by Anne Bishop
Hearing Dillon say what she’d almost said to Lucivar because they had been arguing about this . . . male . . . ignited her temper.
“You bastard,” she growled. “He’s more of a father to me than yours is to you.”
Fury filled his eyes. “You bitch!”
She realized he put a defensive shield around himself a moment before he lunged at her. She threw up her own shield—and the extra defensive shield as she’d been taught.
Dillon grabbed her, a blast of his Opal power breaking her first shield. She hadn’t expected that kind of aggressive anger from Dillon, and it scared her, because he was taller and heavier and wore a darker Jewel than hers. But she was an Eyrien who had been trained to fight.
Jillian stopped thinking about who her adversary was and let training dictate her moves as she fought back.
* * *
* * *
Spotting Jillian, Lucivar folded his wings and dove for the ground. ٭Rothvar! She’s at Witch’s cabin.٭
He didn’t need Rothvar to deal with a Rihlander Warlord. He needed Rothvar to take Jillian away from the place before he started skinning the prick-ass alive.
He spread his wings and backwinged hard to avoid slamming into the ground. Landing a few feet behind them, he pushed aside hot fury enough to realize Jillian was on her feet and Dillon was on the ground, cupping his groin. An impressive-looking fist-sized bruise had already started to color one side of the prick-ass’s face.
Dillon’s eyes widened when he noticed Lucivar, and he made an effort to get to his feet.
Lucivar bared his teeth. ٭Stay down or the next fist you feel will be mine, and my fist will shatter bone.٭ When Dillon flopped back on the ground, Lucivar focused on the girl. “Jillian?” No answer. He took a step toward her, his heart pounding unmercifully hard. “Witchling? Are you hurt?”
She turned and looked at him, her lower lip quivering with the effort not to cry, her left hand cradling her right fist. She looked more like the young girl who had first come to Ebon Rih than the girl who was on the cusp of being a woman.
“Witchling, are you hurt?” he asked again, barely able to breathe.
“I shielded like you taught me,” she finally said. “I did. But . . .” She held out her hand, like Titian did when she had a boo-boo and wanted him, not Marian, to make it better.
He approached slowly, carefully.
٭Lucivar?٭ Rothvar called.
٭I have her,٭ he replied. Then to Jillian, “Let me see.”
He took her right hand, probing gently. “Can you open your hand? That’s it.” More probing. Fingers. Knuckles. “Close. Open.” His chest muscles eased their grip on his lungs, allowing him to breathe. “You’re all right. Nothing broken. You just need some ice on those knuckles.” He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her—and felt relief when her arms came around him and held on hard.
٭She’s all right,٭ he told Rothvar as the other man approached slowly. ٭She’s all right.٭
Rothvar studied Dillon. ٭He wears Opal; she wears Purple Dusk. She clobbered him hard enough through an Opal shield to leave that kind of bruise?٭
Lucivar smiled. ٭Yeah, she did.٭ Then he looked at the Warlord lying on the ground. He wanted to skin him. Here. Now. But Daemon was waiting for him, and he needed to tend to his girl. ٭Take that piece of carrion to the communal eyrie and lock him in a room until I decide what to do with him.٭
٭Done.٭
“Come on, witchling. Let’s go home and find some ice for your hand.” He waited until she let go of him. Then he waited a little more while she sniffled before she spread her wings and headed for his eyrie.
٭Bastard?٭ he called.
٭Prick?٭
٭I’ll be there as soon as I can. There’s something I have to do first.٭
* * *
* * *
He’d been trembling, like he’d been afraid. She’d felt it when he put his arms around her. Lucivar Yaslana. Afraid. For her.
Jillian sat at the kitchen table at the Yaslana eyrie, watching him chop up ice and wrap it into a cloth to form a cold pad. He laid it over the knuckles of her right hand.
“I remembered what you taught me.” It was the only thing she could think to say that might make him feel better.
He huffed out a laugh. “You certainly did.” Then he sighed. “I have to go.”
She nodded. He was the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. “Are you going to scold me later?”
“Should I?”
She almost wanted him to. Almost.
“I think I’ll leave it to Khary to do the scolding. He’s primed for it.”
She looked at him, alarmed. “I wasn’t that stupid.”
She hadn’t meant it to be amusing, but he laughed, kissed the top of her head, and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, Khary rushed in and jumped into the kitchen chair beside her.
٭Jillian!٭ The Sceltie’s joy was real, but so was the other emotion she picked up from him.
“I’m hurt, Khary,” she said quickly. “You can’t scold me when I’m hurt.”
٭Your paw is hurt, not your ears.٭
A quarter of an hour later, her ears—and head—did hurt as she listened to Khary’s scold about wandering off without him and upsetting all the males who belonged to their family pack, but she figured listening to the Sceltie was a fair penance and price for making Lucivar Yaslana feel afraid.
THIRTY-FOUR
Sadi asked me to meet him here,” Lucivar said when he finally arrived at the Keep.
“Yess,” Draca said. “He iss in hiss ssuite.”
“I know the way to the guest rooms.” He started to walk away.
