“You may have come from a Hayllian slum,” Luthvian sneered, “but I can trace my line back to Andulvar Yaslana, and that means something!”

“More to the point, you can trace your bloodline back to Andulvar’s son, Ravenar. Which means you can trace your bloodline back to Hekatah—and it’s that bloodline that seems to be rising dominant in you.”

She staggered back as if he’d struck her. It was possible she’d never known that Ravenar hadn’t been pure Eyrien, but she had to have realized her bloodline wasn’t pure Eyrien. That’s why there were a few Eyrien women each generation who were born without wings. They were throwbacks to Hayllian or Dhemlan women who’d mated with Eyrien males. In Luthvian’s case, that woman had been Hekatah.

“You don’t know that,” she whispered.

“Oh, yes, I do,” he replied softly. As he looked at her, he knew it was time to finish it. She’d been a troubled young woman when he’d seen her through her Virgin Night. She was still a troubled woman—and there was nothing he could do to help her beyond providing her with this house to live in. But he could, and would, protect Lucivar.

“I lost Lucivar once because of you,” he said. “I won’t lose him again. So listen carefully, Luthvian, because I will only say this once. Stay away from Marian. Don’t interfere in Lucivar’s life. If they want each other, that is their choice, not yours. If you do anything to try to take her away from him, I will show you the darkest corner of Hell—and I will leave you there.”

“You’d—You’d kill me?”

His voice became viciously gentle. “No, my dear. You’ll still be among the living when I leave you there.”

She sank to the floor, shaking.

Satisfied that she understood he would leave her as prey for everything in the Dark Realm that relished fresh meat and hot blood, he walked out of the kitchen. He waited until he had passed through the low stone wall before he caught the Red Wind and rode it to the Keep. Tonight he needed that dark sanctuary while he wrestled with bitter memories that still had the power to hurt.

THIRTEEN

THIRTEEN

“No.” Unable to sit a moment longer, Lucivar sprang out of the chair. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like any of this. Especially the fact that Saetan had chosen the sitting area of his study as the place for this discussion. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his father or the Steward of the Dark Court. Didn’t matter. He knew when he was being cornered. “Find someone else.”

“There is no one else,” Saetan said quietly.