"You're so strong," Roxie said, running her hands over his chest.
Not again. Not again.
Normally he wouldn't have allowed a woman to touch him like that. Normally he would have considered that tone of voice an invitation to an intimate introduction to his fist.
So why was he afraid? Why were his nerves buzzing?
Sever it this time. Break the link for good. No. Can't. Won't be able to reach him if. . .
Roxie's arms wound around Lucivar's neck. She rubbed her breasts against his chest. "I haven't had a Warlord Prince yet."
Where was the fear coming from?
You can't have this body. This body is promised to him.
Roxie pressed against him. She playfully nipped his neck. He set his hands on her hips, holding her still while he concentrated on finding the source of that wasp-angry buzzing.
No. Not again.
It was coming from the Ring of Honor Jaenelle had given him. The buzzing, the fear, the cold rage building under the fear. Those weren't his feelings washing through him, but hers.
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Hers.
"I see you've changed your tune," Luthvian said tartly as she entered the kitchen.
Cold, cold rage. If it wasn't banked quickly . . .
"I have to go," Lucivar said absently. He felt the pull of arms around his neck and automatically shoved the body away from him.
Luthvian started swearing.
Ignoring her, he turned toward the door and wondered for a moment why Roxie was lying in a heap on the kitchen floor.
"You have to service me!" Roxie shouted, pushing herself into a sitting position. "You got me aroused. You have to service me."
Spinning around, Lucivar snapped a leg off a kitchen chair and tossed it into Roxie's lap. "Use that." He headed out the door.
I won't allow this. I will not submit to this.
"Lucivar!"
Snarling, he tried to shake off Luthvian's hand. "I have to go. Cat's in trouble."
Luthvian's hand tightened. "You're sure, aren't you? You sense her well enough that you're sure."
"Yes!" He didn't want to hit her. He didn't want to hurt her. But if she didn't let him go ...
The hand on his arm trembled. "You'll send word to me? You'll let me know if ... if she needs help?"
Lucivar gave Luthvian a hard, steady look. She might be jealous of the way the men in the family were drawn to Jaenelle, but she cared. He kissed her cheek roughly. "I'll send word."
Luthvian stepped back. "You spent all those years training to be a warrior, so go make yourself useful."
No.
Lucivar sped along the Ebon-gray Web, squeezing out all the speed he could, knowing it was already too late.
I won't let you.
Whatever happened, he'd take care of her afterward. Sweet Darkness, please let there be an afterward. He pushed harder.
No feelings from the Ring. No buzzing. Nothing at all except . . .
Noooooo!. . .the rage. Mother Night, the rage!
Lucivar thrust his way through the sick-faced crowd, homing in on the spot where Jaenelle's unleashed power was concentrated. A middle-aged Warlord stood on one side of the hallway, babbling at a grim-looking Mephis. The aftertaste of power swirled behind a door on the opposite side.
Lucivar swung toward the door.
"Lucivar, no!"
Ignoring Mephis's command, Lucivar snapped the Gray lock his demon-dead elder brother had placed on the door.
"Lucivar, don't go in there!"
Lucivar threw the door open, stepped inside the room, and froze.
In front of him, a finger lay on the carpet, its gold ring partially melted into the flesh, the Jewel shattered to a fine powder.
It was the largest—and the only identifiable piece—of what must have been a full-grown man. The rest was splattered all over the room.
The buzzing in his head warned him to take a normal breath before he passed out. If he took a normal breath while standing in this room, he'd heave for a week.
But there was something wrong about the room, and he wasn't leaving until he figured it out.
When he did, Lucivar's temper rose to the killing edge.
One male body. One demolished bed. The rest of the furniture, although ruined by bone fragments and blood, was untouched.
Lucivar backed out of the room and turned toward the man who had been babbling at Mephis. "What did you do to her?" he asked too calmly.
"Toher!' The Warlord pointed a shaking hand toward the room. "Look what that bitch did to my son. She's mad. Mad! She—"
Roaring an Eyrien war cry, Lucivar slammed the Warlord against the wall."what did you do to her?"
The Warlord squealed. No one tried to help him.
"Lucivar." Mephis held up a handful of papers. "It appears Jaenelle got married this afternoon to Lord—"
Lucivar snarled. "She wouldn't marry willingly without the family present." He bared his teeth at the Warlord. "Would she?"
