Dreams Made Flesh
Page 21

Considering the justifiable fears Karla had had about her uncle by blood, having Uncle Saetan take her to bed for her Virgin Night would have been a nightmarish experience for both of them. But Saetan would have done it, knowing he would lose the young woman he loved like another daughter in order to save the Queen. If Saetan would have been willing to pay that price, could he do any less? He was First Circle in Jaenelle’s court. So was Karla. He couldn’t turn away from a request to help a First Circle Queen. And, really, wasn’t this just another kind of battlefield? Normally, the Virgin Night was a witch’s initiation to sex as well as the act that would protect her power, but the likelihood of Karla ever taking another man to bed were slim to none, so bedroom skills weren’t as necessary as a warrior’s skills. He just had to get her safely from one side of this battlefield to the other.
He closed his eyes, accepting his duty while his stomach churned.
“Everything has a price,” he said quietly. He opened his eyes in time to see the hint of disapproval in Saetan’s before it was masked.
Saetan hesitated before saying, “I’m sure Karla would be willing—”
“Not from Karla. From you.”
No hesitation this time. “Then name your price. I’ll pay it.”
That simple. Not even the usual, sensible precaution of asking what the price would be in case it was too high to pay.
“After,” Lucivar said. “We’ll discuss it after I’ve seen her through this.” Because he knew what he wanted. They didn’t need it hanging between them while they both needed to stay focused on the task ahead.
Saetan rose gracefully. “I’ll inform Karla of your decision and make the preparations. Come up to the room when you’re ready.”
Lucivar waited until his father left the study before he covered his face with his hands. Please. Sweet Darkness, please let me get her through this.
Wishing fiercely that his brother Daemon was there to offer advice, he left the study and headed toward the bedroom that would be a very personal kind of battleground.
Saetan had chosen a guest room in another wing of the Hall. Lucivar felt grateful for that since he wouldn’t have to remember whatever happened here every time he looked at his own bed. And neither would Karla when she stayed in the suite of rooms she’d been given as her own here at the Hall. But the lack of personal effects in the room also made him feel a bit . . . dirty. Just another male acting the slut.
Leaning one arm against the mantel, he glanced at the small table that held two goblets and a heavy glass container, its contents being kept warm by a small tongue of witchfire.
Night of Fire. The aphrodisiac brew used for a Virgin Night.
Remembering the kinds of aphrodisiacs the witches in Terreille used on a man, he shuddered. It didn’t matter that Saetan had made this brew. The thought of drinking it produced a stab of fear in him. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he’d be any use to Karla if he didn’t drink it.
“I’m sorry,” Karla said. “If there was another way . . .”
He shook his head as he looked at her. Her fair skin had a touch of sickly green. She looked so young, standing there in a simple cotton nightgown, waiting for him to open her body and spill the virginal blood that would protect her power as a witch.
“You didn’t want to do this,” she said.
“No,” he replied honestly.
“Why?”
Would it make it easier for both of them if he explained? “I’ve only done this once before.”
Karla swallowed hard. “And it went badly?”
Lucivar looked away. “Not for her.” The memory he’d pushed away so long ago rose up, choking him. “The hunting camp I was in at the time ... The young males who were deemed ready were taken to the Blood Run to test their strength against it. Once an Eyrien male successfully makes the Blood Run, he’s considered a warrior.
“Well, we all survived the Run, which doesn’t always happen. We guested at a nearby eyrie to celebrate. Plenty of food, plenty to drink . . . and women who were willing to bed newly acknowledged warriors eager to test their other skills.
“One young witch lavished attention on me—the kind of attention I seldom got in Askavi. When she led me to one of the bedrooms, I was imagining a lusty night of hot sex—and was young enough and stupid enough to want it. Well, after a few kisses it was clear something was wrong. That’s when she admitted she was a virgin. She’d been refusing the warriors who lived in that eyrie because she was certain any of them would do his best to break her, and she didn’t want to lose what power she had.
