SEVEN
Surreal walked into the Hall early the next morning
and gave Beale a bright smile. “Good morning, Beale.”
The flash of alarm on
Beale’s face before he regained control confirmed that her mirror
hadn’t lied—she looked as washed-out and sickly as she felt, and
she was becoming more fragile with every hour that passed. That was
why she had to act before she lost the reason to act.
“I need to see Sadi,”
she said, tipping her head toward the study door at the back of the
great hall. “Is he there?”
“Yes.” Beale
hesitated. “Should I send for the village Healer? Or your personal
Healer in Amdarh?”
“Saw my Healer
yesterday. Today I need to talk to Sadi.” Now it was her turn to
hesitate, but she had to consider the tempers she would be dealing
with today. “Prince Yaslana is supposed to see me this morning. I
left a message at my house that I would be here. You know how early
he can arrive, and I didn’t want him getting snarly if he didn’t
find me at home, so . . .”
“I’ll be certain to
let him know your whereabouts the moment he arrives,” Beale
said.
Maybe he meant to
sound reassuring, but as she walked to Sadi’s study, she thought
Beale’s words sounded more like a threat.
Daemon didn’t look up
when she entered the room, but he said, “Good morning. Beale said
you were here. I don’t think there is anything today that requires
my second-in-command’s attention, but you can check with Holt if
you like. Let me finish this up, and then I can join you for a
quick meal in the breakfast—”
He looked up at that
moment. He dropped the pen back in its holder and pushed away from
the desk.
“I need to talk to
you.” She hated feeling so fragile—and hated even more how much
that fragility scared her, because all the Healers had warned her
that it would take so little right now to destroy the life
beginning to grow inside her.
“What’s wrong?” He
moved toward her with a speed that had her backing up against the
door. “Are you ill? Have you seen a Healer?”
“No, I’m not ill.
Yes, I’ve seen a Healer. Sadi, I’m—”
“Come over here and
sit down. You’re—”
“—pregnant.”
He jerked to a stop,
then took a step back.
Not Daemon anymore, she thought as she watched his
eyes change. May the Darkness have mercy on
me, whatever he is right now is more—and worse—than the
Sadist.
“Pregnant.” His voice
was cold and viciously gentle. He took another step back and
slipped his hands in his trousers pockets.
“I don’t expect
anything from you,” she said quickly. “That’s not why I’m here. I
just wanted you to know that I won’t deny that you’re the baby’s
father. When it’s time for the Birthright Ceremony, I won’t deny
paternity. You have my word, Sadi. I won’t do that to
you.”
“You’re not leaving
with my child,” he said too softly.
“Well, it’s a little
small to be staying here without me,” she snapped.
“You’re not leaving
with my child,” he said again.
Now he approached
her. Stalked her. She wasn’t sure he was sane.
“We’ll be married a
week from tomorrow,” he said.
“I didn’t agree to
marry you!”
“You’re not leaving
with my child.”
“Well, as sure as the
sun doesn’t shine in Hell, you can’t keep me locked away
here.”
He raised his right
hand. The Black Jewel in the ring flashed as he unleashed some of
its reservoir—and the Hall shook as his power rolled through it.
Black shields snapped into place within all the outside walls, and
Black locks on the doors and windows turned the SaDiablo family
home into a prison.
He smiled at
her.
“Sadi, don’t,” she
whispered, shivering.
“What are the Healers
going to tell me when I ask, Lady Surreal?” he crooned. “You’re
already fragile—and vulnerable. You can’t use any of your Jeweled
strength while you’re pregnant without destroying the child. Which
means you can’t protect yourself or the child. Your Jewels need to
be drained on a regular basis for the next ten months in order for
the baby to grow healthy in the womb.”
“Lucivar could drain
the Jewels.”
“Instead of the
baby’s father? I think not.” Daemon moved closer.
She couldn’t back
away from him because she was already pressed against the
door.
“I didn’t tell you
about the pregnancy because I want something from you,” she said.
He was too close. He wasn’t touching her, but he was much too
close.
“Your heart is
pounding, and your scent is filled with fear,” he crooned. “That
isn’t good for you or the baby.”
Then back off. But she didn’t dare say
that.
“Your Jewels need to
be drained.”
“Lucivar will be here
soon.”
“So you told him and
not me?”
“No! I sent a
message, said I needed to see him this morning, and it was urgent.
But I didn’t tell him why. Not before I told you. I didn’t tell
anyone who fathered this child, and I
won’t if you don’t want anyone else to know.”
He studied her. She
wasn’t sure he saw her as a person anymore. She wasn’t sure of
anything where he was concerned. She’d expected him to be upset or
pissed or defensive.
Right now, she was
afraid he would kill her—or just kill the baby.
“Maybe it wasn’t
smart to have sex that night,” she said, her words tumbling over
one another in her haste to explain. “I hadn’t been drinking a
contraceptive brew, but Hell’s fire, I haven’t been with anyone in
years, so why would I keep drinking the stuff? And it shouldn’t
have been my fertile time. Not that I thought about that—or
anything else—that night, but it shouldn’t have been my fertile
time.”
“And yet you got
pregnant.”
“I didn’t do it
alone,” she snapped. “And maybe you weren’t thinking clearly that
night either, but you were the one who
initiated the other three times the following
morning.”
He said nothing for a
long moment. Just studied her. She couldn’t tell if his eyes held
affection or hate.
“If you don’t want to
marry me, that is your choice,” Daemon crooned. “I won’t force you,
although you should consider the advantages of being my wife. But
regardless of what you decide, you’ll stay here until the baby is
born. After that, you can leave. The child, however, stays with me,
under my roof and under my protection. Is that clear?”
“I want to leave
now.” She hated that her voice shook.
“No. Your suite is
ready for you, as always. Beale and Helene will retrieve your
clothing and other personal items from your house.”
“I can stay in my own
house! It’s just down the road.”
“No.”
She should have run
to the Keep, should have asked Draca for sanctuary until she’d
reached some kind of agreement with Sadi. No chance to do that
now.
“I don’t feel well,”
she whispered. “I need to rest.”
“My offer of marriage
stands. Consider it.”
He reached behind her
and turned the door handle. As he pulled the door open, the
movement nudged her against him. She turned to avoid feeling him
pressed against her belly, but he still held the handle, and his
left arm blocked her escape, so she felt the heat of him on her
back and buttocks. And felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned
into her.
“While you’re
considering whether you would enjoy being the wife of the Warlord
Prince of Dhemlan, also consider if you could tolerate being the
wife of the High Lord of Hell.”
She half turned. “I’m
not going to be marrying Uncle—”
She saw it in his
eyes, and now understood why he felt different, felt even more
dangerous. The Sadist was now the High Lord.
May the Darkness have mercy on me.
“I’d like to go to my
room now.”
“Think about my
offer,” he whispered. Then he stepped back and let her
go.
She bolted out of
Daemon’s study. Beale was waiting for her in the great hall. At
first, she was grateful to hook her arm in his for light support,
but by the time they climbed the stairs and were walking toward her
suite, she was clinging to him to stay on her feet, and Holt came
at a run to support her on the other side. Helene met them at the
suite and tucked her on the sofa when she got stubborn about being
put to bed. After admitting that she had left the tonic the Healer
had made up for her at her house in the village, Jazen dashed to
Halaway to retrieve it. She didn’t ask what else Sadi’s valet
intended to retrieve while he was there.
She let them fuss
over her because she needed some help. Mostly, she let them fuss as
a way to keep all of them from thinking about the cold temper that
waited for them behind the study door.
Daemon stood in his
study, staring at nothing.
The vision he had
seen in a tangled web last night: a beautifully wrapped gift being
offered to him by someone he trusted. He hadn’t seen the woman,
only the hands holding the gift. And today ...
A child. A baby.
His.
The wanting was suddenly, brutally fierce. He wanted
this baby with everything in him and would do whatever it took to
keep it. He hoped for her sake that Surreal understood that. He
didn’t want to hurt her, but if he had to choose between them, he
wouldn’t hesitate to destroy her in order to protect the
child.
There were times when
the pain of missing Jaenelle almost crushed him. He wanted her
back. Sweet Darkness, how he wanted her back!
