Dreams Made Flesh

The witch opened the lounge door and whispered something to someone outside. Then she closed the door and leaned against it.



Bitch. Surreal felt fairly certain she’d just met the source of Daemon’s problems, but considering Daemon’s mood and Lucivar’s worry about Daemon’s mood, she’d prefer being absolutely certain before she said anything to either of them. And there was still the question of why anyone would be foolish enough to play with a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.



It didn’t take long before someone knocked on the door. The witch opened it, and another Dhemlan witch Surreal didn’t recognize slipped into the room, carrying a glass.



Same suppressed excitement. Same feverish glint in the eyes.



The first witch took the glass from her companion, then handed it to Surreal. “Drink this. You’ll feel better in no time.”



Yeah. Cramps aren’t a problem when you’re dead, Surreal thought. As soon as the other woman let go of the glass, she used Craft to probe the liquid and the glass itself. No poisons. But there was something in the sparkling wine. She didn’t recognize the drug, but she could sense its presence. Probably meant to knock her out for a while. But why knock her out?



Obvious. They wanted her out of the way for some reason. Of course, if she was unconscious, she wouldn’t be hard to kill.



Refuse the drink and put these two bitches on alert—maybe make them nervous enough to bolt—or drink it and hope she wasn’t doing something stupid? Because if they did end up killing her, Lucivar would help her make the transition to demon-dead just so he could spend a decade or two yelling at her, and the High Lord . . . Uncle Saetan would be sooo pissed.



She studied the two women and saw a kernel of suspicion in the eyes of the witch who had first approached her. So she took a sip, figuring she could get enough of a sense of what the drug was without it disabling her.



She figured wrong. That one sip made the room lift and drop with stomach-churning speed. Her fingers went numb. The glass dropped to the floor. Her vision faded.



She made one attempt to contact Lucivar on a psychic thread, but even that was already beyond her ability.



“Ah, shit,” she muttered before she tumbled off the bench.



004



Lektra suppressed the urge to give her rival a hard kick in the ribs. Or in the face. After all, she’d promised Tavey he could have the whore for a while, so it wasn’t fair to damage the bitch beforehand. And it was possible that the SaDiablo family would be upset if anything . . . permanent . . . happened to Surreal. But they could hardly complain about a whore spreading her legs for one more man. Besides, it wasn’t like Tavey would be paying for the sex.



“Let’s get her out of here,” Lektra said.



Roxie opened the lounge door, peeked out, then signaled. A moment later, a Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord slipped into the room.



Lektra didn’t like the man. Rough manners, rough temper. Roxie had found him somewhere, and the payment that had been promised had been enough to make him put aside any qualms about being an “escort” for an unwilling witch.



“Take her to the country house as arranged, and keep her there until I say otherwise,” Lektra said.



“Gets boring in the country,” he growled.



“I’m sure you’ll find something to do,” she replied, glancing pointedly at Surreal.



He smiled—and she sincerely hoped she’d never see him again. Of course, once she and Daemon were married, she’d never have to worry about men like him.



She watched him pull Surreal up off the floor. A moment later, he left the lounge, wrapped in a sight shield to avoid anyone inquiring about his presence at an aristo party—or about the woman slung over his shoulder.



“We’d better leave,” Lektra said. “Have you seen Tavey?”



“Not since earlier this evening, when he left the ballroom,” Roxie replied.



Tavey should have come back to report Daemon’s reaction to their conversation. She’d seen her beautiful love carry that pale bitch out of the party. She hadn’t liked that. He should have asked his brother to take her home. No matter. He wouldn’t have to cater to Jaenelle Angelline much longer.



“If we don’t meet up with him on our way out, Tavey will have to make his own way home,” Lektra said.



With Roxie discreetly staying in the background, Lektra made her way to the front door, slipping into the ballroom and making a point of being seen talking to Lady Zhara, who had arrived late—and also giving herself and Roxie a reason to avoid walking past Lucivar Yaslana on the chance that he might recognize Roxie by her psychic scent, despite the illusion spell.



As soon as he strode away from the front door, they hurried out and went home.



