have been stressed out meeting his trinity no matter what. And the way we've all been jammed together and sent off on a dangerous mission means his stress level is probably through the roof."

Vadisk was grateful to Montana for generously offering a kind explanation for his poor behavior today.

"You and I also had the added benefit of not being complete strangers, since we've been working together to plan the trip. You weren't a stranger to me when the Grand Master said you would be my wife. The same didn't hold true for Vadisk. As far as he was concerned, he was placed in some unexpected, inaugural cross-society union with two strangers, assigned a dangerous mission, and then told he might have to immigrate to the U.S. at the end of it."

"You're right. That is a lot," Dahlia agreed.

"So it makes sense that he's struggling with this."

Dahlia considered that, nodding just once. "Of course, right on the heels of being introduced to each other, we were all essentially plopped down in the middle of occupied territory that could easily become a war zone. We don't really have the time to talk about what comes next for our marriage." She shuddered when she said war zone, that reaction the first indication Vadisk had seen that she was uneasy in Crimea. She appeared so calm and collected, even after those intense hours being questioned in customs.

Montana released her hand and pulled Dahlia into his arms, the way Vadisk wished he could. "We're going to be okay, Dahlia. We're smart, capable, and none of us are reckless. We'll get the information we're here to find and then, once we're home, we'll figure out the rest."

"Home," she murmured softly, her cheek pressed against Montana's chest. Vadisk was hung up on the same word because, as of right now, none of them knew where home was, their futures too up in the air.

Vadisk could see the way they were looking at each other when Dahlia lifted her head from Montana's chest.

Vadisk held his breath as he watched his husband cup Dahlia's cheeks, staring at her with the same admiration and awe Vadisk felt the first time he'd seen her.

Dahlia slowly rose on tiptoe as Montana lowered his head toward her. They moved slowly, as if offering each other an opportunity to pull back if they wanted.

Vadisk barely blinked as their lips touched, Montana cradling Dahlia's face gently, as if he were holding something made of delicate glass. Dahlia's hands found their way to Montana's waist, her fingers tightening in the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

The kiss lingered, starting slowly, nothing more than an exploration, but that soon changed, evolving into something hotter, hungrier.

One of Montana's hands slipped around Dahlia's neck, grasping it as the other drifted along her arm, their wife shivering in response.

Though he was some distance away, Vadisk caught a peek of their tongues touching, and he heard Montana's low, guttural moan when Dahlia's hands slipped under his T-shirt, touching skin.

Vadisk was assaulted by two emotions simultaneously.

Arousal.

And hurt.

He should be down there, should be a part of that kiss.

He let himself play it out in his mind. Let himself imagine how he would step behind Dahlia, licking that slender neck before reaching around her body to grip Montana's shoulders and pull him even closer.

The idea of holding their wife between them, the two of them taking turns kissing her and each other, was a heady one. He imagined how it would feel to stroke, caress, touch his lovers. The three of them exploring, discovering, learning about each other, testing limits, drawing out every single drop of exquisite pleasure they could.

Vadisk reached down and ran a hand over his cock. His hard cock. He swallowed heavily, biting off his own needy moan.

Dahlia and Montana parted for a moment, sharing a sweet smile. Dahlia even breathed out an airy laugh, and then they kissed again. Every bit of reticence was gone now as they pressed their bodies tightly together, her hands in his hair, his in hers, both holding the other to them as if the idea of separating even an inch was untenable.

Vadisk's brows furrowed as he continued to watch and his heart panged. Once again, he was on the outside of his marriage, alone in the shadows, standing by like a poor beggar.

Montana broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers. "We should stop here, Dahlia."

"You're right."

While neither of them said it, he hoped the reason they'd pulled back was his absence, though he couldn't be sure.

Especially when Montana said, "It's not safe out here. We should go back inside."

She nodded. "Thank you," she murmured to Montana. "Talking about it did help."

