That night, I woke to the crackle of wood in the fireplace. Toasty and inviting, the amber glow warmed my skin and tempted me back to sleep. I let my forehead fall forward against Roark’s shoulder, senses dimming, until Michio’s soft lips grazed the top of my spine.

Alertness tingled through my veins and aroused every point of contact. We lay on our sides on a blanket covering the hard floor, all three of us in cotton shorts, chests bare, with me in the middle. My breasts pressed against Roark’s back. The hard ridges of Michio’s chest pinned me from behind. My fingers rested on the deep cuts of Roark’s abs, and Michio’s legs hooked around mine. Roark’s feet angled away—heaven forbid, the guys accidentally touch.

Through skin-on-skin, their masculine force of Yang somehow protected me, a theory that stretched the limits of my agnostic beliefs. But I couldn’t argue with the evidence. Swaddled by strength and satiny flesh, I escaped the nightmares that had terrorized me since the outbreak.

Warm breaths glided across my shoulder. The nearby flames flickered shadows over our cuddle, the waft of hickory smoke smothering the mildew that clung to the cabin walls.

Michio’s hand curled around my hip and flattened over my stomach, his knuckles so close to Roark’s ass he had to have bumped it. His caress dipped beneath the elastic of my shorts, and all the heat in my body descended, throbbing beneath his fingers, as he rubbed and teased and spread me open.

I held still, certain I shouldn’t encourage him while sharing the makeshift bed with another man. But those fingers persisted, his intention blatant in the hard jab against my thigh. My inner muscles clenched, and I lifted a knee to part my legs, even as my stomach tightened with guilt.

A glance around the room confirmed Jesse was outside, either sleeping on the porch or guarding the edge of the woods. The single interior door closed off the room where Elaine slept. When we cured her a month earlier, we burned her bed and the three bodies decomposing atop it. Thankfully, she only remembered her children alive and healthy, her nymph fever saving her from the gruesome details of their deaths.

The hand between my legs pulled me back, mentally, then physically, stroking with the intoxicating skill of a doctor. He scissored his fingers, sliding deep, in and out to the pace of his quickening exhales.

Goosebumps prickled my spine, and wet heat eased the entry of his fingers. Of my three guardians, he knew my body best thanks to months in his care during my captivity on Malta. In the span of a few panting heartbeats, he took my arousal from a low burn to a frenzied boil.

I flexed my fingers, brushing the short hairs below Roark’s naval. His blond dreads tickled my nose, the strands knotted with leather ties and braids, yet soft against my face and clean with his oaky scent, like his skin. If he were awake, his hips would’ve rocked to urge the path of my hand. So responsive, my priest.

He was celibate in the most literal way. Other than our one time, he didn’t fuck me. At least, not my pussy. He found relief in my mouth, my hand, and most often, grinding against my leg. The man had mastered the art of dry-humping.

Technically, his vow was long past violated. Blow jobs, hand jobs, all of our stolen moments forbidden by the Church. The Vatican was gone, the Pope likely hunting the streets of Rome with a serrated mouth. Laws and doctrines no longer existed, but Roark’s integrity and faith remained intact, practiced through his own rules. Foreplay without shagging gave him some whacked-out balance between his god and the woman he loved.

My feelings about that wrestled in constant battle. Relief. Frustration. It made a mess of my emotions. I wanted him. That much, I knew. I also wanted Michio and Jesse, and if asked to choose between them, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I shared something different and special with each of them. Did that make me selfish? Would it be kinder if I ignored their reciprocated desire? God, their heated looks. I would have to avoid eye contact. It would make things weird.

And empty.

It was already uncomfortable, my nipples pressed against Roark, as Michio fingered me with long strokes. The diabolical rhythm of his thrusts produced a quiver in my thighs and a sheen on my skin. His erection nudged my ass, and his free hand shoved down his underwear just enough to free his cock.

I turned my head and found his eyes. Black as the night and too deep to measure, they sucked me in and swallowed me whole. Hints of his Japanese heritage delineated their large shape, as well as his olive skin and the inky shine of his cropped hair. But his Caucasian father must have given him the square chin, thick neck, and long legs.

His powerful frame flexed into a tight curve around my back as his fingers thrust deeper, harder. He kissed my mouth, neck, and shoulder, and slid his cock against his strumming fingers, prodding my flesh, seeking entry.

