Queen of the Darkness bj-3

by Anne Bishop

  Surreal grabbed Aaron's left wrist with both hands and pulled back as hard as she could. He gave her a couple of inches before his muscles bunched and his arm surged forward.

  The knife's point jabbed Vania's neck. She screamed as blood began flowing from the wound.

  Surreal poured the power of her Gray Jewels into her hands to give her added strength, but there was some kind of tight shield around Aaron that just absorbed the power.

  All right. Muscle against muscle. She could hold him off for the few seconds needed for the other men at the table to help her.

  Except no one moved.

  Then she got a glimpse of Aaron's face and knew none of the other people in the room were going to approach a Warlord Prince who looked that cold and merciless.

  She fought harder, used every bit of leverage she could find. She didn't give a damn if Vania got her throat slit, but she didn't want Aaron to get into trouble because the bitch had pushed him too far.

  *Surreal?* Graysfang said anxiously.

  *Help me!*

  The wolf must have been nearby because he was in the dining room seconds after she called.

  *Surreal ... *

  *Don't just stand there. Do something!*

  *Aaron is First Circle,* Graysfang whined. *I can't bite Aaron.*

  *Then find someone who can!*

  Graysfang rushed out of the room.

  If she could have, she would have used Craft to vanish the knife, but Aaron had extended that damned shield to include the weapon. She couldn't get the knife, couldn't even break his wrist to stop him.

  Her grip on his wrist slipped for an instant—long enough for the knife to slice Vania's neck again.

  Then Chaosti was there, his hands clamped on Aaron's right wrist. Lucivar's hands closed over hers, adding more force and strength.

  Aaron fought against them mindlessly, intent only on the kill.

  "Damn it, Aaron," Lucivar snarled. "Don't force me to break your wrist."

  Good luck, Surreal thought sourly as Lucivar's hands tightened on hers. She just hoped he remembered her hands were in the way before he started breaking bones.

  Aaron seemed far past the ability to hear them, but he reacted when an icy midnight voice said, "Prince Aaron, attend."

  Aaron began shivering uncontrollably. Lucivar quickly took the carving knife away from him and vanished it. Chaosti pried Aaron's right hand open, releasing Vania's hair.

  Vania kept screaming—had been screaming, Surreal realized, since the first jab.

  "SILENCE."

  Ice instantly coated all the glasses on the table. Vania glanced in Jaenelle's direction and stopped screaming.

  "Prince Aaron," Jaenelle said too calmly. "Attend."

  Flinching, Aaron slowly straightened up. Chaosti and Lucivar released him and stepped aside. Deathly pale, Aaron walked over to where Jaenelle stood and sank to his knees.

  "Wait for me in the High Lord's study," Jaenelle said.

  With effort, Aaron got to his feet and left the dining room.

  Surreal looked at those frozen sapphire eyes, felt the lightest brush of immense, barely controlled rage, and started to shake. Her legs gave out. She sat on the table.

  Jaenelle slowly approached the table and turned her eyes on Lucivar. "You knew about this."

  Lucivar took several shallow breaths before answering. "I knew."

  "And you did nothing."

  He swallowed hard. "I had hoped it would be taken care of quietly."

  Jaenelle just stared at him. Then, "I'll see you in the High Lord's study in thirty minutes, Prince Yaslana."

  "Yes, Lady."

  Those sapphire eyes pinned Chaosti next. "And you after him."

  "It will be my pleasure, Lady," Chaosti replied, his voice husky.

  Oh, I doubt that very much, Surreal thought, still shaking.

  Then Jaenelle looked at Vania—and the cold began to burn.

  "If you ever again cause one of my males any physical, mental, or emotional distress, I will hang you by your heels and skin you alive."

  No one spoke, no one moved until Jaenelle walked out of the room.

  Could she do that?Surreal wondered. She didn't realize she had spoken out loud until Lucivar made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a whimper.

  "In the mood she's in right now? Not only could she do it, she wouldn't bother using a knife."

  Surreal looked at her own hands, thought about it for a moment, and then wondered if anyone would be upset if she threw up on the floor.

