EXCERPT
Copyright © 2010 Anne Bishop. Used with permission.
(Suggested reading age: 15 years and older.)
As tales of the new Queen’s heart and courage spread through
the Territory of Dena Nehele, the Black Widows felt something
tremble through the land. But when they spun their tangled webs
of dreams and visions, what they saw gave them little comfort.
Many saw honey pear trees, heavy with ripe fruit, growing
out of rotting bodies that had been left on the killing fields.
A few saw a new beginning that was draped in the colors of
sunset. Nothing they saw offered clarity--only the certainty
that something was coming that would change Dena Nehele forever.
In Ebon Askavi, the Sanctuary of Witch, another Black Widow
studied the dreams and visions in her tangled web--and saw
more than the other Black Widows ever could.
Tears fell from her sapphire eyes, but even she could not
have said if those tears were born of sorrow or of joy.
Chapter 1
Terreille
Ranon stepped out on the terrace behind the Grayhaven mansion,
closed his dark eyes, and raised the wood flute to his lips.
Then he hesitated while a lifetime of caution warred with the
hope he felt because of Lady Cassidy, the Queen who now ruled
the Territory of Dena Nehele.
Because there was hope, and fledgling trust, Ranon took a breath
and began to play a greeting to the sun--a song that had not
been heard outside of the Shalador reserves for many, many years.
Even there, it had not been played openly.
His grandfather had taught him this song and every other song
the Tradition Keepers had held on to since the Shalador people
fled the ruins of their own Territory generations ago and settled
in the southern part of Dena Nehele. The people had thrived there
and put down roots, respecting the traditions of Dena Nehele
but never forgetting their own--and hoping, always hoping, that
someday they would have a Territory of their own again.
It had been good land once, and a good place to live when it
had been ruled by the Gray-Jeweled Queens. Then Lia died, and
Dena Nehele’s decline began. Queens who were backed by
Dorothea SaDiablo, Hayll’s High Priestess, gained control
within a couple of generations. Dorothea hated the people of
Dena Nehele for holding out against her for so long, but she
hated the Shalador people even more because of Jared, the Red-Jeweled
Shalador Warlord who had been husband and Consort to Lia Grayhaven,
the last Gray Lady to rule Dena Nehele.
Because Dorothea hated Jared’s people, her pet Queens
ground away a little more of what was uniquely Shalador with
each generation. The boundaries of the reserves where the Shaladorans
had settled were whittled away until now they struggled to grow
enough crops to feed themselves. The Shalador traditions were
forbidden. The dances, the music, the stories--all were taught
in secret and at great risk.
His paternal grandfather was a Tradition Keeper of music. A
strong, quiet man, Yairen had been--and still was--a respected
leader in Eyota, the village where Ranon had grown up. He was
also a gifted musician who believed it was his duty to teach
the young how to play the songs that had shaped the Shalador
heart.
The Province Queen who controlled that reserve broke Yairen’s
hands as punishment for teaching the forbidden--and then broke
them twice more. When they healed the last time, Yairen could
barely hold a flute much less play one. But he still taught his
grandson, and he taught him well, despite the crippled hands.
So this music had been a secret for most of Ranon’s life.
Even when he admitted to playing the flute, he never played within
the hearing of anyone he couldn’t trust--and even then,
he rarely played the songs of Shalador.
Did the Queen he now served understand how much trust was required
for him to stand here and play the music of his people? Probably
not. Lady Cassidy had recognized his reluctance to play, but
not even Shira, the Black Widow Healer who was his lover, understood
how deeply fear and hope had twined in his heart these past few
days as the flute’s notes floated on the air and became
a part of the world. Yes, he was afraid, but the hope of something
new and better was the reason he stood here, in a place that
had been a stronghold for the twisted Queens, and played music
that had been forbidden.
As one song followed another, Ranon let his heart soar with
the notes and fill with a joyful peace.
“How long do you have to spend serenading the little green
things before you can have breakfast?”
He opened his eyes and lowered the flute. The peace he’d
felt a moment before vanished as Theran Grayhaven stepped out
on the terrace.
He and Theran didn’t like each other. Never had. But he
detected nothing in the question except polite interest.
“A quarter of an hour.”
Ranon glanced at the hourglass hovering in the air next to him.
Judging by how much sand was in the bottom of the glass, he’d
played twice that long.
“Gray says it will help the honey pear trees grow.”
