by Anne Bishop
"My toes will be rose?"
"You'll love it. That polish will complement the sapphire jacket and trousers I saw in one of the shops we passed on the way to this room. We'll go there next so they'll have time to make any alterations by this afternoon."
"But… rose toenails? Who's going to see them?"
Daemon will when he's nibbling his way down your legs.
But there wasn't any reason to mention that right now.
* * *
"Mud? They're going to put mud on my face?"
"You'll love it."
"Whenever the kitties and I played stalk and pounce and we ended up muddy, everyone frowned about it."
Surreal grunted softly. Only Jaenelle referred to Jaal and Kaelas, a full-grown tiger and an eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat, as "the kitties"…or voluntarily played games with them to keep their predatory skills honed.
"So why is this mud different?" Jaenelle grumbled.
Stretched out on the other table, Surreal turned her head and opened one eye. "It's expensive."
Whispers rose and fell, an ebb and flow of sound as they went to their various appointments throughout the day. They pretended not to notice the way conversations stopped when they entered a room, pretended not to see the uneasy glances. It wasn't the fun, relaxing experience Surreal had wanted it to be, but it served its purpose. By late afternoon, Jaenelle's hair was trimmed and styled, her nails…all of them…were painted, and they'd found enough clothing in the shops to suffice as a wardrobe for a few weeks.
Now, waiting for Jaenelle to return from the dressing room, Surreal studied a display of shawls. Two of them had the right colors to blend nicely with Jaenelle's new clothes and provide extra warmth if it was needed.
Her lips twitched. Well, extra warmth when Daemon wasn't wrapped around his Lady.
"I heard you were here," a voice said.
Turning, Surreal studied Zhara, who was staring at her with an expression that was close to dislike but hadn't quite crossed that line. "And you're here, too. Busy place."
Interesting, Surreal thought as Zhara moved closer. She doesn't want to talk to me, doesn't want to get close to me, but something is pushing her.
"I've heard some disturbing rumors," Zhara said.
"Really? Are you going to share them, or are you going to be another bitch whispering behind Her hand?"
Temper flared in Zhara's eyes. "Remember who you're talking to."
"You're the Queen of Amdarh. And I'm a witch who wears Gray Jewels. If push comes to shove, sugar, you're a corpse. So you want to tell me in plain words what's bothering you, or do you want to keep dancing around in the shit?"
"There's a rumor that Daemon Sadi… that he… "
"What about Daemon?" asked a midnight voice.
Reading the discomfort and embarrassment in Zhara's eyes before they both turned to face Jaenelle, Surreal suddenly had a good idea of what kind of rumors were going around. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. There were better ways of committing suicide than starting a rumor like that about a man the Blood in Terreille had called the Sadist.
Of course, pissing off Witch wasn't a great idea either. Especially when that deadly anger was back in Jaenelle's sapphire eyes.
"What about Daemon?" Jaenelle asked again, as if Zhara's expression hadn't told her plainly enough the reason for the whispers that had followed them all day.
"I…I'm sure the rumors aren't true," Zhara said.
Jaenelle's smile was razored ice. "So am I."
"Where are you going?" Surreal asked as Jaenelle headed out of the shop.
"I'm going to talk to Daemon."
She didn't try to stop Jaenelle, and she didn't offer to go with her. She didn't want to be around either one of them during that discussion.
"Well, that was fun," she said, looking at Zhara. "You planning to do anything else today to create a firestorm in the city? I was thinking of doing something dull like reading or sleeping, but if you've got your heart set on starting a gut-spilling slaughter, I'm willing to play."
"What are you talking about?" Zhara snapped.
You don't know who… and what… he is, Surreal thought. She shook her head. "Never mind." It's too late anyway.
3
Daemon prowled the town house's sitting room. He would have preferred walking through the city to being caged in this room, but he couldn't tolerate one more cold look, one more silent condemnation.
The hurt went deep. The fear went deep. But the rage went much, much deeper.
Damn them all to the bowels of Hell. He'd tried to fit in. Knowing the Queens in Dhemlan would be wary of a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, he hadn't worn the Black when he came to Amdarh. At least, not in public. He'd been courteous and civil, had done all the proper things a man was permitted to do when he was in an established relationship… and only the things a man was permitted to do. What had that courtesy and civility gotten him? At the first slur to his reputation, they'd condemned him of thinking more of his cock than the woman who had given everything she had to defend and protect all of them.
Jaenelle should have let them all die, should have let them all choke in the twisted, vicious cruelty Dorothea had spawned in Terreille before Witch had cleansed the taint of Dorothea and Hekatah out of the Blood. She should have…
"Is this the response of a Warlord Prince, to tuck his tail between his legs and hide in his lair instead of standing up for himself?"
That wonderful, chilling midnight voice shivered over him. Despair clawed his heart, leaving it bleeding, as he turned around.
Mother Night. Jaenelle.
She was still painfully thin, but standing there, dressed in a rose silk shirt and soft sapphire jacket and trousers, she looked like the woman he'd known and loved before she'd torn both of their lives apart to save Kaeleer. She looked like the Queen of Ebon Askavi, strong and powerful, despite the fact that it was Twilight's Dawn and not a Black or Ebony Jewel hanging from the gold chain around her neck.
