“That is correct. It was my place.” Saetan paused. “Is it going to be yours? Are you going to accept?”
“I told Zhara I would consider it, but I wouldn’t make any decision until after Jaenelle and I returned from our honeymoon.”
“Are you going to accept?”
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Yes, I’m going to accept. It . . . feels right.”
Saetan rested a hand on Daemon’s shoulder. “I think it is the right choice. For you—and for Dhemlan. Just don’t expect Jaenelle to be cheerful whenever she has to dress up for a formal occasion.”
“She’s already explained that.”
After giving Daemon a sympathetic pat, Saetan stepped back. “What’s the second thing?”
This was harder. If Jaenelle had wanted everyone to know why she no longer wore Ebony Jewels, she would have told her friends and family. Maybe it was fear on her part that if they knew it was possible for her to be exactly like she’d been, they’d want it so much, she’d give in to their desire instead of holding on to her own. But Saetan needed to know. At least, enough to let go of any regrets.
“It’s about Twilight’s Dawn,” Daemon said carefully.
“A Jewel for Kaeleer’s Heart,” Saetan replied just as carefully.
“She is what she wants to be.”
“And has lost nothing she regrets losing?”
Daemon nodded. A cautious dance of words, so that neither of them would break faith with their Queen. “She’s dreamed of having an extraordinary, ordinary life. Wearing Ebony Jewels, she could only have half of that. With Twilight’s Dawn, she’ll have all of it.”
“Do you know that for certain, Prince?”
“Yes, High Lord. I know that for certain.”
They smiled at each other.
“There is one more thing,” Saetan said, calling in a folded piece of parchment and handing it to Daemon. “It isn’t what you had originally intended, but I think it will do.”
Daemon unfolded the parchment and studied the words in the Old Tongue.
A light brush against his inner barriers. He opened the first barrier, and his father’s deep voice rolled through his mind as Saetan spoke those fluid words.
Suddenly he was a child again, listening to that voice teaching him phrases in the Old Tongue in exactly the same way. He thought he’d learned the language from the scholars, but they’d only awakened the memories of what he’d learned from the man standing before him.
He said the words over and over, until he wasn’t sure if he was hearing his father’s voice or his own.
Another light brush against his mind, and Saetan withdrew.
Folding the parchment, Daemon tucked it in his jacket pocket. “What does it mean?”
“ ‘You are my breath, my life, my heart.’ ” Saetan smiled. “Does that say enough?”
Tears stung his eyes. “That says everything.”
Saetan kissed him. “Your Lady is waiting for you.”
They opened the glass doors and walked across the terrace, side by side. Then Saetan stepped back and he was alone, walking the rest of the way across the grass to where his finest dreams waited for him to begin the next season of their lives.
Present
Standing at the kitchen counter, Sebastian closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and deeply to savor the smell of freshly ground koffea beans. Better than a woman. At least, a more sensual experience than the last two he’d been with
When an incubus found sex boring, it was time to take a break—or think about another line of work.
Pushing that thought into the mental trunk where he’d shoved so many unpleasant memories, he followed the rest of the instructions for brewing the koffea beans.
What would it be like to rise in the first wisps of dawn and come out to the kitchen to grind the beans while someone who truly mattered was snuggled in his bed, waiting to be awakened with a nuzzle and a kiss—and a cup of freshly brewed koffee? What would it be like to stand outside, cup in hand, and watch the day come alive?
Sebastian shook his head. Why was he rubbing salt into emotional wounds, thinking about things that couldn’t be? He lived in the Den of Iniquity, which consisted of a few blocks of crowded buildings and cobblestone streets—a place that, most likely, had been an unsavory part of some large city, nothing but a dark smudge in a daylight landscape. Then a Landscaper had altered the world, turning those streets into a separate landscape, and that had changed the feel of living on those streets, had changed the taverns, gambling houses, and brothels into a carnal carnival.
