Twilight's Dawn (The Black Jewels #9)
Page 51“Well, it’s a little small to be staying here without me,” she snapped.
“You’re not leaving with my child,” he said again.
Now he approached her. Stalked her. She wasn’t sure he was sane.
“We’ll be married a week from tomorrow,” he said.
“I didn’t agree to marry you!”
“You’re not leaving with my child.”
“Well, as sure as the sun doesn’t shine in Hell, you can’t keep me locked away here.”
He raised his right hand. The Black Jewel in the ring flashed as he unleashed some of its reservoir—and the Hall shook as his power rolled through it. Black shields snapped into place within all the outside walls, and Black locks on the doors and windows turned the SaDiablo family home into a prison.
He smiled at her.
“Sadi, don’t,” she whispered, shivering.
“What are the Healers going to tell me when I ask, Lady Surreal?” he crooned. “You’re already fragile—and vulnerable. You can’t use any of your Jeweled strength while you’re pregnant without destroying the child. Which means you can’t protect yourself or the child. Your Jewels need to be drained on a regular basis for the next ten months in order for the baby to grow healthy in the womb.”
“Lucivar could drain the Jewels.”
“Instead of the baby’s father? I think not.” Daemon moved closer.
She couldn’t back away from him because she was already pressed against the door.
“I didn’t tell you about the pregnancy because I want something from you,” she said. He was too close. He wasn’t touching her, but he was much too close.
“Your heart is pounding, and your scent is filled with fear,” he crooned. “That isn’t good for you or the baby.”
Then back off. But she didn’t dare say that.
“Your Jewels need to be drained.”
“Lucivar will be here soon.”
“So you told him and not me?”
“No! I sent a message, said I needed to see him this morning, and it was urgent. But I didn’t tell him why. Not before I told you. I didn’t tell anyone who fathered this child, and I won’t if you don’t want anyone else to know.”
He studied her. She wasn’t sure he saw her as a person anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything where he was concerned. She’d expected him to be upset or pissed or defensive.
Right now, she was afraid he would kill her—or just kill the baby.
“Maybe it wasn’t smart to have sex that night,” she said, her words tumbling over one another in her haste to explain. “I hadn’t been drinking a contraceptive brew, but Hell’s fire, I haven’t been with anyone in years, so why would I keep drinking the stuff? And it shouldn’t have been my fertile time. Not that I thought about that—or anything else—that night, but it shouldn’t have been my fertile time.”
“I didn’t do it alone,” she snapped. “And maybe you weren’t thinking clearly that night either, but you were the one who initiated the other three times the following morning.”
He said nothing for a long moment. Just studied her. She couldn’t tell if his eyes held affection or hate.
“If you don’t want to marry me, that is your choice,” Daemon crooned. “I won’t force you, although you should consider the advantages of being my wife. But regardless of what you decide, you’ll stay here until the baby is born. After that, you can leave. The child, however, stays with me, under my roof and under my protection. Is that clear?”
“I want to leave now.” She hated that her voice shook.
“No. Your suite is ready for you, as always. Beale and Helene will retrieve your clothing and other personal items from your house.”
“I can stay in my own house! It’s just down the road.”
“No.”
She should have run to the Keep, should have asked Draca for sanctuary until she’d reached some kind of agreement with Sadi. No chance to do that now.
“I don’t feel well,” she whispered. “I need to rest.”
“My offer of marriage stands. Consider it.”
He reached behind her and turned the door handle. As he pulled the door open, the movement nudged her against him. She turned to avoid feeling him pressed against her belly, but he still held the handle, and his left arm blocked her escape, so she felt the heat of him on her back and buttocks. And felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned into her.
“While you’re considering whether you would enjoy being the wife of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, also consider if you could tolerate being the wife of the High Lord of Hell.”
She half turned. “I’m not going to be marrying Uncle—”
She saw it in his eyes, and now understood why he felt different, felt even more dangerous. The Sadist was now the High Lord.
May the Darkness have mercy on me.
“I’d like to go to my room now.”
“Think about my offer,” he whispered. Then he stepped back and let her go.
She bolted out of Daemon’s study. Beale was waiting for her in the great hall. At first, she was grateful to hook her arm in his for light support, but by the time they climbed the stairs and were walking toward her suite, she was clinging to him to stay on her feet, and Holt came at a run to support her on the other side. Helene met them at the suite and tucked her on the sofa when she got stubborn about being put to bed. After admitting that she had left the tonic the Healer had made up for her at her house in the village, Jazen dashed to Halaway to retrieve it. She didn’t ask what else Sadi’s valet intended to retrieve while he was there.
She let them fuss over her because she needed some help. Mostly, she let them fuss as a way to keep all of them from thinking about the cold temper that waited for them behind the study door.
Daemon stood in his study, staring at nothing.
The vision he had seen in a tangled web last night: a beautifully wrapped gift being offered to him by someone he trusted. He hadn’t seen the woman, only the hands holding the gift. And today ...
