Dumping her soiled clothes into a basket in the bathroom, she hurried through her nighttime ritual, slipped into bed, and turned off the candle-light on the bedside table.

Someone had put a light warming spell on the sheets. Probably the maid. Silently thanking the woman, Surreal snuggled under the covers.

She was just starting to doze off when a shape passed through the glass door. She tensed, waiting, until a body landed lightly on the bed, circled three times, then settled next to her with a content sigh.

Twisting her upper body slightly, she looked at Graysfang. Feeling that odd psychic brush again, she followed it, too tired to think about what she was doing and more concerned with whether or not she was going to end up with fleas in the morning.

*No fleas,* said a sleepy male voice on a psychic thread. *Kindred know spells for fleas and other itchies.*

With a yelp, Surreal shot into a sitting position.

Graysfang leaped up, his teeth bared and hackles raised. *Where is the danger?* he demanded. *I smell no danger.*

“You can talk!”

Slowly, Graysfang’s hackles smoothed. He covered his teeth. *I am kindred. We do not always want to talk to humans, but we can talk.*

Mother Night, Mother Night, Mother Night.

Wagging his tail, he leaned forward and licked her cheek. *You heard me!* he said happily. *You are not even trained yet and you can hear kindred!* He raised his head and howled.

Surreal grabbed his muzzle. “Hush. You’ll wake everyone.”

*Ladvarian will be pleased.*

“Great. I’m delighted.” Who in the name of Hell is Ladvarian? “Let’s just go to sleep now, all right?” And since she didn’t know how she had made this link in the first place, how was she going to sever it so that her thoughts were private again?

She felt a gentle mental push, then that odd brush again.

“Rrrf.”

“Thank you,” Surreal said weakly. In the morning, she thought as she snuggled back under the covers and felt Graysfang settle himself against her back. She’d think about this in the morn…

CHAPTER THREE

1 / Kaeleer

Daemon carefully adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. He felt steadier that morning, but not rested. His sleep had been broken by vague dreams and flashes of memory, by the knowledge that nothing but a door separated his bedroom from Jaenelle’s, and by an aroused, restless body that knew quite fiercely what it wanted.