Emmy laughed, and caught Zander watching her with satisfaction, like he was pleased to see her eating and laughing.
When Emmy slowed after eating barely a third of her plate, Spence immediately noticed.
“Too much?” he asked.
“Just full. I think my stomach shrunk.” Emmy set her fork down and took a small sip of her water. “But that was really good.”
“You did well,” Zander said, and the approval in his tone made Emmy smile.
After dinner, they moved to the couch — Emmy in the middle, with Spence to her right and Zander to her left.
They were in season two of Buffy, and Emmy settled back against the cushions with a contented sigh.
Spence’s hand found her knee, a casual touch, but it felt like … more. Zander’s arm stretched across the back of the couch behind her shoulders, not quite touching but close enough she could feel the coolness radiating from him.
On screen, Spike was brooding in some cemetery, and Emmy smiled. “He’s such a wonderful take on sexy evil.”
“He’s … entertaining,” Zander allowed.
“He’s hot,” Spence added, grinning when Zander shot him a look.
Sometime in the next episode, Emmy’s eyes grew heavy, the combination of food, warmth, and safety pulling her toward sleep. She found herself leaning into Spence’s shoulder, then adjusting so her head rested more comfortably against him.
“Tired?” Spence asked.
“A little.” Emmy’s eyes were already closing. “But I don’t want to move.”
“Then don’t.” Zander’s hand settled on her shoulder, cool fingers gentle. “Sleep here if you want. We’ll move you to bed later.”
Emmy wanted to protest, to say she could walk the fifteen feet to the bedroom herself, but Spence was warm and solid beneath her, and Zander’s touch was soothing.
So she let herself drift, Buffy’s dialogue fading to background noise, aware only of the two men bracketing her, the steady rhythm of Spence’s breathing, the occasional brush of Zander’s thumb against her shoulder.
This was what she’d wanted without knowing how to name it. Not just desire, not just attraction, but the feeling of fitting between them like a puzzle piece finally finding its place.
When she woke later, she was in bed, covers tucked around her, and Spence was sliding in behind her. He wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his front.
She opened her eyes and saw Zander standing near the door, watching with an expression Emmy couldn’t quite read.
“Stay,” she murmured, still half-asleep.
Zander’s mouth curved. “I have work to do, little dragon, but Spence will stay with you. You’re not alone.”
Emmy wanted to argue, wanted to ask him to stay anyway, but sleep pulled at her again. Spence’s arm was heavy over her, his warmth at her back, and she let herself sink into it.
The last thing she heard before sleep claimed her was Zander’s voice, low and fond: “Sleep well. Both of you.”
And as if her body was obeying him, Emmy slept through the night without fever dreams or pain, safe in the knowledge that nothing could hurt her in this suite.
Chapter 35
Emmy sat rigid on the raised dais, the best seat in the house, flanked by Felix and Toby. Everyone who’d been poisoned was on the dais, everyone else seated in rows on the theater floor — every vampire, shifter, and human in both the silo and the town of Mordnik. The only people not in attendance were the security personnel keeping watch aboveground and in the control room.
The theater was jam-packed, the air thick with anticipation.
She heard Felix take a shaky breath in and blow it out, and she turned to see him looking at the torture implements hanging near the edge of the stage. She reached for his hand, gave it a small squeeze, and reminded him, “They deserve everything they’ll get. They’d have kept going until people died, or until Zander was forced to close the season andsend everyone home.”
Felix nodded, and Toby, on the other side of her, said, “I’m looking forward to seeing them punished. Fuckers didn’t care about the pain they caused us. I see absolutely no reason for us to care about their pain.”
