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  • Home > Anne Bishop > Black Jewels > Heir to the Shadows (Chapter 101)      Page
  • Heir to the Shadows(Black Jewels,Book 2)(101) by Anne Bishop
  • Saetan squeezed Jaenelle's shoulder but she shrugged away from him.

    "Yes, Dujae is teaching me to draw," Jaenelle said, the chill back in her voice.

    "Dujae is dead."

    "For centuries now."

    Friall dabbed at his lips. "You study drawing with a demon?"

    "Just because he's a demon doesn't make him less of an artist."

    "But he's ademon"

    Jaenelle shrugged dismissively. "So are Char and Titian and a number of my other friends. Who I call a friend is no business of yours, Lord Friall."

    "No business," Friall sputtered. "It most certainlyis the Council's business. It was a show of faith that the Council allowed something like the High Lord to keep a young girl in the first place—"

    "Somethinglike the High Lord?"

    "—and to soil a young girl's sensibilities by forcing her to consort with demons—"

    "He never forces me.No one forces me."

    "—and submit to his own lustful attentions—"

    The room exploded.

    There was no time to think, no time to protect himself from the spiraling fury rising out the abyss.

    Drawing everything he could from his Black Jewels, Sae-

    tan threw himself on Jaenelle as she lunged for Friall. Wild, vicious sounds erupted from her as she fought to break free and reach the Warlord, who stared at her in shock while windows shattered, paintings crashed to the floor, plaster cracked as psychic lightning scored the walls, and the furniture was ripped to pieces.

    Hanging on grimly, Saetan let the room go, using his strength to shield the other men, using himself as a buffer between Jaenelle's rage and flesh. She wasn't trying to hurt him. That was the terrifying irony. She was simply trying to get past the barriers he was placing between her and Friall. He opened his mind, intending to press against her inner barriers and force her to feel a little of the pain he was enduring. But there were no barriers. There was only the abyss and a long, mind-shattering fall.

    "Please, witch-child.Please!"

    She came at him with frightening speed, cocooned him in black mist, and then brought him up to the depth of the Red Jewel before she turned and glided back down into the comfortable sanctuary of the abyss.

    Silence.

    Stillness.

    His head throbbed mercilessly. His. tongue hurt. His mouth was full of blood. He felt too brittle to move. But his mind was intact.

    She loved him. She wouldn't deliberately hurt him. She loved him.

    Pulling that thought around his bruised mind and battered body like a warm cloak, Saetan surrendered to oblivion.

    Lord Magstrom woke to a none-too-gentle slap. Blinking to clear his vision, he focused on the dark wings and stern face.

    "Drink this," the Eyrien snapped, shoving a glass into Magstrom's hands. He stepped back, fists braced on his hips. "Your companion is finally coming around. He's lucky to be here at all."

    Magstrom gratefully sipped his drink and looked around. Except for the chairs he and Friall were sitting in, the room

    was empty. The painted screens that divided the room were gone. The furniture on the other side was tumbled but intact. If not for the black streaks on the ivory walls that looked like lightning gone to ground, he might have thought they'd been moved to a different room, that it had been a hallucination of some kind.

    He'd heard of Andulvar Yaslana, the Demon Prince. He knew it was a measure of his own terror that he found shivering comfort in having an Ebon-gray-Jeweled demon standing over him. "The High Lord?" he asked.

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire