Queen of the Darkness (18 page)

”But you didn’t tell her.”

Daemon’s hands paused, then started working on another group of knotted muscles. ”I overheard her tell another woman that Witch was only a symbol for the Blood, but if the living myth did appear, she hoped someone would have the courage to strangle it in its cradle.”

A bolt of anger flashed through Saetan, but he couldn’t tell if it was his or Daemon’s. ”Mother Night, how I hate that woman.”

”Philip and Leland aren’t exactly innocent.”

”No, they’re not, but they only follow Alexandra’s lead both as their Queen and the family matriarch.

She accused me of spinning lies to ensnare Jaenelle, but how many lies did
they
tell by cloaking them in the conviction of truth?” He made a sound that might have been a bitter laugh. ”I can tell you how many.

We had years to observe the emotional scars their words left on her.”

”And what happens when she finds out they’re here?”

”We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

Daemon leaned closer, brushed his lips against Saetan’s neck. ”I can create a grave no one will ever find.”

The kiss followed by that statement jolted Saetan enough to remember that this son still needed careful handling. He might indulge in imaginary gravedigging to channel some of his anger, but, just then, Daemon wouldn’t hesitate to do it.

He jolted again when he felt the feather-light brush of dark, feminine power across the deepest edge of his inner barriers.

”Saetan?” Daemon said too softly.

Wolf song filled the night.

”No,” Saetan replied gently but firmly as he stepped away far enough to turn and face Daemon. ”It’s too late for that.”

”Why?”

”Because that chorus of welcome means Jaenelle is back.” When Daemon paled, Saetan ran a hand down his son’s arm. ”Come to my study and have a drink with me. We’ll bring Lucivar with us since he’s probably fussed over Marian enough by now to annoy her.”

”What about Jaenelle?”

Saetan smiled. ”Boyo, after one of these trips, greeting males, no matter who they are, comes in a poor third on her list of priorities—the first being a very long, hot bath and the second being an enormous meal. Since we can’t compete with those, we might as well sit back and relax while we wait for her to get around to us.”

11 / Kaeleer

Surreal stormed through the corridors. Each time she came to an intersection, a silent, solemn-faced footman pointed in the right direction. Probably the first one had warned the others after she’d snarled at him, ”Where’s the High Lord’s study?”

It struck her as a little odd that none of the servants had seemed startled by her roaring through the corridors wearing nothing but a nightgown. Well, considering that the witches had to deal with the males who lived in this place, it probably wasn’t unusual.

When she finally reached the staircase that led down to the informal receiving room, she hitched her nightgown up to her knees to keep from tripping on the hem, raced down the stairs and into the great hall, and swore because the marble floor was cold against her bare feet. In lieu of a knock, she walloped the study door once and then stomped up to the blackwood desk where Saetan sat watching her, a glass of brandy raised halfway to his lips.

Daemon and Lucivar, comfortably slouched in two chairs in front of the desk, just stared at her.

Now that she was there, she wasn’t quite as willing to address the High Lord directly, so she half turned toward Daemon and Lucivar and tossed out the question, ”Don’t I have the right to decide if I want a male in my bed?”

The air behind the desk instantly chilled, but Lucivar said blandly, ”Graysfang?” and the air returned to normal.

The smirk in Lucivar’s voice had her turning toward him fully. ”I don’t know about you, but I’m not used to sleeping with a wolf.”

”What’s wrong with Graysfang staying with you?” Daemon asked.

The soothing tone he was putting into his voice only infuriated her. ”He farts,” she snapped, then waved her hand dismissively. ”Well, so do the rest of you.”

Someone made a choking sound. She
thought
it was Daemon.

”Do you resent his being there because he’s a wolf or because he’s interfering with another kind of male warming your bed?” Lucivar asked.

Maybe it hadn’t been meant as a slur that she used to be a whore, but she took it as such because then she could vent her temper on him. ”Well, sugar, from where I’m standing, there’s not much to choose between you. He takes up more than his share of the bed, he snores, and he gives slobbery kisses. But if I had to choose, I’d pick him. At least
he
can lick his
own
balls!”