“Does he really think they’ll wilt and die if you
don’t stand out here playing music?” Theran asked
as he studied the thirteen pots that were sheltered by the raised
flower beds that formed the terrace wall.
Ranon’s heart gave a hard bump at the thought of any of
the little honey pear trees dying, but he wouldn’t admit
to anyone how much the living symbols of the past meant to him. Jared
had brought six honey pear trees to this land. One of them had
been planted here at Grayhaven for Lia and had remained in the
gardens long after it died as a mocking symbol of the Gray-Jeweled
Queens who had once ruled. But that dead tree had hidden thirteen
honey pears, carefully preserved. Lia had hidden them; Cassidy
had found them as the first step to locating the Grayhaven treasure.
Because of that, those little trees were a thread of shining
hope that linked the past and the present.
“Doesn’t matter what Gray thinks,” Ranon replied. “It
is the Queen’s pleasure that I play the flute each morning
for the honey pears, so I play.”
He knew the phrasing was a mistake the moment he said it.
“Well, we all play for the Queen’s pleasure in one
way or another, don’t we?” Theran said. Then he glanced
at Ranon and added with a touch of malice, “Better play
faster or there won’t even be porridge left by the time
you get to the table, let alone meat and eggs.”
I guess we’re not trying to get along anymore, Ranon
thought. Since he made no secret of it, everyone in the court
knew he hated porridge. Which meant Theran had said that in order
to jab at him. Why? Because they didn’t like each other,
and the effort to be civil rarely lasted for more than a few
minutes at a time?
Hell’s fire. Grayhaven had been running hot and cold since
Cassidy found the treasure and proved she was meant to rule here,
but they were all committed to working together for the good
of the land and the Queen.
For the good of the land, anyway. The other eleven men who made
up the First Circle knew Theran didn’t feel the same commitment
to Cassidy that they felt. Serving in her court was part of the
agreement Theran had made in order to bring a Kaeleer Queen to
Dena Nehele. That didn’t mean he wanted to serve
her, despite his recent efforts to work with her instead of opposing
her.
“Tell you what,” Theran added. “I’ll
save my share of the porridge for you.”
An edge of temper. A slash of heat in the air between them.
And an unspoken invitation to spill some blood.
“You’re twenty-seven,”
Ranon said coldly. “I’m thirty. We’re both
too old to indulge in a pissing contest over porridge.”
Theran jerked back as if he’d been slapped. Then, snarling,
he took a step forward.
Using Craft to vanish the hourglass and flute, Ranon instinctively
took a step to the side to give himself more room to maneuver.
He wore an Opal Jewel; Theran wore Green. They were both Warlord
Princes, aggressive predators born to stand on the killing fields.
If they unleashed their psychic strength against each other,
they could destroy the Grayhaven mansion and kill many of the
people living here before anyone else knew there was danger.
Even without using the power that made the Blood who and what
they were, they could cause a lot of harm to each other with
just muscle and temper.
But if either of them was damaged so badly he couldn’t
serve, the court would break, and Ranon’s hope for the
Shalador people would break with it.
Remembering that, he backed away from the fight, indicating
with a subtle shift of his body that Theran was the dominant
male. Which was true, as far as the Jewels were concerned. But
only as far as the Jewels were concerned. And that, too, Ranon
conveyed with that subtle shift.
Fury flashed in Theran’s green eyes. Instead of accepting
that Ranon had yielded, he took another step forward. Then…
*Theran? Theran!*
Saved by a Sceltie, Ranon thought as he watched Theran’s
hasty retreat into the mansion moments before the small brown-and-white
dog bounded up the terrace’s steps.
“Good morning, Lady Vae,”
Ranon said with more courtesy than was required.
The little bitch growled at him.
Glancing at the Purple Dusk Jewel half hidden in her fur, Ranon
offered no challenge. Vae was kindred--the name given to the
Blood who were not human--and he’d seen her pull down a
full-grown man in a fight. His caste outranked hers, since she
was only a witch, and his Jewels outranked hers. On the other
hand, she had speed, strong jaws, and sharp teeth.
*You are not usually so foolish as other human males, so I will
not nip you this time,* Vae said.
“Thank you, Lady. I appreciate that.”
He also appreciated the implied threat that the next offense
would earn him more than a nip.
Vae trotted into the mansion, no doubt intending to administer
her own brand of justice on the other foolish male.
Ranon sighed. He’d come close to spoiling something that
was as delicate as the honey pear seedlings growing in their
pots.
Give her the best you have, Ranon, the Shalador Queens
had told him when they left yesterday evening. Show her that
Shalador’s heart and honor are worthy of such a Queen.
Cassidy was a Rose-Jeweled Queen from Dharo. A tall, gawky woman
with red hair and freckles, she was nothing like the image of
the beautiful, powerful Queen that Theran had painted when he’d
told the surviving Warlord Princes about his plan to save Dena
Nehele.
But when Ranon saw her that first day, he had felt the bond
between Warlord Prince and Queen grab hold of his heart and gut,
had felt the rightness of handing over his life to her
will. In the few weeks since her arrival, she had shown herself
worthy of that trust, and in the wake of all she had done in
the past week--fighting against a Warlord and his two grown sons
to defend a landen family, as well as discovering the treasure
that had been hidden on the Grayhaven estate--even the Warlord
Princes who had been disappointed when they had first seen her
were reassessing the Queen behind the long, plain face.
He didn’t like Theran. He never would. But because he
was grateful for Cassidy’s presence--and because he knew
how he would have felt if he’d been required to serve a
Queen he didn’t believe in--he would do what he could to
keep peace between himself and Theran.
And to bring back a little of the peace that had been spoiled,
he called in his flute and played a while.
***
Theran paused in the dining room doorway and took a moment to
watch the people around the table. Despite their commitment to
serve, the men who made up the First Circle of Cassidy’s
court had been wary of her. They had seen too much brutality
done at the command of the twisted Queens who had ruled here.
And no matter what they said, he knew they had been disappointed
in their Queen’s lack of beauty and power.
Then Cassidy found the treasure that had been hidden by Lia
and Thera, the Black Widow who had been Lia’s closest friend.
Not only did that discovery restore the Grayhaven family’s
personal wealth, it had uncovered journals and portraits that
gave him and the other men in the First Circle a glimpse of the
past that had helped to shape them--because the people in those
portraits had known what it meant to have honor. And Cassidy,
by her actions, had shown herself to be a Queen of the same caliber
as Lia.
Because of those things, he had made the choice to be Cassidy’s
First Escort in more than name, to serve her as if he felt the
bond that the rest of the First Circle felt. But he didn’t
feel that bond, and despite his best intentions, serving her
scraped at him. He was grateful for what she had accomplished
so far, but he still believed that if Cassidy could do this much,
the kind of Queen he had wanted for Dena Nehele could do so much
more. The Blood who saw Cassidy had to get past that plain face
and Rose Jewel in order to consider if she had anything to offer
the land or the people--and most of the Blood would be disappointed
enough not to bother.
Her contract to rule Dena Nehele is only for a year, Theran
thought as he walked over to the table and took a seat. I
can put up with serving her for a year. And it gives me time
to find the right Queen for Dena Nehele.
The right Queen wouldn’t stick a Shalador Warlord Prince
in his face every damn day. His only excuse for his behavior
this morning was that Ranon’s presence scraped at him even
more than Cassidy’s. He’d spent his whole life being Grayhaven, the
last descendant of the Gray Queens’ bloodline and the man
destined to become the male leader--the Warlord Prince
the other men would follow. Until he brought Cassidy to Dena
Nehele and she formed her court, that was exactly who he had
been. Now people looked at the dark hair and golden skin that
proclaimed Ranon’s heritage. Then they looked at him,
and instead of seeing Grayhaven, they saw Shalador.
Worse than that, when men saw him with other members
of the First Circle, they responded to him as a leader,
but not as the leader. They acted like the Grayhaven
name no longer meant as much now that Cassidy was here.
Feeling spiteful and pissed off at everyone, he started to help
himself to a double serving of steak, eggs, and potatoes--taking
Ranon’s share as well as his own--but as he stabbed the
second piece of steak, Cassidy held out a clean plate and smiled
at him. Noticing how sharply the other men around the table were
watching him, he had no choice but to give her half of everything.
When she set the plate in front of herself and didn’t
eat, resentment bubbled up. If she hadn’t wanted the food,
why had she prevented him from having it?
At least Ranon is still stuck with the porridge. Then
Theran glanced at his cousin Gray and remembered another reason
to try to get along with Cassidy.
Gray had been damaged in body and mind by the Queen who had
captured and tortured him when he was fifteen. Now, twelve years
later, Gray was finally changing emotionally and mentally from
boy to man. A boy couldn’t be Cassidy’s lover, and
that desire, that need was the force driving Gray’s
transformation.
