But when he reached for the doorknob, a feeling of revulsion swept through him, making his skin crawl. Stepping back, he studied the door. Stepping forward, the feeling swept over him again.

Craft. Daemon had done something in the moment when he walked out the door that guaranteed no one would willingly open that door until the spell wore off. Which meant Daemon wanted the body to be found—but not until he was ready to have it found.

“Well, bitch . . . or whoever you are,” he whispered. “You wanted to play with the Sadist? Looks like you’ll get your chance.”

Turning away from the parlor, Lucivar hurried back to the ballroom. He couldn’t stop what would happen, but he’d do whatever he could to protect Jaenelle and Surreal.

Daemon glided back to the ballroom. He had to find Jaenelle and get them both out of this house. He was a danger to everyone around him right now. The kill had cleared his mind enough to give him back a fragment of control, but not enough for him to be sure he wouldn’t leave these rooms strewn with corpses.

Unfortunately, Jaenelle was waiting near the door, waiting for her cue to begin the quarrel.

“Where have you been?” she asked, handing her glass of sparkling wine to Surreal.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. It stabbed at him that her power was so much less that she hadn’t been able to tell that he’d descended to the Black, that he was struggling not to go cold again.

He walked past her, not quite knowing what to do. He didn’t want to quarrel with her. Couldn’t quarrel with her. If he said anything that hurt her . . . Mother Night, he’d destroyed entire courts in Terreille when his temper had been riding this edge. If he hurt her, his control would snap completely, and the killing wouldn’t stop until he’d exhausted his body and his power.

“Where have you been?” Jaenelle raised her voice enough to have conversations throughout the ballroom stutter to a halt.

He pivoted to face her, enough space between them to explain the raised voices. As he looked into her eyes, relief swept through him so fiercely he felt light-headed. She knew. Whatever her reasons for going through with this “quarrel,” she knew he was too close to the killing edge and would take care not to push him back into a lethal rage.

He saw Lucivar walk into the ballroom, saw Surreal hand over Jaenelle’s glass of sparkling wine. Hoping those two would have the good sense to stay out of this, he focused on Jaenelle, who, along with everyone else in the room, was waiting for his answer.

“I wasn’t with another woman, if that’s what you’re asking,” he snarled.