"Bishop, Anne - Black Jewels 03 - Queen of the Darkness 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bishop Anne)

Lucivar waved his hand dismissively. "No, that was just... just... shit. What can I tell you? He's a little beast."
They turned a corner and almost ran into a lovely Eyrien woman. She wore a long, practical nightgown and clutched a thick book.
"Your son," she said, spacing out the words, "is not a beast."
"Never mind that," Lucivar said, narrowing his eyes. "Marian, why aren't you in bed? You should be resting today."
Marian let out her breath in an exasperated huff. "I dozed for most of the morning. I played with Daemonar for a little while this afternoon, and then we both took a nap. I just got up to borrow a book. I'm going to get tucked back in before Beale brings up a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits."
Lucivar's eyes narrowed a little more. "Didn't you eat today?"
Daemon stared at Lucivar in amazement. Even an idiotЧor an Eyrien maleЧshould be able to tell that this woman was silently sputtering.
"Uncle Andulvar checked on me to make sure I had eaten a good breakfast. Prothvar brought me a midmorning snack. I ate lunch with Daemonar. Sure that I must be starving, Mephis brought me a midafternoon snack. And your father already inquired about what I ate for dinner. I've been fussed over enough today."
"I'm not fussing," Lucivar growledЧand then added under his breath, "I haven't had a chance to fuss."
Marian looked pointedly at Daemon. "Shouldn't you be looking after your guests?"
"He's not a guest. He's my brother."
Smiling warmly, Marian held out her hand. "You must be Daemon. Oh, I'm so glad you've finally come. Now I have another brother."
Brother? Taking her hand, Daemon gave Lucivar a quizzical look.
Running a possessive hand down Marian's waist-length hair, Lucivar said warmly, "Marian does me the honor of being my wife."
And Daemonar's mother. The floor dropped out from under Daemon and then came up again fast and hard.
Marian squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with concern. Lucivar's gaze was sharper.
Emotions collided in him, banging against his fragile sanity. Unable to offer them any reassurances, he took a step back and began, again, the exhausting effort of regaining control of his feelings.
Perhaps sensing that he needed time, Lucivar tugged at the book Marian held, trying to see the title.
She clutched it harder and stepped away from him.
"Is that a sniffle book?" Lucivar asked suspiciously.
Marian opened and closed her wings with a snap. "A what?"
"You know. One of those books that women like to read and get all weepy over. The last time you read one of those, you got upset when I came in to find out what was wrong. You threw the book at me."
Marian's sputtering was no longer silent. "I didn't get upset because of the book. You came storming into the room with weapons drawn and you scared me."
"You were crying. I thought you were hurt. Look, I just want to know ahead of time if you're going to get weepy over it."
"When Jaenelle read it, I'll bet you didn't barge in on her when she got weepy."
Lucivar eyed the book as if it had just grown fangs. "Oh. That book." He curled an arm protectively over his belly. "Actually, I did barge in on her. Her aim was better than yours."
Marian's growl turned into a laugh. "Poor Lucivar. You try so hard to protect the women in the family, and we don't show our appreciation, do we?"
Lucivar grinned. "Well, if there are any interesting love scenes in that story, mark the pages and you can appreciate me in a few days."
Marian glanced at Daemon and blushed.
Lucivar gently kissed her, then stepped aside to let her pass. "Get into bed now."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Daemon," Marian said a little shyly.
"Good night, Lady Marian," Daemon said. It was all he could manage.
They watched her until she went into her and Lucivar's suite, then Lucivar reached out. Daemon stiffened, rejecting the touch.
Dropping his hand, Lucivar said, "The High Lord's suite is just down this corridor. He'll want to see you."
Daemon couldn't move. "I thought you married Jaenelle."
"Why would you think I married Jaenelle?"
The surprise in Lucivar's voice woke Daemon's temper. "You were here," he snarled. "Why wouldn't you want to marry her?"
Lucivar didn't say anything for a long minute. Then, quietly, "That was always your dream, Daemon. Not mine." Turning, he walked down the corridor. "Come On."
Daemon followed slowly. When Lucivar stopped and knocked on a door, he kept walking, drawn to the strong, dark, feminine psychic scent'coming from a room on the opposite side of the corridor.
"Daemon?"
Lucivar's voice faded, muted by a powerful tide of emotions.
Daemon opened a door and walked into a sitting room. One wall had built-in bookshelves above a row of closed, waist-high wooden cabinets. A couch, two triangular side tables, and two chairs formed a bracket of furniture around a long, low table. A pair of sinuous, patinaed lamps sat on the side tables. Next to one chair was a large basket full of skeins of wool and silk and a partially completed piece of needlework. A desk sat in front of the glass doors that led out to the balcony. A tiered stand filled with plants occupied one corner.
The psychic scent washed over him, through him. Oh, he remembered that dark scent. But there was something different about it now, something delicately, deliriously musky.
His body tightened, then swelled with male interest before his mind understood the significance of that difference. Then he noticed the sapphire slippers near one chair. A woman's slippers.
Against all reason, despite all desire, even when he had thought that Lucivar had married her, he hadn't fully absorbed the fact that she was no longer the child he had known. She had grown up.
The walls of the room faded to gray, then darkened and began to close in, forming a tunnel around him.
"Daemon."
He remembered that deep voice, too. He had heard it amused. He had heard it full of rage and fierce power. He had heard it hoarse and exhausted. He had heard it plead with him to reach up, to accept the help and strength being offered.
Turning slowly, he stared at Saetan. The Prince of the Darkness. The High Lord of Hell. His father.
Saetan extended his hand, with its slender fingers and long, black-tinted nails. "Daemon... Jaenelle is alive," he said softly.