*Down, Surreal!*

She felt hind legs brush against her back as she dove.

A moment later, the sentry lay dead, his throat torn out.

A sight shield faded, revealing the blood-splashed wolf.

"Graysfang?" Surreal whispered. She touched the Jewel beneath her shirt. Gray's fang. The High Lord had been right.

Skirting the dead sentry, she reached for the wolf.

*Wait,* Graysfang said.

That's when she saw the small golden bump between his ears. The bump lifted, floated to the nearest perimeter stake, and uncurled its legs.

Surreal stared at the small gold spider as it busily spun a simple tangled web between two of the stakes. When it was done, it picked its way to the center of the web.

The sentry vanished. There was no trace of blood on the ground.

*They will not find him now,* Graysfang said. *They can only see what the web lets them see.* He gently closed his teeth around Surreal's arm and started tugging her.

"What about the spider?"

*She will stay to guard the web. Hurry, Surreal.*

She shook her arm free of his teeth. It would be easier to keep up with him if she wasn't hunched over. Switching to a communication thread, she asked, *What are you doing here? How did you get through the perimeter stakes?*

*Humans are foolish. The meat trail is unguarded. Too many legs moving on the trail. The humans got tired of baring their fangs when it was only meat.*

Meat trail? Oh,game trail. *How did you know about the trail? How did you find me?*

*The Weaver of Dreams told me to learn the two-legged cat's scent and follow his tracks. He is a good hunter,* Graysfang added with approval. *There is much feline in him. Kaelas says so.*

Sadi, with the predatory grace even the kindred recognized. Graysfang had followed Sadi. *Who's this Weaver?* She got a quick image of a large golden spider—and stumbled.

Damn fool of an idiot wolf. It was bad enough that he had gone to Arachna and brought asmall spider back with him. But to deal with theQueen...

*She asked me, Surreal,* Graysfang said meekly when she snarled at him. *It's a bad thing to refuse the Weaver.*

Surreal gritted her teeth and picked up the pace. *We'll talk about it later.*

As soon as she saw the game trail, she recognized the place. This was where Daemon had brought them through the camp's perimeter. *I couldn't have found this place again by myself.*

*You have a small snout,* the wolf said kindly. *You cannot smell tracks.*

Surreal looked at Graysfang—at Gray's fang—and smiled.

"Let's go," she whispered. "Do you know the way to the shack?"

*I know.*

An hour later, she, Marian, Daemonar, and Graysfang were riding the Red Wind to the Keep.

8 / Terreille

"I think it's time we had a little talk," Hekatah said, trying to smile coyly at Daemon.

"Really?"

Oh, the arrogance, the surliness, themeanness in that voice. If his father had been even half the man the son was...

"It takes so long for a Realm to recover from a war, it would be foolish to go through with it if it can be avoided," she said, reaching up to caress his face as she wove a seduction spell around him.

He stepped back. "Don't ever touch me without my permission," he snarled softly. "Not even Jaenelle is allowed to touch me without my permission."

"And she submits?"

He smiled that cold, brutal smile. "She submits to a great many things—and begs for more."

Hekatah looked into his glazed eyes and shivered with excitement. The air was filled with the earthy tang of sex. She had him. He just didn't know it yet. "A partnership would serve us both well."

"But you already have a partner, Hekatah—one I will not deal with in any way."

She waved a hand dismissively. "She can be taken care of easily enough." She paused. "Darling Dorothea hasn't been sleeping well. I think I'll give her a little cup of something that will help."

He stared at her with those glazed eyes, a man aroused to the point of being frightening—and terribly exciting.

"In that case..." Daemon's hands cupped her face. His lips brushed against hers.

She was disappointed by the gentleness—until hereally kissed her. Mean, dominating, unforgiving, demanding, painfully exciting.

But she was demon-dead. Her bodycouldn't respond that way, couldn't...

She drowned in that kiss, staggered by sensations her body hadn't felt in centuries.

He finally raised his head.

She stared at him. "How... It isn't possible."

"I think we've just proved that's a lie," Daemon crooned. "I punish women who lie to me."

"Do you?" Hekatah whispered, swaying. She couldn't look away from the cruel pleasure in his eyes. "I'll take care of Dorothea."

He kissed her again. This time she felt the mockery in the gentleness. There was nothing gentle about him. Nothing.

"I'll take care of Dorothea," she said again. "And then we'll be partners."

