As he backed farther into Jaenelle’s room, he began to shake. It wasn’t because of Kaelas, exactly. Any man with a healthy survival instinct would be cautiously afraid of a cat that size—especially when that cat was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince. But he knew that, before he had shattered his mind the first time that night at Cassandra’s Altar, he wouldn’t have felt this kind of overwhelming fear. He would have had enough confidence in himself to match that feline arrogance even while being prudent enough to yield. Now…

“Daemon?”

He twisted around, suddenly finding it impossible to breathe.

Jaenelle stood in the doorway that led to the rest of her suite, dressed in sapphire-blue pajamas.

Seeing her, he lost his balance in too many ways.

She ran to him, wrapped her arms around his waist to keep him from falling. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“I—” He was sweating from the effort to take a deep enough breath.

“Can you walk far enough to sit on the bed?”

Unable to speak, he nodded.

“Sit down,” Jaenelle said. “Put your head between your knees.”

When he obeyed, his robe parted. He leaned over farther, hoping, since she was crouched in front of him, that he wasn’t revealing anything she didn’t want to see.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Jaenelle asked as her fingers brushed through his hair.

You don’t love me. “On my bed,” he gasped.

Jaenelle swiveled to look at the door adjoining their rooms. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s Kaelas doing in your room?”

“Sleeping. On my bed.”

“It’s your room. Why didn’t you tell him to get off?”

Why? Because he didn’t want to die tonight.

But she sounded so baffled, he raised his head to look at her. She was serious. She wouldn’t think twice about hauling eight hundred pounds of snarling feline off a bed.

Jaenelle stood up. “I’ll get him—”

Daemon grabbed her hand. “No. It’s all right. I’ll find another bed. A couch. Hell’s fire, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Those ancient eyes studied him. Something odd flickered at the back of them for a moment. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” she asked quietly.

Yes. No. He didn’t want to come to her as a frightened, needy male. But he also wouldn’t refuse the only invitation to her bed he might ever receive. “Please.”

She pulled the covers back as far as she could with him still sitting on the bed. “Get in.”

“I—” His face heated.

“I gather you wear the same thing to bed as every other male here,” Jaenelle said dryly.

Which meant “nothing.”

She moved to the other side of the room, her back politely turned.