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.
“Is Surreal ill?” Lucivar asked, shoving the door closed.
“She’s pregnant,” Daemon replied softly.
He rocked back on his heels. There hadn’t been a man in Surreal’s life in quite some time, so her unexpected pregnancy explained Daemon locking down the Hall against outsiders, and it explained why Surreal was here and not at her own house. It also explained the chill in Daemon’s temper and those glazed eyes.
Lucivar settled into a fighting stance, his wings half spread for balance—an instinctive response. “Am I here to help her drain her Jewels or to help you have a chat with the cock who danced with her?”
“I am the cock who danced with her,” Daemon crooned.
His lungs locked, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You?”
Daemon smiled.
Lucivar shuddered. “I’d like to talk to Surreal.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“Today I do.”
Daemon’s smile became more gentle—and more terrifying. “Yes, today you do.”
Would I have walked out of this room intact if I hadn’t known that?
He didn’t need to ask the question when he already knew the answer.
The study door opened, Daemon’s invitation for him to leave.
Turning his back on the Sadist was playing with suicide, but he did it. When he reached the door, Daemon said, “Lucivar? I want this baby.”
Lucivar looked over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Surreal. And then you and I will talk.”
He walked out of the study. Beale stood in the great hall at the doorway leading to the informal receiving room and the staircase that led to the family wing.
“Anything I need to know?” he asked the butler.
“Lady Surreal saw her Healer in Amdarh and was given a tonic to help her body adjust to . . .” Beale fumbled, clearly reluctant to speak of something so personal when it pertained to the SaDiablo family—especially when none of them knew if Daemon would take offense at someone talking about Surreal.
Lucivar nodded so that Beale didn’t have to continue. “I’m going up now to talk to her—with the Prince’s permission.”
“I don’t believe Lady Surreal’s Jewels have been drained yet,” Beale said.
Not something I can do for her now,
Lucivar thought as he strode through the corridors that led to Surreal’s suite.
Blood was the living river, and the body was the vessel for the power that made the Blood who and what they were. But everything had a price. When a witch wore darker Jewels, her moontimes were more uncomfortable and the pain of doing more than basic Craft during the first three days was fierce. That was the reason they drained their Jewels before a moontime—to let the body rest. And when they were pregnant, they submitted to someone else draining the reserve power in their Jewels so that their power didn’t try to fill the child in the womb—and destroy it.
He rapped once on Surreal’s sitting room door and went in before she answered. One look at her had him yanking back his temper because she didn’t need a man yelling at her, but he couldn’t stop himself from going up to the windows where she stood and opening his wings halfway to look more intimidating.
“Get off your feet,” he snarled.
“Take a piss in the wind,” she snarled back.
Relieved that she didn’t sound as sick as she looked, he took a step back to give her some room.
“Aren’t you going to ask how this happened?” Surreal said.
“I have two children. I know how it happened. What I don’t know is what you want to do about it.”
“Do about it? I’m keeping it! How could you think I would . . .” She burst into tears.
“Ah, Surreal.” He put his arms around her and cuddled her while she cried. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I’m not upset,” she said, still crying. “My body is doing strange things, and it’s making me weepy. And being weepy because I can’t help it is
not
the same as being upset.”
Lucivar rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It will be all right. In a couple of days, you’ll swing over to bitchy and that will feel more normal to you.”
She punched him. He laughed.
When she seemed settled again, he called in a handkerchief and let her mop her face.
“What I meant was, what do you want to do about Sadi? Talk to me, Surreal.”
“I’d rather you talk to
him
.”
“After you tell me what you want. I thought Daemon had this place locked down to keep everyone out, but that’s not all of it, is it?”
“He says I can’t leave with his child.”
“Well, the baby can’t go anywhere without you for quite some time, and he can’t seriously expect you to stay inside the Hall for the next ten months.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that, sugar.” Surreal sniffled once more, then vanished the handkerchief. “He offered to marry me.
Told
me, more like it. A week from tomorrow.”
He loved his brother, but he wasn’t sure Daemon was emotionally ready to be anyone’s husband yet—if ever.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I haven’t given him an answer yet.” She looked sad and wistful. “But I am going to marry him.”
“Why?” When she didn’t answer, he swore softly. “I know you care for Daemon. And he cares for you. But I’m not sure he can give you the kind of love a wife deserves from a husband.”
“I do have some conditions that he’ll have to agree to, and if he agrees, I think we can do well enough together.”
