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  • Home > Anne Bishop > Black Jewels > Daughter of the Blood (Chapter 151)      Page
  • Daughter of the Blood(Black Jewels,Book 1)(151) by Anne Bishop
  • Daemon hesitated, then opened himself fully. He clenched his teeth to keep from screaming as the icy rage swept into his mind. His vision doubled. He felt the tree against his back. He also felt cold stone beneath bare feet.

    The stone faded, but not completely. He slowly opened and closed his hand. It felt as though he were wearing a glove beneath his skin. Then that too faded, but not completely.

    "You're controlling my body," Daemon said with a trace of bitterness.

    "Not controlling. By joining this way, my strength will be a well for you to tap and, in turn, I will be able to see and understand what we must do to help her."

    Daemon pushed himself away from the tree. He swayed, but another pair of legs held firm. Taking a deep breath, he caught the Black Wind and hurled himself toward Cassandra's Altar.

    Daemon hurried through the ruins of the Sanctuary's outer rooms. The footsteps he'd heard a moment ago stopped. Now an angry Gray wall blocked the corridor that led into the labyrinth of inner rooms.

    "Surreal?" Daemon called softly.

    A sob answered him. The Gray wall dropped.

    Daemon ran toward her. Surreal waited for him, tears streaming down her face.

    "I wasn't in time," she sobbed as Daemon took the sheet-wrapped bundle from her shaking arms and held it close to his chest. "I wasn't in time."

    Daemon turned back the way he'd come. "Cassandra must have a room here somewh—"

    "Go to the Altar, namesake."

    "She needs—"

    "The Altar."

    Daemon turned again, racing toward the Altar that lay in the center of the Sanctuary. Surreal ran ahead to push open the Altar room's stiff wrought-iron gate. Daemon rushed in and carefully laid Jaenelle on the Altar.

    "We need some light," he said, desperation making his voice harsh.

    Witchlight bloomed overhead.

    Cassandra stood behind the Altar. Her Black Jewels glowed. Her emerald eyes stabbed at him.

    Daemon looked down and saw the blood on his shirt.

    "Courage, namesake."

    "So," Cassandra said quietly, her eyes never leaving Daemon's face, "you're both here."

    Daemon nodded as he swiftly unwrapped the sheet.

    Cassandra clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.

    Blood gushed between Jaenelle's legs. Daemon's hands were slick with it as his fingers rested at the junction of her thighs and became a channel for a delicate tendril of power and the little healing Craft he knew. He searched, probed.

    Witches bled more on their Virgin Night than other women, and dark-Jeweled witches most of all. They paid for their strength with moments of fragility, moments when the balance of power shifted to the male's advantage and left them vulnerable.

    But even that didn't explain this much blood.

    Searching, probing.

    Icy shock ran through him when he found the answer. Glacial rage followed.

    "They used something to tear her open. The bastardstore her open. "He slid his hands over her torso, over the cuts and bruises. "How much healing Craft do you know?" he snapped at Saetan.

    "I have a great deal of knowledge, but even less of the healing gift than you. It's not enough, Daemon."

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire