Wondering if she was still talking about Dillon, Lucivar picked up the chunk of wood, came around the desk, and held it out to her. Her right hand slipped off her lap, then came up fast. Lucivar saw the glint of a blade and released the wood, jerking his hand out of the way at the same time he created an Ebon-gray shield around himself.
The big hunting knife she’d commissioned from Kohlvar several years ago flashed up, then left to right.
Four smaller pieces of wood hit the floor.
“Impressive speed,” he murmured. She had always been good with a knife, and he knew better than to be careless around her.
“He’s new and exciting,” Surreal said. “He’s pretty on the outside, and he talks a good game. He’s every aristo thing you despise, but if you stop this now, all she’ll remember is that you stopped her from spending time with the boy she loves.”
“Loves?” Lucivar bared his teeth. “Loves? How can she love that piece of walking carrion?”
“She doesn’t know him.” Surreal slid the hunting knife into its leather sheath and vanished it. “Let her discover who he is while she’s standing safely in your shadow.”
He blew out a breath. “She’ll get hurt.”
“Better a skinned knee than a broken wing.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension. “We still have a wolf pack on the mountain. I can ask them to keep a discreet lookout at my eyrie and Nurian’s. They won’t be seen, but they’ll sound a warning if the prick-ass crosses a line.”
“Discreet watchers are good,” Surreal agreed. “But you don’t want to be that subtle. Not this time. So I was thinking of chaperons who will be overlooked by the inexperienced but will be louder, faster, and more insistent about announcing any wrongdoing than a whole pack of younger siblings.”
Lucivar paled. “Oh, Hell’s fire, no.”
“They’ll just come for a visit. Then they’ll go home.”
“Swear to me on your Jewels that they will go home.”
Surreal blinked. Then she laughed so hard she gasped for breath. “I swear, Lucivar. I swear I will never tell anyone that you’re afraid of Scelties.”
Since he wasn’t going to admit it, he hauled her out of the chair—and hoped the dogs let her keep her promise.
TWENTY-ONE
Someone kept pounding on his front door. Swearing, Lucivar secured the loin wrap around his hips as he hurried through the eyrie to stop the damn noise before it woke up the children.
He yanked the door open. A rock from the decorative rock garden Marian and Daemonar had made last summer dropped in the space between his bare feet and six little furry front paws.
He looked at his brother, who carried his sleepy niece. ٭I hate you.٭
Daemon’s smile held a brittleness that spoke of more than one kind of pain. ٭As Karla likes to say, kiss kiss.٭
Lucivar looked at the three Scelties. He recognized Morghann, the brown and white witch who now wore a Purple Dusk Birthright Jewel, and Khary, an Opal-Jeweled Warlord who was dark gray with white legs, chest, and tail tip. The third Sceltie, a black and white Warlord with tan patches on his face, must be the puppy Daemonar had met when the boy had visited his uncle a few weeks ago.
Bright eyes looked back at him. Tails wagged. Tiny movements brought those front paws just a wee bit closer to the threshold of his home. Before they had a chance to start offering opinions about everything, he offered an opinion of his own. “If you leave the rock there, Marian will be unhappy with you.”
The rock instantly rose two fingers off the ground and scooted toward the empty space in the rock garden. It did one roll and would have settled dirt side up if Daemon hadn’t added mildly, “The bottom of the rock already has dirt on it and should go back in that way. It will matter to Lady Marian.”
Morghann gave Daemon an anxious look before focusing on her task. Using Craft, the Sceltie turned the rock right side up, then let it settle back into the dirt. But that wasn’t enough, because she continued to make small adjustments until the rock exactly matched its previous position.
“Perfect,” Daemon said quietly.
The joy that blasted out of the little bitch made Lucivar glad he didn’t have to deal with her on a daily basis. He looked at the last member of this party and smiled when Daemon set her on her feet. “Morning, witchling. Have you got something for me?”
“We brought Scelties!” Jaenelle Saetien said, now awake and as bright-eyed as the damn dogs.
“Anything else?”
“I brought Papa!”
Daemon kissed the top of her head. “I think Uncle Lucivar is looking for a hug.”
She took a step, avoided putting a foot on any Sceltie tails, and launched herself at him.
Not enough height and too much distance.
Lucivar stepped forward, caught her under the arms, and lifted her so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and give him a hug—and tried to not to wince when her leg gave him a light whack where a man didn’t want to be hit.
“Aahhhh, that’s better.” He returned her hug before he put her down.
“Is Titian awake?”
“Not yet. Why don’t you go wake her?”
Jaenelle Saetien rushed past him into the eyrie.
The Scelties looked at him.
Giving in, Lucivar stepped back. “Come in.”
Khary raced after Jaenelle. Morghann waited for Daemon’s nod before running to catch up. The third one immediately began exploring the front room.
٭You know Morghann and Khary. This one is Lord Tagg.٭ Daemon stepped into the eyrie. “Is there any coffee?”
“Not yet,” Lucivar replied. He closed the door and headed for the kitchen. So much for getting another hour of sleep. “I’m not even going to ask what time you got up in order to get here this early.”
Daemon removed his black jacket and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair. Moving around the kitchen, he took eggs, bacon, and butter out of the cold box. “Would you like an omelet?”
Lucivar measured out coffee and put the pot on the stove. “That’s good for me. The children will want scrambled eggs when they wake up.”
“I can do that.” Daemon broke eggs into a bowl. “You look tired.”
So do you, old son. “Baby Andulvar has been fussy. Took a while to get him settled last night.” He pulled out a frying pan to cook the bacon.
“How is Marian?”
Daemon asked that question every time they saw each other, as if needing the reassurance that one of them was still loved and happy.
“She’s doing fine. She regains a little more strength and energy every day, but she’s occasionally frustrated because it’s been months since that healing and she still doesn’t have the stamina she had before the . . . illness. Nurian looks in on her a couple of times a week, mostly because no one has any experience with the kind of healing spell Jaenelle Angelline gifted to Marian. Of course, having three children can sap the stamina from anyone.”
How much longer can you endure this, whatever this is? How much longer can I wait and watch you suffer? And how can I let you know there is someone who can give you answers without losing you?
Putting the pan down, Lucivar braced his hands on the counter.
“Lucivar?” Daemon moved to stand beside him. “What is it?”
“I don’t think I can tell you.”
“You can tell me anything.”
He wanted to believe that. All right, then. A hint. A clue. A rope thrown to a man trying to save himself from a deadly fall and holding on to the cliff with one broken finger because that was all he had left. “I think Daemonar sees Witch once in a while.”