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  • Daughter of the Blood(Black Jewels,Book 1)(122) by Anne Bishop
  • Halfway to the kitchen, Saetan slowed down. He'd kept his promise to Draca. On Winsol he had danced for the glory of Witch. Thanks to the blood Jaenelle insisted on giving him, he no longer needed a cane or walked with a limp, but the dancing had stiffened his bad leg, had shortened his fluid stride. He regretted that he might appear old or infirm for this first meeting with Daemon after so many, many years.

    Fury poured out the kitchen doorway as Saetan approached. So. Cassandra hadn't exaggerated about that. At least the rage was hot. They might still be able to talk.

    Daemon prowled the kitchen with panther grace, his hands in his trouser pockets, his body coiled with barely restrained rage. When he sent a dagger glance toward the doorway and noticed Saetan, he didn't alter his stride; he simply pivoted on the ball of his foot and came straight toward the High Lord.

    That picture told only half the truth, Saetan thought as he watched Daemon's swift approach and waited to see if blood would be drawn.

    Daemon stopped an arm's length away, nostrils flaring, eyes stabbing, silent.

    "Prince," Saetan said calmly. He watched Daemon fight for control, fight the searing rage in order to return the greeting.

    "High Lord," Daemon said through clenched teeth.

    Slowly approaching the table, aware of Daemon watching his every move, Saetan took off his cape, laying it across a chair. "Let's have a glass of wine, and then we'll talk."

    "I don't want any wine."

    "I do." Saetan got the wine and glasses. Settling into a chair, he opened the wine, poured two glasses, and waited.

    Daemon stepped forward, carefully placing his hands on the table.

    Dorothea was blind not to know what Daemon was, Saetan thought as he sipped the wine. Having expected to see them, Saetan found Daemon's long nails less disconcerting than his ringless fingers. If he could be this formidable without wearing a Jewel to help focus his strength . . .

    No wonder Cassandra had been terrified. Black Jewels or no, she was no match for this son of his.

    "Do you know where she is?" Daemon asked, obviously straining not to scream.

    Saetan's eyes narrowed. Fear. All that fury was covering an avalanche of fear. "Who?"

    Daemon sprang away from the table, swearing.

    When the torrent of expletives showed no sign of abating, Saetan said dryly, "Namesake, do you realize you're making this room quite uninhabitable?"

    "What?"Daemon pivoted and sprang back to the table.

    "Leash your rage, Prince," Saetan said quietly. "You sent for me, and I'm here." He looked over his shoulder toward the window. "However, the dawn is a few short hours away, and you can't afford to be here beyond that, can you?"

    As Daemon dropped into the chair across from him, Saetan handed him a glass of wine. Daemon drained it. Saetan refilled it. After refilling it for the third time, he said dryly, "From experience I can tell you that getting drunk doesn't lessen the fear. However, the agony of the hangover can do wonders for a man's perception."

    There was dismayed amusement in Daemon's eyes.

    "Bluntly put, my fine young Prince, this is obviously the first time our fair-haired Lady has scared the shit out of you."

    Daemon frowned at the empty wine bottle, found a full one in the cupboard, and refilled both glasses. "Not the first time," he growled.

    Saetan chuckled. "But it is a matter of degree, yes?"

    There was a hint of warmth in Daemon's reluctant smile. "Yes."

    "And this time is bad."

    Daemon closed his eyes. "Yes."

    Saetan sighed. "Start at the beginning and let's see if we can untangle this."

    "She's not at her family's estate."

    "Itis the Winsol season. Could her . . . family"—Saetan choked on the word—"have left her with friends to visit?"

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire