“I know you’re a Green-Jeweled witch who’s caused some trouble for a fine aristo Lady, who paid me a generous sum to make sure you don’t cause her any more trouble. And I’ve heard you were an expensive whore who only worked out of the best Red Moon houses until you came to Kaeleer and managed to talk yourself into an influential family.” He stared at her mouth and leered. “Or maybe you did something besides talk to convince them you’d be handy to have around.”

Bastard. Her legs wobbled when she stood up, but she steadied quickly as the last of the drug, meant to subdue a Green-Jeweled witch, was burned off by a body that was a vessel for the Gray.

She walked up to him, keeping her gait unsteady. “What do you want?”

His big hands clamped on her shoulders, pulling her against him. “You be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.”

“I can be good.” Her right hand curled in preparation for calling in her stiletto. “Sugar? There’s one thing your Lady forgot to mention.”

“What’s that?” he asked as one hand groped her breast.

The stiletto was in her hand and through his ribs before he realized she’d moved. His eyes widened.

Surreal bared her teeth in a smile. “I earned more as an assassin than I ever made as a whore.” She rammed the stiletto into him up to the hilt, piercing his heart.

He hit the floor with a hard thud.

Surreal yanked the blade out of him, cleaned it on his shirt, then vanished it. Her “housekeeping” completed, she studied him.

“I think it takes a few hours to make the transition to demon-dead, but it would be best to make sure you don’t wander off before we have a little chat,” she told him. Not that he could hear her. Yet.

Calling in her Gray Jewels, she broke his Sapphire shield and lock, replaced them with Gray, and left the bedroom to see if she could find the tool she needed.

2

*Daemon.*

Daemon stirred, then snuggled closer to Jaenelle.

*Come on, Bastard. Wake up.*

Lucivar. Hell’s fire. Just because the man was usually up before the sun didn’t mean everyone wanted to be.

But he got out of bed, pulled on a robe, and slipped into the hallway. “What is it?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep. Then he noticed that Lucivar looked furious and exhausted. That woke up all his fighting instincts. “What is it?”

Lucivar raked his fingers through his hair. “Surreal is missing.”

The three of them sat at one end of the dining table, the remains of a small, hastily made breakfast in front of them.

“If she was drugged, we’ll find her as soon as she wakes,” Jaenelle said after Lucivar related his search—and his failure to find Surreal.

“If they didn’t kill her,” Lucivar snarled.