Anne Bishop - Tangled Webs

“I didn’t realize you would enjoy sharing those stories.”

Embarrassment. A coating of shame. And a healthy sense of survival because he knew if Daemon and Saetan were aware of those feelings—or more aware than they already were—they would both pound on him.

“He suggested having a family story night once a week. Just us—you, me, Jaenelle, Daemon, and him. Surreal, too, if she’s interested.”

He shifted. All right. He squirmed. “You don’t have to do this. You would have read the book. All of you would have read it.”

“Not if we picked a new story. And maybe in the winter, when it’s too cold to do much, maybe I could share some stories with you that I enjoyed. But not the romances. I couldn’t read the…”

“The…?”

“I couldn’t read those parts out loud.”

“Maybe I could read those parts for myself.” At least he’d have incentive.

“Don’t get ideas. It’s late.”

“Yes, Lady,” he replied, chuckling.

He tucked them in and curled himself protectively around her.

“Lucivar?”

“Hmm?”

“I’d like to do that story night. It would be fun.”

“I’ll talk to Daemon about it.” Who would pounce on the idea, so the decision was already made.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about his father coming here to talk with him, to read to Daemonar.

No, he hadn’t been reunited with Saetan for that many years, but the man did understand his children.

Sometimes the only way to deal with a Warlord Prince was not to let him in the door.

Surreal was so pleased with that solution, she repeated it to herself two more times while waiting for Helton, the town house butler, to open the front door.

“Now,” she said, in a tone that held both warning and forgiveness. The warning was for the attempt to delay her departure until Rainier arrived. The forgiveness was because Helton wasn’t half as scary as Beale, the butler at SaDiablo Hall, and she didn’t want the man to resign because he felt unable to deal with her. He’d been fine serving the rest of the SaDiablo family, including the ones who had been demon-dead, but he seemed to find her more of a challenge.

She wasn’t sure if that was flattering or frightening.

Helton hesitated a moment longer, then opened the door. Slowly.

Running out of patience, she slipped through the meager opening and stepped outside just as Rainier bounded up the town house’s steps. When he saw her blocking his entry, he teetered on the edge of a step—as much as Rainier ever teetered—then settled one step below and gave her a look that blended a hopeful-puppy expression with the Warlord Prince I-am-a-law-unto-myself attitude. The attitude came naturally to that caste of male. She suspected Rainier, along with the rest of the boyos, had learned the hopeful-puppy expression by studying his kindred brothers. It was damn hard to slap at any male when he had that look on his face. Even if he wasn’t furry.

“We’re going out,” Surreal said pleasantly.

“No, we are not,” Rainier replied just as pleasantly.

She saw that little extra something in his eyes now, that subtle difference in the way he held himself.

Jaenelle had told her once, When a male sets his heels down with the intention of standing between you and whatever he’s decided isn’t good for you, he will remain pleasant and he’ll sound agreeable—but he won’t budge.

Letting out a huge sigh, Surreal stepped to the side, giving Rainier clear access to the door. He smiled at her as he came up the last steps and reached for the door. She smiled at him—and raced down the steps.

She got to the house next door before he caught up to her.

“Surreal.”

She clenched her hands and clenched her teeth. He had a shield fanning out on either side of him, effectively blocking the whole sidewalk. As long as he stayed put, she could dodge around the shield by going into the street. Since he wasn’t likely to stay put, the only way to get past him would be to knock him down—which had a lot of appeal at the moment. Unless Rainier reported the incident to any male in her family.

Forcing herself to relax, she said, “I’m going out.” She didn’t give him the chance to snarl about it. “It’s the fourth day, Prince. I can wear my Birthright Green without discomfort. I could wear the Gray if I needed to.”

“You still—” He bit off the words. Hopefully that was all he bit off.

When they were in public, Blood males rarely admitted to having the ability to pick up something in a witch’s psychic scent or physical scent that indicated her moontime. They considered it discourteous to remind a woman that she was vulnerable because she couldn’t use her own power to defend herself. The Blood didn’t talk about it very much, but that ability was silently acknowledged by everyone because Warlord Princes stood a heartbeat away from the killing edge during the vulnerable days of any witch to whom they had given their loyalty, and they were more inclined to kill first and ask questions later.

Still, there were limits to indulging the male temper.

“I had considered making a sign that said ‘I have a sharp knife and a large Warlord Prince’ and floating it over my head, but I don’t want to tell anyone about the knife until after I use it, and anyone dumb enough not to notice you deserves to get knocked into a wall.”

A twitch of his lips. A shift toward humor instead of temper.

“Where are we going?” Rainier asked.

Ah. Got him. “Bookshop. It’s fun reading that Jarvis Jenkell book together, but I wanted something to read at other times.”

“Well, that’s convenient. I was asked to pick up some books.”

Surreal hooked her long black hair behind one ear and narrowed her gold-green eyes. “You were going to suggest walking to the bookshop, weren’t you?”

“Was I?”

Bastard. Prick. Arrogant, insufferable Warlord Prince.

When she moved forward, he dropped the shield and pivoted in a graceful dancer’s move to fall into step beside her. She took a couple of steps, then grabbed his arm to stop him as she swung around to put herself on his left, which was the subordinate position.

“Surreal.”

She was just a witch and he was a Warlord Prince, but her Jewels outranked his, so he wasn’t comfortable standing in the dominant position.

Good. He deserved to squirm a little.

“It rained last night,” she said. “Puddles. Carriages. Splashing. Whether you create a shield or decide to take your chances, you being on the street side means I won’t get splashed.”

A male caught between Protocol and the desire to protect. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue about it and he didn’t try to switch positions.

They walked in silence for a couple of blocks. Then Rainier said, “Have you heard from your cousins lately?”

“No.” Thank the Darkness.

“Then you haven’t heard about the spooky house?”

“Spooky house? What’s a spooky house?”

Rainier just smiled.

It took several blocks and a few rash promises she shouldn’t have made before Rainier told her about Jaenelle’s little project.

“You’re not serious,” Surreal said as Rainier opened the bookshop’s door for her. “You made this up.”

He shook his head.

She stepped into the shop, then waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. “Does Daemon know about this?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Lucivar? Uncle Saetan?”

“I would think so.”

“Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.”

“That seems to be the general reaction.”

Surreal sniffed. She hadn’t wanted Daemon or Lucivar showing up to fuss over her, but one of them could have stopped by to tell her about the spooky house. After all, she was family.