A glass hit the desk with an ominous
thunk.

Surreal closed her eyes and bit her lip.

Shit. She’d been so focused on being mad at Lucivar, she’d forgotten about the High Lord.

Before she could turn, Saetan had a firm grip on her arm and was pulling her toward the door.

”If you don’t want Graysfang in your room at night, tell him,” Saetan said, sounding like he had something stuck in his throat. ”If he persists Well, Lady, he wears a Purple Dusk Jewel and you wear a Gray. A shield around your room should take care of the problem.”

”I
did
shield the room,” Surreal protested. ”And I still woke up and found him there. He sounded pleased that I’d shielded the room against the ’strange males,’ but when he realized he couldn’t get in, he had somebody named Kaelas help him through the shield.”

Saetan’s hand froze over the doorknob. He straightened up slowly. ”Kaelas helped him through the shield,” he said, spacing out the words.

She nodded cautiously.

Saetan swiftly opened the door. ”In that case, Lady, I strongly suggest you and Graysfang get this settled between you.”

The next thing she knew, she was standing in the great hall, staring at a firmly closed door.

”You said you’d help,” she muttered. ”You said I could come to you if I needed anything.”

When the door opened again, she half-expected the High Lord to call her back. Instead, Daemon and Lucivar got shoved into the hall and the door was slammed shut behind them.

They stared at the door for a moment, then looked at her.

”Congratulations,” Lucivar said. ”You’ve been here a little over twenty-four hours and you’ve already gotten tossed out of his study. Even I was here three days before he tossed me out the first time.”

”Why don’t you go sit on a spear,” Surreal growled.

Lucivar shook his head and tsked. Daemon seemed to be straining a lot of muscles to keep from laughing.

”So why did he toss the two of you out?” Surreal asked.

”For privacy. You’ll notice there are very strong shields around that room now, including an aural one.”

Lucivar looked at the closed study door. ”Having witnessed this behavior a number of times, the males in the First Circle have come to the conclusion that he’s either sitting there laughing himself silly or he’s indulging in a fit of hysterics, and either way, he doesn’t want us to know.”

”He
said
he would help me,” Surreal snarled.

Lucivar’s eyes were bright with laughter. ”I’m sure he’d intended to explain a few things to Graysfang—right up until you mentioned Kaelas.”

”That name keeps coming up,” Daemon said. ”Just who is Kaelas?”

Lucivar eyed Daemon thoughtfully, then directed the answer to Surreal. ”Kaelas is an Arcerian Warlord Prince who wears a Red Jewel. But because of some quirk in his talent or his training, he can get through any kind of shield—including a Black.”

”Mother Night,” Daemon muttered.

”He’s also eight hundred pounds of feline muscle and temper.” Lucivar smiled grimly. ”We all try not to upset Kaelas.”

”Shit,” Surreal said weakly.

”Come on,” Lucivar said. ”We’ll escort you to your room.”

Walking between two strong males suddenly sounded like a good idea.

After a couple of minutes. Surreal said, ”At least, being that big, he’ll be easy enough to spot.”

Lucivar hesitated. ”The Arcerian Blood always use sight shields when they hunt. It makes them very effective predators.”

”Oh.” Being friends with a wolf was sounding better and better by the minute.

When they reached her room, she said good night and went inside.

Graysfang was standing exactly where she’d left him. Well, she
had
told him to ”Stay right there,” and he had taken her at her word.

Looking at the sadness in those brown eyes, she sighed.

Puppy love. It was a term whores used to describe clumsy, eager young males during their first few weeks of sexual experience. For a short time, they would try to please so they wouldn’t be refused the bed. But after the novelty wore off, they would address those same women with a hardness in their eyes and a sneer in their voices.

”Tomorrow we’re going to have to come to an agreement about a few things,” Surreal told Graysfang.

His tail went
tock-tock,
just once.

Giving in, she climbed into bed and patted the covers beside her. He jumped up on the bed and lay down, watching her cautiously. She ruffled his fur, turned off the light, and found herself smiling. She had ended up in a place where, when someone spoke of puppy love, they were talking about a real puppy.