  "Surreal?" Lucivar's hand shook as he lifted her head up.

  He's scared shitless. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

  "Surreal? Are you injured?"

  The sharp concern in Lucivar's voice made her focus her attention. "Hurt? No, I don't think—"

  "There's blood on your face and neck."

  "Oh." Her gorge rose. "I must have gotten splashed when..." Keeping her mouth shut seemed like a very good idea right now.

  Lucivar looked over his shoulder. "Falonar?"

  "Prince Yaslana," Falonar replied quietly.

  "Your sole duty this afternoon is to take care of Lady Surreal."

  "It will be my pleasure."

  "Lady Vania needs a Healer," one of the escorts said frantically.

  "Well, shit," Surreal said, suddenly feeling a bit drunk, "they really are alive. They can talk and they can move. The way they were sitting on their thumbs a few minutes ago, I'd doubted it. I really had."

  "Shut up, bitch," an escort yelled.

  Lucivar, Chaosti, and Falonar snarled at the man.

  "I suggest you ask Lord Beale to send for the Healer in Halaway," Lucivar said coldly.

  "Surely the Hall keeps a Healer," Alexandra said, sounding outraged.

  "There's Lady Gabrielle and Lady Karla," Lucivar replied. "If I were you, I wouldn't ask either of them right now."

  "You could always ask Jaenelle," Surreal said with a venomous smile.

  Frightened silence met that statement.

  With Vania supported by two of the escorts, Alexandra and her entourage quickly left the room. Lucivar and Chaosti gave Falonar a hard look before leaving.

  Falonar approached Surreal cautiously. "This must have been... distressing... for you." He looked like he was about to bite down on a toad. "Do you need smelling salts or something?"

  Surreal narrowed her eyes. "Sugar, I'm an assassin. I've done worse than this at a dinner table."

  "I wasn't talking about..." He looked at the blood-splashed table.

  "Oh." At least he was smart enough to realize it wasn't Aaron who had scared her.

  He paused, then added, "I meant no insult."

  "None taken," she replied. It was her turn to pause. "On any other day, I'd be willing to find out what the rules are for inviting a man to have a sweaty afternoon of sex, just to get my mind off this for a few hours. But I don't think sex of any kind would be a good idea today."

  Surprise and interest flickered in Falonar's eyes, and his voice held regret. "No, I don't think it would be a good idea... today."

  "So why don't we go through another practice round with the sticks? I'd like to get out of this building for a while."

  Falonar nodded thoughtfully. "You can handle a knife?"

  Surreal smiled. "I can handle a knife." She glanced at his groin. "I can also handle spears quite well."

  He actually blushed a little. "A bow?"

  Still smiling, she shook her head.

  "A new skill requires concentration."

  "So do some old skills ... if you want to do them right."

  His blush deepened while his interest sharpened.

  Surreal stood up. "Let's go concentrate on a new skill."

  "And discuss the possibility of practicing old skills?"

  "Oh, definitely."

  In charity with each other, they hurried to escape the growing fury that filled the Hall.

  8 / Kaeleer

  Daemon pau
sed outside Jaenelle's sitting room. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  She was there. He could feel the fury swirling in the room. And he could feel the cold.

  He knocked again, then went into the room, ignoring the fact that he hadn't been invited.

  Jaenelle prowled the sitting room, her arms wrapped around her middle. She glared at him, and snarled, "Go away, Daemon."

  She should have been resting today, Daemon thought as his temper sharpened. Probably had been before that scene in the dining room.

  "Since I'm the only male in the First Circle who isn't the recipient of your displeasure, I thought I'd check and see if you needed anything. Why is that, by the way?" Despite his efforts to keep his tone mild, his voice had an edge to it. Rationally, he knew he should be grateful to have escaped the verbal lashing the others had received. Instead, he resented the exclusion—until he got the full thrust of that frozen sapphire stare.

  "Did you know you should have reported Vania's stalking of Aaron?" Jaenelle asked too quietly.

  "No, I didn't. Even if I had known, I wouldn't have reported it."