Vadisk watched the two of them walk back into the house, so he did the same, sliding the terrace door closed. He heard the soft sound of their bedroom door close, leaving him on the outside once again.

He returned to his bed, falling back heavily, his cock still hard, throbbing with unfulfilled needs.

Yeah, he thought miserably.

He definitely wasn't sleeping tonight.

Vadisk stood at the edge of the overlook as Dahlia spoke to the video camera Montana was directing her way. They'd spent the past hour walking along the Golitsyn Path. Dahlia had an entire script and stopped to consult it each time they hit a new point of interest, making sure she remembered everything about it, before asking Montana to hit record.

They'd passed at least a dozen other people—mostly locals and Russian tourists—enjoying the sunny day and scenic walk. Every one of them had looked at them with either curiosity or suspicion, and Vadisk's shoulder muscles were going to cramp after being this tight for so long.

After a shitty night's sleep, Vadisk had continued to wow his spouses with his grumpy fucking attitude as they ate breakfast in stilted silence before changing into their hiking attire, grabbing Dahlia's camera equipment, and hiring a driver to take them to the trailhead.

It wasn't hard to see why Dahlia's documentary-like travel videos were so popular. She was a natural in front of the camera,had a keen eye for finding true beauty in nature, and she did the work to understand the people and places she visited.

She was one of those rare people capable of living in the minute, appreciating where she was and what she was seeing. Listening to her describe the sights, smells, and sounds no doubt made her viewers feel like they were truly there with her. Hell, he actually WAS with her and she was drawing his attention to things he'd overlooked.

Montana was clearly enjoying his role as cameraman, moving as Dahlia spoke, making sure to fully capture everything she mentioned. She had spent nearly an hour before breakfast teaching Montana how to use the small but powerful camera, giving him some tips on when to zoom and when not to.

"And cut," Montana said dramatically when Dahlia signaled that she was finished. As they'd done after every snippet was filmed, she and Montana put their heads together, checking the footage in the small viewfinder in case they needed to shoot the scene again.

Vadisk expected the sadness he'd experienced last night to return, but it didn't. All that lingered now was the arousal as he acknowledged how good the two of them looked together, and he felt a growing sense of pride in knowing they were his.

Of course, the arousal and pride were foolish emotions, considering he'd acted like a bear with a thorn in his paw since the moment he'd met them. If he continued acting like such an asshole, they were likely to pitch him over the mountainside and into the sea.

However, as they continued on and with each step they took, with each awe-inspiring spot they'd stopped to capture on film, Vadisk felt his grumpiness fade away. It was nearly impossible to be in a bad mood around these two people.

"Should we continue on?" Vadisk suggested, gesturing down toward the beach. Most of the other people on the trail were farther behind them, so it was easy to pretend they were the only ones on the path and that they'd found their own personal paradise. The views of the sea truly were breathtaking.

For the briefest of moments, Vadisk was tempted to take Dahlia's hand, to hold it as they walked, but he resisted, aware such a thing would be too dangerous, even in private.

"Are you actually planning to post episodes about Crimea?" Vadisk asked, initiating a conversation in hopes of making a better impression. "Or is all this filming just for show?"

"Why wouldn't I post episodes? Crimea is beautiful, the history here fascinating and tragic in many ways," Dahlia said, spinning around to take in the stunning view of the sea. "But I know once we start actually investigating, filming becomes the last priority. I suppose I'll have to see how much footage I capture."

"You might want to get the camera out again," Vadisk said, pointing to a small alcove in the rocky cliff. "We're approaching Grotto Golitsyn."

"Grotto?" Montana stopped walking, looking alarmed.

"It's one of the highlights of this walk," Vadisk explained.

Dahlia blinked in surprise, then shot Vadisk a dazzling smile that almost knocked him on his ass. Sad that the bar was so damned low, knowing one fact about Crimean points of interest was enough to impress her.