12 / Kaeleer

Too edgy to sleep and too restless to find distraction in a book, Daemon wandered through the dimly lit corridors of the Hall.

You’re running,he thought, bitterly aware of the doubts and fears that had come swarming up when he had neared his suite of rooms—and had sensed Jaenelle’s presence in the adjoining suite.

For most of his 1,700 years, he had believed, without question, that he’d been born to be Witch’s lover.

Thirteen years ago, faced with a twelve-year-old girl, that conviction hadn’t been shaken. His heart had been committed; it was just the physical union that would have been delayed a few more years. But a brutal rape and the years he’d been lost in madness separated them now, and he wasn’t sure he could stand to face her and see only a sense of obligation or, worse, pity in her eyes.

He needed to find a place that would help him regain his balance.

Daemon paused, then smiled reluctantly as he realized that he hadn’t been running so much as searching.

Somewhere on the grounds of the estate, there would be a place dedicated to performing the Blood’s formal rituals for the sacred days in each season, but he doubted Saetan would build a home that didn’t also contain a place for informal, private meditations.

He closed his eyes and opened his inner senses. A moment later, he was moving again, heading back toward the part of the Hall that contained the family living quarters.

He would have missed the entrance completely if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of his reflection in the door’s glass.

Stepping outside, he looked down at the sunken garden. Raised flower beds bordered all four sides except where the stone steps led down into the garden. Two statues dominated the space. A few feet in front of them were a raised stone slab and a wooden seat. Carefully positioned candlelights illuminated the statues and the steps.

The statues pulled at him. He went down the steps, hesitated a moment, then stepped onto the grass.

Power filled the air, making it almost too rich to breathe. As he filled his lungs with it, he felt his body absorb the strength and peace contained within this garden. On the stone slab were half a dozen candles in tinted glass containers. Choosing one at random, he used Craft to create a little tongue of witchfire and light it. A hint of lavender reached him before he walked over to the fountain that contained the female statue.

The back of the fountain was a curved wall of rough stone curtained by water that spilled into a stone-enclosed pool. The woman rose halfway out of the pool, her face lifted toward the sky. Her eyes were closed, and there was a slight smile on her lips. Her hands were raised as if she were just about to wipe the water from her hair. Everything about her embodied serene strength and a celebration of life.

He didn’t recognize the mature body, but he recognized that face. And he wondered if the sculptor had continued his exquisite detail beneath the hips that rose out of the water, wondered what his fingers would find if he slid his hand past her belly.

Because he wondered, he turned to the other statue— the male.

The beast.

His visceral response to the crouched, blatantly male body that was a blend of human and animal was a gut-deep sense of recognition. It was as if someone had stripped him of his skin to reveal what really lay beneath.

Massive shoulders supported a feline head that had its teeth bared in a snarl of rage. One paw/hand was braced on the ground near the head of a small sleeping woman. The other was raised, the claws unsheathed.

Someone like Alexandra would look at this creature and assume it was about to crush and tear the female, that the only way to control that physical strength and rage would be to keep it chained.

Someone like Alexandra would never look beyond that assumption to notice the small details. Like the sleeping woman’s hand reaching out, her fingertips just brushing the paw/hand near her head. Like the way the crouching body sheltered her. Like the way the glittering, green stone eyes stared at whoever approached, and the fact that the snarling rage came from the desire, the
need,
to protect.

Daemon took a deep breath, let it out slowly—and then tensed. He hadn’t heard any footsteps, but he didn’t have to turn around to know who now stood at the foot of the stairs. ”What do you think of him?”

he asked quietly.

”He’s beautiful,” Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.

Daemon slowly turned to face her.

She wore a long black dress. The front lacing ended just below her breasts, revealing enough fair skin to make a man’s mouth water. Her golden hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her ancient sapphire eyes didn’t look as haunted as he remembered, but he had the painful suspicion that he was the reason for the sadness he saw in them.

As the silence between them lengthened, he couldn’t move toward her any more than he could move away.