Queen of the Darkness

be treated like a Kaeleer male.*
    Daemon rocked back on his heels and studied the Sceltie. "Is that what I said?"
    *Yes.* Ladvarian headed off at an abrupt angle. *This way.*
    A minute later, they arrived at the creek. Ladvarian trotted up to the bank and leaped. By rights, he should have landed in the middle of the creek, but he kept sailing over it, and when he landed, he was standing a foot above the ground, a doggy grin on his face.
    Daemon looked at the creek, looked at the Sceltie, and then air walked over the creek to the other bank.
    *Did Jaenelle teach you that?*
    Remembering the afternoon when Jaenelle had shown him how to walk on air, Daemon's chest tightened. "Yes," he said softly, "she did."
    *She taught me, too.* Ladvarian sounded pleased.
    As soon as they walked through another stand of trees, Daemon saw the road. The drive, he amended. Once the north road out of Halaway crossed the bridge, it became the drive up to the Hall, and the land spread out before him was the family estate.
    He headed for the drive, then spun around when Ladvarian growled, half-expecting an attack despite the dog's display of friendship.
    But Ladvarian was facing the way they'd come. The bridge was out of sight because of the roll of the land, but the wind was coming from that direction.
    "What is it?" Daemon asked, opening his first inner barrier enough to sense the area around them.
    *Humans are coming. Three carriages. I've warned the other males, but we have to get back now.* Ladvarian started trotting in a direct line toward the Hall, forcing Daemon into a fast walk to keep up.
    "What's wrong with humans coming to the Hall?"
    Ladvarian's psychic scent became hostile. *They feel wrong.*
    The sudden fierceness was a sharp reminder that the small male trotting beside him was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord, and if Lucivar had overseen some of Ladvarian's training, the Sceltie was a far more effective fighter than anyone might suspect.
    *Nighthawk will take you to the Hall. He runs faster.*
    Before Daemon could wonder about that cryptic remark, he heard the hoofbeats pounding toward him.
    Under other circumstances, once he saw the black horse, he would have declined the offer—not only because riding a stallion bareback wasn't a healthy idea, but because, for just a moment, the wind and the horse's movement had lifted its forelock and he'd seen the Gray Jewel hidden underneath. Despite the difference in their species, he recognized the aggressive psychic scent of another Warlord Prince. But when he didn't move after the horse pulled up, Ladvarian nipped his calf. *Go, Daemon. Now.*
    He barely had time to mount and grab a fistful of the long mane before Nighthawk took off at a flat-out gallop cross-country. Wondering how Ladvarian was going to keep up with them at that pace, he glanced back and saw the dog balanced on the horse's rump.
    When the horse angled toward the last, long, straight section of the drive, Daemon tugged on the mane, and shouted, "Ease up," worried that Nighthawk would slip on the gravel at that speed.
    He felt a slight lift, and then heard... nothing. No pounding hooves, no scattering gravel. Looking over Nighthawk's left shoulder, he saw those driving legs racing on air straight for the front door.
    They were close enough to see the details of the dragon's head doorknocker before Nighthawk sat back on his haunches and finally came to a stop a hand span away from the steps.
    Daemon dismounted and walked up the steps, not sure if his legs were trembling from muscle tension or frayed nerves. When he reached the door and looked back, there was no sign of Nighthawk, but he could sense the stallion's presence nearby.
    "Hell's fire," he muttered as a footman opened the door.
    Ladvarian rushed in ahead of him and disappeared.
    Daemon entered more slowly, feeling the press of male hostility. Besides the footman, the only visible person in the great hall was Beale, the butler, but he doubted they were the only ones present.
    "It seems we're about to have company," Daemon said as he smoothed back his hair and straightened his black jacket.
    "So it would seem," Beale replied blandly. "If you would remain here, Prince Yaslana and the High Lord will be arriving shortly."
    Daemon looked around, then stepped into the formal receiving room just far enough not to be seen by whoever walked through the door.
    Observing the move, Beale shifted position, putting himself directly in Daemon's line of sight.
    *Lucivar,* Daemon said,