A scent in the air. Not unpleasant. The sound of skin rubbing skin. Then . . .
Hands rubbing warm oil over his back. Long strokes and shorter ones, moving over tight muscles.
Lucivar kept his eyes closed. The Sadist blended intense sexual pleasure with exquisitely vicious pain. So what in the name of Hell was the man doing? He didn’t want to be lulled into not being prepared for the first shock of pain.
“I miss this,” the Sadist said quietly. “I can’t be around Surreal when I need . . . I miss touching someone.” His hands moved over skin and muscle. “Sometimes when I needed to play, Jaenelle would let me do this for hours, touching her and coaxing the muscles to relax, coaxing her to let go of the day’s burdens.” He chuckled. “I got around to relaxing her in other ways, too, but that was a quiet swelling, a gentle rise and fall. I loved those nights, loved that this part of me could pleasure her so much that everything else disappeared and there was nothing but her and me in that bed.”
The hands kept moving, kept coaxing knotted muscles to relax.
Was that what this was? A simple need for the most brutal side of Daemon’s nature to touch someone else?
He’s enjoying this. Just this.
He tensed when the Sadist’s hands rested on his ass. Couldn’t help it.
The fingers digging into muscle weren’t as gentle in response to his unintentional resistance.
“What have you been doing to get knots in your ass?” the Sadist muttered.
“Same thing I did to get all the other knots,” Lucivar grumbled. “Testing my children’s shields and pulling the blows against the shields just enough that the children don’t get discouraged without looking like I’m pulling the blows.”
“Huh.”
More oil. More heat in the warming spells in the oil and on the hands.
Lucivar groaned as the Sadist worked on the backs of his thighs and down to the calves.
“All right, roll over.”
“How am I supposed to do that? My muscles have melted.”
A soft laugh as hands slid under his thighs and the Craft used to float objects lifted him high enough to be turned and settled back on the bed.
Keeping his hands above his head and shackled, Lucivar opened his eyes and studied the Sadist as those hands worked on his feet and began moving up his legs.
There were places he would rather not go with his brother, and he knew all too well that the Sadist could make him beg to go to those places, so he said, “Jillian is home.”
The hands stroked his thighs from knees to hips. “Oh?” A smile Lucivar couldn’t interpret. “A descendant of Lord Dillon is now working as one of Mrs. Beale’s apprentice cooks. She calls him Dharo Boy.”
“Hell’s fire.” He was not going to be the one to tell Jillian that a however-many-generations-in-between descendant of the boy who had been her first romantic encounter worked at the Hall.
But in a verbal pissing contest, whatever worked was fair. Right?
“She’s written a book. For children. And not just human children. At least, that’s how she explained it.”
“Oh?” Another smile. “I happen to own a publishing house, so . . .”
“She wants to get it published on her own. Without help from us.”
“Why?”
“Damned if I know. Something about the story being published on its own merit.”
“Phhht,” Daemon said.
“Yeah. But your publishing house is on Jillian’s list, and she’s made an appointment next week to see the acquisitions editor. Marian is going with her.”
A pause as the muscles along the side of one thigh were persuaded to relax. “Have you read the book?”
“No, but Marian did and said it’s a good story. It’s based on some of the adventures Jillian and Khary had during their apprenticeship in Lady Perzha’s court.”
“Well, then . . .”
“It’s called A Dog and His Weeble.”
Daemon’s hands spasmed, and his fingers dug into Lucivar’s thighs hard enough to hurt.
“It’s about a Sceltie who has adventures and solves problems with the help of his pet weeble and his human female companion,” Lucivar continued.
“But how Little Weeble got its name has been a secret since the village was founded.”
“Well, the former Queen, in her position as court consultant, and the current Queen have given permission for that secret to be revealed. Their reasoning is that since so many other things are dressed up to suit the story, everyone will think Jillian made that up too.” He waited a beat. “This is your fault, you know.”
“How is this my fault?” Daemon sounded miffed.
And the Sadist has been knocked right out of the room. “You gave permission for Khary to go to Little Weeble with Jillian. If you hadn’t done that, Khary wouldn’t have been digging on the beach and wouldn’t have found the diamond that indicated it was time for a new Queen. If Khary hadn’t been the one to find the diamond, the Queen who fit the village and its people’s needs wouldn’t have been a Sceltie, and I wouldn’t have ended up dealing with generations of Sceltie Queens ruling an eccentric village in Askavi.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“Tch.”
Daemon shifted to one side and growled, “Move over.”
Before Lucivar could move, he was floating on air—and shoved with enough force that he would have ended up across the room if he hadn’t used Craft to stop himself and land on the mattress.
Daemon flopped down beside him.
They stared at the ceiling.
“Are you sure we can’t help with publishing the book?” Daemon asked. “She’s family. We take care of family.”
“We will be allowed to host, and pay for, the party when the book is published.”
“Well, good for us.”
They looked at each other and sighed before going back to staring at the ceiling.
“Are you going to let Titian go to that school?” Daemon asked.
“Yeah. She really wants to study art there. I told her if she could build the defensive shields I require for her to be on her own, she could go. She’s working hard, which makes me proud and guts me. Another day or two she’ll have the shields solid, and I can’t say no. Daemonar isn’t taking this well, but he’s working with her on the shields.” A pause. “Jaenelle Saetien?”
“I’ll make the arrangements when I return to Dhemlan. I’m not easy about it, and I’ll talk to Lady Zhara and confirm that Zoey is attending before I make a final decision.”
“If Titian is in Amdarh, you’ll be the one who has to draw the lines about behavior and hold them.”
“I know. And I will.”
Lucivar blew out a breath. “You think there’s anything to eat around here?”
“It’s the Keep. There’s bound to be.” Daemon rolled off the bed, scooped up Lucivar’s leather trousers and tossed them on the bed before stepping into his own black trousers.
They didn’t bother with shirts or shoes before wandering out and following the scent of coffee to the small sitting room across from the Queen’s suite. Plates of cold meats and cheeses, sliced fruits, different kinds of breads with a variety of flavored butters. Coffee, wine, brandy, ale.
They ate, drank, and grumbled about Jillian not wanting their help. Then they ate some more and drank some more as they decided where the lines would be drawn once their daughters went to that damn school.
When they were down to crumbs and empty glasses, Daemon retired to the Consort’s suite. Lucivar retrieved the rest of his clothes and walked to the part of the Keep that contained the office of his administrative second-in-command.
“Kiss kiss,” Karla said, a wicked twinkle in her ice-blue eyes. “Since you did well tonight, I won’t torment you with reports.”