Daughter of the Blood (Page 113)

Stroke. Observe the reaction as if she’d never seen a man become aroused. Stroke. Observe.

He wanted to push her away. He wanted to pull her down on top of him. It was killing him. It was wonderful. As he reached for her hand to stop her, she said in a quiet, wondering voice, "Your maleness has no spines."

Rage froze him. The shards of the chalice rattled as he leashed the fury that had no outlet here. For a moment he tried very, very hard to believe she was comparing him to another species of male, but he knew too much about the twisted males who enjoyed breaking a young, strong witch on her Virgin Night.

Mother Night! No wonder she didn’t want to go back. She studied him, puzzled. "Does the body’s maleness have spines?"

Daemon swallowed the rage. The Sadist transformed it into deadly silk. "No," he crooned. "My maleness has no spines."

"Soft," she said as she stroked and explored. His hands whispered over her thighs, over her hips. "It could give you pleasure," he crooned softly.

"Pleasure?" Her eyes lit up with curiosity and anticipation.

The childlike trust stabbed him in the heart. She must have sensed some change in him. Before he could stop her, she exploded, kicking his thigh as she leaped away from him. Out of reach, she hugged herself and glared at him.

"You want to mate with the body. Like the others. You want me to make her well so you can put your maleness insideher. "

Rage washed through him. "Who isher? "he asked too softly.

"Jaenelle."

"You’re Jaenelle."

"IAM WITCH!"

He trembled with the effort not to attack her. "Jaenelle is Witch and Witch is Jaenelle."

"They never want me." She thumped her chest with her fist. "Notme. They don’t want me inside the body. They want to mate with Jaenelle, not Witch."

He felt her fragment more and more.

"This is Witch," she screamed at him. "This is who lived inside the body. Doyou want to mate with Witch?"

Anger made him lash out. "No, I don’t want tomate with you. I want tomake love to you."

Whatever she was about to say went unsaid. She stared at him as if he were something unknown. She took a hesitant step toward him.

She’ll take the bait,the Sadist whispered inside him.She’ll take the bait and step into the pretty trap.

Another step.

Deadly, deadly silk.

Another.

A sweet trap spun from love and lies . . . and truth.

"I’ve waited seven hundred years for you," he crooned. "Foryou. "His lips curved in a seducer’s smile. "I was born to be your lover."

"Lover?"

Almost within reach.

Without his body, the seduction tendrils weren’t as potent, but he saw the change in her eyes when they reached her.

Still, she hovered out of reach. "Then why do you want the body?"

"Because that body can sheathe me so that I can give you pleasure." He watched her think about this. "Do you like my body?"

"It’s beautiful," she said reluctantly, and then added hurriedly, "but you look the same here. And Witch can sheathe your maleness."

The Sadist held out his hand. "Why don’t we find out?"

She took his hand and gracefully settled over him, straddling his thighs. Then she looked at him expectantly.

He smiled at her while his hands explored her, soothing and arousing. When his fingers tickled the underside of her fawn tail, she squeaked and jumped. He resettled her tighter against him, wrapped one arm around her hips to keep her still while his other hand slid through the gold mane and cupped her head. Then he kissed her. A soft kiss. A melting kiss. She sighed when he caressed her br**sts. She trembled when he licked the tiny spiral horn. When he was sure she’d taken the bait, he whispered, "Sweetheart, you’re right. This place is too dark for me. The chalice is too fragile and I . . . I hurt." She looked at him regretfully but nodded.

"Wait," he said when she tried to move away. "Can you come up with me? Up to my inner web?" He licked her ear. His voice became a throbbing purr. "We’d still be safe there."

He leashed the urgency he felt and waited for her answer. There was no way to tell how much time had passed at the Altar, no way to know if their bodies were still there, no way to know if hers still lived, no way to know if those monsters from Briarwood had reached the Sanctuary. No way to know what his body was doing.

He pushed the thought away. He didn’t have a link now; the Priest did. Whatever he was doing, it was Saetan’s problem.

The rushing ascent caught him by surprise. He grabbed her at the same moment she wrapped her legs around him.

"Lover," she said, smiling at him. Then she giggled.

He wondered if, with a lifetime of wandering in that strange blend of innocence and formidable knowledge, she knew what the word meant.

Doesn’t matter,the Sadist whispered.She took the bait.

They rose until they were high in the Black, comfortably above his inner web.

"Better?" she asked shyly.

"Much better," he answered, fitting his mouth to hers.

He kissed her until she relaxed, and then he sighed again.

Hurry,the Sadist whispered.

He leaned his forehead against hers and yelped when the tiny spiral horn jabbed him.

She giggled and kissed his forehead. "Kisses make it better?"

Revulsion swamped him for a moment. That was a child’s voice. Ayoung child’s voice.

He looked over her shoulder, trying to reconcile the female shape wrapped around him with that voice, and saw fragments of shattered crystal floating through the Black.

Pieces of her. Pieces and pieces of her. Part of her was still intact. Had to be. The part that held the knowledge of the Craft. How could she have put him together otherwise? But if she kept slipping in and out of those fragments . . .

Like Tersa. Worse than Tersa.

"Daemon?"

The midnight voice, with a deadly edge to it.

Remember this side of her,the Sadist warned.Ignore the rest.

Daemon smiled at her. "Lover," he said, nipping her lower lip. Then he used every trick he’d ever learned to sweeten the bait.

But he wouldn’t let her raise her hips to sheathe him.

"Still too dark," he gasped when she began to whimper and snarl. "Let’s go to the Red. It’s my Birthright."

She tried to shake off the seduction tendrils he’d woven around her, but he’d spun his trap well.

"We can have a bed there," he coaxed.

She shuddered. Whimpered. There was no pleasure in the sound.

An image appeared. A bed just big enough for the game. A bed with straps attached to the ends to tie down wrists and ankles.