“Not thosse roomss, Prince. He iss in the Conssort’ss ssuite.”
Lucivar froze, turned back to look at the Seneschal. “Why is he there?”
“He needss to be there.”
Worried now, Lucivar strode through the winding corridors. He knew the way to these rooms, but he hadn’t seen this part of the Keep in decades. And yet the moment he walked past the decorative gate that separated the Queen’s part of the Keep from the rest of the mountain, he felt the power. Familiar, like the psychic scent that shouldn’t be that strong, not after so many years. Unless . . .
He put his hand against the stone wall. ٭Cat?٭
Was something’s—someone’s—attention turning toward him, focusing on him?
٭My thanks, Lady, for helping Marian heal. And if you’re the one Daemonar comes to for advice . . . remember to give him a whack upside the head once in a while whether he needs it or not. Just to keep him honest.٭ Lucivar smiled and blinked back tears. ٭You’re still my Queen, so if there is anything you need from me, just ask.٭
No answer. He didn’t expect one. Didn’t need one. Besides, he already knew what she would ask of him right now.
He gave the door of the Consort’s suite one hard rap of his knuckles before walking in. Daemon rose from a desk piled with neat stacks of paperwork.
“Everything all right?” Daemon asked. “It took you a while to get here.”
“Jillian had an argument with the prick-ass and clobbered him. Right now he’s confined to a room at the communal eyrie and she’s icing bruised knuckles.”
Daemon raised one eyebrow. “Didn’t he shield?”
“Yep. She didn’t break his shield—couldn’t, since he outranks her—but she put enough power and temper behind that punch to have him kissing dirt. Gave him an impressive bruise on his face, not to mention sore balls.”
Daemon chuckled and shook his head. “At least you know she paid attention to her training.”
As Lucivar studied his brother, he understood what Draca meant about Daemon needing to be here, in these rooms. Where else could a man like Daemon Sadi be accepted for everything he was? Where else could he be everything he was without being f
eared?
“I’d like you to do me a favor,” Daemon said.
“Ask.”
“I’d like you to leave Dillon’s fate to me.”
“Why?”
“Perzha told me some things about Lord Dillon’s past, about actions that have brought him here. His actions—and the actions of others.”
“You want me to forgive him,” Lucivar said flatly.
“That depends on what he’s done, and what others have done to him.”
“Why in the name of Hell should I do that?”
“Because I’m asking.”
Lucivar paced and swore. “Why are you asking, Bastard? Why should we do this? Why should I do this?”
“Because we’ve made our share of mistakes over the years. Because I’d like to believe—I need to believe—that a man can earn a second chance.”
Hell’s fire, Bastard. Yeah, they had made their share of mistakes, but . . . “He used spells on those girls.”
“On Jillian, certainly. I don’t know about the others. And that spell may have been used on him first.”
“He’s hurt girls.”
“And he’s been hurt by them. We’ve both had experience with that.”
Yes, they had, and they both carried their own kinds of scars because of it.
“Prick, you have my word that if Dillon has caused any girl serious harm, he will live just long enough to regret it.”
Lucivar stopped pacing. He wasn’t sure who had just made that promise—Daemon, the Sadist, or the High Lord of Hell. Didn’t matter. The promise had been made.
He stepped up to his brother, close enough to touch. “All right. I’ll let you handle this in whatever way you think is best.” He locked his fingers around the back of Daemon’s neck, knowing he left himself vulnerable to nails that were, right now, sharp enough to slice clean through his ribs. “In exchange for letting you handle this, I want a promise in return.”
“Ask.”
“I don’t know what was wrong with you. I don’t need to know.”
“Yes, you do. There are things we need to discuss. About me.”
“Fine. We’ll do that. The point is, old son, I feel the difference in you, which is why I know that whatever was wrong with you has been mended, and with you being in this suite, I can guess who did the mending. I want your word that if you start to sense that something isn’t right, regardless of the reason, that you will tell me, that you’ll let me help.”
“And if you sense something isn’t right, we’ll have an agreed-upon phrase that tells me I need to retreat. That’s one of the things we need to discuss.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Lucivar squeezed Daemon’s neck. “Listen to me, Bastard. If you need to fight, we’ll fight. Remember when we were slaves and used to beat on each other as a way to release power and tension? We could do that again.”
“Since I have a clear memory of how I felt after we did that, I’ll pass, thanks.”
“If you do need to scrap with someone, you come to me.” Lucivar swallowed hard. Everything had a price. “And if the Sadist needs to play with someone, you come to me.”
“Lucivar . . .”
“If that’s what you need, you come to me. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand.” Daemon rested his forehead against Lucivar’s. His hands slowly rose and curled around Lucivar’s wrists. “Being here helps. I can breathe here.” He hesitated, then whispered, “Being here will help me stay sane.”
Now Lucivar hesitated, then decided he would never bring it up again. “Surreal loves you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Not all of me,” Daemon whispered. “She loves what she’s known, which is who I am when all the leashes are in place, but she’s afraid of who, and what, I am without those leashes. And now those leashes may never be tight enough for her to be around me without feeling fear.”
