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  • Shalador's Lady(Black Jewels,Book 8)(6) by Anne Bishop
  • “I am not sitting on your ass,” Jaenelle huffed. “I’m straddling you to work on your back.”

    “You’re close enough that I can tell you’re not wearing anything under that shift, so I call that sitting.”

    “And you can tell what I’m not wearing because . . . ?”

    “When you brush against me, it tickles.”

    A too-thoughtful pause. “You’re awfully sassy all of a sudden.”

    “Blame it on my beautiful wife.”

    “Boyo, I don’t think your back will take what you have in mind.”

    “Then I’ll just roll over. Since you’re already straddling me, you can give us both a ride.”

    She snorted out a laugh. “You’re such a romantic when you’re exhausted, but I’ll take you up on your offer. Just to help you relax completely, of course.”

    “Of course.”

    “Hold still for another minute.”

    Her hands glided over his back, the warm, sensuous caress of a lover.

    Jaenelle Angelline. The living myth. Dreams made flesh. The former Queen of Ebon Askavi. And his wife. His wonderful, longed-for wife.

    “Daemon?”

    In another minute he would roll over and touch her body. He would use a psychic thread to link with her, mind to mind, and consummate their lovemaking with more than his body, touching her in ways he had never touched another woman.

    “Daemon?”

    He could picture her fair-skinned hands gliding over his golden brown chest as she sheathed him in silky fire.

    In just another min . . .

    EBON ASKAVI

    Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, former Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and still the High Lord of Hell, set aside the current stack of books he was sorting in the restricted part of the Keep’s library, leaned against the large blackwood table, and watched the son who was a mirror prowl restlessly around the room.

    Not physically a mirror. Not quite. They had the same thick, black hair and gold eyes—although his hair now held wings of silver at the temples. They had the brown skin of the long-lived races, but Daemon’s skin was a golden brown—more Dhemlan than Hayllian in color.

    He had always been considered handsome. Daemon, on the other hand, was beautiful and moved with a feline grace that drew the eye and aroused the senses.

    The foolish lusted after that body, forgetting that the man inside the skin was a powerful predator with a cold, killing temper.

    Which made him wonder about the reason for this visit.

    “You’re here early,” Saetan said.

    “Went to sleep early, got up early,” Daemon replied.

    Back and forth. Ceaseless movement. If it was Lucivar, he wouldn’t think twice about the prowl. But Daemon?

    Daemon stopped moving and stared at the wall. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

    Fear clamped around Saetan’s heart, but he asked calmly, “In what way?”

    A few weeks ago, Theran Grayhaven came to Kaeleer and asked Daemon for help. Disturbed by the physical resemblance between Theran and his old friend Jared, Daemon had slipped into painful memories, confusing the past with the present. No one had known there were deep emotional scars connected to the years after Daemon helped Jared and Lia elude Dorothea’s guards. No one had suspected there was anything wrong—until Daemon attacked Jaenelle.

  • Romance | Fantasy | Vampire