Twilight's Dawn

She hoped he wasn’t going to get pissy when he saw them.



She wanted to float a while longer, keeping her thoughts confined to the delicious feel of the bed and Daemon’s hand resting on her belly, warm and heavy. But when she opened her eyes ...



Her vision had been so tear-blurred last night, and Sadi had taken them through so many corridors to find a discreet bedroom, she hadn’t known where they ended up. And last night the room hadn’t mattered, as long as it had a bed or sofa. Hell’s fire, last night she wouldn’t have cared if they’d ended up on the floor. But now ...



His psychic scent was much too prominent for this to be a seldom-used bedroom. Maybe this was the bedroom he used when a woman stayed overnight for sex? The thought cut, but she’d asked for something they both needed last night, and she’d told him it was freely given. So she couldn’t quibble now if he hadn’t seen it differently from the other sex he’d had since he’d been anyone’s lover. Even if those other women hadn’t recognized the difference, she’d lived around him long enough to know that Daemon as a sex partner, even when he was giving great sex, paled in comparison with Daemon as a lover.



That thought added a wash of sadness over her contentment. Better to slip out now and go back to her suite to clean up and maybe get another hour of sleep. She would meet him at the breakfast table as if they’d parted company in the family sitting room and spent the night in their own beds.



She started to shift, to slide out from under his hand. Except the fingers suddenly pressed down on her belly and the nails pricked in warning.



“Going somewhere?” Daemon crooned as he rose up on one elbow and looked down at her.



It was still too dark to see his face, his eyes. But that particular timbre in the deep voice had her heart racing. She knew the Sadist’s voice when she heard it.



His hand didn’t actually press down on her belly, but it felt heavier, more ... possessive.



Then he turned back the covers for her at the same time a light appeared through a half-closed door on the opposite side of the room. Enough light to see the room—and to see his eyes.



Not quite the Sadist. But not Daemon either. He was riding a side of his nature that was somewhere between the two.



She slipped out of bed and walked into the bathroom, too aware that a predator watched her and was considering if she too was a predator and required careful handling or if she was prey.



She used the toilet, then let water run in the sink to wash her face and stall for time.



They weren’t in a guest room. She’d seen enough to realize the room was too personal to be any kind of guest room. His bedroom, then. The Consort’s suite, since he hadn’t moved out of the room next to Jaenelle’s. A swift, careful probe confirmed he’d put Black shields in the walls and Black locks on the doors. No way for her to get out of this room until he let her go.



Mother Night.



A Warlord Prince’s bedroom is his private place, and he tends to be more possessive when he’s there. So if you’re invited into his bedroom, you want to be more careful in how you deal with him.



At the time, Surreal had thought Jaenelle’s mind had begun wandering because of old age, especially because those kinds of comments had usually come when they were alone and working on some chore not even remotely related to the subject matter.



Which was why all those comments had stuck in her mind.



“Hell’s fire,” Surreal whispered as she dried her face. Jaenelle’s mind hadn’t wandered. She’d been giving lessons in a way that wouldn’t be resisted—and wouldn’t be forgotten.



Damned if he understood why they had ended up here, except that he’d needed to have her in this room, in this bed.



You’re only eighteen hundred years old, Daemon. You are not going to spend the rest of your life celibate.



You don’t think I can? he’d crooned.



I know you can. That’s why I want you to promise me that you won’t. No one will think you’re being unfaithful if you find another lover after the year of mourning. You’re not going to spend the rest of your life without that kind of companionship or comfort. If you’re not comfortable accepting that as a request from your wife, consider it a command from your Queen.



Cornered. He hadn’t liked making that promise, and he hadn’t liked the sex much. Even when he’d enjoyed it physically, he hadn’t liked it much because of the expectations that always seemed to shroud the bed. And because he usually dreamed about Hekatah and Dorothea afterward. He didn’t need more of a reminder than that of what could happen if a man got careless and had sex with a woman who rode a cock in order to ride ambition.



Besides, something had been missing from the bed with the women he’d pleasured that had made even the best sex a disappointment for him.



That elusive something wasn’t missing last night, though.



The water in the bathroom shut off, and his attention sharpened.



He’d have to think about why last night was different. Later.



Daemon hadn’t moved at all during her time in the bathroom.



“It’s early,” he crooned. “Come back to bed.”



Not a lot of choices.



She slipped into bed, not sure what to expect. Arousal was dominant in his psychic scent, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d rolled on top of her. After all, he was the dominant male in Kaeleer, and that much power had privileges no other male could claim.



Instead, he pulled the covers up high enough to cover her breasts. Then his fingers lightly stroked her hair, combing it away from her face.



“How are you?” he asked, his voice still in that dangerous croon.



“All right.”



“Sore?”



“A little.” She didn’t dare so much as tweak the truth. Not with him. Not now.



His fingers drifted to her temple, down her jaw, over her neck and shoulders. So light. So delicate.



