Dreams Made Flesh bj-5

by Anne Bishop

  "Touch me," she gasped, ripping open the nightgown to reveal her breasts. "I need you to touch me."

  "Not yet," he whispered. "Not yet."

  It didn't stop, didn't end. The pleasure went on and on until she began weeping from the need for release.

  "Daemon… please!"

  His right hand curled around her neck, and the warmth of that hand was ten times better than the feel of those phantom hands and mouths.

  Feeling intensified until the pleasure became excruciating. As she finally crested, she felt a sharp prick in her neck, which somehow only added to her climax. The fierce release gradually eased to warm waves of pleasure, and finally faded to a delicious glow.

  Still watching her, Daemon stepped away from the chair.

  Gasping, Lektra stared at the flushed, wild-eyed woman in the mirror. A woman thoroughly satisfied by her lover. Brutally satisfied. And now…

  Feeling strangely heavy and numb, she twisted on her perch to face him. "Now you…" It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing…and what she wasn't seeing. "You…You're not aroused."

  "Why would I be?" he replied, sounding bored and cold. So terribly cold.

  "It didn't excite you to make love to…"

  "I serviced you like I serviced the bitches in Terreille who tried to play games with me. Love had nothing to do with it."

  She slid down into the seat. Her legs didn't feel right. Neither did her arms. And she couldn't quite draw a full breath.

  "You don't mean that," she panted. "You love me, and I love you."

  "I don't know you…and you don't know me."

  "But…" She pushed herself out of the chair and tried to walk over to him, but her legs wouldn't hold her. She collapsed on the floor. "There's something wrong with me."

  "Everything has a price." Holding out his right hand, he flexed his ring finger. "The price for playing with the Sadist is pain."

  She watched the snake tooth slide out beneath the long, black-tinted nail. "You…you poisoned me?"

  He looked at her and smiled a cold, cruel smile. "Yes."

  Remembering the prick she felt, she tried to reach up and touch her neck. "You poisoned me… while… I… was…"

  "Coming. Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because of your obsession with me, you tried to hurt Jaenelle. So you will be the lesson for any other bitch who thinks she can have me if she eliminates the competition. Just between you and me, darling, if I have to kill every witch in Amdarh to assure no one tries to hurt Jaenelle again, I'll do it and have no regrets. You're all expendable, and she is… everything."

  Lektra stared at him, fighting for each small gasp of air. Pain danced through her limbs, setting her nerves on fire. She would have screamed if she could have drawn enough breath.

  "Daemon… help me."

  "I will," he promised. "Before you draw your last breath, I'll finish the kill. At least you won't have to face the High Lord and endure this kind of pain a second time."

  As her lungs failed and her vision faded, she tried to see her beautiful love one last time. And even though he stood in front of her, the only thing she saw as the cold Black rage ripped through her was those glazed, sleepy eyes and that cold, cruel smile.

  After he finished the kill, Daemon studied the room. The Blood had a saying: The walls remember. Wood and stone could hold strong emotions, and a skilled Black Widow could draw out those feelings and replay a ghostly image of what happened in a room.

  At another time in his life, he would have walked away from this room, would have, most likely, added a few seduction spells that would have been triggered by drawing the memories out of wood and stone. Whoever had come to watch the events leading up to Lektra's death would have felt those phantom hands, those phantom mouths. They would have stood there, helpless to escape, knowing how the previous seduction ended.

  It wouldn't have killed them, but the message would have been clear: anyone who tried to play games with his life or someone he loved would die.

  But there was Jaenelle to consider, and he didn't want this game paraded before the rest of the Blood. He felt soiled enough being near Lektra and Roxie. So he would leave enough of a warning for the witches in Amdarh. As for the rest… He could deal with that easily enough.

  2

  Surreal stood across the street and watched the town house burn. She'd spent the evening wandering the nearby streets, passing by the town house often enough to keep an eye on things. Because Sadi had said Lektra was his business, not hers, she'd kept her participation to a passive watch.