A hard truth. “Daemon . . .”
“It’s all right, Prick. We’ll work things out.”
“I know you will.” Lucivar eased back enough to give Daemon a soft kiss on the mouth. “You’re staying here today?”
Daemon nodded. “I’ll go over to the communal eyrie and have a little chat with Lord Dillon.” He hesitated before adding, “I also have a couple of thoughts about Jillian.”
“Let’s talk about her later. You can come by the eyrie.” Lucivar stepped back. “And you can loosen the leash on the sexual heat once the children are in bed.”
“Lucivar, no.”
“Daemon, yes. Marian was so pleased that you finally trusted her enough that you could relax completely in our home. You’re not going to hurt her feelings by making her think it isn’t true.”
“I do feel comfortable in your home, but the heat . . . She’ll feel it.”
“Yes, she will. Which means you’ll come back here and take a cold shower—and Marian and I won’t get much sleep, but we’ll have a good time.”
Shock followed by a burst of laughter. “Go home. I have work to do.”
As Lucivar reached the door, he said, “See you later, Bastard.”
“That you will, Prick.”
When he reached the gate to the Queen’s part of the Keep, he brushed his fingers against the wall. “Yeah, I know. I’m a pain in the ass.”
He didn’t get an answer. But he thought he heard Witch’s silvery, velvet-coated laugh.
THIRTY-FIVE
Dillon paced the room in the communal eyrie and wondered if he’d ever see anything beyond these walls of stone. Why had he tried and tried and tried to repair a mistake if all that effort was going to end like this?
They’d brought him food and water. He’d ignored the food but drunk the water, almost hoping it was poisoned. That sounded like a more merciful end than whatever the Eyriens might be planning for him.
He didn’t know what to think when a stunningly beautiful man walked into the room, moving with predatory, feline grace.
“I’m Daemon Sadi.”
Mother Night. Dillon’s voice cracked as he said, “Prince,” and he hoped his long jacket hid his physical reaction to the sight of the man.
“My brother wants to break you into pieces,” Daemon crooned, his deep, sensual voice wrapping around Dillon like silk chains. “But I’m going to give you a chance to explain yourself.” He settled into a straight-backed wooden chair, crossed his legs at the knees, and steepled his fingers, resting the forefingers against his chin, drawing the eye to the luscious mouth and the long black-tinted nails. “One chance, Warlord, that will decide whether you live or die.”
The words—and the sudden chill in the air—snapped Dillon out of an aroused haze. Embarrassed by his response and feeling like he had nothing left to lose, he swelled with reckless anger. “What would you know about betrayal?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” Daemon replied calmly.
“A lot?” He laughed, a harsh sound, and pointed to the Black-Jeweled ring on Daemon’s right hand. “Who would dare betray you?”
“I was young once, and I didn’t always wear the Black. Tell me about Lady Blyte.”
His painful arousal and the chill in the air faded, leaving him feeling a little sick but clearheaded. He paced, trying to gather his thoughts so he would sound reasonable, rational. But feelings that he’d had to swallow for so long rose in him and demanded a voice.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “One mistake. I believed that bitch when she said she loved me. I wanted to be an escort. I wanted to serve in a court. But in order to prove I loved her, I had to walk away from the training, because she didn’t want me to be around other women, didn’t want me to have to meet someone else’s wishes above hers. When I balked at having sex, she offered me a handfast to prove our suitability. And when she found out I had told my family about the arrangement, she denied it all, said I was the seducer, did everything s
he could to destroy my reputation and honor. Her family’s more aristo than mine, and they backed up her story. The District Queen, who is related to her family, backed up her story. She walked away with no penalty at all, free to do it again to someone else, just like she’d done it to me.
“I wasn’t the first one. Did you know that? Does anyone care about that? I wasn’t the first to fall for her game, and I wasn’t the last. I looked for some of those other men. They’re toys for aristo bitches now. The men those girls have fun with while they wait for the men with the right family bloodlines and social standing to be husbands.
“I tried to find work, tried to stay away from the aristo girls. But they wouldn’t let me. I was soiled, so I was fair game. So why shouldn’t I play games with them? Why shouldn’t I get something out of them? The moment one of those girls said my name and ‘handfast’ in the same sentence, their fathers couldn’t pay me off fast enough. I figured it was a better way to earn a living than being a real whore.”
Panting, sweating, Dillon faced Daemon Sadi.
“And Jillian?” Daemon asked, still sounding calm and reasonable.
He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I like Jillian. I really do. I knew she was young to enter into a handfast, but I didn’t think she was too young. I really didn’t. And I didn’t realize she was that old.” He paused. Considered what he should say to this man. Careful words, but nothing less than the truth. “I wasn’t as kind as I should have been, and I’m sorry for that. I wanted to be important. I wanted her to be impressed. She thought I was special, and it had been so long since someone had thought well of me, let alone thought I was special, and I thought . . .”
“You thought?”
“I thought a handfast with Jillian would help me restore my reputation, repair my honor. She worked for Prince Yaslana, so I figured that connection would help me find work, would give me a year when I didn’t feel hunted. I thought she was old enough.”
