A/N: Apologies for the delay, it's been an odd and hectic week. As always, criticism would be very welcome, so I know how you feel about this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
And a huge thank you to my proofreader, I've owed this thank you to him forever.
Chapter 3
Jaenelle hadn't reached him yet when Daemon shuddered, closed his eyes and took half a step back.
She stopped, frowning. "Daemon? What's wrong?"
He winced, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Jaenelle hesitated, worried and now fully awake. Something wasn't right.
Mixed undercurrents of violence and desire filled the room. They had woken her up and kept scraping her nerves. Daemon's hands were curled into fists. The disheveled hair and the partially unbuttoned white shirt glued to his slick skin made it look like he'd come running all the way back from Nharkhava. His breathing was ragged; he was shaking due to a visible tension in his muscles and the effort to stay away from her.
Jaenelle had seen these symptoms before. Lucivar had come to her, in the same condition, begging her to control him, to leash all that need. But Lucivar didn't want her for sex. She'd only had to deal with the violent side of the Ebon-Gray Warlord Prince. And she had been far more powerful than him, back then.
It was different with Daemon. He'd been on the edge for the last couple days, anxious to return. That much had been obvious in his notes. She'd wanted to meet him in Nharkhava after her recovery from the flu, but he'd said he'd be back soon. Instead, he'd been held back in one meeting after another as the days trickled by.
She knew all too well the temper the Queens and ambassadors in Nharkhava had to deal with, being around Daemon then. She could also imagine the mood he would be in when he returned. But she hadn't expected the rut, even though she'd asked herself before why it hadn't happened yet.
Jaenelle took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and organize her thoughts. All she had to do was to stay calm and passive.
Daemon looked up at her with an unsettling intensity. Jaenelle could see the storm gathering inside behind those golden eyes. She had to bite her tongue to avoid swearing out loud. It shouldn't be that hard to stay calm and passive, in theory. But being on the receiving end of all that attention from Daemon, who was completely focused on her slightest movement, ready to jump on her, made that task extremely complicated.
She wasn't stronger than him anymore. She knew Daemon wouldn't hurt her, but what she saw deep in his eyes - that something, struggling to be released - made her nervous. Even though she'd never been the target of the Sadist's temper, she was aware of what he was capable of doing when pressured. She knew the stories and she knew him, so she had a somewhat accurate idea of what the Sadist would be like in bed.
And that was, after all, what made Jaenelle nervous - and spiked Witch's curiosity.
She raised her hand slowly, in a firm, calculated gesture.
"Daemon…" she started.
"Get out!" Daemon snarled with bared teeth. "You don't want to dance with the Sadist."
Her hand stopped halfway. She heard something close to despair in his voice. Daemon's body shook more violently now, as he fought his instincts, losing ground to them by the second. Rage, lust and anguish filled both his eyes and the room. He was still trying to resist it, and she understood why.
It wasn't hard to guess how he'd dealt with the rut in Terreille. He hadn't wanted a female then. At least, not one who existed yet. A Black jeweled Warlord Prince channeling all that power to rage, to violence and destruction….
A shiver ran down her spine, but she managed to stay still and look calm and steady. No wonder he feared what he might do this time. He couldn't predict his own behavior now that the circumstances had changed, and that frightened him. He'd rather go through it by himself, no matter the consequences.
That thought annoyed her, pricked her temper. She wouldn't let him go through that alone, once more. She couldn't stand the thought of what he might do to himself if she left now.
"I'm not going anywhere." Her heart clogged her throat as she rested a hand on his face.
The moment she touched him, Daemon fixed his eyes on hers. The ice in them shattered, turned to fire. He breathed out heavily; the tension disappeared, and he settled. He stopped shaking, stopped trying to fight his own body. A predator now stood in front of her.
He moved fast. Before she had time to blink, he was holding her so tightly she thought she'd end up with a pair of broken ribs. She didn't resist, didn't move - she could barely breathe. Daemon nuzzled her neck, closed his teeth on her skin.
Suddenly, without warning, Jaenelle felt a psychic probe spreading through the bedroom, then outward. She felt more than heard the deep snarl that made Daemon's chest vibrate, filling the room, rippling through the walls. And she felt the tension in him changing again.
He eased back enough to look at her. There was mostly cold rage in his eyes, now. Jaenelle felt exposed under that piercing gaze, but simply gazed back, blankly.
No need to probe. She knew exactly what had caught his attention.
Lucivar was at the Hall, with Marian and Daemonar. She felt the urge to throttle her brother. She wanted to tell him - yell at him seemed like a better idea - to stay the hell away from her suite, to take everyone else out of the Hall. But she didn't dare move. Daemon was still studying her. He would notice a psychic thread and destroy that stubborn Eyrien even faster than he intended to, right now.
For a moment, she hoped Lucivar had some common sense and didn't ignore Daemon's warning. But who was she trying to fool? Lucivar would ignore the warning; he would barge in there, fully knowing he didn't stand a chance. And Daemon would attack, not recognizing his brother, only his rival.
One moment passed. Another.
The air in the room cooled drastically. Daemon stepped back, his hands tightly wrapped around her arms. The Black jewel in his chest burned more intensely for a second.
Her heart sank. She had to do something, fast. She tried to say something, but his cold look silenced her. Daemon was riding the killing edge.
"Don't move," the Sadist crooned. His lips curved into a cold, cruel smile. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he turned and walked to the door in a lazy, taunting stride.
Hell's fire, Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful! When she finally got her legs to obey, she ran after Daemon.