Jaenelle wasn’t
coming back, but now there was a chance to give his heart to
someone else without betraying the love of his life. He wasn’t sure
if the limited affection he could give a woman would be enough to
keep a wife content, but he knew he
could love the child.
He hoped for all
their sakes that Surreal understood that too.
Lucivar hovered over
the Hall and swore softly. When he received Surreal’s note last
night, he’d known something was wrong, but based on her saying,
“It’s urgent, but don’t come until tomorrow morning,” he hadn’t
expected to arrive and find the Hall locked down as if prepared for
an attack. Black shields. Black locks. The only partial access was
the double front doors, which had a Red lock—probably because Beale
would be the one granting access and could release, and restore, a
Red lock.
He made a fast
descent, then backwinged to land lightly on the gravel drive. The
door opened before he reached it, and he was right—Beale
was guarding the only potential way
into the Hall.
“The Prince is in his
study, waiting to speak to you,” Beale said.
“I’m here to see
Surreal,” Lucivar replied.
“She is
resting.”
“Resting? At this
hour? Is she ill?”
“The Prince will
explain.”
He didn’t like the
sound of that. He liked it even less when he walked into Daemon’s
study and found his brother standing in the middle of the room,
watching him with glazed, sleepy eyes.
“Is Surreal ill?”
Lucivar asked, shoving the door closed.
“She’s pregnant,”
Daemon replied softly.
He rocked back on his
heels. There hadn’t been a man in Surreal’s life in quite some
time, so her unexpected pregnancy explained Daemon locking down the
Hall against outsiders, and it explained why Surreal was here and
not at her own house. It also explained the chill in Daemon’s
temper and those glazed eyes.
Lucivar settled into
a fighting stance, his wings half spread for balance—an instinctive
response. “Am I here to help her drain her Jewels or to help you
have a chat with the cock who danced with her?”
“I am the cock who
danced with her,” Daemon crooned.
His lungs locked, and
for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You?”
Daemon
smiled.
Lucivar shuddered.
“I’d like to talk to Surreal.”
“You don’t need my
permission.”
“Today I
do.”
Daemon’s smile became
more gentle—and more terrifying. “Yes, today you do.”
Would I have walked out of this room intact if I hadn’t
known that? He didn’t need to ask the question when he
already knew the answer.
The study door
opened, Daemon’s invitation for him to leave.
Turning his back on
the Sadist was playing with suicide, but he did it. When he reached
the door, Daemon said, “Lucivar? I want this baby.”
Lucivar looked over
his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Surreal. And then you and I will
talk.”
He walked out of the
study. Beale stood in the great hall at the doorway leading to the
informal receiving room and the staircase that led to the family
wing.
“Anything I need to
know?” he asked the butler.
“Lady Surreal saw her
Healer in Amdarh and was given a tonic to help her body adjust to .
. .” Beale fumbled, clearly reluctant to speak of something so
personal when it pertained to the SaDiablo family—especially when
none of them knew if Daemon would take offense at someone talking
about Surreal.
Lucivar nodded so
that Beale didn’t have to continue. “I’m going up now to talk to
her—with the Prince’s permission.”
“I don’t believe Lady
Surreal’s Jewels have been drained yet,” Beale said.
Not something I can do for her now, Lucivar thought
as he strode through the corridors that led to Surreal’s
suite.
Blood was the living
river, and the body was the vessel for the power that made the
Blood who and what they were. But everything had a price. When a
witch wore darker Jewels, her moontimes were more uncomfortable and
the pain of doing more than basic Craft during the first three days
was fierce. That was the reason they drained their Jewels before a
moontime—to let the body rest. And when they were pregnant, they
submitted to someone else draining the reserve power in their
Jewels so that their power didn’t try to fill the child in the
womb—and destroy it.
He rapped once on
Surreal’s sitting room door and went in before she answered. One
look at her had him yanking back his temper because she didn’t need
a man yelling at her, but he couldn’t stop himself from going up to
the windows where she stood and opening his wings halfway to look
more intimidating.
“Get off your feet,”
he snarled.
“Take a piss in the
wind,” she snarled back.