And her eyes… Feral. Angry.
Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh.
He wanted to kneel before her, wanted to surrender everything he was and could ever be, wanted to offer his life in any way she would have him.
But she'd obviously heard the rumors. She knew what was being said about him. That's what had brought her here. Someone's vicious lies had created a chasm between them, and if he didn't find a way to bridge that distance, if he lost her now…
Despair and fury twisted together, became a roar of pain. " I have not been unfaithful !"
"Do you think I don't know that?" Jaenelle replied. "I know you, Daemon. I know you. Even if there had been no hope of me healing, you would have stayed with me, celibate and faithful."
"Of course I would have. I love you." The bitterness under her words frightened him, but the fury was turning cold and sharp.
"I know." Jaenelle looked away, adding, "Maybe it would have been better if that weren't true."
"Meaning what?" he asked too softly, taking a step toward her.
"If you were capable of infidelity, it would be easier to believe you were staying with me because you wanted to stay and not because you felt you had to stay."
"What in the name of Hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you… and me." Pain flickered in Jaenelle's eyes before she looked away. "I know I don't look… that a man wouldn't be attracted…"
"Damn you." He didn't think about it. He grabbed the back of a stuffed chair and let his rage flow.
The chair exploded. Startled, Jaenelle stumbled back a step.
Daemon smiled bitterly. He'd instinctively created a bubble shield to contain the debris so that nothing sprayed over the room, so that not even the smallest sliver would strike Jaenelle and possibly harm her.
But that release was enough to shift ice to heat, so he snapped the leash that held his temper. "Is that why you've been pushing me away? Because of how you look?" He moved awa
y from her, needing whatever distance he could get within the confines of the room as the insult churned through him. "I waited for you my whole life. Yearned for you my whole life. After Tersa told me you were coming, I spent seven hundred years searching for you in the court of every Queen who had bought my service as a pleasure slave. I searched in every Territory in Terreille that was within reach of wherever I'd been sent. For you. For Witch. For dreams made flesh. I never gave a damn what you might look like…tall, short, fat, thin, plain, beautiful, ugly. Why would I care what you looked like? The flesh was the shell that housed the glory. It was a way to connect with you, please you, be with you. Even if I couldn't be your physical lover, there are other ways to be a lover, and I know them all. So don't stand there and tell me what I feel for you depends on how you look !"
"Doesn't it?"Jaenelle snapped, her voice shaking with anger and hurt. "I'm healed, but you still can't bring yourself to touch me, can't even hold my hand…"
"Do you think it's because I don't want to?" Daemon roared. "I can't touch you!" His breathing hitched, surprising him, as the guilt he'd tried to lock away broke through. "It made me sick when I realized that no matter how careful I was, I couldn't touch you without hurting you, that even the lightest brush of my fingers left bruises smeared on your arms and hands, that when I helped you sit up in bed, there would be dark bruises in the shape of my hands on your back and shoulders. Every time I touched you, I hurt you, drained more of your strength because there was something else you had to heal."
"That's not…"Jaenelle paused. Then she sighed. "In the beginning, that was true. Everything was so… frail… it didn't take much to cause damage. But I did heal. It's been months since I've been that fragile."
He heard the words, but pain drove him now, forcing him to say what he'd hoped he'd never have to admit. "You suffered. Every moment you were awake, every move you made… you suffered." He still couldn't bear thinking of how much worse it had been when she'd first risen from the healing webs. How had Ladvarian, Kaelas, and the rest of the kindred who had cared for her endured watching her suffer?
Tears filled his eyes. "I understand why you want me out of your life. Sweetheart, I do understand. But I'd hoped you could forgive me."
Jaenelle's anger faded, but the hurt was still there. "Forgive you for what?"
"You suffered… because of me. You rose up from the healing webs too soon… because of me."
Horror began filling her eyes. "Daemon…"
The tears fell. He choked back a sob. "They told me you would come back, but I didn't believe them. Couldn't believe them. I wanted you so much, needed you so much… and you came back too soon. Because of me."
"That isn't true. The healing webs had done all they could and…"
"Liar." He waited, but she didn't deny it. She couldn't…and they both knew it. "You could have stayed longer in the healing webs, could have given your body more time to mend. But you never could withstand a plea for help from someone you cared about. And a cry of pain from me?" He shook his head. "You would have answered that cry no matter what it cost you. You paid the price for my doubts, and there was nothing I could do to make it up to you."
"Daemon…"
"Do you want to try another lie and tell me you didn't hear me calling to you in the abyss?" he asked bitterly.
Jaenelle's hands curled into fists. "Yes, I heard you. How could I not hear you? Begging. Pleading. I could feel you breaking under the pain."
"So you rose out of the healing webs too soon and then discovered the flesh was barely able to survive despite how much healing had already been done."
