His crystal chalice glowed, heated as Witch’s dark power covered all the cracks and sealed them.

Now that the gaps were filled in, the memories reformed, and, finally, he knew exactly what had happened at Cassandra’s Altar thirteen years ago. Finally, he knew exactly what he had done—and not done.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

She glanced at him, nerves warring with the sharp, feral intelligence that filled her ancient eyes. “The missing pieces made weak spots that kept the chalice fragile. You should be fine now.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” she snapped.

Studying her, Daemon opened his inner barriers just enough to taste her emotions. The hurt inside her surprised him.

“What do you want?” he asked quietly.

She nervously caressed the stem of the chalice. He wondered if she realized he could feel those caresses. And he wondered if she had any idea what those caresses were doing to him. He started to move around the altar, his fingers lightly brushing the stone.

“Nothing,” she said in a small voice as she shifted a half step away from him. Then she added, “You lied to me. You didn’t want Witch.”

The fire of anger washed through him, waking the part of him the Blood in Terreille had called the Sadist. When the anger cooled, another kind of fire took its place.

His voice shifted into a sexual purr. “I love you. And I’ve waited a lifetime to be your lover. But you were too young, Lady.”

She raised her head, her body stiff with dignity. “I wasn’t too young here, in the abyss.”

Slowly, he continued moving around the altar. “Your body had been violated. Your mind had shattered. But even if that hadn’t been the case, you were still too young—even here in the abyss.”

He came up behind her. His fingers lightly brushed her hips, her waist. Moving upward, he spread his hands across her ribs, his fingers just brushing the undersides of her breasts. He moved closer, smiling with savage pleasure as the fawn tail’s nervous flicking teased and aroused him.

He kissed the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. The first kiss was light and chaste. With the second kiss, he used his teeth to hold her still while the tip of his tongue caressed and tasted her skin.

He could feel her heart pounding, feel each breathy pant.

Leaving a trail of soft kisses up her neck, he finally whispered in her ear, “You’re not too young anymore.”

She let out a breathless squeak when he gently rubbed himself against her.

Suddenly his hands were empty, and he was alone.

Hungry desire roared through him. He turned in a slow circle, searching, probing—the predator seeking his prey.

The last thing he was fully aware of was the mist thickening and swirling up around him until there was nothing else.