Anne Bishop - Twilight's Dawn

That suite was still being renovated. Daemon could be subtle about visiting his new wife’s bed, but she wondered how often he would force himself to make the walk while his bedroom was still distant from hers.

As she began to wonder if tonight would be one of the nights when he chose his own bed, he knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She’d bought a deep green gown and robe shot with gold threads for this night. It took effort to pretend a calm she couldn’t feel, especially when he leaned back against the door and did nothing but look at her.

Just when she started to fidget, he pushed away from the door and walked up to her. His gold eyes stared at her lips until they started feeling kiss-swollen. She felt the room do one slow spin when one fingertip finally brushed over her lower lip.

Seduction spells. Or maybe it was just his presence when he didn’t try to leash all that sexual heat.

With his hands on her shoulders, he backed her up to one of the bedposts. Removing her robe, he raised her arms just above her head and guided her hands around the post.

“Hold on,” he said.

Be passive. Don’t push me.

She heard those silent commands. He would walk away if she couldn’t give him what he needed tonight—and he might not come back, despite his promise that she wouldn’t spend her marriage being celibate.

He touched her face, her neck, her chest, her belly. Butterfly caresses that whispered over her skin. Heat that reached her through the gown. A touch. A kiss. Sometimes just his breath against her skin. But he didn’t touch her breasts until her nipples hardened from wanting him. Then he touched, kissed, bit just enough to keep her still while his fingers drifted up her thighs and began teasing her until she moaned out of need. Her nightgown vanished as he sank to his knees and used his mouth to finish what his fingers had begun.

She didn’t remember him tucking her into bed, didn’t remember him getting undressed. By the time her brain started working again, he was suckling her breasts and playing with her until she was desperate to have him. That was when he mounted her, pinning her hands over her head as he moved with a lazy rhythm.

Was he moving like that because he was afraid he might hurt the baby? No, she realized in the last moments before her body surrendered to him completely and she couldn’t think at all. He played like this because he liked it—and making her mindless with pleasure was one of the things he liked.

The birthing room was ready, the adjoining room where the family could wait was ready, and the Healer and her assistant had arrived.

Beale was guarding the Hall’s front door from any premature well-wishers; Helene was giving the family suite another quick cleaning and the crib a last polish, and making sure there were plenty of linens, diapers, blankets, towels, and whatever else a newborn might need. Holt was sorting through the correspondence and business papers so that the new father could make the most efficient use of his available time. And he, the about-to-be new father, was apparently doing nothing but being a pain in the ass.

“I don’t need to sit,” Surreal snarled as she waddled around the birthing room.

She most certainly did need to sit, Daemon thought, but he couldn’t shove her into a chair. Not in her condition. “You’re not comfortable standing,” he pointed out in a soothing voice.

“Whose fault is that?” She grabbed the back of a chair and pressed the other hand to her belly, her face tight with pain.

“Remember what the Healer said about breathing,” Daemon said.

“Go take a piss in the wind.”

He slipped his hands out of his trousers pockets and made an effort to unclench his teeth as he took a step toward her, one hand extended. “Let me help you.”

“You and your cock have done quite enough already,” she snarled as she moved away from him.

“Surreal . . .”

Lucivar walked into the room and gave Surreal a lazy, arrogant smile. “Want to shred something, darling?”

“Yes,” she snapped, “but since he likes his balls, I doubt he’d stand still for it.”

“Surreal . . .,” Daemon soothed.

“Stop hovering over me!” she shouted. “This baby will come when it wants to come, and your pushing at me isn’t going to make it come any faster!”

“I’m not pushing. . . .”

“You prick-assed son of a bitch, get out of here !”

Daemon looked at Lucivar. “I was told she’d be bitchy, but is it normal for her to sound insane?”

“Insane?” Surreal shrieked. “You think I sound insane ?”

“Yes,” Lucivar said to Daemon. “Right now, she doesn’t like you much, old son, so come into the next room and give her some peace.”

“Why are you taking my side?” Surreal demanded.

“When Marian was in labor with Daemonar, she wanted the birthing room clear of males on occasion, and when I got stubborn about it, she threatened to cook up the afterbirth and feed it to me.”

Daemon felt like something stringy and greasy was stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard and looked at Surreal.

She looked at him and said, “I’ll stab you before I cook anything.”

“Thank you,” he said faintly. “I appreciate it.”

“Then get out!”

Lucivar hauled him into the adjoining room, closing the door to the birthing room most of the way. That gave Surreal sufficient privacy but made it easy to hear her.

Daemon let out a shaky sigh. “She’s hurting.”

“She’s in labor, old son. Having a baby hurts like a wicked bitch. Or so I’ve been told.”

“There has to be something the Healer can do. Something I can do. Hell’s fire, Lucivar. If I can drain the power from Surreal’s Jewels to make her more comfortable, why can’t I take some of the pain?”

“The Healer has spells to dull the pain. You have to let her take care of that part,” Lucivar said. “You trust her, don’t you?”

“Yes, I trust her but—” Daemon tensed as he heard another voice in the birthing room.

“It’s Marian,” Lucivar said. “She’ll keep Surreal company until your presence is requested.”

“Will it be requested?” Daemon asked softly. “She’s hurting, and it’s my fault. She’s having my baby, and she kicked me out of the room.”

“Like I said, she doesn’t like you much right now and doesn’t want you around every minute, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Sadi!” Surreal shouted. “If you want to keep that overrated cock of yours, get your ass back in here!”

“—she wants you to go too far away,” Lucivar finished.

Daemon rocked back on his heels and stared at the partially open door. “So she’s going to keep flipping from wanting me with her to wanting me gone? For how long?”

Lucivar put both hands on Daemon’s back and gave him a light shove. “For as long as it takes to birth this baby.”

“Mother Night.”

“And may the Darkness be merciful. Show some balls, boyo.”

“That’s what got me into this in the first place,” Daemon muttered. But he went into the birthing room and found Surreal looking teary-eyed and vulnerable—and ready for a few hugs and cuddles.

Lucivar wandered over to the window farthest away from the door. Moments after Daemon walked into the birthing room, Marian walked out and closed the door between the rooms.

“How are they?” he asked when Marian wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him.

“They’ll be fine, but your brother is going to need you today,” she replied. “Surreal is focused on having the baby, but Daemon seems . . . shakier, more vulnerable.”

“Until the Birthright Ceremony, the child isn’t legally his. He’ll spend years raising that child and loving that child, but it won’t be his until that day.”