Relieved that she
didn’t sound as sick as she looked, he took a step back to give her
some room.
“Aren’t you going to
ask how this happened?” Surreal said.
“I have two children.
I know how it happened. What I don’t know is what you want to do
about it.”
“Do about it? I’m
keeping it! How could you think I would . . .” She burst into
tears.
“Ah, Surreal.” He put
his arms around her and cuddled her while she cried. “That isn’t
what I meant.”
“I’m not upset,” she
said, still crying. “My body is doing strange things, and it’s
making me weepy. And being weepy because I can’t help it is
not the same as being
upset.”
Lucivar rubbed his
cheek against her hair. “It will be all right. In a couple of days,
you’ll swing over to bitchy and that will feel more normal to
you.”
She punched him. He
laughed.
When she seemed
settled again, he called in a handkerchief and let her mop her
face.
“What I meant was,
what do you want to do about Sadi? Talk to me,
Surreal.”
“I’d rather you talk
to him.”
“After you tell me
what you want. I thought Daemon had this place locked down to keep
everyone out, but that’s not all of it, is it?”
“He says I can’t
leave with his child.”
“Well, the baby can’t
go anywhere without you for quite some time, and he can’t seriously
expect you to stay inside the Hall for the next ten
months.”
“I wouldn’t bet on
that, sugar.” Surreal sniffled once more, then vanished the
handkerchief. “He offered to marry me. Told me, more like it. A week from
tomorrow.”
He loved his brother,
but he wasn’t sure Daemon was emotionally ready to be anyone’s
husband yet—if ever.
“What did you say?”
he asked.
“I haven’t given him
an answer yet.” She looked sad and wistful. “But I am going to
marry him.”
“Why?” When she
didn’t answer, he swore softly. “I know you care for Daemon. And he
cares for you. But I’m not sure he can give you the kind of love a
wife deserves from a husband.”
“I do have some
conditions that he’ll have to agree to, and if he agrees, I think
we can do well enough together.”
“You don’t have to
settle for ‘well enough.’ ”
She turned away to
stare out the window. “I want this baby, Lucivar. Not just
a baby; this baby. And I want this chance at a marriage. I
haven’t shared my life with anyone since Rainier, and we were never
lovers, never had that kind of bond. Plenty of men since then have
been willing to entertain a short-term liaison, especially if it
got them an invitation to sit at a dinner table with Daemon and
talk about whatever grand idea they had that needed a little financial backing. But men from the
short-lived races didn’t want to have children who wouldn’t reach
true adulthood in their lifetime, and men from the long-lived races
saw their offspring’s lives cut short if I was the mother. I never
fit in to either place. Sadi knows all that, but he wants this
child too, regardless of whatever life span it may have. And I have
the feeling that if he doesn’t have someone soon who can make a
claim on his heart, he’ll become so cold and distant we’ll all lose
him. Or he’ll become so lonely, he’ll accept the illusion of love
and end up like his father, with a woman who loves ambition more
than him. Well, I do love him, and I know he probably will never
love me. But I can keep him from being alone, and I can give him a
family of his own.”
“And what will you
get?” Lucivar asked.
“I’ll get a family
too.”
“Is that
enough?”
“I’ll find
out.”
“Then I guess I
should talk to him about the wedding.”
“I need to talk to
him first. Could you stay around for a little while?”
“All
right.”
“Lucivar? Did you
know Sadi is the High Lord now?”
Her words froze
Lucivar’s heart. He’d suspected that Daemon had begun absorbing
that side of Saetan’s duties years ago—Sadi was, after all,
Saetan’s true heir—but he hadn’t wanted to see the evidence, hadn’t
wanted to acknowledge what had been unspoken until now. He’d been
afraid that once he admitted that Daemon was the High Lord, he
would lose the man who was his brother.
He understood
Surreal’s decision now. The Realms couldn’t afford to let Daemon
slide into an isolated, lonely existence. None of them wanted to
see Daemon repeat the mistakes in Saetan’s life—or see the rise of
someone like Hekatah because of those mistakes. The new High Lord
of Hell needed to be kept tethered to the living because the simple
truth was he was more dangerous than his predecessor.