But it was more than a place where human vices were openly enjoyed, more than a place where humans who didn’t fit into the daylight landscapes and demons like the incubi and succubi could live. The Den was at the center of a cluster of dark landscapes some of Ephemera’s demon races claimed as their own. It was a place where those demons could purchase supplies or buy a drink in a tavern without being hated or driven away because they weren’t human.
It was also a place that had its roots in the darker side of the human heart, a place where the sun never rose.
He’d been a bitter fifteen-year-old boy when he’d stumbled into the Den. Having escaped his father’s control two years before, he’d disappeared into the landscapes and struggled to survive. The dark human landscapes were too desperate and frightening even for a boy whose demon nature eclipsed whatever human blood might flow through his veins, but the people in the daylight landscapes didn’t want something like him living among them, and he’d been driven out of village after village as soon as the people realized he was an incubus—and that hunger for the emotions that were produced by sex was something that couldn’t be hidden or denied for long.
So when he found the Den and felt the dark, edgy, carnival tone of the place, he’d embraced it with all his heart because he’d finally found a place where being an incubus didn’t make him an outcast, a place where the never-ending night suited who and what he was—a place where he could belong.
And he still belonged here. The Den was his home. But now, as a man who had recently turned thirty . . .
I’m so tired of the night.
A sudden yearning for something washed through him, making his heart ache, filling him with a need and a longing so powerful it staggered him. He braced his hands on the counter and waited for the feeling to pass. It always did.
But the yearning had never been this powerful before, had never swept through him like this. Didn’t matter. Those feelings came and went—and nothing changed.
Disgusted with himself for not being content with what he had, he plucked a mug off the wooden stand—and almost dropped it when someone knocked on the cottage’s front door. He never brought anyone to his home, never invited anyone to visit. The only two people who ignored that demand for privacy were his human cousins, Glorianna and Lee, and neither of them would sound so hesitant about applying knuckles to wood.
He’d just ignore it; that’s what he’d do. He’d ignore it, and whoever—whatever—was on the other side of the door would go away.
The door creaked open. Sebastian’s heart pumped against his chest as he set the mug on the counter, careful to make no sound. Just as silently, he eased the biggest knife he had out of the wood block. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but he’d go down fighting.
“Sebastian?” a voice called. “Sebastian? You here?”
He knew that voice, but he still hesitated. Then he swore silently and slipped the knife back into its slot. There were very few things in the Den that couldn’t be bought, but trust was one of them.
Moving to the doorway that separated the kitchen from the main living area, he peered into the room and studied his visitor.
The other incubus stood on the threshold, almost bouncing with nerves. Yet his eyes were bright with curiosity as he looked at the simple furniture and the framed sketches on the walls.
“What do you want, Teaser?” Sebastian asked.
If Teaser noticed the harsh note in Sebastian’s voice, he ignored it and bounded into the main room. Then he stopped, spun around, and closed the outer door before moving toward Sebastian with the cocky swagger that was at odds with his blond hair, blue eyes, and boyish good looks. Women were often deceived into believing he acted the way he looked.
With Teaser, sometimes that was a serious mistake.
As youths, they had trolled the Den’s streets together—blond-haired, blue-eyed Teaser projecting an image of a boy out for a bit of naughty fun, while Sebastian was the handsome piece of danger with his sable hair and sharp green eyes. They’d played their games of seduction, providing physical sex to women who crossed over to the Den from the daylight landscapes or using the power of the incubi to connect with another mind through the twilight of waking dreams, feeding on the emotions they created by being fantasy lovers. Unhappy wives. Foolish girls who wanted the romance of a mysterious admirer. Lonely women who craved the warmth of a lover, even if that lover came to them only in dreams. They were all prey to the incubi.
For five years, he and Teaser had rented adjoining rooms at an expensive bordello and trolled the Den. Then, when he turned twenty, Sebastian could no longer ignore a growing need for something beyond the Den and the sexual games, so he walked away from the colored lights and the dark buildings. He found a dirt lane that began a few steps away from where the Den’s main street ended—a lane he was certain hadn’t been there before. He followed it, not sure if he was just taking a walk or really leaving the one place he’d felt at home.