The proof of that was a simple thing: When they had first come
back to Grayhaven, Gray had been too afraid of being inside the
mansion to eat with them. Now he was here, sitting beside Cassidy,
talking about…
“What?” Theran almost dropped the coffeepot. “We’re
doing what?”
“Going to the Shalador reserves,” Cassidy replied
calmly. “The Shalador Queens invited me. They want me to
see the land their people are subsisting on, want me to see the
truth of their concerns.”
“It’s not safe,” Theran said. It had been
his automatic response to all of Cassidy’s attempts to
get out among the people, but this time he really was concerned
about her safety and not what people would think about the Queen
who now ruled them.
He poured his coffee and began to eat because he needed to fill
his belly.
“Then it’s up to Talon as Master of the Guard and
Ranon as his second-in-command to make it safe,”
Cassidy said.
“If we were going to the southern or western reserves,
I would agree with Theran,” Shira said. “They border
other Territories, and the people there are as desperate as we
are when it comes to repairing their lives and land.”
“What are you concerned about?” Cassidy asked Shira. “That
they’ll try to abduct me?”
“Yes.”
Silence around the table. A sharpening of psychic scents as
the Warlord Princes who served in the First Circle put an edge
on tempers that were always well-honed.
“You underestimate your value, Lady,” Shira said. “You
don’t know how much a good Queen is worth in Terreille.
Especially now.”
“An abducted Queen isn’t worth anything,” Cassidy
countered. “You can’t force her to rule.”
“But abducting a Queen could start another war.”
Cassidy leaned back, clearly startled by that possibility.
“Ranon’s home village is in the eastern reserve,
far enough away from other Territory borders to be safe and it’s
backed by the Tamanara Mountains,” Shira said. “Protected
on all sides.”
“But not protected from what’s inside,” Theran
said.
“The Shalador people have no reason to wish Lady Cassidy
harm,” Shira said coolly.
“Prince Grayhaven, you can debate this all you want, but
my decision is made,” Cassidy said. “Five days from
now, I’ll be staying at the Shalador reserve. You, Powell,
and Talon will discuss what needs to be done in order to accomplish
that.”
She would have backed down a fortnight ago, Theran thought.
She would have respected that he knew more about what Dena Nehele
needed than she did--and the other Warlord Princes who served
her wouldn’t have opposed him.
A leader, but no longer the leader.
He felt as if he’d lost something too elusive to name,
but the sense of loss was real.
“In that case, I’ll get started on the plans,” Theran
said, pushing away from the table. He picked up his plate and
coffee mug. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll finish
my breakfast while I work.”
He barely waited for her nod of dismissal, but he waited because
Protocol required it. Then he walked out of the dining room to
finish his meal away from the woman he’d brought into his
land.
Cassidy might do some good during the year she was contracted
to rule here. But letting the Shalador people think they were
more significant than the rest of Dena Nehele wasn’t going
to help anyone.
That was Ranon’s doing. He never let anyone forget that
the Shalador people had borne the brunt of the cruelty that Dorothea’s
Queens had heaped on the people of Dena Nehele.
And Ranon never let him forget that if his family name
had been anything but Grayhaven, Theran would have been living
the same desperate life on one of the reserves as the rest of
the Shalador people.
Which implied his life had been easy, and that wasn’t
true. As the last of the Grayhaven line, he’d grown up
in the rogue camps that were hidden in the Tamanara Mountains,
living among men who would fight to the death and beyond rather
than serve a Queen who wanted them to whore their code of honor.
He’d been trained by Talon, a Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord
Prince who had been demon-dead for almost three hundred years--and
who had been a friend to both Jared and Blaed, the Warlord Prince
who had helped Jared elude Dorothea SaDiablo’s guards and
get Lia back to Dena Nehele.
Not an easy life by any measurement, but other men had survived
worse. Gray, for one.
It was only for a year, he thought as he ducked into a room
to finish his meal. Not that much could change.
As he ate, he ignored the little whisper telling him that a
great deal had changed already.
***
The only thing left on the table was porridge.
Ranon suppressed a sigh and took a seat beside Shira. That put
him across from Cassidy, who had a full plate of steak, eggs,
and fried potatoes.
“Coffee?” Shira asked, holding up the pot.