  "Why in the name of Hell not?" Jaenelle shouted.

  Heat. Daemon felt his legs weaken as relief washed through him. Thank the Darkness, this was no longer cold rage but hot anger. He could work around hot anger. "Because she was stalking him. Aaron wasn't casting any lures or making any unspoken invitations. She was trying to push him into her bed because she wanted the conquest. She didn't give a damn what it would do to him."

  "Exactly."

  She still didn't understand. Daemon raked his fingers through his hair. "Hell's fire, woman, the man has a wife and an infant daughter. If he had said anything, would Kalush really believe he was innocent?"

  "Of course she would!" Jaenelle shouted. "But if he didn't feel he could tell Kalush, he could have told me or Karla or Gabrielle."

  "How would that have helped?" Daemon shouted back. "You would have told Kalush, and he'd still be under suspicion for something he didn't do, didn't even want to do."

  "Why do you keep harping about suspicion? This—"

  "I am not harping."

  "—has nothing to do with suspicion."

  "Then why are you so furious with him?" Daemon roared.

  "BECAUSE HE GOT HURT AND HE SHOULDN'T HAVE!" Jaenelle's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I'm mad at him because he got hurt. Don't you think I know how ecstatic and terrified he's been since Kalush got pregnant? How much she and Arianna mean to him? How vulnerable he feels about another woman showing interest in him?" She swiped at a tear that rolled down her face. "But you all hid it so well, we weren't picking up anything but the edginess the boyos have felt since those... people... came to the Hall. If we'd known, the coven would have done something before now."

  Hearing something underneath the words, Daemon narrowed his gold eyes. "What else?"

  Jaenelle hesitated. "Alexandra is my grandmother."

  He advanced on her so fast, she took a quick step back and tripped on the train of her gown. Catching her by the arms, he pulled her up against him. "You are not going to wallow in guilt, Jaenelle," he said fiercely. "Do you hear me? You're not going to do it. She's your grandmother. A grown woman. As an adult, she's responsible for her own actions. As a Queen, she's responsible for controlling her own court. If anyone should share the blame with Vania, it's Alexandra. She was warned about this and did nothing." When she started to argue, he gave her enough of a shake to make her bare her teeth and snarl at him. "If you want to shoulder guilt and blame because they're here, then Wilhelmina is equally guilty and equally to blame."

  Oh, the protective fierceness in those eyes.

  Daemon ran his hands soothingly up and down her arms. "If one granddaughter shouldn't be blamed for Vania's actions or Alexandra's lack of action, how can you, in all fairness, blame the other?"

  "Because I'm the Queen, and a Queen not only controls her court, she protects it."

  Daemon snarled in frustration and muttered a few uncomplimentary things about female stubbornness.

  "It's not stubbornness when you're right," Jaenelle snapped.

  He couldn't win this fight if that was the stand she was going to take, so he tried to shift them to different ground. "All right. We should have reported it." Or taken care of it themselves better than they had.

  She stared at him suspiciously. "Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?"

  Daemon raised one eyebrow. "I would think you would prefer having males agree with you," he said mildly. "Should I keep arguing?"

  "When any of you gives up this quickly, it's only because another of you has gotten into position to continue the argument from another angle."

  "You make the First Circle sound like a hunting pack," Daemon said, trying hard to suppress a chuckle.

  "I think they learned that tactic from the wolves," Jaenelle replied sourly.

  Daemon began massaging her neck and shoulders.

  She closed her eyes. "Did you know you and Lucivar were the only living human males in the First Circle that Vania didn't try to bed?"

  "She wouldn't have dared try with me," Daemon said too softly.

  "And she was smart not to try with Lucivar. When someone puts him in that position, he has a tendency to hit first and discuss after."

  "Sounds like a successful deterrent."

  "Mmm. Oh, right there."

  Daemon obligingly focused on a knot of tight muscle. As he caressed and massaged, he subtly coaxed her to lean against him until her arms were around his waist and her head rested on his shoulder. "Lucivar's very hurt over your being so angry with him," he said quietly. "All the boyos are."

