Queen of the Darkness

someone had come in and dumped a white fur cover over his bed without smoothing it out.
    Then a head lifted off his pillows and muscles rippled under the white fur as the huge cat shifted position.
    The front paws, dangling over the side of the bed, flexed, displaying impressive claws. Gray eyes stared at him as if daring him to do more than breathe.
    Even if he hadn't seen the Red Jewel lying against the white fur, Daemon would have had no doubts about who was sprawled on his bed.
    We all try not to upset Kaelas, Lucivar had said.
    Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
    With his heart pounding in his throat, Daemon cautiously backed toward the door. Saetan's suite was right across from his. He could...
    Something large thumped against the other side of the door just as his hand touched the knob.
    Kaelas curled his lips in a silent snarl.
    There was only one escape open to him.
    Never taking his eyes off Kaelas, Daemon sidled over to the door that separated his bedroom from Jaenelle's. He opened the door only as much as necessary, slipped into her bedroom, Black-locked the door, and added a Black shield. If what Lucivar had said about Kaelas being able to get through any shield was true, the lock and shield were useless, but they made him feel a little better.
    As he backed farther into Jaenelle's room, he began to shake. It wasn't because of Kaelas, exactly. Any man with a healthy survival instinct would be cautiously afraid of a cat that size—especially when that cat was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince. But he knew that, before he had shattered his mind the first time that night at Cassandra's Altar, he wouldn't have felt this kind of overwhelming fear. He would have had enough confidence in himself to match that feline arrogance even while being prudent enough to yield. Now...
    "Daemon?"
    He twisted around, suddenly finding it impossible to breathe.
    Jaenelle stood in the doorway that led to the rest of her suite, dressed in sapphire-blue pajamas.
    Seeing her, he lost his balance in too many ways.
    She ran to him, wrapped her arms around his waist to keep him from falling. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"
    "I—" He was sweating from the effort to take a deep enough breath.
    "Can you walk far enough to sit on the bed?"
    Unable to speak, he nodded.
    "Sit down," Jaenelle said. "Put your head between your knees."
    When he obeyed, his robe parted. He leaned over farther, hoping, since she was crouched in front of him, that he wasn't revealing anything she didn't want to see.
    "Can you tell me what's wrong?" Jaenelle asked as her fingers brushed through his hair.
    You don't love me. "On my bed," he gasped.
    Jaenelle swiveled to look at the door adjoining their rooms. Her eyes narrowed. "What's Kaelas doing in your room?"
    "Sleeping. On my bed."
    "It's your room. Why didn't you tell him to get off?"
    Why? Because he didn't want to die tonight.
    But she sounded so baffled, he raised his head to look at her. She was serious. She wouldn't think twice about hauling eight hundred pounds of snarling feline off a bed.
    Jaenelle stood up. "I'll get him—"
    Daemon grabbed her hand. "No. It's all right. I'll find another bed. A couch. Hell's fire, I'll sleep on the floor."
    Those ancient eyes studied him. Something odd flickered at the back of them for a moment. "Do you want to sleep here tonight?" she asked quietly.
    Yes. No. He didn't want to come to her as a frightened, needy male. But he also wouldn't refuse the only invitation to her bed he might ever receive. "Please."
    She pulled the covers back as far as she could with him still sitting on the bed. "Get in."
    "I—" His face heated.
    "I gather you wear the same thing to bed as every other male here," Jaenelle said dryly.
    Which meant "nothing."
    She moved to the other side of the room, her back politely turned.
    Daemon quickly slipped out of the robe and slipped into the massive bed. No wonder she had offered to let him stay there. The bed was so big she would never notice another occupant.
    A minute later, she got into bed, keeping well to her side of it. As she turned off the candle-light, she murmured, "Good night, Daemon."
    He lay in the dark a long time listening to her breathe, certain that, like him, she wasn't asleep.
    Eventually, the warm bed, the murmur of the fountain in the garden below, and the scent of whatever soap or perfume she used lulled him into a deep sleep.
    The quiet, almost furtive sounds roused him.
    Daemon opened his