“Go on and talk to
him,” Lucivar said. “Get things settled between you.” He paused.
“And then get off your feet.”
He thought her answer
landed squarely on the side of bitchy, which pleased him because it
meant she was feeling a little better—and he’d take bitchy over
tears any day.
Surreal found Daemon
standing in the middle of his study, watching her with those glazed
gold eyes.
“I have some
conditions,” she said. “If you can agree to them, I’ll marry
you.”
“I’m listening,” he
crooned.
Her throat closed up.
She was dancing on the knife’s edge by making any demands of him,
but now was the only time such things could be said—if she could
get her voice working again.
He moved toward her
slowly. He probably thought his movements weren’t threatening.
Unfortunately, until things were settled between them, there was
nothing about him that wasn’t
threatening.
“Let me tell you what
I think are some of your concerns,” he said as he stepped close
enough to touch her. “The wife of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan has
to make a commitment to be faithful to her husband and take no
lovers. Naturally, she would want the same commitment from her
husband. Yes?”
“Yes,” Surreal
whispered, staring at the Black Jewel peeking through the
unbuttoned opening of his white silk shirt.
“But I don’t think
you want to be married and celibate,” Daemon continued, his voice
becoming a soothing caress. “And I think you enjoyed the pleasure I
gave you in bed. Yes?”
“Yes,” she
whispered.
“So one of your
conditions is that I be a husband to my wife in every way? That I
don’t deny you the pleasure and comfort of sex?”
She nodded, still not
daring to look into his eyes.
“I was aware of that
when I made the offer, Surreal,” he said gently. “I can’t promise
you a husband’s love, because I don’t know if I have that in me
anymore. But I can promise you all of the social courtesies, all of
the physical courtesies. That much I can, and will, give
you.”
He lifted her chin
with one finger, a silent command to look at him. “Is there
anything else?”
“No. Yes. I don’t
want to be locked up here for the next ten months!”
“If I agree to that,
you, in turn, will try to tolerate occasional bouts of rabid
protectiveness?”
She heard amusement
in his voice and felt the slightest release of tension in his
body.
“If you turn rabid,
I’ll turn bitchy.”
He smiled. “Fair
enough. One question. Is there a particular stone you would like
for your wedding ring? Or a particular kind of
setting?”
She shook her head.
“Surprise me.”
“In that case, Lady .
. .”
His lips touched
hers, a soft kiss that remained soft but grew warmer. She floated
on the sensation of being wrapped in the softest blanket. So soft,
so deliciously warm. She felt light and heavy, and there was
nothing in the world but his mouth so soft on hers and his hands
lightly brushing her back under her shirt.
She wanted to snuggle
down into that soft warmth and doze for hours, safe and
content.
She didn’t know how
much time had passed before Daemon raised his head and said, “Feel
better?”
Her head began to
clear, but the warm, sleepy feeling remained—and the sharp
discomfort in her abdomen was gone.
“You drained my
power,” she said. “Gray and Green.”
“Yes.” He kissed her
temple.
“You going to kiss me
like that every time you drain me?”
She felt him
smile.
“I’m going to kiss
you like that simply to kiss you like that. And I’ll do it often if
it pleases you.”
Mother
Night.
She felt the pull of
desire between her legs, but the soft warmth wrapped around her
again, and she didn’t want to do anything about that pull. Not
right now.
“Once I drain your
Jewels to give you an unfilled reservoir, your body will channel
its power to them naturally, the same as it does during your
moontime,” Daemon said. “I thought you would be more comfortable if
I took a direct path this first time.”
She was pretty sure
he’d wrapped some spells around her while kissing her, but she felt
too comfortable and lazy and soft to care.
“Why don’t you
snuggle down on the sofa in here and take a nap?” he
said.
She nodded. She’d do
anything to keep that voice stroking over her, petting her. And
maybe tomorrow—or next month—she’d figure out why feeling that way
should piss her off. For now, she let him settle her on the leather
sofa in his study and tuck a light blanket around her.
“Rest, Surreal,” he
said quietly as he ran a hand over her hair.
Rest, he’d said. So she obeyed.