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A moment of brutal cold.

Daemon raised his head. Mist and stone. And a cavern that contained a spiraling web that still held so much power, it could engulf all the Blood.

He lowered his hands to his sides but didn’t put any distance between himself and the Queen who was his life. Had always been his life. “I figured it out. It took me long enough, in part because I accepted at face value Daemonar’s grumbles about not being able to hug you. Maybe some part of me knew that you needed me to accept instead of question. But the shadow cats changed that.”

“You’re not making sense,” Witch said.

She sounded wary. She knew him better than anyone else ever could or would, so she had reason to be wary.

“There are different levels of these illusions you call shadows. The simplest are nothing more than a place marker—a stationary illusion that can fool the eye for a short time. Up a few levels from that is this kind of shadow.” He nodded toward her. “Connected to the person who made it, this shadow is a shell for the mind and can move around. It can touch but it can’t be touched. Useful when a person has to walk into a dangerous situation. Then there are the shadows that can touch—and be touched. Shadows that feel like a real animal—or a real person.” He hesitated. “A shadow that could feel pleasure from a lover’s touch.”

She leaped out of his reach.

He nodded. Her response confirmed what he’d suspected. “The girls who were at the house party didn’t want to let go of the shadow cats—hadn’t even realized they were shadows—because they were big and furry and hugging them made the girls feel safe. You taught me how to make a shadow that intricate so that the cats would be available if I needed them to protect the Hall. That exquisite piece of Craft takes a lot of power, especially if it needs to continue for several hours. You taught me because it was another safe way to drain some of the reservoir in my Black Jewel.”

“Don’t,” she warned when he took a step toward her.

“When we made our bargain all those years ago, you told me I had to stay connected to the living. You told me to do what I could to fix my marriage. I did that, as much as I could. Surreal enjoys being my second-in-command and she enjoys my skills as a lover most of the time. I’m not the husband she imagined I would be, and she can’t be a wife to all of who, and what, I am. But for the sake of the Realm, she’ll stay married to me in order to be my sword and shield against unwanted female attention, and I’ll stay with her because I’m grateful for her companionship.” He gave her a moment to absorb what he’d said. “You warned me that I had done some damage to my heart and lungs by trying to leash what I am so tightly I almost destroyed myself. Do you remember that?”

She nodded slowly and watched him.

“You’re not the only one who can spin a tangled web of dreams and visions,” he said quietly. “I spun one a while back. Instead of showing me the answer to the question I had about a heart wound, the web showed me the end of my time among the living. It will come swiftly, with little warning—and I will not be an old man when my heart takes its last beat and my lungs draw their last breath. That much I know.”

“Daemon . . .” She grabbed one arm, touched his face with her other hand.

“No.” He covered her hand with his—and felt the truth. “You’re not going to fix this. I will experience the physical death and make the transition to demon-dead. I will do as my father had done and continue to rule Dhemlan until there is someone who can succeed me. After that, I’ll continue to look after the SaDiablo properties and wealth, and I will rule Hell as its High Lord.” He saw concern in her eyes. He saw sorrow. He also saw what he wanted—needed—to see. “I won’t abandon Lucivar. I promise you, I won’t do that. But I need a promise in return.”

He lifted her hand from his face and pressed a kiss into her palm. She made a startled sound when she realized he had felt her palm.

“The first time I saw the Misty Place, the first time I saw you as Witch, as the dreams beneath the flesh, I could touch you. Hand to hand. I’d forgotten that. But I’ve had time to think about it, Jaenelle. I’ve had time to think about why you deliberately made a shadow that I couldn’t touch.”

“You needed to stay among the living,” Witch said. “You needed to have a lover who was among the living. If not Surreal, then someone else.”

“I couldn’t have continued to be her lover if I’d known I could be yours again, even in a limited way. But my physical death will change everything. Even if she chooses to remain my second-in-command, Surreal will no longer feel obliged to be my wife. She’ll be free to find a man who will adore her and whom she can love without fear.” He rested his fingers lightly on her shoulders, thrilled to feel her skin. “It takes a lot of power to maintain a shadow that can pass as a living being, but you have plenty of power and could touch the world again, more than you’re doing now. Could be held again.”

“What, exactly, do you want, Daemon?”

“To be with you after I make the transition to demon-dead. To be your lover again. The body is not the only way to give pleasure, Lady. And in this place, where we are both Selves without flesh, there is no reason why we can’t feel.”

Witch gave him a sharp yet sad smile. “Should I make that promise by swearing on my life?”

Daemon shook his head. “You don’t value your own life enough. Make that promise by swearing on my life. Promise me that you will inhabit a shadow that is as tangible as my demon-dead body—or promise that you will burn out my power and send me to the final death. I don’t want to be without you, Jaenelle. Not again.”

Witch stared at him. Stared and stared. Finally she said, “The body that you knew and pleasured is gone. I will still look like this.”

“I know.”

She sighed. “I give you my word, and swear it on your life. But you will do everything you can not to hurry that day.”

“Agreed.” Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her. Slow. Deep. Another promise made to both of them. He stepped back because he needed to keep a promise to another woman for a while longer. He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets. “I won’t make things difficult for you, but I’d like you to consider using that other shadow now. Daemonar may not have told you how he came by those injuries, but he stepped onto his first killing field when he came to the Hall to defend Titian and the other girls. That first time? A Warlord Prince truly begins to understand what he is—and why he’ll be feared. It would help the boy to be able to hug his auntie J.”

“I’m not sure I want to be that tangible until the colors on the shield protecting his arm have faded,” she said dryly.

Daemon laughed. “You have a point. He is a bit exercised about that.”

A moment of biting cold and they were back in his bedroom, facing each other.

“Tell Lucivar,” Jaenelle said. “Even if the day you saw in the vision is still centuries away, tell your brother.”

“I’ll talk to him before I go back to the Hall and settle the rest of what is owed.”

She walked back to her bedroom and closed the door.

Daemon turned and looked out the window. He’d waited seventeen hundred years for her the first time. He could wait a few more centuries to be with her again. In the meantime, he would do his best to take care of the living.

*Prick?* he called on an Ebon-gray thread.

*Bastard?*

*Do you have time to talk today?*

A sudden wariness, almost as if Lucivar had been expecting this request. *Sure. Now?*

*I’ll meet you in one of the Keep’s sitting rooms. You’ll know which one.*