“Thanks.” He scraped what was left of the porridge
into a bowl. It was food, and he was thankful to have it.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
As he dug in, Gray turned to Cassidy and asked, “Will
you be coming out to the garden to work?”
“Not this morning,” Cassidy replied. “I’m
going with Shira to check on the landen girl who was injured.”
Ranon tensed. So did every other man who was still at the table.
But no one challenged that statement, which was a welcome change
since Theran was always yapping whenever Cassidy wanted to leave
the estate.
Archerr, an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince, said, “Prince
Spere and I have escort duty this morning. If you think the First
Circle should show a stronger presence, I can ask Prince Shaddo
and Lord Cayle to stand as escorts too.”
Archerr kept his eyes on Cassidy, but Ranon knew the question
was directed at him as Talon’s second-in-command. He tipped
his head in a subtle nod. Additional escorts weren’t needed
to ensure Cassidy’s safety during this visit, but it didn’t
hurt to remind the townspeople that the Queen was served and
protected by strong men.
Then Gray said, “Perhaps Lady Vae would be willing to
join you.”
“I don’t think any of us could stop her,” Cassidy
said.
Ranon snorted softly. Before Cassidy’s arrival, no one
here had seen a Sceltie. Vae had been an education for all of
them.
Powell, the Prince who was the Steward of the court, pushed
away from the table. “With your permission, Lady, we’ll
leave you to begin the day’s work.”
Cassidy nodded. “When I return, I’ll stop at your
office to review anything that requires my attention.”
“Certainly. Ranon? When you have a moment, I’d like
to discuss the Lady’s visit to your home village.”
“I’ll join you shortly,”
Ranon replied.
“Lady Shira and I will be ready in half an hour,” Cassidy
told Archerr.
“I’ll see you later,” Gray said, brushing
a fingertip over the back of Cassidy’s hand.
He’s come so far so fast, Ranon thought as Gray
and the rest of the men left the dining room. Now he’s
acting more like the Warlord Prince he should have been.
When the last man left the room, he pushed aside the half-eaten
bowl of porridge--and Cassidy pushed the full plate of food in
front of him.
“Lady,” he protested.
“I ate,” Cassidy said.
“But we’ve agreed to live lean and not cook more
than we need for each meal. You were out with the honey pear
trees, and I had a feeling that there might not be anything left
by the time you got here.”
Living lean. In the reserves, winter was called the Season of
Hunger, so he knew about not wasting food. And he knew the unspoken
rule of this court: Once everyone was served, what was left could
be eaten by anyone who wanted more. The Blood’s bodies
needed more fuel than landens, and the darker the Jewel a person
wore, the more food that person needed in order to remain a healthy
vessel for the power that lived within. So everyone was willing
to eat another helping when it was available.
Because he’d been late, and because of Theran’s
remarks, he hadn’t expected to get more than porridge that
even hunger barely made tolerable.
“If you have no objection to a solitary meal, Shira and
I really should be going.”
“I’ve no objection,” he said. He touched his
fork to the edge of the plate. “Thanks for this.”
He waited until Cassidy and Shira left. Then he began eating
with enthusiasm. As he poured the last of the coffee from the
pot, it occurred to him that Cassidy had not only saved some
food for him, she had used a warming spell on the plate so the
food wouldn’t get cold.
A small thing, perhaps. A simple courtesy. But when simple courtesies
came from a Queen, it said a great deal about how she would treat
her people--and, hopefully, how she would treat his.
Chapter 2
Kaeleer
Laying face down on the large bed, Daemon Sadi groaned with
relief as his wife’s skilled hands coaxed his back muscles
to relax. The warming spell Jaenelle was using to ease the tightness
didn’t hurt either.
“Tell me again how you did this,” Jaenelle said.
A typical wife question, particularly when said in that tone
of voice.
“Daemonar was stuck in a tree,” Daemon mumbled.
Then, “Oh. Right there.”
“Uh-huh. That is a very nasty knot.” She said nothing
for a minute while she worked on that part of his back. “So
we’re talking about Daemonar Yaslana. Your nephew.”
“He’s your nephew too.”
“Yes, he is. And he’s Eyrien. Which means he has
wings.”
“He’s just a little boy.”
“Who has wings.”
Damn. She was going to hold on to that little detail like a
Sceltie herding a single sheep.
“Since he is little,” Jaenelle continued, “how
did he get up in the tree? He wouldn’t be able to reach
the lower branches to climb up like you did.”