“So I put aside my own expectations and saw her through her Virgin Night.”
“So what went wrong?” Karla asked.
Shame clogged his throat. He swallowed it, just as he’d swallowed it centuries ago. “The next morning, when I went to join the other warriors for a meal before heading back to the hunting camp . . . She was serving up food with the other women. I went over to her, just to talk to someone who would think kindly of me. But the other women must have told her who I was. What I was. Must have teased her about giving herself to a half-breed bastard. So instead of saying anything or even smiling at me, she . . . spit on me.”
The memory swamped him. The disgust in her eyes. The cruel laughter of the men. The reminder that they had to accept his status as a warrior but would never accept him.
“Bitch.”
The sudden chill in the air jolted him back to the present. Karla’s glacier blue eyes flashed with fury. Her Gray power rolled through the room.
Before he could think of how to respond, there was a sharp rap on the door and Saetan walked into the room.
Great. That was just great. He really needed confirmation that his father was staying so close in case something went wrong.
After looking at him, then at Karla, Saetan asked quietly, “Is something wrong?”
“That bitch spit on him after he got her through her Virgin Night!” Karla shouted.
The room had been chilly before. Now it was frigid as Saetan’s eyes glazed with cold rage.
“Who?” Saetan asked too softly.
Oh, no. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”
Karla grabbed a pillow and began shredding it as she stormed around the room. “The bitch deserves having her heart ripped out—if she has a heart.”
“Who?” Saetan asked again.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Maybe he should have known better, but he hadn’t expected this.
“Can we discuss this outside?” He gestured toward the door.
“You’re not going to let that bitch get away with this, are you, Uncle Saetan?” Karla demanded.
That’s just what he needed—a Gray-Jeweled Queen goading a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince to rise to the killing edge.
Saetan walked out of the room. Lucivar followed, closing the door firmly behind him.
“Who?” Saetan asked for the third time.
“I don’t remember her name,” he lied. He remembered everything about her, everything about that night and the morning after.
“Liar,” Saetan crooned.
If Daemon had said that to him in that tone of voice, he’d have braced himself for a terrifying kind of fight.
“You never saw another witch through her Virgin Night because of that bitch,” Saetan continued. “Isn’t that true?”
He didn’t say anything. Wouldn’t say anything. Not because he gave a damn what happened to that bitch, but because his father’s instant response to a son’s pain was as frightening as it was gratifying.
“Let it go,” Lucivar said. He deliberately looked at the bedroom door. “This is more important than avenging an old memory.”
The fury in Saetan’s eyes didn’t diminish, but he stepped back, walked down the hallway, and entered a room a few doors down from the one Lucivar stood in front of.
Knowing he’d managed to walk away from one battlefield, Lucivar took a deep breath, opened the door, and prepared to step onto the next one.
Karla was still storming around the room, bits of pillow stuffing stuck in her spiky white-blond hair. When she saw him, she planted her feet in the fighting stance he’d taught her, her eyes fired up for battle.
“What can I do to help you?” she demanded.
He almost laughed, but as he looked at her, he could hear Daemon’s voice whispering to him. She took the bait. Now use it. As long as she’s focused on helping you perform, she won’t be thinking about why you have to perform. Use what she’s offering to get her through what has to be done.
He sighed, then said hesitantly, “Maybe if we just sat together for a while.”
Alarm leaped into her eyes. Had he sounded too uncertain, too hesitant?
There weren’t many choices in the room. The armchairs by the hearth weren’t made to accommodate a man with wings, but there was one straight-backed chair that had been placed near the window. He led her to it and settled her on his lap.
They stared at each other.
Maybe it would have been easier at night, in the dark, instead of late afternoon with the heat and light of late summer pouring through the open window. Saetan had cleared this wing, so there were no gardeners working outside, no servants in the hallways. But there was still that awareness of people working and moving throughout the rest of the Hall. If Marian had been sitting on his lap, he wouldn’t have thought about those people—couldn’t honestly say he’d be thinking about anything at all except her.