  So she'd been nearby when witchfire suddenly filled two of the upstairs rooms. She didn't run to the town house to pound on the door and alert the servants. There was no need. The Sadist had his own kind of justice, and the fire remained in those two rooms until the last servant had fled. Then the witchfire took the town house, roaring up to twice the structure's height, a beacon for the rest of the Blood in Amdarh.

  They'd come running, but witchfire was fed by power, and there was nothing they could do to extinguish a fire fed by the Black. The water wagons were brought out, and the roofs of the neighboring town houses were doused, but the fire remained confined. He would have made sure of that before he walked away.

  "Here," Lucivar said, joining her. He handed her a steaming mug of coffee. "It's damn cold to be standing around."

  "Is it this cold a couple of blocks away?" she asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  "No."

  He'd arrived in Amdarh just as the rest of the town house went up, so they'd found each other easily enough. He, too, would have recognized the fire as a signal…and a warning.

  After taking a sip from his own mug, he called in a bundled napkin, used Craft to balance it on air, then flipped open a corner.

  Surreal grabbed one of the rolls filled with meat and cheese. She took a big bite, washed it down with coffee, then asked, "Where did you get these?"

  "Dining house down the street a little ways. They were still open when the fire started, so they stayed open to keep serving food and drink."

  "At least someone will profit from the evening." Finishing the first roll, she checked the napkin bundle, pleased to see two more stuffed rolls. Lucivar was going to share fairly…and just in case that wasn't what he had in mind, she took another roll and bit into it.

  "And let's hope this is the only thing in Amdarh that burns tonight," Lucivar growled, using the mug to point to the carriage and riders slowly moving up the street.

  The carriage stopped. Zhara stepped out and was immediately surrounded by her guards.

  "He doesn't have any reason to go after her, does he?" Surreal asked.

  "Not that I know of," Lucivar replied.

  Someone pointed them out. Zhara and her circle of guards pushed their way through the crowd. On Zhara's command, the guards stepped aside so the Queen of Amdarh could face Surreal and Lucivar without looking over a wall of male bodies.

  "Is Daemon Sadi responsible for this?" Zhara demanded.

  Lucivar took a long swallow of coffee before answering. "Yeah, he is."

  "Did he also kill Lord Tavey?"

  "Sadi killed a Warlord?" Surreal asked.

  "At the party the other night," Lucivar replied. "He was fairly neat about it…in a messy sort of way."

  "I'm so glad I didn't know that."

  "Stop it, both of you," Zhara snapped. "You find this all amusing? It's likely Lady Lektra and her friend were caught in that fire."

  "They wouldn't have been alive when the fire started." Surreal shrugged. "What do you want us to say, sugar? The little bitch played a game with the Sadist…and she lost."

  Zhara went very still. "What did you call him?"

  Lucivar vanished his mug. "In Terreille, they called him the Sadist… with good reason. If you want to push at him for going after a witch who spread those rumors about him and tried to hurt Jaenelle, you go right ahead. You'll live just long enough to regret it."

  The fire went o
ut. One moment it was still blazing, the next it was gone.

  "Oh, shit," Surreal said softly.

  There was plenty of light from the houses on this side of the street to see him coming. That gliding walk, that feline grace. The waves of cold that had the rest of the Blood scrambling to get out of his way.

  "Zhara," Lucivar said very quietly, "don't be a fool."

  Daemon got close enough that Surreal could see his eyes were still glazed, and his lips were curved in that brutal, chilling smile. He was still in a cold rage, still riding the killing edge. If anyone pushed him now…

  Lucivar shifted, drawing Daemon's attention.

  "Still pissed off?" Lucivar asked.

  "Not anymore," Daemon replied. "At least, for now." Those glazed eyes fixed on Zhara. "But if anyone from Dhemlan ever tries to hurt my Queen again, I'll kill you all."

  As Daemon turned and walked away, Zhara slowly sank to the ground.

