box.”
“If he does . . .” Daemon looked at his brother.
Lucivar sighed. “The only question will be whether Marian tries to kill me before she divorces me or after.”
“As long as you know the risks.” He grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Daemonar will love it.”
“Yeah, he will.”
Picturing Daemonar’s face when the boy opened that gift reminded him of where he was supposed to be. “I’d better get back to guarding the gifts.”
Lucivar vanished the box. “I’ll go with you. If I look like I’ve got something to do, maybe I won’t get cornered into doing something.”
They hurried back to the other room, opened the door—and froze just inside the doorway.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
“He wasn’t anywhere near this room when we left,” Lucivar said. “I swear by all I hold dear, he wasn’t anywhere near this room.”
Well, the little beast was in the middle of it now, sitting on the floor surrounded by various-sized boxes and drifts of torn wrapping paper.
“Papa!” Daemonar cried. “Unka Daemon! Lizzen!”
Bang bang bang. The sound of box on floor.
And the sound of something delicate—and no doubt expensive—breaking inside the box.
Daemon felt his face muscles shift into a tight smile—or maybe it was a grimace. Must have been the appropriate response, because Daemonar grinned at him and went back to banging the box on the floor.
“Whatever is inside is already broken,” Lucivar said. “No point taking it away from him now. He’ll just grab for something else.”
“We’ll have to figure out who brought it and get it replaced.” Sweet Darkness, please don’t let it be something that was commissioned and was one of a kind.
Lucivar stared at the boy and the mess, looking more and more baffled. “Marian wants another one of those.”
“Another one of what?”
Lucivar lifted his chin. “Those.”
Daemon looked at the little winged boy who was the reason Jaenelle was going to rip him into chunks and feed him to somebody, then back at his brother. “Why?”
Lucivar sighed. “I don’t know.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
He completely lost the ability to speak. He just stood there with his mouth hanging open, staring at Lucivar.
Lucivar nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
“Bt. Dt. Zt.” The sputtering sounds fired up his shocked brain. “Since I am not the one sleeping with your wife, it is not my fault.”
Lucivar was looking grimly pleased. “Yeah, it is. Marian’s been mentioning lately how much I value having a brother the same age.”
Daemon usually valued having a brother too, but that was beside the point.
“You can’t do this,” Daemon said.
“It’s not that hard,” Lucivar replied. “Just don’t drink the contraceptive brew during a woman’s fertile time, and it isn’t hard at all.” His voice changed when he added, “Besides, it might not be another little beast. It could be a cuddly little witchling. A miniature of her mother.”
There was a dopey look on Lucivar’s face.
“Ah, no,” Daemon groaned. “No, no, no. You’re being seduced by the possibility of a daughter.”
“Maybe.”
“Then let me remind you that our father had four children, and all of them had cocks.” Five, actually, if they counted the boy who had been murdered shortly after birth.
Lucivar slanted a look at him. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t count on getting a cuddly little witch?”
“I’m saying the odds aren’t in your favor, so before you pour your contraceptive brew down the sink, consider what it will be like having two of those in the house.”
Lucivar winced and muttered, “One of them would probably end up living with you half the time.”
It was a distinct possibility—and it was exactly what he was afraid of. Not that he didn’t love Daemonar. He did. But most days he loved him much better knowing he could send the boy
“If he does . . .” Daemon looked at his brother.
Lucivar sighed. “The only question will be whether Marian tries to kill me before she divorces me or after.”
“As long as you know the risks.” He grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Daemonar will love it.”
“Yeah, he will.”
Picturing Daemonar’s face when the boy opened that gift reminded him of where he was supposed to be. “I’d better get back to guarding the gifts.”
Lucivar vanished the box. “I’ll go with you. If I look like I’ve got something to do, maybe I won’t get cornered into doing something.”
They hurried back to the other room, opened the door—and froze just inside the doorway.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
“He wasn’t anywhere near this room when we left,” Lucivar said. “I swear by all I hold dear, he wasn’t anywhere near this room.”
Well, the little beast was in the middle of it now, sitting on the floor surrounded by various-sized boxes and drifts of torn wrapping paper.
“Papa!” Daemonar cried. “Unka Daemon! Lizzen!”
Bang bang bang. The sound of box on floor.
And the sound of something delicate—and no doubt expensive—breaking inside the box.
Daemon felt his face muscles shift into a tight smile—or maybe it was a grimace. Must have been the appropriate response, because Daemonar grinned at him and went back to banging the box on the floor.
“Whatever is inside is already broken,” Lucivar said. “No point taking it away from him now. He’ll just grab for something else.”
“We’ll have to figure out who brought it and get it replaced.” Sweet Darkness, please don’t let it be something that was commissioned and was one of a kind.
Lucivar stared at the boy and the mess, looking more and more baffled. “Marian wants another one of those.”
“Another one of what?”
Lucivar lifted his chin. “Those.”
Daemon looked at the little winged boy who was the reason Jaenelle was going to rip him into chunks and feed him to somebody, then back at his brother. “Why?”
Lucivar sighed. “I don’t know.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
He completely lost the ability to speak. He just stood there with his mouth hanging open, staring at Lucivar.
Lucivar nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”
“Bt. Dt. Zt.” The sputtering sounds fired up his shocked brain. “Since I am not the one sleeping with your wife, it is not my fault.”
Lucivar was looking grimly pleased. “Yeah, it is. Marian’s been mentioning lately how much I value having a brother the same age.”
Daemon usually valued having a brother too, but that was beside the point.
“You can’t do this,” Daemon said.
“It’s not that hard,” Lucivar replied. “Just don’t drink the contraceptive brew during a woman’s fertile time, and it isn’t hard at all.” His voice changed when he added, “Besides, it might not be another little beast. It could be a cuddly little witchling. A miniature of her mother.”
There was a dopey look on Lucivar’s face.
“Ah, no,” Daemon groaned. “No, no, no. You’re being seduced by the possibility of a daughter.”
“Maybe.”
“Then let me remind you that our father had four children, and all of them had cocks.” Five, actually, if they counted the boy who had been murdered shortly after birth.
Lucivar slanted a look at him. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t count on getting a cuddly little witch?”
“I’m saying the odds aren’t in your favor, so before you pour your contraceptive brew down the sink, consider what it will be like having two of those in the house.”
Lucivar winced and muttered, “One of them would probably end up living with you half the time.”
It was a distinct possibility—and it was exactly what he was afraid of. Not that he didn’t love Daemonar. He did. But most days he loved him much better knowing he could send the boy
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