Dreams Made Flesh (The Black Jewels #5)(28)
Author: Anne Bishop

The insult within Peyton’s words stunned him for a moment. "What are you talking about?"

"She won’t have me!"Peyton shouted. "I love her with everything in me, and I know she loves me, but she won’t marry me because—"He stopped, his hands curling into fists as he clenched his teeth.

He locked his fingers together to hide the trembling in his own hands. "Because… ?" he asked gently.

Peyton stared at him, tears and fury in those gold eyes. "Because of you."

A son couldn’t choose crueler words to lance a father’s heart.

Breathing hard, Peyton came forward, slapped his hands on the desk. "The woman I love won’t have me because of you. Because you’re the High Lord of Hell. Because she’s afraid something will happen to her family if she doesn’t take the hints that she’s tolerable as a lover to satisfy a Warlord Prince’s needs but won’t be tolerated if she dares become a wife."

His own temper sharpened but couldn’t get past the slicing pain inflicted by the words.

"I’ve never… I’ve never done anything to indicate she wasn’t welcome. Peyton, you know that."

"Do I?" Peyton shoved away from the desk. "Do you think I care about our precious bloodline? Do you think it makes any difference to me that she’s a musician and earns her living by using the talents she has? Do you think I give a damn that she doesn’t come from an aristo family?"

"How could you think those things would matter to me?" It was a heartfelt cry that went unheard.

Peyton returned to the desk, placed his hands on the glossy surface, and leaned forward. "You got what you wanted, High Lord…"

"It’s not what I wanted!"

"…but you aren’t going to get everything." Peyton stepped away. "I lost Shira—and you lost me." He turned and walked toward the door.

"Peyton!" His legs were shaking too much to hold him. He braced his hands against the desk.

The Warlord Prince who turned to face him was no longer the son he loved, wasn’t anyone he recognized.

"I’m leaving," Peyton said quietly. "The only way you can stop me is by killing me."

He sank back into the chair as his son walked out of the study, walked out of the Hall… walked out of his life.

Saetan closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Just breathing.

The split between him and Peyton had shattered the family for months. It was Mephis who finally realized who had been whispering the poisoned, honeyed words that had made Shira run away from the man she’d loved.

He’d been so devastated by Peyton’s accusations, he hadn’t thought of Hekatah. Mephis and Peyton had been children when he’d divorced her after she’d tried to shatter his friendship with Andulvar Yaslana by seducing his closest friend and flaunting the pregnancy that had come from that seduction. Instead, Andulvar had kept the child, and Saetan had severed his marriage to a woman who had loved nothing but the power she thought she could control through him.

When the boys were young, he’d refused to let her see them anywhere except the Hall, where they would be under his watchful eye and protection. But once they’d made the Offering to the Darkness and were old enough…and strong enough…to protect themselves, he hadn’t interfered whenever they wanted to spend time with their mother.

So he hadn’t thought of her…and he should have. He should have. Hekatah wouldn’t have toleratedher bloodline being fouled by a musician from Dharo, and once Mephis got him to think past the heartache, he’d realized running had saved Shira’s life. Because Hekatah wouldn’t

have hesitated to destroy anything or anyone who didn’t suit her own schemes and ambitions.

And even after Mephis convinced his brother that it had been Hekatah and not Saetan who had slashed love into pieces, even after Peyton began returning again to visit, there was a distance between them neither of them could quite bridge… because he was the High Lord of Hell. And because Peyton never loved that deeply again. He’d watched from a distance as Shira made a life for herself, watched her love again enough to accept another man as her husband and the father of her children. Watched those children grow and have children. And when the war came between the Realms of Kaeleer and Terreille, Peyton hadn’t stayed in Dhemlan Terreille to help Mephis defend that Territory. He’d gone to Dharo in Kaeleer to defend the family of the woman who had died centuries before…and had taken his heart with her.

Now there was another son who was falling in love…and another mother whose intentions were suspect.

He didn’t go around to the gate in the wall at the front of the house. He simply used Craft to pass through the stones and walked straight to the kitchen door. He didn’t drop the shields until a thought blasted the kitchen door open and he stepped across the threshold.

Luthvian dropped the dish she was holding when she saw him. He measured the fear dancing in her eyes and felt a grim pleasure in seeing it. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with her pretending she didn’t know why he was there. But he would give her a chance to defend her own actions. Considering what he was about to tell her, it was the least he could do.

"Why?" he asked too softly.

Luthvian licked her lips. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Yes, you do, but I’ll be specific since you want to pretend ignorance. Why are you trying to hurt Lucivar?"

She looked stunned, then offended. "I’mnot trying to hurt Lucivar!"

"Aren’t you?"

Fear gave way to temper. "Of course not! He’s my son."

"He’smy son, and I won’t tolerate you interfering in his life."

"Interfering?" She stepped over the broken dish, coming closer to him. "I may be protecting him from acting rashly, but that’s hardly interfering."

"Protecting him?"His temper slipped the leash enough that his voice became thunder. "You think undermining the bond he’s trying to build with a woman isprotecting him?"

"She’s nothing but a hearth witch!" Luthvian yelled. "A nobody! Her family isn’t even a twig on an aristo family tree!"

"Who gives a damn if she’s aristo or not? Lucivar doesn’t. I certainly don’t. I came from a street whore who wasn’t even skilled enough to work in a Red Moon house, so I never had an obsession for bloodlines."

"Youmay have come from a Hayllian slum," Luthvian sneered,"but I can trace my line back to AndulvarYaslana, and that means something!"

"More to the point, you can trace your bloodline back to Andulvar’s son, Ravenar. Which means you can trace your bloodline back to Hekatah…and it’sthat bloodline that seems to be rising dominant in you."