Firelight outlined his body, his thickly muscled arm around my waist, the bunching of his shorts below his ass, the bulging calves of his legs where they entangled with mine…and Roark’s.

Michio removed his hand to wrap it around my throat, his breath tumbling against my temple. “Let’s go.”

Okay, yeah. Good idea. To the shadowed corner of the room? The creaky porch? The dusky recesses of the forest? Nowhere was private enough. Not with two other overprotective men breathing down my neck.

I pulled away from Roark, but he caught my hand and pressed it against his erection. His eyes raised to my face, the emerald depths rotating like a windy forest. “Stay.”

My chest hitched, and I yanked against the shackle of his fingers. Michio understood the nature of my relationship with Roark, perhaps better than I did, but that didn’t mean he liked it. The sudden stillness behind me confirmed it.

I yanked again, no give. “Roark? What are you doing?”

The fingers around my neck vanished, as did the heat at my back. In the next breath, Michio stood over us, shorts in place and expression as forthcoming as a rock. Ever the strong, silent type, Michio simply looked at my hand where Roark held it against his hard cock. Michio’s stance was unreadable, but the man who simmered beneath it did not like to share.

I will kill any man who tries to own ye like a thing to possess.

Roark’s words, and I’d learned not to take anything he said lightly. But he’d never been so bold as to interfere while I was in Michio’s arms. If my suspicion was correct, Roark was asking—no, demanding—he join me and Michio.

Problem was, Michio was seconds from a throw down.

I twisted and jerked my wrist, and when Roark finally released it with a shove, I grabbed the t-shirt beside the bedroll and climbed to my feet. Hurrying to cover myself—neck hole, arm hole, inside-out, fuck it—I shoved the hem down and backed away from the approaching storm. I should say something, but what exactly?

“Ye den’ own her.” Roark’s brogue rumbled low and deep.

I dropped my head back and stared at the rotting rafters. “He knows that.”

Roark sat up and dangled his arms over bent knees. “Den’ think he does, love.”

The only thing Michio moved was his eyes, tracking the flex of Roark’s hands and probably the change in his breaths. Michio never attacked, never threw the first strike. No, he waited for it, his impossible stillness baiting it, and whenever it came, he annihilated.

So when Roark rose and rolled back his shoulders, I stepped between them, facing Roark. “Talk to me.”

A head taller, he lowered his chin, eyes on mine. “This isn’t going to work.”

“What?” I knew what but needed specifics.

“Him”—he jabbed a finger over my shoulder—“stealing off with ye in the middle of the night.” His hand lowered, fisting at his side. “Scuppering me chances with ye.”

“He’s not—” Scuppering? “We’re just trying to be respectful.”

“He can fuck the arse off ye right here.” His expression hardened, not a flicker of conflict in his eyes. “I can handle it.”

Oh my fuck, he wanted to watch? My greedy cunt spasmed just thinking about it. I didn’t just want him to watch. I wanted him to participate. Two men? At the same time? What hot-blooded, woman in her sexual prime wouldn’t want that?

Michio wrapped a hand around my elbow, his body heat suddenly against my side. “You took a vow, Father Molony.”

Roark’s nostrils flared. “Convenient, eh?”

“Can you shut up out there?” Elaine called from the bedroom.

I rubbed my temples and whispered, “Michio, listen. Roark’s not trying to…” I waved my hand around as if it would summon the right words. “Get with me. He just wants…affection.”

“You’re wrong,” Michio said, eyes on Roark. “The priest very much wants to fuck you.”

The veins in Roark’s forearm bulged, the knuckles on his fists blanching.

Michio cocked his head. “His vow is unraveling as we speak.”

Shit. I tried to meet Roark’s gaze, but he refused to look at me. Man, these two knew how to dump cold water on a woman’s libido. Pop. Fizzle. Done.

I stepped back and pointed a finger, first at Michio, then Roark. “If you fight, I’m outta here.”

He swung, and Michio swerved, releasing my arm. Roark threw another punch, but I was already moving, grabbing the carbine on the way out the door.

As I closed it behind me, the far wall shook, followed by a muffled grunt. Probably Roark’s fist. Hopefully, not his head.

The midday’s humidity had cooled off, and the moon cast a dim glow over the porch and surrounding woods. I scanned the tree line and spotted Darwin at the boundary. My vigilant German Shepherd lifted his head, twitched his ears, and returned to his slumber.

And there, in the corner of the porch, waited another complication, another confusing relationship, the guardian of my mind.

