He freed himself from his trousers before she could take another breath. She vanished her underpants and trousers before he ripped them off. Then he was inside her, his cock so hot it felt like a fever as his arms locked around her back and hips and he thrust into her with all the power of a warrior and none of the finesse of a lover. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her short nails into his shoulders, remembering just in time not to set her teeth in his neck where he’d have to try to explain a fresh love bite to the children.
Fast. Hard. Hot. Explosive. Responding like a man pleasuring a needy woman instead of a husband taking care of a fragile womb. Responding to her like he used to before the illness that came after birthing baby Andulvar had sapped her strength.
Her climax pushed him over the edge. She bit his shoulder to stifle the scream that would have brought everyone running to find out what had happened.
“Mother Night, Marian.” Lucivar balanced her on the edge of the laundry tub.
They were shaking and panting and still connected, so she was grateful he hadn’t dropped her.
“You should let go of me,” he said.
“I’m not sure I can move my legs yet.”
He made a pleased sound that was abruptly cut off when he turned his head as if listening to something nearby. “Try.”
Happy barking, which meant children and Scelties playing—and the horde could rush into the eyrie at any moment searching for at least one of them, wanting attention, snacks, something.
Lucivar pulled out of her and made sure she was steady on her feet before he grabbed a couple of washcloths from the stack she kept in easy reach and ran them under the water tap.
“We should clean up a bit,” she said, accepting one of the cloths.
“You think?” Giving her an amused look, he washed quickly, tossing the used cloth into the laundry tub before tucking himself back into his trousers. “I’ll distract them.” He gave her a light kiss and left. Moments later, she heard his voice mingling with the children’s—and Daemon’s.
Blowing out a breath, Marian finished washing herself, straightened her tunic, and called in the underpants and trousers, hurriedly pulling them on. Nothing she could do about flushed skin or the rest. The adults would recognize the signs of hot, fast sex, but hopefully the children wouldn’t notice.
As she hurried out of the laundry room, aiming to get to her bedroom and have a few minutes in private to put on other clothes and get settled, it occurred to her that she had no idea how much these Scelties might notice—and share with everyone else.
She reached one of the eyrie’s branching corridors. One way led to the master suite of rooms. The guest room Daemon and Surreal were using was in the other direction. Realizing that she hadn’t seen Surreal yet, Marian headed for the guest room and knocked on the door. “Surreal?”
No answer.
Worried, Marian opened the door enough for her voice to be heard by anyone inside the room. “Surreal?”
“Yeah.”
Taking that as an invitation, Marian slipped into the room, leaving the door partway open in her haste to reach the other woman. Surreal looked feverish, upset. And she looked like she’d been crying, which was so unusual Marian jerked to a stop. Could this be nothing more than moontime moodies, or did she need to send for a Healer?
To heal what? Her friend had been well when she’d arrived in Ebon Rih. “Should I send for Nurian?” she asked.
“I doubt she has a cure for this.” Surreal moved around the room in a restless manner.
“So there is something wrong.” There had been something wrong for months, but maybe Surreal was finally ready to talk about it.
Surreal stopped moving, her back to the partly open door. “I love Daemon. I do. And I want to stay married to him because, for all our sakes, he needs to be married. But more often than not lately, I can’t stand to be around him. Sometimes I even hate him. When he plays games with me, when he uses that sexual heat on me, I hate him.”
Marian couldn’t move, shocked into stillness. Oh, Surreal.
“I feel smothered. His heat rolls over me and I can’t think about anything except having his cock inside me. It’s a fever that has burned inside me for so many months it’s become an addiction. I make excuses to spend time away from the Hall just so I can breathe, just so I can remember who I am when I’m not a sheath for his cock. I feel so damn helpless, and it scares me. He scares me.”
Mother Night. “You’ve never felt this . . . need . . . before? You’ve never seen Daemon act like this?”
“Even when Sadi is in rut, it’s not this bad. Or it is, but it’s three days and then it’s done. This is . . . relentless.”
How to say this? “Men relax after the Birthright Ceremony. They don’t feel vulnerable, don’t feel they could lose the right to be a father to their children, so they let their guard down, allow themselves to be more fully themselves.”
“What are you saying? That this is Sadi as he really is?”
“I think that’s at least part of it.” When Surreal stared at her, Marian tried to find words to describe her encounter with Daemon in the kitchen. “I felt some of that this morning . . .”
“Mother Night, Marian.” Surreal looked horrified.
“. . . and I realized I was seeing him without any barriers. For the first time in all the years I’ve known him, I was seeing Daemon when he wasn’t leashing his power or sexual heat. It was . . . potent.” She flushed with embarrassment but pushed on. “I jumped Lucivar in the laundry room as soon as we fed the children and dogs and booted them outside.”
“No,” Surreal said sharply. “It’s more than that. This started after the Sadist played with me one night . . . and I told Daemon the next morning that I never wanted him to do that to me again. But every time I’m near him, the heat coils around me until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t live. This is the punishment for refusing to play his games. That monster has gotten me addicted to sex so that he can torture me every night.”
Marian ached for her friend. For both friends. “I don’t think Daemon would deliberately hurt you. He hasn’t been well, Surreal. The headaches. Maybe he doesn’t have as much control as he did before.”
“It has to be more than that.” It sounded like a plea.
“Have you talked to him? Have you told him the sexual heat is causing a problem for you?”
“Yes, I’ve told him!” Surreal cried. “I can’t count how many times I’ve told him. He insists he has the heat leashed. I know he doesn’t. Hell’s fire, I was a whore for most of my life, so I know about sex. And I know Sadi well enough to know he’s using sex to torture me until I agree to let him do anything he wants.”
Lucivar had told her enough about Daemon’s past—and the warning signs that indicated the Sadist had come to call—that Marian didn’t doubt for a moment that, as the Sadist, Daemon didn’t distinguish between sex and torture. But what Surreal was saying didn’t sound right, didn’t fit the man she knew.
Assuming Daemon was still sane.
Chilled by that possibility, Marian said, “You’re his wife. That means something to him. Surreal, talk to him before he comes to some conclusions about your marriage that you might not be able to change. Talk to him before it’s too late. Or ask someone to intercede for you and find out why things have gone so wrong.”
“Who would dare challenge the Sadist?” Surreal said bitterly.
Marian caught the scent of coffee and looked past Surreal. Lucivar stood in the fully open doorway, holding a mug. But he was looking back down the corridor, and Marian realized he wasn’t the one who had brought the coffee.