Her heart stopped racing as she relaxed under that delicate touch. When he eased the covers down to her hips, she didn’t protest, barely noticed because those fingers kept drifting along her skin, making her float.



A brush of thumb over hard nipple made her whimper—and whimper even louder because he stopped touching.



“Pain?” he asked. Then his mouth closed over that nipple, and what he did with his tongue stopped just shy of pain. “Stop?”



She curled her fingers in his hair to hold him in place. “Not if you want to live.” It was meant as a growl but came out a different kind of whimper.



After he gave her breasts sufficient attention, he kissed her mouth, hot and full. Then he said, “Do you want more, or do you want to leave?”



It took her a moment to realize she understood the words. He could sense her arousal, psychic and physical, but if she said she wanted to leave, he would release the lock on the door and let her go with no protest, no show of temper or disappointment. When a man belonged to the most dangerous caste of male, a display of temper in bed could be seen as coercion far too easily.



It took her even less than a moment to realize he would probably never make this invitation again, and while she’d had some men who were good lovers—and a few who had been excellent in bed—she had never been with anyone who could make a woman feel like he did.



“I want more,” she said.



He slid over her, slid into her as she opened for him.



As the sun slowly brightened the room, he rode her delicately, lazily, and so thoroughly he made her feel things she hadn’t ever dreamed were possible.



SIX



Four days after her night with Daemon, Surreal caught the Gray Wind and headed for Amdarh, intending to spend a few days at the family’s town house. She had barely reached the town beyond Halaway when she felt a pain in her abdomen—a pain more severe than the worst moontime cramps she’d ever experienced. A pain so severe she almost tumbled from the Gray Web.



Shaken, she dropped from the Winds and waited for the pain to subside. Then she continued on to Amdarh, riding the Green Winds.



A day after that, just wearing her Gray Jewels caused her the same kind of pain as trying to use her Gray power during her moontime, and even wearing her Birthright Green made her queasy.



A day after that, she used Craft without thinking and threw up on the sitting room rug—and became so weak and dizzy, Helton found her lying in her own vomit a few minutes later.



Helton panicked, along with the rest of the town house’s staff, and Healers converged on the SaDiablo residence, including Lady Zhara’s personal Healer.



She answered all their questions truthfully, except one.



Despite her protests that it couldn’t have happened, every single Healer assured her that it had.



So she stayed in bed resting for a day, putting up with Helton’s fussing to make up for scaring the man so badly.



For herself, she was excited—and she was scared.



And she was terrified of what would happen when she told Sadi.



SEVEN



Surreal walked into the Hall early the next morning and gave Beale a bright smile. “Good morning, Beale.”



The flash of alarm on Beale’s face before he regained control confirmed that her mirror hadn’t lied—she looked as washed-out and sickly as she felt, and she was becoming more fragile with every hour that passed. That was why she had to act before she lost the reason to act.



“I need to see Sadi,” she said, tipping her head toward the study door at the back of the great hall. “Is he there?”



“Yes.” Beale hesitated. “Should I send for the village Healer? Or your personal Healer in Amdarh?”



“Saw my Healer yesterday. Today I need to talk to Sadi.” Now it was her turn to hesitate, but she had to consider the tempers she would be dealing with today. “Prince Yaslana is supposed to see me this morning. I left a message at my house that I would be here. You know how early he can arrive, and I didn’t want him getting snarly if he didn’t find me at home, so . . .”



“I’ll be certain to let him know your whereabouts the moment he arrives,” Beale said.



Maybe he meant to sound reassuring, but as she walked to Sadi’s study, she thought Beale’s words sounded more like a threat.



Daemon didn’t look up when she entered the room, but he said, “Good morning. Beale said you were here. I don’t think there is anything today that requires my second-in-command’s attention, but you can check with Holt if you like. Let me finish this up, and then I can join you for a quick meal in the breakfast—”



He looked up at that moment. He dropped the pen back in its holder and pushed away from the desk.



“I need to talk to you.” She hated feeling so fragile—and hated even more how much that fragility scared her, because all the Healers had warned her that it would take so little right now to destroy the life beginning to grow inside her.



“What’s wrong?” He moved toward her with a speed that had her backing up against the door. “Are you ill? Have you seen a Healer?”



“No, I’m not ill. Yes, I’ve seen a Healer. Sadi, I’m—”



“Come over here and sit down. You’re—”



“—pregnant.”



He jerked to a stop, then took a step back.



Not Daemon anymore, she thought as she watched his eyes change. May the Darkness have mercy on me, whatever he is right now is more—and worse—than the Sadist.



“Pregnant.” His voice was cold and viciously gentle. He took another step back and slipped his hands in his trousers pockets.



“I don’t expect anything from you,” she said quickly. “That’s not why I’m here. I just wanted you to know that I won’t deny that you’re the baby’s father. When it’s time for the Birthright Ceremony, I won’t deny paternity. You have my word, Sadi. I won’t do that to you.”



“You’re not leaving with my child,” he said too softly.