He’d studied himself in a small mirror this morn, while shaving with a hand that shook more than was safe when a man had an open blade at his own neck. He’d seen eyes a darker shade of brown. He’d been nigh a sennight without a woman. Too long. Far too long.

How long, he wondered almost idly, till his eyes would turn full black? Another day, mayhap two? And what would happen then? he mused, a part of him afraid, another part of him aware that he wasn’t as afraid as he ought to be.

The voices yestreen in the stones had caught him by surprise. ’Twas the first time he’d ever heard the beings inside him speak, the first time he’d ever perceived them as individual entities. And though feeling them so intensely had been horrifying, had made him feel as if he were choking on some dead thing in the back of his throat that he couldn’t scrape out, it had also been . . . intriguing.

Part of him was curious to know their language, to hear what they might say. He had thirteen ancient beings inside him! What might they tell him of ancient history? Of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, and what the world had been like four thousand years ago? Of what it was like to hold so much power. . . .

Inviting a dialogue with them would be your first step through the gates of hell, his honor hissed.

Aye, he knew that.

You can’t trust a thing they might say!

Still . . .

No “still” about it, his honor seethed. I doona care who you fuck today, just do it.

That jarred him a bit.

It would be Chloe. If he went to another woman—even if only out of deference to her, to spare her his brutal need—and she found out, she would never have him. Things could get very bad, very fast, then. He was afraid that if he went to her and she denied him, he might force her. He didn’t want to do that to Chloe. He didn’t want to hurt Chloe.

The antithesis of his honor scoffed: So what? If she doesn’t care for something you do, use the Voice of Power on her. Tell her to forget what she may not like. Tell her she adores you, worships you. You need but tell her she loves you to make it so. ’Tis so easy. The world can be anything you want it—

“Dageus!” Silvan shouted, slamming his fists down on the table in front of him.

Dageus jerked and stared at his father.

“Where were you?” Silvan exclaimed, looking both frightened and furious.

“Right here,” Dageus said, shaking his head. A soft whisper, a rustle stirred inside him. Faint voices murmured.

“I shouted your name three times, and you dinna so much as blink a lash,” Silvan snapped. “What were you doing?”

“I . . . I was merely thinking.”