Queen of the Darkness

Jaenelle snapped. Her face had been pale since she'd seen Saetan's finger. Now it got paler. "Daemon, I need seventy-two hours."
    "Sev—But everything is ready. All you would need to do is gather your strength and unleash it."
    "I need seventy-two hours."
    He stared at her, slowly coming to terms with what she was telling him. In a controlled dive into the abyss, he could descend to the level of his Black Jewels in a few minutes and gather his full strength. It was going to take her seventy-two hours to do the same thing.
    Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
    But there was no way for him to ...
    He saw the knowledge in her eyes—and fought against the shame it produced in him. He should have known he couldn't hide the Sadist from Witch. And he finally understood what she was asking of him.
    Unable to meet her eyes anymore, he turned away and began his own slow prowl around the room.
    It was just a game. A dirty, vicious game—the kind the Sadist had always played so well. As he gave that part of himself free rein, the plan took shape as easily as breathing.
    But... Everything has a price. If he was going to lose the companionship of almost everyone he had ever cared about, the reward would have to justify the cost.
    "I can do this," he crooned, slowly circling around her. "I can keep Dorothea and Hekatah off-balance enough to keep the others safe and also prevent those Ladies from giving the orders to send the Terreillean armies into Kaeleer. I can buy you seventy-two hours, Jaenelle. But it's going to cost me because I'm going to do things I may never be forgiven for, so I want something in return."
    He could taste her slight bafflement before she said, "All right."
    "I don't want to wear the Consort's ring anymore."
    A slash of pain, quickly stifled. "All right."
    "I want a wedding ring in its place."
    A flash of joy, immediately followed by sorrow. She smiled at him at the same time her eyes filled with tears. "It would be wonderful."
    She meant that. So why the sorrow, why the anguish? He would have to deal with that when he got back.
    His temper was already getting edgy, dangerous. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' There are things I'll need that I can't create well enough for this game."
    "Just tell me what you need, Daemon."
    He didn't want to do this. Didn't want to go back to that kind of life, not even for seventy-two hours. He was going to mutilate the life he'd begun to build here, and the coven, the boyos, they would never—
    "Do you trust me?" he snapped.
    "Yes."
    No hesitation, no doubts.
    He finally stopped moving and faced her. "Do you know how desperately I love you?"
    Her voice shook when she answered, "As much as I love you?"
    He held her, held on to her as his lifeline, his anchor. It would be all right. As long as he had her, it would be all right.
    Finally, reluctantly, he eased back. "Come on, we've got a lot of work to do."
    "That's the last of it," Jaenelle said several hours later. She carefully packed the box that held all the spelled items she had created for him. "Almost the last of it."
    Daemon sipped the coffee he had brewed strong enough to bite. Physically, he was tired. Mentally, he was reeling. As Jaenelle created each of the spells he had asked for, he'd had to learn how to use them—which meant she'd explained the process to him as she created one, then had him practice with it while she created the ones he would take with him. She'd reviewed his efforts, given more instructions on how to hone the effect—and never once asked him what he intended to do, for which he was grateful. Of course, he didn't know exactly what she was going to do either. There were some things one Black Widow did not ask another.
    Jaenelle held up a vial about the size of her index finger that was filled with dark powder. "This is a stimulant. A strong one. One dose will keep you on your feet for about six hours. You can mix it with any kind of liquid—" She eyed the coffee. "—but if you mix it with something brewed like that it's going to have more kick."
    "That's one dose?" Daemon asked. Then he bit his tongue to keep from laughing and wished he could have a picture of the look on her face.
    "There are enough doses in here for the next three days and then some," she said dryly.
    "Well, I'd better find out what it does." Daemon held out the mug of coffee.
    She opened the vial, tapped it lightly over the mug. The sprinkle of powder dissolved instantly.
    He took a sip. A little