by Anne Bishop
His hand didn’t actually press down on her belly, but it felt heavier, more ... possessive.
Then he turned back the covers for her at the same time a light appeared through a half-closed door on the opposite side of the room. Enough light to see the room—and to see his eyes.
Not quite the Sadist. But not Daemon either. He was riding a side of his nature that was somewhere between the two.
She slipped out of bed and walked into the bathroom, too aware that a predator watched her and was considering if she too was a predator and required careful handling or if she was prey.
She used the toilet, then let water run in the sink to wash her face and stall for time.
They weren’t in a guest room. She’d seen enough to realize the room was too personal to be any kind of guest room. His bedroom, then. The Consort’s suite, since he hadn’t moved out of the room next to Jaenelle’s. A swift, careful probe confirmed he’d put Black shields in the walls and Black locks on the doors. No way for her to get out of this room until he let her go.
Mother Night.
A Warlord Prince’s bedroom is his private place, and he tends to be more possessive when he’s there. So if you’re invited into his bedroom, you want to be more careful in how you deal with him.
At the time, Surreal had thought Jaenelle’s mind had begun wandering because of old age, especially because those kinds of comments had usually come when they were alone and working on some chore not even remotely related to the subject matter.
Which was why all those comments had stuck in her mind.
“Hell’s fire,” Surreal whispered as she dried her face. Jaenelle’s mind hadn’t wandered. She’d been giving lessons in a way that wouldn’t be resisted—and wouldn’t be forgotten.
Damned if he understood why they had ended up here, except that he’d needed to have her in this room, in this bed.
You’re only eighteen hundred years old, Daemon. You are not going to spend the rest of your life celibate.
You don’t think I can? he’d crooned.
I know you can. That’s why I want you to promise me that you won’t. No one will think you’re being unfaithful if you find another lover after the year of mourning. You’re not going to spend the rest of your life without that kind of companionship or comfort. If you’re not comfortable accepting that as a request from your wife, consider it a command from your Queen.
Cornered. He hadn’t liked making that promise, and he hadn’t liked the sex much. Even when he’d enjoyed it physically, he hadn’t liked it much because of the expectations that always seemed to shroud the bed. And because he usually dreamed about Hekatah and Dorothea afterward. He didn’t need more of a reminder than that of what could happen if a man got careless and had sex with a woman who rode a cock in order to ride ambition.
Besides, something had been missing from the bed with the women he’d pleasured that had made even the best sex a disappointment for him.
That elusive something wasn’t missing last night, though.
The water in the bathroom shut off, and his attention sharpened.
He’d have to think about why last night was different. Later.
Daemon hadn’t moved at all during her time in the bathroom.
“It’s early,” he crooned. “Come back to bed.”
Not a lot of choices.
She slipped into bed, not sure what to expect. Arousal was dominant in his psychic scent, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d rolled on top of her. After all, he was the dominant male in Kaeleer, and that much power had privileges no other male could claim.
Instead, he pulled the covers up high enough to cover her breasts. Then his fingers lightly stroked her hair, combing it away from her face.
“How are you?” he asked, his voice still in that dangerous croon.
“All right.”
“Sore?”
“A little.” She didn’t dare so much as tweak the truth. Not with him. Not now.
His fingers drifted to her temple, down her jaw, over her neck and shoulders. So light. So delicate.
Her heart stopped racing as she relaxed under that delicate touch. When he eased the covers down to her hips, she didn’t protest, barely noticed because those fingers kept drifting along her skin, making her float.
A brush of thumb over hard nipple made her whimper—and whimper even louder because he stopped touching.
“Pain?” he asked. Then his mouth closed over that nipple, and what he did with his tongue stopped just shy of pain. “Stop?”
She curled her fingers in his hair to hold him in place. “Not if you want to live.” It was meant as a growl but came out a different kind of whimper.
After he gave her breasts sufficient attention, he kissed her mouth, hot and full. Then he said, “Do you want more, or do you want to leave?”
It took her a moment to realize she understood the words. He could sense her arousal, psychic and physical, but if she said she wanted to leave, he would release the lock on the door and let her go with no protest, no show of temper or disappointment. When a man belonged to the most dangerous caste of male, a display of temper in bed could be seen as coercion far too easily.
It took her even less than a moment to realize he would probably never make this invitation again, and while she’d had some men who were good lovers—and a few who had been excellent in bed—she had never been with anyone who could make a woman feel like he did.
“I want more,” she said.
He slid over her, slid into her as she opened for him.
As the sun slowly brightened the room, he rode her delicately, lazily, and so thoroughly he made her feel things she hadn’t ever dreamed were possible.
SIX
Four days after her night with Daemon, Surreal caught the Gray Wind and headed for Amdarh, intending to spend a few days at the family’s town house. She had barely reached the town beyond Halaway when she felt a pain in her abdomen—a pain more severe than the worst moontime cramps she’d ever experienced. A pain so severe she almost tumbled from the Gray Web.
Shaken, she dropped from the Winds and waited for the pain to subside. Then she continued on to Amdarh, riding the Green Winds.
A day after that, just wearing her Gray Jewels caused her the same kind of pain as trying to use her Gray power during her moontime, and even wearing her Birthright Green made her queasy.
A day after that, she used Craft without thinking and threw up on the sitting room rug—and became so weak and dizzy, Helton found her lying in her own vomit a few minutes later.
Helton panicked, along with the rest of the town house’s staff, and Healers converged on the SaDiablo residence, including Lady Zhara’s personal Healer.
She answered all their questions truthfully, except one.
Despite her protests that it couldn’t have happened, every single Healer assured her that it had.
So she stayed in bed resting for a day, putting up with Helton’s fussing to make up for scaring the man so badly.
For herself, she was excited—and she was scared.
And she was terrified of what would happen when she told Sadi.
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.