"And I promise you, darling," Daemon purred, "you're going to get everything you deserve."

9 / Terreille

Dorothea woke up late in the morning and groaned at the pain in her belly. It felt like a year's worth of moontime cramps had settled in her gut. She couldn't get sick now.Couldn't. Maybe a cup of herbal tea or some broth. Hell's fire, she was cold. Why was she so damn cold?

Shivering, she dragged herself out of bed—and fell.

After the shock came fear as she remembered the brew Hekatah had made for her last night. To help her sleep. What had she been thinking of not to test something that came from Hekatah's hand?

She hadn't been thinking. Hadn't...

That bitch. That walking piece of carrion must have used a compulsion spell on her to get her to drink it—and then to forget that she'd beenordered to drink it.

Her muscles constricted, twisted.

Not sick. Poisoned.

She needed help. She needed...

Her cabin door opened and closed.

Gasping from the effort, she rolled onto her side and stared at Daemon Sadi.

"Daemon," she whimpered, trying to hold out a hand toward him. "Daemon... help..."

He just stood there, studying her. Then he smiled. "Looks like witchblood was part of last night's little brew," he said pleasantly.

She couldn't draw a full breath. "You did this.You did this."

"You were becoming a problem, darling. It's nothing personal."

She felt the pain of the insult even through the physical pain. "Hekatah..."

"Yes," Daemon purred, "Hekatah. Now, don't worry, darling. I've put an aural and a protective shield around your cabin, so you'll be quite undisturbed for the rest of the day."

He walked out of the cabin.

She tried to crawl to the door, tried to scream for help. Couldn't do either.

It didn't take long for her world to become nothing but pain.

Daemon closed the door of the prison hut he'd been using whenever he needed to stay somewhere for a little while. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew the Jewels he'd gone to Dorothea's cabin to retrieve—Saetan's Black ring; Lucivar's pendant, ring, and Ring of Honor. He knew her well, knew exactly where to probe for a hiding place. It hadn't taken him more than a minute to slip around her guard spells and lift the Jewels while he stood there and talked to her.

He studied the Jewels and sighed with relief. Both men had put strong shields around the jewelry before handing them over to those bitches, so there was no way the pieces could have been tampered with or tainted. Still...

Setting the Jewels into the washbasin, he poured water over them, added some astringent herbs for cleansing, then let them soak.

This would be the last day, the last night. He could endure it that much longer.Had to endure it.

He closed his eyes.Soon, sweetheart. A few more hours and I'll be on my way home, on my way back to you. And then we'll be married.

Picturing Jaenelle slipping the plain gold wedding ring onto his finger, he smiled.

And then he remembered the seduction spell Hekatah had woven around him. Oh, he'd been aware of it, could have easily broken it—but he had let his body respond to it while he touched Hekatah. Kissed Hekatah. Hated Hekatah.

Just a game. A nasty, vicious game.

He barely made it to the chamber pot before he was quietly, but thoroughly, sick.

10 / Terreille

"It's your turn, Prick."

Because he was looking for it, because he knewwhat to look for, Lucivar saw the sick desperation in Daemon's eyes.

So he remained passive while Daemon unchained him and led him into the other prison hut, the one closest to them. And he stayed impassive while Daemon feverishly rumpled the small bed.

Then he let out an anguished Eyrien war cry that startled Daemon badly enough to fall onto the bed.

"Hell's fire, Prick," Daemon muttered as he stood up.

"Convincing enough?" Lucivar asked mildly.

Daemon froze.

All the masks dropped away. Lucivar saw a man physically and emotionally exhausted, a man barely able to stay on his feet.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"I had to buy Jaenelle some time. I needed your hate to do it."

That simple. That painful. Daemon would regret it, deeply regret it, but he wouldn't hesitate to rip out his brother's heart if that's what Jaenelle needed from him. Which was exactly what he had done.

"You're here with Jaenelle's consent," Lucivar said, wanting the confirmation.

"I'm here at her command."

"To play out this game."

"To play out this game," Daemon agreed quietly.

Lucivar nodded, let out a bitter laugh. "Well, Bastard, you've played a good game." He paused, then said coldly, "Where are Marian and Daemonar?"

Daemon's hand shook a little as he raked his fingers through his hair. "Since Surreal didn't have to blast anyone with the Gray to get away from here, I have to assume she safely reached the hiding place where I had left them. They're all at the Keep by now."