Daughter of the Blood

body's dying."
    "You could heal it."
    She shook her head more violently. "Let it die. Let them have the body. I don't want the body. This is my place now. I can see them all when I stand in this place. All the dreams."
    "What dreams?"
    "The dreams in the Light. The dreams in the Darkness and the Shadow. All the dreams." She hesitated, looked confused. "You're one of the dreams in the Light. A good dream."
    Daemon swallowed hard. Was that how she saw them? As dreams? She was the living myth, dreams made flesh.
    Made flesh.
    "I'm not a dream, Lady. I'm real."
    Her eyes flashed. "What is real?" she demanded. "I see beautiful things, I hear them, I touch them with the body's hand, and they say bad girl to make up stories, those things are not real. I see bad things, cruel things, a twisted darkness that taints the land, a darkness that isn't the Darkness, and they say bad girl to make up stories, bad girl to tell lies. The uncles say no one will believe a sick-mind girl and they laugh and hurt the body so I go away to the misty place to see the gentle ones, the beautiful ones and leave them ice that hurts them when they touch it." She hugged herself and rocked back and forth. "They don't want me. They don't want me. They don't love me. "
    Daemon wrapped his arms around her and held her close, rocking with her as words kept tumbling out. He listened to the loneliness and confusion. He listened to the horrors of Briarwood. He listened to bits of stories about friends who seemed real but weren't real. He listened and understood what she didn't, what she couldn't.
    If she didn't repair her shattered mind, if she didn't link with the body again, if she didn't re-form the four-sided triangle, she would be trapped here, becoming lost and entangled in the shards of herself until she could never find a way to reach what she loved most.
    "No," he said gently when her words finally stopped, "they don't want you. They don't love you, can't love you. But I do love you. The Priest loves you. The beautiful ones, the gentle ones— they love you. We've waited so long for you to come. We need you with us. We need you to walk among us."
    "I don't want the body," she whimpered. "It hurts."
    "Not always, sweetheart. Not always. Without the body, how will you hear a bird's song? How will you feel a warm summer rain on your skin? How will you taste nut-cakes? How will you walk on a beach at sunset and feel the sand and surf under your . . . hooves?"
    He felt her mood lighten before he heard the sniffled giggle. As she raised her head to look at him, her thighs shifted where they straddled him.
    A fire sparked in his loins and he stirred.
    She leaned back and watched him swell and rise.
    He saw innocence in her face, a kitten's curiosity. He saw a female shape that, if not fully mature, was also not a child.
    He clenched his teeth and swore silently when she began stroking him lightly.
    Stroke. Observe the reaction as if she'd never seen a man become aroused. Stroke. Observe.
    He wanted to push her away. He wanted to pull her down on top of him. It was killing him. It was wonderful. As he reached for her hand to stop her, she said in a quiet, wondering voice, "Your maleness has no spines."
    Rage froze him. The shards of the chalice rattled as he leashed the fury that had no outlet here. For a moment he tried very, very hard to believe she was comparing him to another species of male, but he knew too much about the twisted males who enjoyed breaking a young, strong witch on her Virgin Night.
    Mother Night! No wonder she didn't want to go back. She studied him, puzzled. "Does the body's maleness have spines?"
    Daemon swallowed the rage. The Sadist transformed it into deadly silk. "No," he crooned. "My maleness has no spines."
    "Soft," she said as she stroked and explored. His hands whispered over her thighs, over her hips. "It could give you pleasure," he crooned softly.
    "Pleasure?" Her eyes lit up with curiosity and anticipation.
    The childlike trust stabbed him in the heart. She must have sensed some change in him. Before he could stop her, she exploded, kicking his thigh as she leaped away from him. Out of reach, she hugged herself and glared at him.
    "You want to mate with the body. Like the others. You want me to make her well so you can put your maleness inside her. "
    Rage washed through him. "Who is her? "he asked too softly.
    "Jaenelle."
    "You're Jaenelle."
    "I AMWITCH !"
    He trembled with the effort not to attack her. "Jaenelle is