  Not hurt, Surreal decided, just… shocked. Seeing Daemon as the Sadist for the first time had that effect on most people.

  Lucivar wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her away. "He'll head back to the family town house now to have the quiet he needs to step back from the killing edge. We should be there."

  She didn't want to be anywhere near Daemon right now, but Lucivar was right. Even if there was nothing they could do for Sadi, they could stand as a buffer between him and the rest of the Blood until the cold rage passed.

  "Do you think he could do that?" Surreal asked. "Do you think something could provoke him enough that he'd really kill everyone in Dhemlan?"

  Lucivar muttered, "He's his father's mirror." Then he added, "Let's hope we never have a reason to find out."

  Sixteen

  Daemon waited until the following evening before he returned to the Hall. After a long night's sleep, the cold rage had thawed, but he hadn't been able to sheath his temper quite enough to face the "talk" with Jaenelle. So he'd stayed in his room most of the day, letting Surreal and Lucivar deal with the visitors who timidly knocked on the town house door.

  He'd known the moment Zhara had stepped into the town house. Even Lucivar's efforts to shield him from the other visitors' shrill emotions hadn't been enough to keep him from sensing Zhara's spikes of fear. His warning had been found: two bodies, completely untouched by the witchfire that had consumed everything else in Lektra's house. As powerful as he was, his venom didn't offer a kind death, and the fact that he'd made sure there was no way to mistake how they'd died had chilled the aristo Blood in the city. So now the Queen of Amdarh knew what so many witches in Terreille had learned, although usually too late: The Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who was called the Sadist had no mercy for anyone he considered an enemy. They wouldn't forget the warning because he wouldn't let them forget. The Black Jewels would be in evidence whenever he walked through the streets of Amdarh, and the Blood would understand that their continued survival depended on Jaenelle's compassion, not his. As long as she held the leash, the Sadist would yield to his Queen. If anyone tried to break that leash…

  But there was someone who might break that leash…and she was waiting for him on the other side of the sitting room door.

  When he walked into the room, he saw her standing at the window. It was too dark to see the garden, so he wondered what held her attention.

  "Is it done?" Jaenelle asked.

  "It's done."

  "The debt is paid to your satisfaction?"

  "It's paid." He couldn't sense her mood, and that frightened him. "Jaenelle…"

  She held up her left hand, commanding silence. He felt sick relief when he saw she still wore her wedding ring. "I am what I am," he said.

  Nodding, she turned to face him. "A Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who grew up in a brutal training ground. That shaped what you are when you become a weapon. But that's only one side of you. The other side is a warm, caring man with a sharp sense of humor and more tolerance for the foolishness of others than you'll ever admit to having. I can accept the Sadist as well as Daemon Sadi. The question is, can you accept me?"

  "I do." He took a step toward her. "I always have."

  Jaenelle shook her head. "I'm no longer stronger than you. I no longer wear a Jewel that eclipses your power."

  "I know that." He raked his fingers through his hair. "You lost…"

  "Nothing. Until you can accept that, you'll keep stumbling over this." She tapped a finger against Twilight's Dawn. Then she held out her hand. "There's something you need to see."

  He slipped his hand into hers. One moment they were standing in their sitting room. The next moment, he was standing in a mist-filled place in the abyss. He'd been in the Misty Place twice before…and he wondered why Jaenelle had brought him here now.

  The mist retreated, forming a circular boundary. Almost circular. Straight ahead of him there was clear ground. *Jaenelle?* No answer. Since there was something she wanted him to see, he moved forward cautiously until he came to the edge and could look down into a vast chasm.

  But it was the huge, spiraling web filling the chasm that took his breath away. Anchored to the Misty Place, it curved until it touched the other side of the chasm, then curved again, gently spiraling, going so deep into the abyss he couldn't see the end of it.