Jesse sat against the cabin wall, one leg bent, the other stretched out, and flicked something into the vines that crept around the railing. His bow lay over his leg, and his tomahawk rested beside his hip. He carried handguns and blades as well, but none were visible beneath his fatigues.

I plonked down beside him and settled the carbine over my lap. “This might be their worst fight yet.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up, but his eyes remained fixed on whatever he cupped in his palm. Crumbled leaves? He picked through the brown pieces, flicking some away. Tobacco.

I leaned back and tried to tune out the whisper-shouting inside. If they raised their voices, the aphids would come.

I glanced over at Jesse, my shoulder brushing his. “You heard all of it.”

Of course, he did, but I wanted his thoughts on it.

“Every creature on the mountain heard.”

Something thumped on the cabin floor, and the whispers died down. Maybe they knocked each other out.

Jesse reached for a broad leaf from the pile before him, his boot scraping along the floorboards. “Some things are worth fighting for.”

His deep voice reverberated through my chest, his words layered with meaning. He fought in his own way. Following me to Europe. Freeing me from Malta. And lounging on the porch now so monsters wouldn't break through that door while I slept.

“I owe you my life.”

He shifted, glanced at the trees and back at his hands. “Don’t say that.”

I would never stop saying it.

There was something so unique and earthly about him. Raw. Feral. With his unkempt hair, disregard for social pleasantry, and preference for crude weaponry, he was an extension of the soil and the woods and the wild beauty that was now reclaiming the earth. But the intelligence in his eyes was staggering.

I looked away, studying my hands, as his gaze heated my face. After a silent moment, the movement of his fingers drew my attention. He was rolling the tobacco in leaves. He didn’t smoke. He rolled them for me.

He tied off the end, lit it with a match, and passed it to me.

I accepted it and raised it to my mouth. “Trying to give me lung cancer?”

He turned his head, eyes on the star-speckled sky. “That’s not how you die.”

Oh right. “The cliff or your cock.” I pulled a drag from the cigarette, relishing the burn in my throat. “Let’s talk about that.”

“We have.”

“No. I talk and you sit there all closed-up and glare-y.”

He glared.

“Yeah, just like that.”

His glare lowered to the fingers I rested on the carbine, staring at my hand like he wanted to hold it.

I reached for him, and he jerked back, hissing through his teeth. Jesus. I was really making a mess of everything tonight.

Closing my eyes, I spoke into the dark. “I’m trying to understand why you’re so distant with me.” I peeked at him. “If romantic involvement with you is supposed to kill me, it must have something to do with sex. Like you transferring the virus to me?”

His jaw set.

My heart raced. “But I’m immune.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He nodded at the cabin door. “You have enough going on in there.”

As if on cue, the door opened. Roark stepped out, swiping blood from his lip, and turned toward the man inside. “I found her first.”

Wow, I really needed to lay down the law. “You know—”

“Actually.” Jesse raised a finger. “I found her first.”

I gave him a narrowed look. “You’re making it worse.”

He shrugged, slouched lower to the floor, and shut his eyes, evidently tucking in for the night.

As Roark sat on the top step, Michio emerged. I scanned him for injuries, found none, and met his eyes. He offered me a smile, which loosened some of the tension in my shoulders, but instead of joining me, he strode to the steps and sat beside Roark.

Huh. “So we’re all sorted then?”

Roark grunted. Michio leaned his elbows on his knees. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirruped.

Jesse lay beside me, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. No help there.

I tapped my fingers on the carbine. “You could at least tell me who won.”

Roark rubbed a hand over his stubble. “We were just communicating, love.”

“With your fists.”

His big shoulder lifted, flexing the muscles in his back.

There were no manuals for these guys. Just a murky collection of stubbornness to wade through.

“I don’t appreciate all the grunting and shrugging and breathing.” I sucked on the cigarette and snuffed it out. I knew what I wanted. All three of them. And what I didn’t want was them fighting it out and making decisions for me. “Will you be communicating again tomorrow?”

Michio turned, bracing his back against the post. He was the depiction of survival—the strength in his hands, the black abyss of his eyes, the threadbare cotton of his shorts, and God knew what churned in that brain. But his body was his weapon, quick as a bullet and sharp as a blade. “Tomorrow, we leave.”

To go out there, where we had to stick together, work together, and move together seamlessly. Because if we didn’t, there would be no more tomorrows.