Queen of the Darkness

very strong shields around that room now, including an aural one." Lucivar looked at the closed study door. "Having witnessed this behavior a number of times, the males in the First Circle have come to the conclusion that he's either sitting there laughing himself silly or he's indulging in a fit of hysterics, and either way, he doesn't want us to know."
    "He said he would help me," Surreal snarled.
    Lucivar's eyes were bright with laughter. "I'm sure he'd intended to explain a few things to Graysfang—right up until you mentioned Kaelas."
    "That name keeps coming up," Daemon said. "Just who is Kaelas?"
    Lucivar eyed Daemon thoughtfully, then directed the answer to Surreal. "Kaelas is an Arcerian Warlord Prince who wears a Red Jewel. But because of some quirk in his talent or his training, he can get through any kind of shield—including a Black."
    "Mother Night," Daemon muttered.
    "He's also eight hundred pounds of feline muscle and temper." Lucivar smiled grimly. "We all try not to upset Kaelas."
    "Shit," Surreal said weakly.
    "Come on," Lucivar said. "We'll escort you to your room."
    Walking between two strong males suddenly sounded like a good idea.
    After a couple of minutes. Surreal said, "At least, being that big, he'll be easy enough to spot."
    Lucivar hesitated. "The Arcerian Blood always use sight shields when they hunt. It makes them very effective predators."
    "Oh." Being friends with a wolf was sounding better and better by the minute.
    When they reached her room, she said good night and went inside.
    Graysfang was standing exactly where she'd left him. Well, she had told him to "Stay right there," and he had taken her at her word.
    Looking at the sadness in those brown eyes, she sighed.
    Puppy love. It was a term whores used to describe clumsy, eager young males during their first few weeks of sexual experience. For a short time, they would try to please so they wouldn't be refused the bed. But after the novelty wore off, they would address those same women with a hardness in their eyes and a sneer in their voices.
    "Tomorrow we're going to have to come to an agreement about a few things," Surreal told Graysfang.
    His tail went tock-tock, just once.
    Giving in, she climbed into bed and patted the covers beside her. He jumped up on the bed and lay down, watching her cautiously. She ruffled his fur, turned off the light, and found herself smiling. She had ended up in a place where, when someone spoke of puppy love, they were talking about a real puppy.
----
    12 / Kaeleer
    Too edgy to sleep and too restless to find distraction in a book, Daemon wandered through the dimly lit corridors of the Hall.
    You're running, he thought, bitterly aware of the doubts and fears that had come swarming up when he had neared his suite of rooms—and had sensed Jaenelle's presence in the adjoining suite.
    For most of his 1,700 years, he had believed, without question, that he'd been born to be Witch's lover. Thirteen years ago, faced with a twelve-year-old girl, that conviction hadn't been shaken. His heart had been committed; it was just the physical union that would have been delayed a few more years. But a brutal rape and the years he'd been lost in madness separated them now, and he wasn't sure he could stand to face her and see only a sense of obligation or, worse, pity in her eyes.
    He needed to find a place that would help him regain his balance.
    Daemon paused, then smiled reluctantly as he realized that he hadn't been running so much as searching. Somewhere on the grounds of the estate, there would be a place dedicated to performing the Blood's formal rituals for the sacred days in each season, but he doubted Saetan would build a home that didn't also contain a place for informal, private meditations.
    He closed his eyes and opened his inner senses. A moment later, he was moving again, heading back toward the part of the Hall that contained the family living quarters.
    He would have missed the entrance completely if he hadn't caught a glimpse of his reflection in the door's glass.
    Stepping outside, he looked down at the sunken garden. Raised flower beds bordered all four sides except where the stone steps led down into the garden. Two statues dominated the space. A few feet in front of them were a raised stone slab and a wooden seat. Carefully positioned candlelights illuminated the statues and the steps.
    The statues pulled at him. He went down the steps, hesitated a moment, then stepped onto the grass.
    Power