  As he studied it, trying to understand, he felt a shiver of power far, far, far below him at the same moment he heard the quiet click of hoof on stone. Turning, he saw her step out of the mist. Here, her true nature wasn't hidden beneath human flesh. Here, she looked like what she was…a living myth, dreams made flesh. The same face and a mostly human body, but a tiny spiral horn rose from her forehead, her fingers had retractable claws, and she stood on delicate hooves instead of human feet. Witch.

  She watched him with those ancient sapphire eyes. And waited. Turning back to study the web, he suddenly understood what he was looking at…a web made out of power. Somehow, the Ebony-Jeweled power she used to wield was being transformed into this web instead of filling a vessel of human flesh. Since it was tied to the Misty Place, surely there was a way for her to regain that power if she…

  He remembered Jaenelle as a child…a girl who felt the distance between herself and other people because of the Black power that was her Birthright, a girl whose family had never accepted her because she was different. He thought about the Queen who could have destroyed them all if that had been in her nature, a Queen so strong her power was a deep chasm that separated her from the rest of the Blood…even someone as strong as a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.

  *You didn't want it,* he said, staggered by the strength of that conviction.

  *No,* Witch said, *I didn't want it. Why would I want power so great I could destroy the Realms but couldn't do what almost every Blood child can do because I was so powerful?* She looked away, and added softly, *I never wanted a formal court, never wanted to rule, never wanted more power than I already had with the Black. But I made the Offering to the Darkness and formed my court to prevent the Dark Council from destroying the kindred and taking their lands. I needed that power to defend Kaeleer and be a weapon to stop a war, but I never wanted it for myself.*

  He moved closer to her, wanting to hold her, wanting to offer comfort, but he wasn't sure she would accept it yet.

  *How did you do it?* he asked. *How did you separate the power that was part of the dreams that made you without destroying who you are?*

  She let out a pained little laugh. *I dreamed I wasn't so different from the rest of the Blood…a dream I've had all of my life. That desire was strong enough that the Weaver of Dreams added it to the web… and this is the result.*

  Daemon studied Witch, who looked sad and vulnerable. People had turned away from her before because she was so powerful. Now she wondered if the friends she loved might always feel uncomfortable with the fact that she wasn't so powerful. He didn't think the coven and the boyos would turn away from her, and once they realized she still was who and what she had always been, and was truly happy, they wo
uldn't care what Jewel she wore.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he fit his body to hers. *This is really what you want for yourself, isn't it? An extraordinary ordinary life.*

  *Yes, it is.*

  *Then that's what I want for you.* He kissed her softly. *For both of us.* Closing his eyes, he kissed her again.

  When he shifted to nuzzle her neck, she said, "Are you sure, Daemon?"

  He opened his eyes and raised his head. They were back in the sitting room.

  "I want to be with you for as many years as life grants us," he said. "I want to be the warm, caring man you see in me and let the Sadist sleep."

  Jaenelle brushed his hair back. "He'll never really sleep. The Sadist is a part of who you are, and he'll always be there, just under the surface… and that's the way it should be."

  He never loved her more than he did at that moment when her acceptance quieted the volatile nature of a Warlord Prince.

  Scooping her up, he held her close to his chest. "What do you say to locking the doors, going to bed, and making love for the rest of the night?"

  "Is that going to be the extraordinary or ordinary part of our life? she asked, laughter and love dancing in her sapphire eyes.

  He grinned. "Both."

  Seventeen

  Too edgy to stay still, Daemon prowled the room that opened onto the flagstone terrace at the back of the Hall. It wasn't unusual for a man to have pre-wedding jitters, even if he was already married to the woman he loved. Besides, how many men had their marriage vows witnessed by fire-breathing dragons and man-eating cats?

  Although, he probably shouldn't have snarled at Jaenelle when she suggested that he take off his wedding ring so that she could give it back to him. Guests be damned, he wasn't giving up his ring.

  "Would you like some brandy?" Saetan asked, his bland tone accenting his amusement.

  "No," Daemon snarled.

  "A sedative?"

  "No."

  "A whack upside the head?"