Montana remained where he was, even as Dahlia and Vadisk started walking again. When they realized he wasn't following them, they turned back.

"Is everything okay?" Dahlia asked.

Montana lifted the camera bag, handing it to Vadisk. "Why don't you take a turn with the camera?"

Vadisk refused to take it. "That's not my role here. I know there aren't very many people around, but we need to remember that I'm only here as a guide and translator."

"I…" Montana swallowed heavily. "I can't go into the grotto."

Dahlia frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't do caves."

Vadisk waited for Montana to expound, but it was obvious he was uncomfortable with the subject. "What's wrong with caves?"

"It's not just caves. I can't do tight, confined spaces," Montana clarified.

Vadisk briefly recalled Montana's stopping in the door of the small private plane and his somewhat labored breathing. He'd chalked it up to airsickness, but now he suspected it was claustrophobia.

"Weren't you stationed on a submarine?" Vadisk asked.

Montana grimaced. "I was. That was where my claustrophobia began. There are height requirements for those who serve on subs. Can't be over six feet one inch tall. You won't fit on the berth. I'm just under that. I was on the sub for five years and during that time, I found it increasingly difficult to handle the confined space. Spent a lot of time sweating, had trouble breathing. More than a few times, I thought I was having a heart attack. By the time my stint was over, my claustrophobia was so full-blown, I was certain continuing with my commission would kill me. So instead of asking to be reassigned to a ship, I chose to leave the Navy completely."

Dahlia stepped close to Montana, reaching out to grip his forearm. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure it was difficult having to give up your dream job and start over like that."

Dahlia was also about to lose something precious. It drove home to Vadisk just how resilient and strong his spouses were, to overcome adversity and retain their positive, upbeat natures. He hadn't felt truly lucky about his trinity until this moment.

Montana shrugged. "The Navy wasn't my dream job. I told you my father and Mama were both in the military. Dad is a top-ranking officer—a Jarhead until he dies—and he made it very clear when I was growing up that I would follow in his military footsteps. It was an expectation that I followed through on, not a decision I made."

"Can I assume they weren't pleased when you resigned your commission?" Vadisk asked. Montana had alluded to having a difficult relationship with his father.

"They didn't take it well, no," Montana confirmed. "The military wanted me back, and they leaned on my father so he'd lean on me. To try to convince me. Things between us have always been strained. My attending the Naval Academy and joining the Navy seemed to heal things for a little while, but I can see now it was little more than putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. The peace we'd achieved was never going to last. I spent too many years of my life living for them rather than myself, trying hard to be the perfect son. The day I resigned from the Navy was the happiest one of my life because for the first time, I was free to find my own happiness."

"And obviously the true key to being happy is studying biological anthropology," Dahlia joked, making a face as she exaggeratedly said the name of his unconventional career choice.

The three of them laughed. Vadisk appreciated Montana and Dahlia's talent for lightening tense or sad moments with humor. Montana had done the same for her last night by the pool.

"Are you saying studying anthropology wouldn't make you deliriously happy?" Montana asked with a grin.

Dahlia shot Vadisk a wide-eyed look. "Happy might be a stretch, but it's incredibly interesting. At least the stuff you sent me during our initial planning."

"How the hell did you even know biological anthropology was a thing? I had to Google it," Vadisk admitted.

Montana put a hand over his heart as if Vadisk had stabbed him. "But it's so cool!"

Vadisk and Dahlia shared a dubious look, and the moment of camaraderie felt good.

"I'm fascinated by the story of how Homo sapiens sapiens—that's what we are—evolved. People think evolution is a line, but it's a tree with interbreeding. It took multiple different species of early hominid, and then archaic humans, to create us. We're actually a messy mix of DNA from different species."

"Different species…like we're mutt dogs?" Vadisk asked.

"Depending on where you're from—I mean historically, where your ancestors lived." Montana looked at them. "We're all Eurasian genetically, I'm betting, so we probably have between one and four percent neanderthal DNA."

