Heir to the Shadows

adopted father, if you will. And fathers do not have sex with their daughters."
    "Don't they?" she asked in a midnight whisper.
    The floor disappeared under his feet. The room spun. He would have fallen if Jaenelle hadn't thrown her arms around his waist.
    "Don't use Craft," he muttered through gritted teeth.
    Too late. Jaenelle was already floating him to the couch. As he sank into it, she sat beside him and brushed her shoulder-length hair away from her neck. "You need fresh blood."
    "No, I don't. I'm just a little dizzy." Besides, he'd been drinking a cup of fresh human blood twice a day for the past four days—almost as much as he usually consumed in a year.
    "You need fresh blood." There was a definite edge in her voice.
    What he needed was to find the bastard who had raped her and tear him apart inch by inch. "I don't need your blood, witch-child."
    Her eyes flashed with anger. She bared her teeth. "There's nothing wrong with my blood, High Lord," she hissed. "It isn't tainted."
    "Of course it isn't tainted," he snapped back.
    "Then why won't you accept the gift? You never refused before."
    There were clouds and shadows now in her sapphire eyes. It seemed that, for her, the price of humanity was vulnerability and insecurity.
    Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles and wondered if he could delicately suggest that she put on a robe without her taking offense. One thing at a time, SaDiablo. "There are three reasons I don't want your blood right now. First, until you're stronger, you need every drop of it for yourself. Second, your body is changing from child to woman, and the potency of the blood changes, too. So let's test it before I find myself drinking liquid lightning."
    That made her giggle.
    "And third, Draca has also decided that I need fresh blood."
    Jaenelle's eyes widened. "Oh, dear. Poor Papa." She bit her lip. "Is it all right if I call you that?" she asked in a small voice.
    He put his arms around her and held her close. "I would be honored to be called 'Papa.' " He brushed his lips against her forehead. "The room is a little chilly, witch-child. Do you think you could put on a robe? And slippers?"
    "You sound like a parent already," Jaenelle grumbled.
    Saetan smiled. "I've waited a long time to fuss over a daughter. I intend to revel in it to the fullest."
    "Oh, lucky me," Jaenelle growled.
    He laughed. "No. Lucky me."

6 / Kaeleer
     
    Saetan stared at the tonic in the small ravenglass cup and sighed. He had the cup halfway to his lips when someone knocked on the door.
    "Come," he said too eagerly.
    Andulvar entered, followed by his grandson, Prothvar, and Mephis, Saetan's eldest son. Prothvar and Mephis, like Andulvar, had become demon-dead during that long-ago war between Terreille and Kaeleer. Geoffrey, the Keep's historian/librarian, entered last.
    "Try this," Saetan said, holding out the cup to Andulvar.
    "Why?" Andulvar asked, eyeing the cup. "What's in it?"
    Damn Eyrien wariness. "It's a tonic Jaenelle made for me. She says I'm still looking peaky."
    "You are," Andulvar growled. "So drink it."
    Saetan ground his teeth.
    "It doesn't smell bad," Prothvar said, pulling his wings tighter to his body when Saetan glared at him.
    "It doesn't taste bad either," Saetan said, trying to be fair.
    "Then what's the problem?" Geoffrey asked, crossing his arms. He frowned at the cup, his black eyebrows echoing his widow's peak. "Are you concerned that she doesn't have the training to make that kind of tonic? Do you think she's done it incorrectly?"
    Saetan raised one eyebrow. "We're talking about Jaenelle."
    "Ah," Geoffrey said, eyeing the cup with some trepidation. "Yes."
    Saetan held the cup out to him. "Tell me what you think."
    Andulvar braced his fists on his hips. "Why are you so eager to share it? If there's nothing wrong with it, why won't you drink it?"
    "I do. I have. Every day for the past two weeks," Saetan grumbled. "But it's just so damn . .. potent." The last word was almost a plea.
    Geoffrey accepted the cup, took a small sip, rolled the liquid on his tongue, and swallowed. As he handed the cup to Andulvar, he started gasping and pressed his hands to his stomach.
    "Geoffrey?" Alarmed, Saetan grabbed Geoffrey's arm as the older Guardian swayed.
    "Is it supposed to feel like that?" Geoffrey wheezed.
    "Like what?" Saetan asked cautiously.
    "Like an avalanche hitting your stomach."
    Saetan sighed with relief. "It doesn't last long, and the tonic does have some astonishing curative powers,