“Yes. You’ve twisted a part of yourself into a powerful weapon, honed it to the point people have given it a different name. You’ve given it a different name. But it’s part of your nature, Daemon. It’s part of your caste. It’s in every one of us.”

“What is?”

“There’s no name for it. It’s not like the rut, which is a kind of physical insanity that can be recognized by anyone who knows what to look for. This is emotional—and it’s darker, more dangerous when it happens. It’s the thrill of being feared while you seduce your lover to the point where she doesn’t want to refuse. And at the same time it’s the comfort of being able to reveal that side of your nature to a lover and know you’re still trusted.” Saetan lowered his hand and stared at the bed. “It’s a potential for violence that is transformed into a kind of ruthless gentleness.”

“If this is part of our caste, why isn’t it recognized like the rut?” Daemon asked. And why have I never heard about it?

“Because it’s something that shifts inside you for an hour, for a night—or sometimes for only as long as it takes you to feel that moment of possession, that moment when you look at a woman and think, Mine, and know it’s true.

“The potential to possess. The desire to possess. Warlord Princes are dominating, territorial, and possessive. Most of the time those traits are seen in relation to other males, to possible rivals.” Saetan looked him in the eyes. “But sometimes—especially for a Warlord Prince who is so strong, who stands so deep in the abyss—you look at the woman who pulls at you and the need to possess is overwhelming.”

Saetan rubbed his hands together, then looked at the Black-Jeweled ring on his right hand. “We’re guests most of the time and on our best behavior because of that. We come to our lover’s bed, and even if we share that bed ninety-nine nights out of a hundred, it’s still her bed. Our beds are for sleep, for rest, for solitude. But the rare times when we take a woman into our bed, it’s different. It feels different. No matter how gentle you are, how careful, it isn’t lovemaking. It’s not even sex. It’s possession. Her body belongs to you for that night, and you play with it. You bring her to a climax—or you deny her that completion. For a little while.”

He was hearing a description of the Sadist in his mildest form. He was hearing a description of what he’d done last night. And he was hearing something else.