Karla floated to a spot in front of him. “If he asks for information, for advice, for anything, I will do what I can. For him. For all of you.”

“Is that why you’re here at the Keep now?”

“Yes.”

The sharp smile that started to curve his lips faded.

“Things were seen and promises were made, Lucivar.”

He looked away. “Did she see this?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think what Witch saw was fairly simple and didn’t require help from any but the living. But Sadi turned it into something complicated. Not on purpose.”

“Instinct, not knowledge.”

Karla nodded. “What I don’t understand is why Surreal didn’t call him on it. She must have seen some change in him.”

“I don’t know. She says nothing is wrong.” Lucivar started to walk away, then stopped. “If you see another warning . . .”

“I’ll let you know.”

The way he looked at her, he seemed to be searching for something. “Do you see Witch, Karla?”

“No. Regardless of what happens, I don’t expect that to change.”

“Would you want it to?”

“Yes, I would. But I don’t expect it will change.”

She didn’t ask if he would want to see Witch again, but she wondered what answer he would give.

 

* * *

 

* * *

Pain was a familiar and faithful lover.

Daemon lay in bed, his eyes closed, and waited for the healing brew to ease the headache that had started as a dull ache during dinner and then turned savage soon after Mikal and Jaenelle Saetien had gone to bed.

No physical reason for this pain, which meant the cause lay beyond the flesh. A spell of some kind? Or a stealthy attack on his inner barriers? No. He would have recognized the attempt even if he didn’t immediately home in on the source.

“Breathing room, Sadi.”

He’d had a dream about Karla a while ago, but he couldn’t remember what it was or why it occurred to him now. Something to do with posts and leashes and the . . . wiggle-waggle?

He huffed out a soft laugh. Trust Karla to make a man’s cock sound like an embarrassing toy.

“You’re too damn dangerous to indulge in being foolish.”

How was he being foolish? How . . .

A sheet as soft as a wish covered his body, whispering pleasure with every small movement. Sensual, not sexual. Inviting him to relax, to rest, to let go of his fierce control just a little. Just enough.

He couldn’t get a sense of the sexual heat, couldn’t tell if it was banked or burning, but the collar attached to the leashes—the collar that had become a tight metal band—relaxed, letting him breathe again. Letting him rest.

“Sadi.”

A warm hand caressing his chest. Warm lips brushing against his.

Sensual, yes, but gaining the tang of sex. Pulling him away from the place where he could rest.

“Sadi.”

Daemon shook off the dream as his body responded to Surreal’s touch, to her need.

“I love you,” she said as she kissed his mouth, his face. “I do love you. Don’t go away.”

He gathered her in his arms and returned her kisses, her caresses. “I’m here, Surreal. I’m right here. Easy, love. Easy.”

She couldn’t be easy. It was like she was caught up in a female version of the rut, barely catching her breath after one orgasm before she was on him again, wanting more—needing more. Relentless.

He obliged her with sex for hours before she fell into an exhausted sleep. And he wondered what it was about him, about them, that she wanted so much from him and yet wept in her sleep.

 

 

PART TWO

 

 

SIXTEEN

 

 

Dillon considered his diminishing options. He’d spent the winter going from one Rihland town to the next, extracting money from aristo fathers whose daughters’ reputations were becoming tattered by their taste for activities that made even powerful relatives wary of using their influence to keep those reputations intact. He’d also spent the winter searching for something so elusive he was no longer sure it existed. Love? That feeling was nothing more than a vicious myth, especially when paired with aristo girls. Acceptance? An empty lure. Besides, did he really want to spend his life among women with brittle laughs and men who needed to be cruel to someone in order to have a hard cock at night?

Not all aristos were like that. At least, he’d believed that until he’d made that one life-changing mistake. Now he couldn’t seem to find anyone who wasn’t brittle or a bully.

Maybe he needed to go somewhere less fashionable. Somewhere where the minor branches of aristo houses went to live because they could be the important somebodies in a place full of nobodies.

In fact, there were some distant cousins on his mother’s side who lived in a place like that. The valley where they lived was famous, but the village itself was rustic at best—at least according to his mother. Those cousins had come for a visit once. The boy, Terrence, had been about his age and they’d gotten along well. And he remembered Terrence’s mother as a kind woman. Even if she’d heard about his sullied honor, he didn’t think she would close the door in his face once she knew he had nowhere else to go.

Unlike his own mother.

A last chance. He needed to pick the right girl, someone young enough to be flattered by his attention, connected enough to provide him with some status when they handfasted, but not too connected. He’d had his fill of aristo bitches.

But Hell’s fire, how long could he endure rusticating in a village?

“As long as I have to,” Dillon muttered.

That much decided, he packed his trunks again and bought a ticket on a Coach that would take him to the village of Riada in the valley called Ebon Rih.

 

 

SEVENTEEN

 

 

Daemon stormed into the SaDiablo town house in Amdarh, letting temper thunder through the building. But even that wasn’t enough to ease the feeling of being hunted, so he roared, “Hell’s fire! What is wrong with the women in this city?”

He knew one of the things that was wrong with the Ladies in Amdarh. For months now, he and Surreal had maintained a careful schedule that kept them from residing under the same roof for more than a couple of days every fortnight. On those days they would attend social gatherings together in the evening, and at night, in private . . .

They satisfied their carnal needs for hours—her carnal needs more than his. There was heat in that collision of bodies, but little warmth, and he felt less and less enjoyment being with the woman who was his wife and lover.