"T-they were in Hove," the Warlord stammered. "A whirlwind r-romance. She didn't want you to know until it was done."
"Someone didn't," Lucivar agreed. Smiling, he called in the Eyrien war blade and held it up where the Warlord could see it. "Do you want your face?" he asked mildly.
"Lucivar," Mephis warned.
"Stay out of this, Mephis," Lucivar snapped, his barely restrained fury freezing everyone in the hallway.
Think. She'd been afraid, and very little frightened Jaenelle. She'd been afraid, but also angry enough to consider breaking the link between spirit and body, determined enough to abandon the husk rather than submit. Think. If this was Terreille . . .
"What did you give her?" When the Warlord didn't answer, Lucivar set the edge of the war blade against the man's cheek. The skin sliced cleanly. The blood ran.
"A m-mild brew. To calm her down. She was afraid. Afraid of all of them. Especially y-you."
A stupid thing to say to a man holding a weapon large enough and sharp enough to cut through bone.
They had drugged her. Something strong enough to scramble her wits while still leaving her capable of signing the marriage contract. That still didn't explain that room.
"Afterward," Lucivar crooned. "What did you give her to prepare her for the marriage bed?" When the Warlord just stared at him, he shifted the war blade, cut a little deeper this time. "Where are the bottles?"
Panting, the Warlord waved a hand toward a nearby door.
Mephis went into the room, then returned with two small bottles.
Lucivar vanished the war blade, took one bottle, and nicked the top off. Probed the drops in the bottom. If he'd been given a drink with this in it, he wouldn't have touched it. Under normal circumstances, Jaenelle wouldn't have either.
He vanished that bottle, took the other one that was still half filled with a dark powder, and swore viciously. He knew—how well he knew!—what a large dose ofsafframate would do to someone of his build and weight. He could imagine the agony it would produce in Jaenelle.
He held up the bottle. "You gave her this? Then you're responsible for what's in that room."
The Warlord shook his head violently. "It's harmless. Harmless! Added to a glass of wine, it's just a variety of the Night of Fire brew. Always use a Night of Fire brew on the wedding night."
Lucivar bared his teeth in a smile. "Since it's harmless, you won't mind drinking the other dose. Mephis, get him a glass of wine."
Sweat popped out on the Warlord's forehead.
Mephis disappeared for a minute, then returned with the wine.
After pouring almost all of the dark powder into the wine, Lucivar handed the bottle to Mephis and took the wineglass. His other hand closed around the Warlord's throat. "Now, you can drink this, or I can tear your throat out. Your choice."
"W-want a hearing before the Dark Council," the Warlord whimpered.
"That's certainly within your rights," Mephis agreed quietly. He looked at Lucivar. "Are you going to tear his throat out or shall I?"
Lucivar laughed maliciously. "Wouldn't do him much good to go to the Council then, would it?" His fingers dug into the Warlord's throat.
"D-drink."
"I knew you'd be reasonable," Lucivar crooned. He loosened his hold enough to let the Warlord swallow the wine.
"Now." He threw the Warlord into the room where Mephis had found the bottles. "In order to give the Dark Council an accurate accounting, I think you should enjoy the same experience you intended for Lady Angelline." After sealing the room with an Ebon-gray shield and adding a timing spell, he turned to a man hovering nearby. "The shield will vanish in twenty-four hours."
This time he didn't have to shove his way through the crowd. They pressed against the walls to let him pass.
Mephis caught up with him before he got out of the manor house. Probing the area, he walked into the nearest empty room-—someone's study. He found it grimly appropriate, even if it wasn't Saetan's.
Mephis locked the door. "That was quite a show you put on."
"The show's just started." Lucivar prowled the room. "I didn't see you trying to stop me."
"We can't afford to be publicly divided. Besides, there wasn't any point in trying to stop you. You outrank me, and I doubt you'd let brotherly feelings get in your way."
"You got that right."
Mephis swore. "Do you realize the trouble we're going to have with the Dark Council over this? We're not above the Law, Lucivar."
Lucivar stopped in front of Mephis. "You play by your rules, and I'll play be mine."
"She signed a marriage contract."
"Not willingly."
"You don't know that. And twenty witnesses say otherwise."
"I wear her Ring. Ican feel her, Mephis." Lucivar's voice shook. "She was ready to break the link rather than submit to being mounted."
