Saetan reached out slowly. His left index finger hooked the gold chain around her neck and drew it out of her shirt until her Gray Jewel hung between them.

At first, she thought the caress accompanying that movement was a subtle kind of seduction. Then she realized that, for him, it wasn’t meant to be seductive at all. It was simply a gesture that was as natural to him as breathing.

Which wasn’t doing her breathing a whole lot of good.

“Consider this,” he said. “He may not have been given that name because he’s gray and has fangs but because he is Gray’s fang.”

“Mother Night,” Surreal said, looking down at her Jewel.

He lowered her Jewel until it rested above her breasts. “The decision about him is yours, and I’ll support any decision you make. But think carefully, Surreal. A Black Widow’s visions should not be dismissed in haste.”

Nodding, she savored the feel of his hand on her lower back as he guided her to the door. When he reached for the doorknob, she put her hand on the door to keep it shut. “What’s your connection with Daemon?”

“He and Lucivar are my sons.”

That figured.

“Daemon inherited your looks,” she said.

“He also inherited my temper.”

Hearing the warning in his voice, she noticed, at the back of his golden eyes, the same wariness she had seen in Aaron’s. Hell’s fire, she was going to have to find someone to talk to soon who could explain the male-female rules in Kaeleer. Being wary of her as an assassin was one thing. Being wary of her as a woman…She didn’t like it. Not coming from him. She didn’t like it at all.

“I’d like to meet my mother,” she said abruptly.

Saetan nodded. “The court’s coming in this evening, and I can’t leave until the Queen approves the new arrivals, but I’ll see that a message gets to Titian.”

“Thank you.” Damn it, stop delaying. Get out of here. She bolted from the room as soon as he opened the door.

As Graysfang anxiously trotted beside her, she kept feeling that odd psychic brush against her inner barriers.

She would have gotten lost twice without him, although she noticed there were footmen in all the major corridors. Each man rose from his chair, glanced at Graysfang, smiled at her, and said nothing. So she followed the wolf until, with a sigh, she was safely in her room.

When he left her a minute later to take care of his own nightly business, she quickly undressed and pulled on a pair of long-sleeved pajamas. She still preferred silky nightgowns most of the time, but there were times—like tonight—when she wanted to wear something that looked and felt asexual.