Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, world or concepts used here; all characters, world and concepts belong to Anne Bishop.
Author's Note: I had this plot bunny poking me for quite some time now, and finally dared to write/upload it.
Feedback, both to praise and criticize, warms my heart, so let me know what you think of this! It's the only way I can improve my writing. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
Under My Skin
Chapter 1
The sun was setting behind the trees; leaves swaying in the soft breeze. It was a typical Spring late afternoon. The streets of Tajrana, Nharkhava's capital, were bustling with life. People filled the sidewalks: merchants closing their shops, young couples walking in the park, children enjoying the last moments of the day before being called for dinner. Everyone seemed content and relaxed.
Everyone, except the Blood crossing Daemon's path, only to quickly step aside, trying to stay out of his way. Out of his sight, if possible.
But Daemon wasn't seeing anyone either way. He glided through the street, hands in his trouser pockets, a furious, predatory look in his eyes. The air cooled around him, heavy with the scent of repressed violence. The breeze disheveled his black hair; the unbuttoned collar of the white silk shirt exposed a triangle of golden-brown skin, as well as the Red Jewel hanging from a gold chain.
He had been in Nharkhava for over a week now, stuck in boring, endless meetings with Queens and ambassadors of various Territories. Nine exhausting days without Jaenelle, who had stayed in the Hall with the flu. He hadn't gone this long without seeing her since he'd left for Hayll, at her request. When he returned, he'd been months not knowing where she was, or if she'd ever come back to him.
Those memories had taken their toll, wearing out his control. But he was the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan; he had duties to fulfill towards the people he ruled, as Jaenelle had pointed out - repeatedly.
He hadn't wanted to come without her, hadn't wanted to leave her while she wasn't feeling well. But after a lot of persuasion and several bribes he wouldn't let her forget about, she had convinced him to come to Nharkhava, leaving Lucivar and Marian with her at the Hall. Besides, this would be a short trip, a couple of days at most. Or at least, it was supposed to be.
A snarl escaped through his clenched teeth. The young messenger walking by dropped the packages he was carrying and stepped back, pale and terrified. Daemon swiftly circled the mess at his feet without slowing down or looking back. Any other day, he would've stopped to help the boy. Right now, if he so much as looked at him, he'd feel the urge to hurt him.
He hadn't planned to stay in Nharkhava for so long. His temper was becoming edgy and dangerous. He missed her!
More than that, he desperately needed to be with her. Only Jaenelle could help him regain control of his temper. He'd walked on the knife's edge the last couple days, often close to the killing edge, but fighting to keep his temper tightly leashed.
Between Little Terreille ambassadors and the females they had brought with them, it was surprising he'd managed to leave them in one piece and breathing. He'd been so close to tearing apart those two prissy bitches who thought they were above any rules. After realizing he would be attending those meetings alone, they started stalking him, eager to get such a powerful Warlord Prince in their beds. Knowing he was married should've been enough for them to keep their distance, but apparently those two didn't owe much to intelligence. They also had no idea who they were dealing with.
To be fair, they had done nothing he couldn't handle elegantly and discreetly. But he was too pissed off to be fair. The giggling, the arrogant and dubious remarks brought back memories he wanted to bury. He had endured too much of that in Terreille.
Rage washed through him once more, demanding all of his self-control to keep his temper leashed. He wasn't a pleasure slave anymore. He was the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. He had rights, but also responsibilities. Here, he had Protocol and his honor. He had a choice.
Besides, he was a guest in this Territory. Kalush ruled here, and Aaron was the Warlord Prince of Tajrana. He truly appreciated the life he was building in Kaeleer, and he didn't want to destroy the friendship and trust he was slowly rebuilding with Jaenelle's friends. Not for someone he'd probably never meet again, someone who meant nothing to him. But he knew it wouldn't take much to snap the leash right now.
Thankfully, he could finally return to the Hall. His thoughts turned to Jaenelle and all his body trembled in anticipation. He closed his eyes and grabbed the iron bars, leaning his forehead against the cold metal, trying to control his breathing and his feelings.
Iron bars? He opened his eyes and looked around, finding himself in front of the gate leading to the garden in front of Kalush and Aaron's mansion.
He hadn't realized where he was going, but it didn't matter. He'd pay them a quick visit to say goodbye and catch the Black Wind back home - back to Jaenelle's arms. The rush running through his veins made him shudder. His fingers tightened around the iron bars until his knuckles turned white.
You miss her, old son, that's all, he told himself. Then he looked down and found himself empty-handed. Two small piles of metal powder had formed on the ground, where iron bars had stood just seconds ago.
Dusting off his hands, Daemon brushed a finger across the wedding band on his left hand, seeking the comfort it offered, and walked onto the property.
Daemon returned to a dark, quiet Hall. It was late in the night and everyone had retired already. Just as well. There was only one person he wanted to see right now.
He recognized the dark psychic scent he loved the moment he walked inside. He took a deep breath, instinct and temper sharpening and focusing entirely on a single thought: Jaenelle. The rush he'd felt before changed to hot desire, bringing the predator Warlord Prince to the surface.
Taking off his topcoat, Daemon vanished it, unbuttoned another button of the white silk shirt and glided through the empty corridors towards the suite he shared with Jaenelle.
Lucivar woke up suddenly, agitated. An Eyrien war blade was in his hand before he was even fully awake. He narrowed his eyes, silent and alert, trying to find the danger in the dark. Something was scraping at his nerves.
A wave of cold rage and hot desire washed through the Hall, directed at the family wing. Lucivar tensed and immediately thought of Jaenelle. Then he realized its source was male… and all too familiar.
He sat up on the bed, fully awake now. What had happened for Daemon to return in that state of mind? They weren't even expecting him tonigh- "Hell's fire, Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful!"
Restless and worried, he jumped out of the bed and started pacing. He vanished the war blade, which would only piss off an already furious and lethal Warlord Prince. He recognized that particular blend of feelings.
Daemon was in rut.
Old memories arose, swimming too close to the surface. Memories from Terreille, from when he'd been close enough to see the devastation and the massacre the Sadist had left behind him during the rut, but far enough to survive. He looked at Marian, still asleep in the bed. And he thought of Daemonar, sleeping in the adjoining room.
Other memories surfaced. Memories he fiercely tried to forget, because they had almost destroyed his relationship with his brother. Lucivar closed his eyes, as if that could stop the images of that camp in Hayll from filling his mind.
Returning to the bed, he reached out for Marian. She looked startled for a moment, but quickly understood what was happening. Worry filled her golden eyes when she looked at the door leading to Daemonar's bedroom.
"Mother Night, Lucivar…" she whispered.
Daemon stopped at the door to Jaenelle's suite. His lips curled in a silent snarl when he felt the Ebon-Gray lock Jaenelle had put on the door - a lock that only the Queen's triangle had the power to break.
He could almost hear the Sadist telling him she might be trying to keep him out. Which made no sense, since that lock couldn't keep him out of that room. Besides, he'd been the one to ask her to do it, while he was away. So why was that lock making him so angry now?
His temper was dangerous, so dangerous. Instinct threatened to obliterate his self-control. Part of him realized something wasn't right. Tension tightened his muscles, his hands opened and closed anxiously. And he wanted… Mother Night, how he wanted! What was wrong with him?
Whatever it was, it was useless to stay there. Only Jaenelle could help him regain his emotional balance. Daemon took in a deep breath, letting the air out with a hiss between his clenched teeth. Opening the door, he walked into the room and locked it with the Black.