him. There was only one person who could do that for him.
Roxie was gone when he left the eyrie. That spared him the inconvenience of killing her and taking the bitch's mangled body back to her family. He would have killed her if she'd still been there. He couldn't have stopped himself. A Warlord Prince was a born predator, a natural killer, and the "training" he'd received under the hands of the witches in Ter-reille had honed that killing instinct instead of providing a sheath for it. Right now, he was a danger to everyone.
With one exception.
He opened his psychic senses, searching until he brushed against the dark power that eclipsed his own.
Launching himself skyward, he flew to the cottage beyond the outskirts of Riada.
He landed close enough to the porch that two steps and a leap had him standing in front of the door of the neat little cottage Saetan had built for Jaenelle as a place where she could spend solitary time when she needed it. Not that she was ever really alone. There was always a kindred male with her, but a wolf or dog was content to nap for hours while she got lost in a book or would walk with her for miles without wanting conversation.
He hesitated a moment, then opened the door and entered the cottage's main room. Jaenelle stood near the hearth as if she'd been expecting him. She probably had. She would have felt that flash of temper, would have sensed him coming toward her.
He stood close to the door, wanting to go to her, needing to go to her. He couldn't do that. Not yet. Not until he'd smoothed some of the jagged edges off his temper.
"Lucivar," Jaenelle said quietly.
He stared at her, focused on her sapphire eyes.
She walked up to him and placed one hand against his cheek. "Lucivar."
He closed his eyes and breathed in the physical scent of her and the dark psychic scent that was both a balm and an enticement. He didn't want her sexually…had never wanted her that way…but the hugs and sisterly kisses kept him balanced in a way nothing else had ever done.
Hold the leash, he silently pleaded. Choke me into obedience if that's what it takes.
She just stood there, her hand against his cheek, until those jagged edges of temper receded…and made him aware of something that brought a different edge to his temper.
"Where's your escort?" he demanded.
"It's been a warm afternoon," Jaenelle replied. "Jaal is sprawled in the stream out back."
Lucivar snarled. "He didn't even rouse himself to find out who had entered the cottage."
Jaenelle lifted both eyebrows to express surprise. "You wanted to be pounced on by a wet tiger?"
Being near her had restored enough of his balance that he took a moment to consider that. "No."
"Didn't think so. That's why I told him to stay where he was." She stepped back and turned toward the archway that led to the kitchen. "I have a small keg of ale."
"I have half a steak pie, cheese, and a fresh loaf of bread." Jaenelle grinned at him. "In that case, you can stay for dinner."
He waited until they'd eaten and were sitting on the porch, watching twilight smudge the land into soft shapes.
"I need help, Cat," he said quietly, using his nickname for her to indicate he needed help from his sister, not his Queen.
"Still being overrun by helpful ladies?" Jaenelle asked.
"No. Well, yes, but…" He took a deep breath, knowing he was about to walk the crumbling edge of a sheer cliff. "I found Roxie in my bed when I got home today."
"Roxie," Jaenelle said in that midnight voice that chilled her court.
Roxie didn't like Jaenelle, and Jaenelle didn't like Roxie. The difference was Roxie didn't have enough power to do anything with that feeling. Jaenelle disliking someone was out and out dangerous.
Lucivar rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "I need a housekeeper. I need a dragon who will…"
Jaenelle cocked her head and looked at him.
"No." His nerves jumped, making him feel like he had tiny bugs skittering all over his skin. "Not a real dragon." Not that
Roxie was gone when he left the eyrie. That spared him the inconvenience of killing her and taking the bitch's mangled body back to her family. He would have killed her if she'd still been there. He couldn't have stopped himself. A Warlord Prince was a born predator, a natural killer, and the "training" he'd received under the hands of the witches in Ter-reille had honed that killing instinct instead of providing a sheath for it. Right now, he was a danger to everyone.
With one exception.
He opened his psychic senses, searching until he brushed against the dark power that eclipsed his own.
Launching himself skyward, he flew to the cottage beyond the outskirts of Riada.
He landed close enough to the porch that two steps and a leap had him standing in front of the door of the neat little cottage Saetan had built for Jaenelle as a place where she could spend solitary time when she needed it. Not that she was ever really alone. There was always a kindred male with her, but a wolf or dog was content to nap for hours while she got lost in a book or would walk with her for miles without wanting conversation.
He hesitated a moment, then opened the door and entered the cottage's main room. Jaenelle stood near the hearth as if she'd been expecting him. She probably had. She would have felt that flash of temper, would have sensed him coming toward her.
He stood close to the door, wanting to go to her, needing to go to her. He couldn't do that. Not yet. Not until he'd smoothed some of the jagged edges off his temper.
"Lucivar," Jaenelle said quietly.
He stared at her, focused on her sapphire eyes.
She walked up to him and placed one hand against his cheek. "Lucivar."
He closed his eyes and breathed in the physical scent of her and the dark psychic scent that was both a balm and an enticement. He didn't want her sexually…had never wanted her that way…but the hugs and sisterly kisses kept him balanced in a way nothing else had ever done.
Hold the leash, he silently pleaded. Choke me into obedience if that's what it takes.
She just stood there, her hand against his cheek, until those jagged edges of temper receded…and made him aware of something that brought a different edge to his temper.
"Where's your escort?" he demanded.
"It's been a warm afternoon," Jaenelle replied. "Jaal is sprawled in the stream out back."
Lucivar snarled. "He didn't even rouse himself to find out who had entered the cottage."
Jaenelle lifted both eyebrows to express surprise. "You wanted to be pounced on by a wet tiger?"
Being near her had restored enough of his balance that he took a moment to consider that. "No."
"Didn't think so. That's why I told him to stay where he was." She stepped back and turned toward the archway that led to the kitchen. "I have a small keg of ale."
"I have half a steak pie, cheese, and a fresh loaf of bread." Jaenelle grinned at him. "In that case, you can stay for dinner."
He waited until they'd eaten and were sitting on the porch, watching twilight smudge the land into soft shapes.
"I need help, Cat," he said quietly, using his nickname for her to indicate he needed help from his sister, not his Queen.
"Still being overrun by helpful ladies?" Jaenelle asked.
"No. Well, yes, but…" He took a deep breath, knowing he was about to walk the crumbling edge of a sheer cliff. "I found Roxie in my bed when I got home today."
"Roxie," Jaenelle said in that midnight voice that chilled her court.
Roxie didn't like Jaenelle, and Jaenelle didn't like Roxie. The difference was Roxie didn't have enough power to do anything with that feeling. Jaenelle disliking someone was out and out dangerous.
Lucivar rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "I need a housekeeper. I need a dragon who will…"
Jaenelle cocked her head and looked at him.
"No." His nerves jumped, making him feel like he had tiny bugs skittering all over his skin. "Not a real dragon." Not that
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