“The Dragon Lady’s library’s in the east wing, Mac,” Dani said, as she headed off toward the kitchen. “Ain’t been used in years.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s dusty but cool. I sleep there times they’re blaming me for something or I just don’t feel like dealin’. Most of the east wing’s empty. I’ll hook up with you after I eat. Du—man, I’m fecking starved!”

As she sped off, I shook my head and smiled. She’d told me that as long as she kept eating, she could go days without sleep. She was constantly testing her limits. I wondered what I might have been like if I’d grown up knowing what I was. I imagined I would have pressed my limits, too. Probably been a lot more useful than I felt now. I envied her stamina. I had no such gift. Lack of sleep had eroded my patience and left me raw. I was in no shape to make a rousing join-up-with-me-sidhe-seers-and-let’s-kick-some-Fae-ass speech. I rubbed my eyes. I couldn’t stretch out on a comfy sofa soon enough.

I entered the abbey through a side door and hurried toward the east wing. Halfway there, I realized I was being followed.

I smiled tightly but made no move to acknowledge her. I wasn’t about to get into an argument with the Grand Mistress in the middle of a corridor, where all the other sidhe-seers could burst from their rooms at the sound of raised voices and chip in their two cents’ worth before I was ready to deal with it. If she wanted a fight, she was going to get it on my terms, on my turf. I made a mental note to find out what Dani knew about wards. It would be too perfect if I could block Rowena from the east wing and secure my own little space in her abbey. Otherwise, I was never going to feel safe.

I followed Dani’s directions down dimly lit corridors. I was surprised Rowena didn’t stick closer to me with my blazing MacHalo. Although I refused to turn and acknowledge her, no glare of light competed with mine casting shadows on the stone walls, which meant she couldn’t be carrying more than a couple of flashlights. We had no idea how many Shades were still in the abbey. The old woman had balls.

I stepped into the library and moved from one lamp to the next, turning them all on. I was pleased to see a plush brocade sofa where I could grab a catnap.

As soon as I got rid of Rowena.

“Not now, old woman,” I tossed over my shoulder coldly. “I need sleep.”

“Funny. You didn’t seem to need so much a few days ago.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I wasn’t ready for this confrontation. I might never be ready for it.

“In fact, sleep was the last thing on your mind,” he said tightly. He was angry. I could hear it in his voice. What was he angry about? I was the one who’d been through the emotional wringer.

My hands curled into fists, my breathing grew shallow. I trusted him no more today than I had two months ago.

“Fucking was all you wanted.”

It was what I wanted right now, too, I was horrified to realize. His voice worked on me like an aphrodisiac. I was wet and ready. I had been since he began speaking. For two months, I’d been trapped in a Fae-induced sexual frenzy, having constant, incredible sex with him, while listening to his voice, smelling his scent. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, I’d been conditioned by repeated stimuli to have a guaranteed response. My body anticipated, greedily expected pleasure in his presence. I inhaled, caught myself straining for the scent of him, forced it back out, and closed my eyes, as if maybe I could hide behind my own lids from an ironic truth: V’lane and Barrons had swapped roles.

I was no longer sexually vulnerable to the death-by-sex Fae Prince.

Jericho Barrons was my poison now.

I wanted to punch something. Lots of somethings. Starting with him.

“Cat got your tongue? And what a lovely tongue it is. I know. It licked every inch of me. Repeatedly. For months,” he purred, but there was steel in the velvet.

I locked my jaw and turned, bracing myself for the sight of him.

It was worse than I expected.

I was nearly flattened by erotic images. My hands on his face. Me on his face. Me backing up to him. Me straddling him, my I’m-a-Wanton-Pink fingernails long and sexy as I wrapped both hands around his big, long, hard … yeah.

Well.

Enough images.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to focus on his eyes.

It wasn’t much better. Barrons and I have wordless conversations. And right now he was reminding me, in graphically lush detail, of everything we’d done in that big Sun King bed of his.

He’d especially enjoyed the handcuffs. I had as many memories of his tongue as he had of mine. He’d never offered turnabout as fair play, even though I’d asked plenty. I’d never understood why. We’d both known nothing so flimsy could hold whatever he was. Now that I was clearheaded again, I understood. Even if it was only illusory, he was not a man to tolerate dominance. It was all about control with him. He never relinquished it. And that was a huge part of what chafed so badly, burned like salt in an open wound. I’d been completely out of control the entire time we’d spent in that room. He’d seen my most raw, bare, vulnerable self, yet he’d never shown me anything of himself that I hadn’t had to rip from his head against his will.