At the room.
At the four women in various states of arranged, occupied, and barely conscious — Eliantra and Helviana still chained together, lying face to face in the enforced intimacy of two women who had been joined at the most sensitive points of their bodies for several hours and had eventually stopped being embarrassed about it and simply been; the old maid on her back, glowing; Rehana against the headboard, her heavy breasts rising and falling with her breathing, her eyes closed, her hand resting on his thigh without her knowing it was there.
The night was not done.
He was not tired.
This, he had already known about himself — the incubus bloodline that his father's side had declined to mention in polite company, the particular, rising energy that fed on exactly this, the physical state of a man who had been doing one sustained thing for hours and was operating at a higher level now than when he started.
He looked at the window.