“You don’t have to settle for ‘well enough.’ ”
She turned away to stare out the window. “I want this baby, Lucivar. Not just
a
baby;
this
baby. And I want this chance at a marriage. I haven’t shared my life with anyone since Rainier, and we were never lovers, never had that kind of bond. Plenty of men since then have been willing to entertain a short-term liaison, especially if it got them an invitation to sit at a dinner table with Daemon and talk about whatever grand idea they had that needed a
little
financial backing. But men from the short-lived races didn’t want to have children who wouldn’t reach true adulthood in their lifetime, and men from the long-lived races saw their offspring’s lives cut short if I was the mother. I never fit in to either place. Sadi knows all that, but he wants this child too, regardless of whatever life span it may have. And I have the feeling that if he doesn’t have someone soon who can make a claim on his heart, he’ll become so cold and distant we’ll all lose him. Or he’ll become so lonely, he’ll accept the illusion of love and end up like his father, with a woman who loves ambition more than him. Well, I do love him, and I know he probably will never love me. But I can keep him from being alone, and I can give him a family of his own.”
“And what will you get?” Lucivar asked.
“I’ll get a family too.”
“Is that enough?”
“I’ll find out.”
“Then I guess I should talk to him about the wedding.”
“I need to talk to him first. Could you stay around for a little while?”
“All right.”
“Lucivar? Did you know Sadi is the High Lord now?”
Her words froze Lucivar’s heart. He’d suspected that Daemon had begun absorbing that side of Saetan’s duties years ago—Sadi was, after all, Saetan’s true heir—but he hadn’t wanted to see the evidence, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what had been unspoken until now. He’d been afraid that once he admitted that Daemon was the High Lord, he would lose the man who was his brother.
He understood Surreal’s decision now. The Realms couldn’t afford to let Daemon slide into an isolated, lonely existence. None of them wanted to see Daemon repeat the mistakes in Saetan’s life—or see the rise of someone like Hekatah because of those mistakes. The new High Lord of Hell needed to be kept tethered to the living because the simple truth was he was more dangerous than his predecessor.
“Go on and talk to him,” Lucivar said. “Get things settled between you.” He paused. “And then get off your feet.”
He thought her answer landed squarely on the side of bitchy, which pleased him because it meant she was feeling a little better—and he’d take bitchy over tears any day.
Surreal found Daemon standing in the middle of his study, watching her with those glazed gold eyes.
“I have some conditions,” she said. “If you can agree to them, I’ll marry you.”
“I’m listening,” he crooned.
Her throat closed up. She was dancing on the knife’s edge by making any demands of him, but now was the only time such things could be said—if she could get her voice working again.
He moved toward her slowly. He probably thought his movements weren’t threatening. Unfortunately, until things were settled between them, there was
nothing
about him that wasn’t threatening.
“Let me tell you what I think are some of your concerns,” he said as he stepped close enough to touch her. “The wife of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan has to make a commitment to be faithful to her husband and take no lovers. Naturally, she would want the same commitment from her husband. Yes?”
“Yes,” Surreal whispered, staring at the Black Jewel peeking through the unbuttoned opening of his white silk shirt.
“But I don’t think you want to be married and celibate,” Daemon continued, his voice becoming a soothing caress. “And I think you enjoyed the pleasure I gave you in bed. Yes?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“So one of your conditions is that I be a husband to my wife in every way? That I don’t deny you the pleasure and comfort of sex?”
She nodded, still not daring to look into his eyes.
“I was aware of that when I made the offer, Surreal,” he said gently. “I can’t promise you a husband’s love, because I don’t know if I have that in me anymore. But I can promise you all of the social courtesies, all of the physical courtesies. That much I can, and will, give you.”
He lifted her chin with one finger, a silent command to look at him. “Is there anything else?”
“No. Yes. I don’t want to be locked up here for the next ten months!”
“If I agree to that, you, in turn, will try to tolerate occasional bouts of rabid protectiveness?”
She heard amusement in his voice and felt the slightest release of tension in his body.
“If you turn rabid, I’ll turn bitchy.”
He smiled. “Fair enough. One question. Is there a particular stone you would like for your wedding ring? Or a particular kind of setting?”
She shook her head. “Surprise me.”
“In that case, Lady . . .”
His lips touched hers, a soft kiss that remained soft but grew warmer. She floated on the sensation of being wrapped in the softest blanket. So soft, so deliciously warm. She felt light and heavy, and there was nothing in the world but his mouth so soft on hers and his hands lightly brushing her back under her shirt.