  "I know." She sighed. "I'm too tired to think of a task for each of them. I guess I'll have to stub my toe."

  "I beg your pardon?" His hands stopped caressing for a moment.

  "I'll stub my toe, and then I'll let them all fuss and fetch and carry, and they'll know I'm not angry with them anymore."

  "They'll actually believe a stubbed toe is a serious injury?"

  Jaenelle snorted softly. "Of course not. It's more like a ritual."

  "I see. The Queen can't apologize for the discipline but has to give a clear signal that it's done."

  "Exactly. If it had been just one of them, I would have asked his assistance with something that I could just as easily do myself, and he would have understood. With so many, I'll have to let them fuss." Her voice took on a bit of a growl. "They'll plump pillows and tuck blankets around me that I don't want. They'll make me take naps."

  "So it's not just forgiveness, but a little revenge thrown in."

  "The revenge isn't so little. Usually, one of the coven will sneak a book in so I can read during my 'naps.' Once, when Papa came in to check on me, I stuffed the book under a pillow, but not quite well enough. He didn't say anything. When Khary and Aaron came in, he even poked the book farther under the pillow to hide it better. Then Saetan had the balls to say I looked flush so that they could fuss even more."

  Daemon paused for a moment, sorting through the distinction she made between "Papa" and "Saetan." "Sweetheart," he said carefully, "if Saetan has balls, then so does Papa."

  "It sounds disrespectful somehow to say that about Papa."

  "I see," Daemon said in a tone of voice that indicated he didn't see at all.

  "Papa," Jaenelle explained, "is charming and intelligent, a well-rounded companion."

  Thinking of Saetan and Sylvia, Daemon said dryly, "I don't think Saetan is the companion who's well-rounded."

  A long pause. Then, "You would call Sylvia's figure well-rounded?"

  Daemon bit his tongue. Was she asking about Sylvia because she had picked up a stray thought of his or through an obvious connection of topics? And how in the name of Hell was a Consort supposed to safely answer that? "Her figure is more well-rounded than his," he hedged—and then threw Saetan into the verbal pit without a qualm. "They do se
em fond of each other, even if Sylvia won't lend him that book."

  When Jaenelle raised her head, there was nothing cold about the gleam in her eyes. "What book?"

  "You mentioned what!"

  Daemon rubbed the back of his neck as he warily studied his father. He had felt some obligation, male to male, to give Saetan fair warning—and now sincerely wished he hadn't.

  Saetan stared at him. "Whatever possessed you to tell her about it in the first place?"

  Oh, no. He was not going to repeat anything that had led up to that comment. "Jaenelle's in a much better mood now."

  "I'm sure she is." Saetan rubbed his hands over his face. "What's she doing now?"

  "Resting," Daemon said. "I'm going to talk to Beale about having a tray brought to her sitting room. We'll have dinner there and then play cards for a while."

  The way Saetan's eyes suddenly glittered made him nervous.

  "You're going to play cards with Jaenelle?" Saetan asked.

  "Yes," Daemon replied cautiously.

  "In that case, Prince, I'd say you've more than made up for mentioning that book."

  9 / Kaeleer

  Osvald lingered in the corridor.

  At first, he'd thought Vania's greedy lust was going to spoil all their plans. But after the pale bitch-Queen had ripped into the males of the court because of it, they'd all gone off to lick their emotional wounds and hadn't been seen for the rest of the day.

  Jaenelle's fury would have been a gift that had fallen into his hands if Wilhelmina Benedict had been in her room. But she wasn't, and he had no idea where to look for her. If she was with the other bitches, he couldn't approach her. He didn't want any of them taking special notice of him before he was ready to disappear.

  Soon, he thought as he returned to his own room. Soon.

  10 / Kaeleer

  And they call me the Sadist, Daemon thought as he eyed the game board and cards—and did his best not to snarl in frustration.

  "You almost won that round," Jaenelle offered, trying not to look too gleeful as she tallied up the scores.

  Daemon bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. "My deal?"

  Nodding, Jaenelle busily turned the paper over, drew a line down the middle, and wrote their names at the top.