A child. A baby. His.
The wanting was suddenly, brutally fierce. He wanted this baby with everything in him and would do whatever it took to keep it. He hoped for her sake that Surreal understood that. He didn’t want to hurt her, but if he had to choose between them, he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy her in order to protect the child.
Jaenelle wasn’t coming back, but now there was a chance to give his heart to someone else without betraying the love of his life. He wasn’t sure if the limited affection he could give a woman would be enough to keep a wife content, but he knew he could love the child.
He hoped for all their sakes that Surreal understood that too.
Lucivar hovered over the Hall and swore softly. When he received Surreal’s note last night, he’d known something was wrong, but based on her saying, “It’s urgent, but don’t come until tomorrow morning,” he hadn’t expected to arrive and find the Hall locked down as if prepared for an attack. Black shields. Black locks. The only partial access was the double front doors, which had a Red lock—probably because Beale would be the one granting access and could release, and restore, a Red lock.
He made a fast descent, then backwinged to land lightly on the gravel drive. The door opened before he reached it, and he was right—Beale was guarding the only potential way into the Hall.
“The Prince is in his study, waiting to speak to you,” Beale said.
“I’m here to see Surreal,” Lucivar replied.
“She is resting.”
“Resting? At this hour? Is she ill?”
“The Prince will explain.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He liked it even less when he walked into Daemon’s study and found his brother standing in the middle of the room, watching him with glazed, sleepy eyes.
“Is Surreal ill?” Lucivar asked, shoving the door closed.
“She’s pregnant,” Daemon replied softly.
He rocked back on his heels. There hadn’t been a man in Surreal’s life in quite some time, so her unexpected pregnancy explained Daemon locking down the Hall against outsiders, and it explained why Surreal was here and not at her own house. It also explained the chill in Daemon’s temper and those glazed eyes.
Lucivar settled into a fighting stance, his wings half spread for balance—an instinctive response. “Am I here to help her drain her Jewels or to help you have a chat with the cock who danced with her?”
“I am the cock who danced with her,” Daemon crooned.
His lungs locked, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You?”
Daemon smiled.
Lucivar shuddered. “I’d like to talk to Surreal.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“Today I do.”
Daemon’s smile became more gentle—and more terrifying. “Yes, today you do.”
Would I have walked out of this room intact if I hadn’t known that? He didn’t need to ask the question when he already knew the answer.
The study door opened, Daemon’s invitation for him to leave.
Lucivar looked over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Surreal. And then you and I will talk.”
He walked out of the study. Beale stood in the great hall at the doorway leading to the informal receiving room and the staircase that led to the family wing.
“Anything I need to know?” he asked the butler.
“Lady Surreal saw her Healer in Amdarh and was given a tonic to help her body adjust to . . .” Beale fumbled, clearly reluctant to speak of something so personal when it pertained to the SaDiablo family—especially when none of them knew if Daemon would take offense at someone talking about Surreal.
Lucivar nodded so that Beale didn’t have to continue. “I’m going up now to talk to her—with the Prince’s permission.”
“I don’t believe Lady Surreal’s Jewels have been drained yet,” Beale said.
Not something I can do for her now, Lucivar thought as he strode through the corridors that led to Surreal’s suite.
Blood was the living river, and the body was the vessel for the power that made the Blood who and what they were. But everything had a price. When a witch wore darker Jewels, her moontimes were more uncomfortable and the pain of doing more than basic Craft during the first three days was fierce. That was the reason they drained their Jewels before a moontime—to let the body rest. And when they were pregnant, they submitted to someone else draining the reserve power in their Jewels so that their power didn’t try to fill the child in the womb—and destroy it.
He rapped once on Surreal’s sitting room door and went in before she answered. One look at her had him yanking back his temper because she didn’t need a man yelling at her, but he couldn’t stop himself from going up to the windows where she stood and opening his wings halfway to look more intimidating.
“Get off your feet,” he snarled.
“Take a piss in the wind,” she snarled back.
Relieved that she didn’t sound as sick as she looked, he took a step back to give her some room.
“Aren’t you going to ask how this happened?” Surreal said.
“I have two children. I know how it happened. What I don’t know is what you want to do about it.”
“Do about it? I’m keeping it! How could you think I would . . .” She burst into tears.
“Ah, Surreal.” He put his arms around her and cuddled her while she cried. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I’m not upset,” she said, still crying. “My body is doing strange things, and it’s making me weepy. And being weepy because I can’t help it is not the same as being upset.”
Lucivar rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It will be all right. In a couple of days, you’ll swing over to bitchy and that will feel more normal to you.”
She punched him. He laughed.
When she seemed settled again, he called in a handkerchief and let her mop her face.
“What I meant was, what do you want to do about Sadi? Talk to me, Surreal.”
“I’d rather you talk to him.”
“After you tell me what you want. I thought Daemon had this place locked down to keep everyone out, but that’s not all of it, is it?”