Swearing under his breath, Lucivar headed for the ladies’ lounge. Hell’s fire! How long did it take a woman to piss anyway?



He flung the door open and walked in, not caring if he walked in on a woman pulling down her pants or pulling them up. But the lounge area was empty, and the toilet wasn’t occupied.



Damn her. Where did she—



Turning to leave, he spotted the glass on the floor near a padded bench. Crouching, he studied it. Most of the liquid had seeped into the carpet, but the few drops left in the glass were enough.



*Surreal!* His temper flared. *Surreal!*



No answer. Not even an irritable flicker that would have helped him pinpoint a direction.



*Rainier.*



*Yaslana?*



*Have you seen Surreal?*



*Not since I danced with her earlier. Is there a problem?*



*I’m not sure yet. See if you can find her. I’m going out to widen the search.*



Rainier hesitated. *Are you going to contact Prince Sadi?*



Now Lucivar hesitated. *No. Not yet.*



He left the party and spent hours soaring over Amdarh, searching, hunting, calling.



No answer. No way to find her.



As night gave way to the first hint of dawn, he flew back to the family town house. Daemon knew Surreal better than the rest of them. It was time to call him into the hunt.



THIRTEEN



1



A roar of fury and frustration that sounded like Lucivar in a mood rattled Surreal’s mind, jolting her awake. Her head pounded, and her stomach felt queasy. And that pissed her off.



Moving slowly, she rolled to her side and opened her eyes. The soft predawn light revealed enough to confirm she was in an unfamiliar room. A pillow under her head and a sheet beneath her hand told her she was in a bed. And her psychic senses told her she wasn’t alone.



Pushing herself upright, she swung her legs over the side of the bed—and swore silently as the bed seemed to lift and dip under her. Apparently, her body hadn’t worked through all the effects of the drug, which was still playing nasty games with her sense of balance.



A chair creaked. A large body moved to a lamp on the table near the window. The sudden flare of light as he used Craft to engage the candle-lights made her squint.



“They said you wouldn’t wake up until sometime this afternoon,” he said, giving her a mean smile. “Glad that’s not the case. It was getting boring, just watching you sleep.”



Since the skirt of her gown was shoved up to the tops of her thighs, she figured his self-restraint had more to do with not wanting to soil his cock with moon’s blood than using an unconscious woman for sex.



She knew his type, had seen enough men like him when she was a child living in the meanest streets of a city in Terreille, whoring to earn enough to buy a day’s food and, maybe, some shelter for the night.



“Just so you don’t go getting any ideas, Greenie, there’s a Sapphire shield around this room and a Sapphire lock on the door. So you don’t go anywhere unless I say you can.”



Greenie? She’d never advertised she wore the Gray when she’d worked in the Red Moon houses in Terreille, and while she hadn’t made it a secret since coming to Kaeleer, there weren’t many of the Blood beyond those who had been in Jaenelle’s First Circle and the ones who lived in Ebon Rih who knew she wore a Jewel darker than her Birthright Green.



Which meant there might be a few other things the bitch who arranged this didn’t know about her.



“What—What do you know about me?” she asked. The shakiness in her voice was due to the drug her body was still shaking off, but it made her sound afraid and, right now, that suited her just fine.



“I know you’re a Green-Jeweled witch who’s caused some trouble for a fine aristo Lady, who paid me a generous sum to make sure you don’t cause her any more trouble. And I’ve heard you were an expensive whore who only worked out of the best Red Moon houses until you came to Kaeleer and managed to talk yourself into an influential family.” He stared at her mouth and leered. “Or maybe you did something besides talk to convince them you’d be handy to have around.”



Bastard. Her legs wobbled when she stood up, but she steadied quickly as the last of the drug, meant to subdue a Green-Jeweled witch, was burned off by a body that was a vessel for the Gray.



She walked up to him, keeping her gait unsteady. “What do you want?”



His big hands clamped on her shoulders, pulling her against him. “You be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.”



“I can be good.” Her right hand curled in preparation for calling in her stiletto. “Sugar? There’s one thing your Lady forgot to mention.”



“What’s that?” he asked as one hand groped her breast.