Daughter of the Blood

"Because you're dangerous and cruel. You're Hekatah's puppet and Dorothea's pet sent here to destroy an extraordinary witch. I won't let you. I won't. You may put me in the grave for good, but I'll give you a taste of it, too."
    She flung herself at him, her hand curved and ready, the Black Jewel blazing. He caught her wrists, holding her off with an ease that made her scream. He hit the Black shields on her inner barriers hard enough to make her work to keep them intact, but they wouldn't keep him out for long. She was draining her Jewels and he hadn't tapped his yet. When her Black were drained, there would be no way to stop him from shattering her mind.
    She tried to twist away from him, tried to eliminate the immediate physical danger so she could concentrate on protecting her mind. Then she froze as his snake tooth pressed into her wrist. She didn't think his venom would be deadly to a Guardian, but if he pumped his full shot into her, it would paralyze her long enough for him to pick her apart at his leisure.
    She looked up at him defiantly, her teeth bared, ready to fight to the end. It was the look on his face, the change in his eyes that arrested her. There was wariness there. And hope?
    "You don't like Dorothea," he said slowly, as if puzzling out a difficult problem.
    "I like Hekatah even less," she snapped.
    "Hekatah." Daemon released her, swearing softly as he paced the room. "Hekatah still exists? Like you?"
    Cassandra sniffed. "Not like me. I'm a Guardian. She's a demon."
    "I beg your pardon," he said dryly as he prowled the room.
    "Are you saying you weren't sent here to kill the girl?" Cassandra rubbed her sore wrists.
    Daemon stopped pacing. "I'll take some wine, if you're still offering it."
    Cassandra got the glasses, a bottle of red wine, and the decanter of yarbarah. Pouring a glass of each, she handed him the wine.
    Daemon tested it, sniffed it, and took a sip. One eyebrow rose. "You have excellent taste in wine, Lady."
    Cassandra shrugged. "Not my taste. It was a gift." When he didn't say anything else, she prodded, "Is that why you're here?"
    "Perhaps," he said slowly, thinking it over. Then he smiled wryly. "I was of the opinion that I was sent here because I had been a bit too troublesome of late and there wasn't another court that would have me, or another Queen that Dorothea was willing to sacrifice in order to blunt my temper." He sipped the wine appreciatively. "However, if what you believe is true—and recent events do seem to support that belief—it was a grave error on her part." He laughed softly, but there was a brutality to the sound that made Cassandra shiver.
    "Why is it an error? If she offered you something of value to—"
    "Like my freedom?" The wariness was back in his eyes. "Like a century of not having to kneel and serve?"
    Cassandra pressed her lips together. This was going wrong, and if he turned against her again, he wouldn't relent a second time. "The girl means everything to us, Prince, and she means nothing to you."
    "Nothing?" He smiled bitterly. "Do you think that someone like me, having lived as I've lived, being what I am, would destroy the one person he's been looking for his whole life? Do you think me such a fool I don't recognize what she is, what she'll become? She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert."
    Cassandra stared at him. "You're in love with her." Sudden anger washed over her at the next thought. "She's just a child."
    "That fact hasn't eluded me," he said dryly as he refilled his wineglass. "Who is 'us'?"
    "What?"
    "You said 'the girl means everything to us.' Who?"
    "Me . . ." Cassandra hesitated, took a deep breath. "And the Priest."
    Daemon's expression was a mixture of relief and pain. He licked his lips. "Does he . . . Does he think I mean her harm?" He shook his head. "No matter. I've wondered the same about him."
    Cassandra gasped, incensed. "How could—" She stopped herself. If they had presumed that about him, why would he not presume the same about them? She sat at the kitchen table. He hesitated and then sat across from her. "Listen to me," she said earnestly. "I can understand why you feel bitter toward him, but you don't feel half as bitter as he does. He never wanted to walk away from you, but he had no other choice. No matter what you think of him because of the way you've had to live, one thing is true: he adores her. With every breath, with every drop of his blood, he adores her."
    Daemon toyed with