"I learned that much from what you sent me, but still, that's fascinating," Dahlia breathed, her gaze slightly unfocused as she processed the information.

They were both really fucking smart. Normally smart people didn't intimidate him. Vadisk had no problem being the muscle and taking a subordinate role until his skill set was needed, but they were something else.

Montana shrugged. "Regardless of what you naysayers think, I am very happy. And while my father and Mama consider me a disappointment, Mom couldn't be more proud of the new path I'm taking."

Vadisk hated the sadness that flashed in Montana's eyes. How could anyone think this man was a disappointment? That same longing to hold one of his spouses returned, and he had to force himself to remain steady, even as Dahlia stepped next to Montana, wrapping her arm around his waist. "I can't wait to meet your mom. She sounds awesome."

Montana smiled. "She is."

"You left the military as well," Dahlia said, turning to Vadisk, even as her hand remained on the small of Montana's back. His inability to touch them was starting to chafe.

"Did something prompt that?" Montana asked.

Vadisk nodded. "Yeah. I was invited to join the Masters' Admiralty by the new admiral of Hungary, Nikolett Varda. Hungary—the territory, not the country—had gone through some upheaval prior to me joining the society. Nikolett's predecessor turned out to be a sociopathic lunatic, who employed a whole array of crazy assholes intent on destroying the Masters' Admiralty."

Montana gave a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn."

"Petro killed a lot of people and by the time he was stopped, Hungary was in shambles. Nikolett did a lot of housecleaning when she took over leadership, simply because it was hard to know who she could trust. She recruited me out of the military. She said she was drawn to me because of my service record. Right after I joined, I was made a security officer."

Dahlia and Montana frowned, confused.

"You don't have security officers in the Trinity Masters?" Vadisk asked.

Montana shook his head. "I know more than most people in the Trinity Masters about the Masters' Admiralty, but I don't know a lot about the inner workings. I've never heard of security officers."

"Basically, I'm part of a task force charged with protecting the members within Hungary's territory. There are also harcosok ?—"

" Harcosok ?" Dahlia interjected.

"It means warrior in Hungarian," Vadisk translated. "Every territory has a different name for them. In English, they're knights."

She grinned. "Knights as in round tables and jousting?"

Vadisk chuckled. "Maybe. In England's territory, the knights change their names and take on the names of the Knights of the Round Table."

"Dude, I love that," Montana mused. "But I'm confused. Why are there these warrior or knight positions, and security positions?"

Vadisk wondered how they would respond to his explanation, and for a split second, he considered downplaying his specific job duties. Then he reconsidered. He'd fucked up enough with these two. He refused to add to that by hiding who he truly was from them.

"The knights of each territory are the police. And sometimes the judges. They maintain law and order. Make sure rules and orders are followed. The security officers operate differently…outside of the law. We do what needs doing. Eliminate external threats…and we employ any means necessary."

"Special ops," Montana said quietly.

Vadisk nodded.

"Wow. That sounds morally gray as hell," Dahlia muttered.

Vadisk grimaced. "I don't want to hide who I am from you. I've done things in the past that the two of you might find…disturbing, but I promise you they were necessary."

Dahlia's expression tightened. "It sounds like a dangerous job."

Vadisk nodded. "It is at times. For the past year or so, what my territory needed was slightly different. I've been serving instead as my admiral's bodyguard, protecting her, keeping her safe, so that she can do the work that needs to be done. Ensuring her safety is priority one for me."

"You admire your admiral," Dahlia said.

He smiled. "Very much so. Nikolett is exactly what Hungary needed, strong, brave, intelligent. She stepped into a hornet's nest, following Petro's death, and she's made the territory better. She's given me a great deal of responsibility and support because she believes in my ability to serve."

"The perfect boss." Dahlia pushed her hair over her shoulder and out of her eyes, blown there by the warm breeze coming off the sea.