"Yes, I rose too soon…and then there was no going back. After that, the healing had to be done from within…and done in a way that only I had the skill to do. But it wasn't just you, Daemon. Did you think you were the only voice calling to me, pleading with me to come back? You were one voice among hundreds. All of them wanting me to return. I could feel Lucivar's and Saetan's yearning, the coven's grief, the boyos fear that, without me there as a connection for all of them, the Shadow Realm would splinter again, that most of the kindred would retreat from human contact again. And the kindred… They didn't want to let go of the dream either, and they held on with everything in them. All of you calling, pleading, hoping that love could do what shouldn't have been possible. Hell's fire, Daemon. I'm a Healer. I know better than you ever will what happened to this flesh when I got hit with the backlash of power still left in those webs I'd created. I knew the healing would be hideous and painful, and that after everything was done that could be done, I might not have anything better than a shell that would exist but never really be able to live." Jaenelle's eyes filled with tears. "But sometimes," she added, her voice breaking, "love is worth whatever price must be paid."
Daemon turned away. He should have felt relieved that it wasn't his fault…at least, not his alone. But her words had numbed him. No pain now, no anger. Nothing. "So you loved them enough to come back."
A long silence. Then Jaenelle said, "No. I came back for you."
He looked at her, not quite trusting enough to hope… or believe. But the emotional pain in her eyes now was more devastating than any physical suffering he'd seen.
"I came back for you," Jaenelle said, tears streaming down her face. "Because you were worth the price."
His heart ached as emotions flooded him. Pain. Pleasure. And the love. Oh, yes, the love. "Jaenelle." His legs trembled as he took the few steps that separated them. He raised his hand, intending to brush away the tears, but he was still afraid to touch her.
Jaenelle closed her eyes and took a few breaths before she looked at him. "I don't know if it will ever be better than this, but I'm healed, Daemon. Completely healed."
He stared at her, trying to decipher what she was telling him. His heart pounded hard enough for him to feel the beat against his chest as his fingertips touched her cheek. Fever raged through him, settling between his legs. His mouth watered as he brushed a finger over her lips. He wanted his tongue there, slicking her mouth until he slipped inside to stroke her tongue. And after that he wanted to stroke…
Healed. Completely healed.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Jaenelle nodded. "I'm completely healed. I have been for weeks now."
And she hadn't told him? Or had she tried in some hesitant way and he hadn't heard because he'd been caged by the memories of her being so frail?
Weeks. She'd been healed for weeks…which is when he'd begun having the erotic dreams, when his hunger for sex had reawakened. His body had known she was ready for him.
"Are you sure?" he whispered. Same words. Different question.
"I'm sure," she whispered back.
His lips brushed hers, softly, carefully. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other trailed down her spine, urging her to relax against him. As he deepened the kiss, he savored the feel of his tongue caressing hers.
The taste of her. The smell of her. The feel…
He eased back in order to brush his lips over her cheek. "You're wearing too many clothes," he whispered. The tip of his tongue traced the curve of her ear, making her shiver. "They're lovely clothes, but they are very much in the way right now."
"We need… to talk," Jaenelle gasped as he licked the pulse in her neck.
"We will," he promised, drifting back to her mouth to give her a long, sinking kiss. "In an hour…" Even through layers of clothing, her nipple hardened as he rubbed his thumb over it."… or two."
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, changing his desire into something close to desperation. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice part snarl, part groan. "We'll talk about anything you want tomorrow."
Not giving her time to disagree, he picked her up and headed out of the sitting room, maintaining enough control to use Craft to simply open the door rather than rip it off the hinges. As he walked into the entrance hall, he gave his startled butler, Helton, a searing look. "The Lady and I are
not at home. To anyone. Is that clear?"
"That is very clear, Prince," Helton replied. "Shall I inform the cook that you will be dining upstairs this evening?"
"I'll let you know when to send up a tray," Daemon replied, taking the stairs two at a time.
"Someone might think you're in a hurry," Jaenelle murmured.
The bedroom door flew open as they reached it and slammed shut behind them, the locks clicking into place.
Private now, with the bed only a step away, the fury of lust eased back to the steady blaze of desire.
"Oh, no," he crooned, setting her on her feet so that he could unbutton the sapphire jacket. "This is going to be a long… slow… banquet." He slipped the jacket off her shoulders, slid it down her arms. "And I'm planning to enjoy every single morsel."
Since that seemed to stun her, he took advantage of her lost wits to unbutton the rose silk shirt and slide that off her. The camisole beneath it was a paler rose and sheer enough to veil her breasts without really hiding them. So he let her keep it on a little longer while he enjoyed the feel of stroking her through the material until her skin warmed under his hands. Then he vanished the camisole, and there was nothing between his hands and her skin.
"Daemon." His name ended in a moan as he gave her breasts a fleeting caress before opening her trousers and sliding them, and the whisper of material beneath them, down her legs. After vanishing her shoes and thin socks, he coaxed her into bed.
Walking around to the other side of the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, letting it slide to the floor. It had been awhile since he'd stripped with the intention of having a woman hot and willing to let him do whatever he wanted by the time he slid between the sheets, but the look in Jaenelle's eyes told him plainly enough he hadn't lost his touch.
She reached for him as soon as he got into bed, but he had other plans.
"Roll over," he said, a hand on her shoulder guiding her to stretch out on her belly.
"What?" Confused, she obeyed.