“Seduction spells can be used for all kinds of reasons. Don’t tell me you haven’t used a seduction tendril now and then to make things more exciting for Marian.”
Lucivar swore fiercely, a low rumble of sound as he continued pacing. “That’s different.”
“Completely different. One kind is meant to please; the other kind tries to smother choice.”
Daemon knew all about playing games with seduction spells, knew how much to use to add a bit more persuasion to a request without taking away a person’s choice—and knew how to strip a person of any choice at all.
Lucivar glanced at his brother, then stopped moving. Daemon stood there, staring at his own hand, his thumb moving back and forth as if caressing something.
“Bastard?”
“Not just a seduction spell,” Daemon said thoughtfully. “There was something else entwined with it. Something hidden.”
Lucivar approached warily, his attention split between looking at Daemon’s hand and watching for any sign that the Sadist might suddenly return.
“Compulsion spell, maybe,” Daemon continued quietly. “Damn good one if it is. Subtle. Enough to influence thoughts and actions and have the influence linger without the spell being obvious enough to detect. Which means there has to be a particular action or phrase that triggers the spell.”
“What kind of action?” Lucivar asked, keeping his voice just as quiet. Not that he didn’t want to charge out the door and voice his displeasure in a way that would shake the whole damn valley, but he didn’t want to distract Daemon from figuring this out.
“I think you’ll find that Jillian has ‘loaned’ her true love whatever she’s saved from the wages Marian pays her.”
“And you’re going to stand there and tell me I’m supposed to do nothing?”
“She has to discover the truth about him for herself.” Daemon looked into Lucivar’s eyes. “And I’ve already done something. You won’t like it.”
Oh, Hell’s fire. “Tell me anyway.”
“I wrapped a different sort of spell around your girl.”
Lucivar bared his teeth but stopped himself from ramming a fist into Daemon’s ribs. “What kind of spell?”
“When Jillian and I were talking, I detected the seduction spell when I took her hand and rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. So I drained that spell and wrapped her in one of my own. She’ll never feel it, Lucivar. It won’t interfere with her own power or her ability to use Craft, and it will fade in a few weeks. But during that time, any spell anyone tries to use on her will wash over her and be absorbed by my power without Dillon or anyone else realizing he no longer has the ability to control what Jillian thinks or does. She’ll be able to view his actions and words without the veil of seduction or the compulsion to believe what he says.”
Lucivar stepped away and prowled the room again, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. “Titian.”
“No,” Daemon said. “She’s much too young to weave that kind of spell around her.”
“Now she’s too young. But once she reaches Jillian’s age, if I suspected that someone, some boy, was trying the same thing, would you . . . ?” He looked at Daemon.
“Of course. You have only to ask.”
Lucivar nodded. Having him as a father wasn’t going to be easy for his children as they got older, and he’d figured that his reputation for being volatile and violent would be a layer of protection against anyone trying to make a play for any of them. But Daemon was a different kind of fighter with a different arsenal of weapons, and having him as another layer of protection allowed Lucivar to step back a little.
“Come on,” he said as he swung around Daemon to reach the door. “By now the yappy horde will have cleared out and we can make our own breakfast.”
“Just don’t use any bowls on the counter unless you took them out of the cupboards yourself. Scelties will lick the last bit of oatmeal—or most anything else—out of a bowl and use Craft to set the bowl next to the sink so that the adults can’t tell who did, or didn’t, eat the breakfast they were supposed to eat.”
Lucivar thought about the bowl he’d used yesterday morning to beat the breakfast eggs and said, “Shit.”
Laughing, Daemon opened the door and led the way to the kitchen.
TWENTY-FOUR
That night, Surreal felt Daemon’s sexual heat the moment she opened the door of the guest room. It wrapped around her, smothered her. Frightened her, because the need to have him became so overwhelming she would let him do anything to her. He had shown some restraint for the first couple of days after he’d arrived at the eyrie, leashing the heat enough that she could pretend that sleeping with him wasn’t an ordeal. But it seemed even being a guest in his brother’s home wasn’t a sufficient deterrent for his games tonight.
He lay on his back, his eyes closed and one arm over his head, completely relaxed. The sheet was carelessly bunched just below his waist, showing her his naked, beautifully toned upper body. Looking at him, someone would swear he wasn’t doing anything. He continued to swear he wasn’t doing anything whenever she lashed out at him.
She knew better.
As she looked at him, her heart raced, her nipples tightened to the point of pain as they stood at attention, begging for the feel of his hands, his mouth. And need that threatened to strip her of any choice pulled at her, a liquid heat between her legs.
Had to fight this. Had to hold on to what was left of herself before she became nothing more than need he would come to despise while he denied any responsibility for this sexual addiction.
Daemon turned his head and opened his eyes. Warm gold. Sleepy. Waiting.
“Everything all right?” His seductive voice wrapped around her, creating a different kind of need.
“Fine.” She stripped off the robe and wished the nightgown was one of the modest ones she’d taken to wearing at the Hall instead of the silky gown she’d packed because she’d expected to be sleeping alone while she was Lucivar and Marian’s guest. Getting into bed, she added, “Just not in the mood for sex tonight.”
She knew her physical scent would shout the lie, at least to a Warlord Prince. She turned on her side, her back to him.
She felt him move, could tell he was now propped on one elbow, studying her. One warm hand settled on her hip.
“Surreal?” The bastard actually sounded concerned.
Push down the sheet, pull up my nightgown, put your hand between my legs, and play with me until I beg for your cock. “I’m tired.”
Daemon kissed her shoulder and settled back on his side of the bed. “Sleep in tomorrow if you can.”
He extinguished the candle-light. A minute later, Surreal heard the slow breathing that meant he was already asleep. Knowing he would wake the instant she got out of bed, she waited with gritted teeth until she couldn’t stand it a minute longer.
She’d barely eased her legs over the side of the bed when she felt his hand on her arm.
“Bathroom,” she whispered.
The hand slid down to the bed, the man recognizing the word to mean he could go back to sleep instead of waking fully to meet a threat.
She hurried into the bathroom that accommodated the guest rooms in this part of the eyrie and locked the door. Then she pulled up her nightgown and tried not to cry as she gave herself some relief.
Pain lanced through his head as Daemon tried to tighten his control of the sexual heat. Nausea, the new companion to the headaches, made him grit his teeth and swallow hard. He could hide the pain, had been hiding its severity for months, but the smell of vomit would be much harder to hide no matter how fast he disposed of the basin.