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I hadn’t understood the real strength in their passion until I witnessed them unleashing it on each other. They didn’t have to be gentle or kind. They took and conquered like men in war, all while holding my gaze, fully aware that the sight of their flexing bodies gliding together set me on fire. Their eyes clung to me, lured me in, and held me with them. I knew they cared for one another, but they didn’t abandon their proud, competitive natures. Each man was here for me, fighting the others for my attention and love. If I hadn’t been watching or participating, they wouldn’t have been together on this level, fulfilling my every fantasy. I hoped someday they might love one another as much as I loved them.

It was late that night when we finally crashed in bed, muscles sore and tired, and desires thoroughly quenched. Jesse was curled around my side, and Roark’s head rested on my chest, his body at a right angle to mine, with the bedding twisted over our nude skin.

I traced a finger over the bite mark on Roark’s neck. “Have you thought of names?”

Michio had left our sweaty pile to grab something from his bag by the door. He straightened, cupping a piece of metal in his hand, and looked back at me. “How about Moria?”

Roark made a face. “Where are we, in Middle-earth?”

“Moria.” Jesse tried it out, his voice hacking. “It makes my throat hurt.”

“Fine.” Michio strode back and climbed in beside Roark, his head next to mine and his gaze on Jesse. “What would you name her?”

Jesse drew a circle around my belly button with his finger. “Prudence. Because she’s going to be prudish, modest, innocent, and…prudish. Very prudish.”

Michio snorted. “Makes me think of plums.”

“And ancient old aunts.” I sighed. “I’ve had a few ideas.”

Michio propped his elbow on the pillow above my head, his chin resting on his fist. “Let’s hear them.”

“Faith, Hope, Harmony, Grace, Destiny… They all fit, but they feel…I don’t know. Names like that set expectations. She’ll have enough of that as it is, so yeah, I’m not in love with any of them.” I turned my head and eyed his hand, where he held whatever he’d removed from his bag. “What is that?”

He lifted it above my head. A medallion fell from his grip and caught on a length of silver chain, dangling over my face. I grabbed it, cradling it in my palm for a closer look. My breath caught.

The medallion was about two inches in diameter and cast out of silver. Embedded in the metal was the turquoise stone Jesse had given me, a black bead from Roark’s rosary, and one of Michio’s fangs.

My ribs tightened, and my hands shook. I licked my lips, working my throat to find my voice. “You made this?”

“I had one of Link’s guys make it. Lift your head.”

Michio fastened it around my neck and leaned back, watching me with boundless devotion etching his face.

I held it against my chest, the length of the chain placing it directly over my heart. “I love it. I…” The backs of my eyes pricked, and I cursed my damned pregnancy hormones for turning me into such a whimpering mess. “You guys have given me so much.”

Jesse kissed my neck beneath my ear. “We feel the same way about you, darlin’.”

A sweet, comfortable silence fell, broken when Roark sat up and grinned. “We should call her Betty.”

Jesse scrubbed a hand over his face. “You call every woman you see a betty.”

“Then it’ll be easy for me to remember.”

There was a good chance we wouldn’t be agreeing on a name, but I got a kick out of listening to them joke about it.

“How about Bertha?” Jesse asked.

He sounded so serious, but I knew he was fucking with us.

Michio frowned. “You want Evie to give birth to a Bertha? I suppose it’s kinder than just cutting through the crap and naming her Placenta or Vagina.”

Roark closed his eyes. “Anyone who names their child that should be punished with terrible torture in unquenchable fire.” He rolled to his chest, staring at my belly. “Let’s just call her Schartzmugel and be done with it.”

Jesse tucked an arm beneath his head, his eyes smiling. “Hi, my name is Schartzmugel, and I’m here to save the world.”

I rubbed my temples. “I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.”

Roark lowered his head and kissed my hip bone. “We want ye to choose the name. We’ll love anything ye pick.”

“Okay.”

I ran my fingers through his hair, the strands soft and gentle, so unlike the tangled dreads from our life on the road. It was symbolic, really, of how easy and orderly our routine had become. Living in the dam, with electricity and haircuts and a bed, it felt…normal. Like pre-plague, feel-good normal. I wanted to grab onto this moment in time, hold it for them, and leave it with them after I was gone. But I couldn’t stop the future or the pain it would bring them. All I could do was give them my approval to take whatever path they needed to find this feel-good normal again.