Oh, no. He knew a trick question when he heard one.
“He flew up, didn’t he?”
Jaenelle said. “Using his wings.”
“Darling, you’re starting to sound like a Harpy,” Daemon
said. “Ow!” That because she dug her thumbs into
his back--which he deserved for the Harpy comment.
“Why don’t you just admit that climbing a tree in
those shoes you usually wear instead of using Craft to float
up to the branch where your erring nephew was waiting for you,
and most likely giggling, was a dumb idea?”
He wasn’t about to admit to anything. Especially when
it had been a dumb idea. He’d known that when
he was doing it. He’d known it even better when he watched
Daemonar flutter down to find out what he was doing flat on the
ground. But it had been a matter of pride. Jaenelle understood
about male pride. She might find it amusing or irritating, depending
on the consequences, but she understood it. So she should understand
that, at that moment when the boy was looking down at him, he
saw himself as the uncle who used Craft instead of muscle, who
didn’t participate in the physical world the way his brother
Lucivar did. In that moment, he didn’t want to be seen
as less by a boy who wasn’t old enough to appreciate
the power and skills he did have.
So he’d climbed the damn tree.
Idiot.
“At least I didn’t actually hit the ground,” Daemon
muttered. “I did remember to create a shield and use the
air walking spell.” Which saved him from serious injury
since he landed on a cushion of air instead of hard ground, but
it didn’t spare him from having the wind knocked out of
him--or having a back full of tight, aching muscles.
“Good for you,” Jaenelle said, her voice so dry
there was no question she was not impressed.
“All right. Fine. I was an idiot.” Which was a story
he was sure the servants at SaDiablo Hall would share for many
years to come since a couple of them had witnessed the little
drama. They wouldn’t share the story with outsiders, because
anyone who worked at the Hall knew the private lives of the SaDiablo
family remained private. But he could see someone like
the footman Holt taking a young servant aside and telling him
that story as an assurance that the powerful, dangerous, lethal Black-Jeweled
Warlord Prince of Dhemlan could also be a man who acted like
a bumbling uncle with good intentions and a shortage of brains.
“Shit.” He could feel her smile, and the
fact that she didn’t need to comment was more than sufficient
comment.
She kissed him between the shoulder blades, and that simple
contact between lips and skin warmed him in other ways, and the
next stroke of her hands down his back had him purring instead
of groaning.
“Just relax,” Jaenelle said. “I’m almost
done. By tomorrow you’ll be your usual wonderful self,
and if you can remember that you’re a grownup, you should
be able to get through the last day of your nephew’s visit
without doing any more damage to yourself.”
Her hands glided over his back, more a caress than a Healer’s
touch.
“You’re not relaxing,”
she said.
“I’m very relaxed,” Daemon purred. Most of
him, anyway. He’d been sore enough that he hadn’t
focused on anything besides not hurting. Now he was aware of
a few other things.
“No, you’re not.”
He heard the concern in her voice. That meant she was looking
at him as a Healer and not a woman--and he wanted the woman’s
attention.
“Sweetheart, you’re sitting on my ass. There are
parts of me that find that very interesting and don’t want
to relax yet.”
“I am not sitting on your ass,” Jaenelle huffed. “I’m
straddling you to work on your back.”
“You’re close enough that I can tell you’re
not wearing anything under that shift, so I call that sitting.”
“And you can tell what I’m not wearing because…?”
“When you brush against me, it tickles.”
A too-thoughtful pause.
“You’re awfully sassy all of a sudden.”
“Blame it on my beautiful wife.”
“Boyo, I don’t think your back will take what you
have in mind.”
“Then I’ll just roll over. Since you’re already
straddling me, you can give us both a ride.”
She snorted out a laugh.
“You’re such a romantic when you’re exhausted,
but I’ll take you up on your offer. Just to help you relax
completely, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Hold still for another minute.”
Her hands glided over his back, the warm, sensuous caress of
a lover.
Jaenelle Angelline. The living myth. Dreams made flesh. The
former Queen of Ebon Askavi. And his wife. His wonderful, longed-for
wife.
“Daemon?”
In another minute he would roll over and touch her body. He
would use a psychic thread to link with her, mind to mind, and
consummate their lovemaking with more than his body, touching
her in ways he had never touched another woman.
“Daemon?”
He could picture her fair-skinned hands gliding over his golden
brown chest as she sheathed him in silky fire.
In just another min…
