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.”