"She is." Vadisk respected his admiral and he was grateful to Nikolett for the trust she'd bestowed on him. "She was the one who recommended me to the Masters Protection Force."

Vadisk was met with a blank expression from Dahlia, though this time Montana nodded.

"Now the MPF, I know," Montana said.

Dahlia shot him a curious look. "I don't."

Vadisk wasn't surprised. There were very few people who weren't associated with the MPF aware of its existence, so he wondered how Montana knew about them.

"The MPF is a joint task force between the Trinity Masters and the Masters' Admiralty. Whenever danger arises that threatens both societies, the MPF is called in to eliminate it," Vadisk explained to Dahlia.

"So you work with them as well?" Dahlia leaned forward, clearly fascinated.

"Yes. Each territory has one person on the task force, and I represent Hungary. I'm hoping…" Vadisk paused.

"You're hoping you can continue with the MPF, since it's a joint force between our two societies," Montana finished for him.

"I am."

Montana sighed. "It's not a foregone conclusion that we'll wind up in America. The three of us will make that choice together. You need to stop viewing this as a two-against-one situation. You're assuming things about us without even getting to know us."

Vadisk had been doing that. It was why he'd been such an ass. "You're right. I do need to stop doing that. I'm sorry."

Dahlia beamed, her smile wide. "I want to hug you right now, but I know I can't."

Vadisk returned her grin. "I want the same thing. More than I can say."

The three of them looked at each other, letting the first genuine spark of warmth settle over them, and some of the heaviness that had been weighing him down fell away.

"I like that the Masters' Admiralty has a dedicated security force. Is being a security officer your full-time job?" Montana asked.

"Yes," Vadisk said. "Most territories have security or consulting companies that act as the official employer for the knights and security officers."

"That's their cover, since they can't say they work for a poly secret society." Dahlia's tone was warm with a smile.

"We should have something like that instead of the Warrior Scholars," Montana said.

"Warrior Scholars?" Dahlia asked.

"I'm part of a sort-of on-call security team within our society." Montana looked at Dahlia almost apologetically, as she made a frustrated noise. "My roommates and I are all former military men turned academics. We live in Boston and whenever the Grand Master needs someone to handle potentially dangerous situations, she calls on us."

Dahlia narrowed her eyes. "There's no reason I would know about things like a joint task force, but why have I never heard of Warrior Scholars?"

"When the Grand Master's counselors came to me right after I started my doctorate, and asked me if I'd be willing to step in and help whenever she needed someone with my skills, my impression was that this was a new thing. Everyone else seemed to feel the same way."

"What does your Grand Master do if someone disobeys, or if there is a threat to the society?" Vadisk asked.

"I think she just asks specific members to handle problems that come up," Montana said.

"The Grand Master's counselors also do things like warn people who are behaving badly. My mom told me a story she'd heard about that. Years ago, at one of the annual gatherings, someone she'd been recruited with was pulled aside by one of the counselors and warned to stop what they were doing."

"Annual gatherings? You have parties?" Vadisk's eye twitched. "That must be a security nightmare."

Montana reached out, placing his hand on Vadisk's shoulder with mock solemnity. "I try not to think about it."

Vadisk stiffened, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. It was an innocuous enough touch, but Montana quickly lowered his arm. "Sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have done that."

Both he and Montana scanned the surrounding area, mirror images in concern and paranoia. Even though he didn't see anything, Vadisk struggled to relax.

"Sounds like you and I have similar roles within our societies," Montana said. "Though mine is more of a part-time gig."

"I suppose we do. It never occurred to me that I could do something similar…" Vadisk hadn't considered the possibility of continuing his job—at least in some fashion—as a security officer in America.

"Listen, I know we're nowhere near ready to make decisions about our future, but just for fun… Have you ever thought about going to university?" Montana asked, grinning widely. "Because you'd make one hell of a Warrior Scholar."