And all those things that would have made Theran dismiss her as a potential partner didn’t seem to matter to Sadi at all. The hunger in those gold eyes when he looked at her, the hunger that had sharpened his psychic scent . . .

She stopped, narrowed her blue eyes, and rocked back on her heels.

“Nighthawk and I are going for a ride,” she said. “Beale said you wanted to see me before I went out.”

“Wear a hat,” Daemon said.

Her mouth primmed. “I don’t like hats.”

Daemon moved toward her.

Theran adjusted his coat to hide his reaction to the heat pouring off the other man.

The woman just narrowed her eyes a little more and seemed immune to the feel of seduction blanketing the room.

Daemon cupped her face in his hands. “You need to wear a hat when you go out in the sun,” he purred.

“You don’t wear a hat.”

“My nose doesn’t turn bright pink and peel.”

She frowned at Daemon.

“And since I adore that nose,” Daemon said, kissing the tip of the adored nose, “and the rest of your face, and the rest of you . . .”

Daemon’s hands caressed her lightly but thoroughly as they traveled along her shoulders and down her back, his arms wrapping her tight against him as his mouth covered hers in a kiss that . . .

Theran felt his legs go weak. He should avert his eyes, give Sadi and the woman some token of privacy. But he couldn’t look away.

He wanted that kind of heat and hunger. Hoped he’d find it with the new Queen who would rule Dena Nehele.

And hoped he could get out of this room very, very soon.

How in the name of Hell did anyone else manage to live here?

Sadi finally ended the kiss and loosened his hold. His lover braced her hands against his chest as if to push away but didn’t move.

“Mother Night,” she muttered. On her second try, she managed to push away from Sadi and stand on her own. Then she studied the warm golden eyes that were watching her. “Fine. I’ll wear the damn hat.”

“Thank you,” Daemon purred.

“Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

A flashing grin was her answer.

As she headed for the door, Daemon caught her and turned her around.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Daemon said.

Theran felt those blue eyes lock on to his face, and would have sworn they changed to a darker blue, a sapphire blue that became a doorway to something dangerous, something feral. Something he couldn’t name but knew he didn’t want to see.

“This is the Warlord Prince Theran Grayhaven, from Dena Nehele,” Daemon said. “He hasn’t said, but I believe he can trace his bloodline back to Jared, a Warlord I knew a few centuries ago.”

“Jared,” she said in a voice that made Theran shiver. “And Lia?”