Читать книгу Elijah - Jacquelyn Frank - Страница 9

Siena woke feeling much better many hours later. For one, she could smell the distinct ionized odor of rain. There was a good-sized storm just beyond the cave entrance. The pressure was unmistakable, even if she couldn’t hear it with her keen hearing. This bathing of the Earth would hide what remained of their trail to the cave. She suspected that in their usual overblown sense of arrogance, the human magic-users were not likely to think they had failed in killing the Demon, and as a result would see no need to double-check. However, with the female Demons amongst them, she could not assume typical behaviors in this situation.

Siena sat up on the couch, stretching out one long limb after the other, soft, contented vocalizations accompanying each one. Jinaeri certainly knew a thing or two about comfort, she thought as she rose to her feet, shaking back her hair as it immediately curled into its proper places. The Queen moved to a pretty antique chest up against one wall and opened it. Inside she discovered neatly folded slips, dresses, and T-shirts.

The brevity of the clothing, most of it short, simple sheaths, was common for the women of her culture. Those who enjoyed the ability to transform into the form of an animal also enjoyed the type of clothing that would fall easily to the wayside and not impede their movement in the event of such a change.

The Queen plucked a soft, flowing minidress from the chest and donned it with a quick drop of fabric over her head. The cute little garment slid instantly into place, held on her by the thinnest of straps at her shoulders and the fact that she was quite a bit bustier than Jinaeri. She looked even more so as the low, scooped neckline left her in abundant display. The floating skirt’s hem fluttered over the tops of her thighs, a soft whisper of sensation that made her rub her fingertips with pleasure over the crushed pile of the fabric. Siena glanced into the mirror near the trunk and smiled as she admired the blue velvet and the way it shone as the garment drifted airily with even a twitch of motion. She might have to exercise the privileges of royalty on a subject and permanently borrow the delightful creation.

Siena then padded across the chilly stone to the fireplace, where she arranged wood and kindling, starting a comfortable blaze without worrying that smoke could be trailed in either rain or darkness. Evening was definitely on them. Siena felt guilty that she had not roused to check on her patient in all of this time, but it was senseless to reprimand herself. There was not much she could have done for him in any event.

She checked on him immediately after the fire took hold, however, crossing into the next room and letting only firelight illuminate her way. She gingerly rested one knee onto the mattress, sitting back on that heel, half on, half off the bed. She slowly began to inspect his injuries. As she had suspected, most were healing nicely, some even to the point of pink, new skin. She removed the bandages from those places.

The iron wounds were not doing quite so well, also as expected. The worst part about iron, as opposed to the silver used against her people, was that it tended to rust and flake too easily, often leaving behind specks of itself even after being extracted. These flecks of metal would continue to insidiously poison the wound as it tried to heal. The only way to remove them completely would be for a Demon medic of great skill to use his powers over the Body to do so.

She knew just the person she needed.

In fact, his wife was the ambassador the Demon King had appointed to her court, the Demon King’s own sister Magdelegna. Legna was a bright, beautiful woman, a Mind Demon of substantial power, one whose bravery Siena admired a great deal. It took a woman of great courage to maintain diplomacy in what was often a hostile court of former enemies, as well as expose herself to such a situation while carrying her first child.

However, Legna’s husband, the great Body Demon and medic called Gideon, was the oldest of all the Demons, as well as the most powerful. He was the one who could have tended such diabolical wounds, extracting the iron with magical ease. Though his skills as a medic were wasted in the Lycanthrope court, changelings being mostly unaffected by the powers of Demons of the Mind and the Body, Gideon was a valuable addition to it.

He had been the first Demon she had ever met, a prisoner of her father’s kept at court for the King’s amusement and bragging rights many, many years earlier. However, this had backfired on the monarch, because it was Gideon’s teachings that had enlightened the young princess about the true nature and goodness of the Demons.

Now he was back in her court and was quietly assisting his mate in doing the same thing, but on a much larger scale. He also served as his wife’s protector in the sometimes hostile task of winning over a prejudiced people. No creature with any sense would dare harm the mate of such a powerful being as Gideon, but in every race there was always someone lacking in good sense. The warrior’s injuries attested to that quite clearly.

It was useless to think about the medic. He was too far away and Siena would not leave the Demon warrior vulnerable and alone. It would have to wait until he became stronger. She would, however, need to hunt for food if there was none in the cave. It did not seem likely. As one who took the form of a lemur, Jinaeri was a vegetarian. Siena was mostly a carnivore and preferred the freshest game she could manage. It wasn’t likely she would find such in the house of an herbivore, never mind one that was not yet stocked for the winter. The nutrition of meat was something that could only be obtained fresh. It made no sense to leave anything behind from the season before that would attract animals or decay.

Siena gently rewashed the wounds on the warrior and dressed them with clean bandages. The only one she did not touch was the one bandaged with her hair. That would care for itself and was best left alone. She pulled the covers back over the Demon’s chilled skin. It was a good sign. Demons ran much lower temperatures than Lycanthropes or humans did. If he were to grow hot, it would mean he was fighting a fever, and that was the last thing the warrior needed. He was still terribly pale, perhaps even a little too cold to the touch, but he did look as if he were breathing easier. She could hear his steady heartbeat, stronger than it had been.

The Queen reached to push back the now-dry tendrils of his hair, the surprisingly soft silk of it slipping through her fingers. He wore it long, a common thing for Nightwalkers. Whatever he had used to bind it back from his face was long gone, and she thought she would make a point of searching for a replacement once she returned with food for them. His hair was quite thick, more like the density of a Lycanthrope’s, than what was the norm for a Demon. But Lycanthropes didn’t own a monopoly on thick, healthy hair. Still, it was a pleasant tactile sensation.

Siena found her hand drifting down his forehead, fingertips touching each thick, gold brow with a curious tracing of their arches. Even his lashes were blond, like her own. It was a dark, rich gilt color, offsetting the lighter shades of his hair just as hers did.

He had such a good face, she marveled as she traced a thumb over well-defined cheekbones, a strong masculine nose, and a firm chin with the faint imprint of a cleft in its middle. It was so rugged, and yet somehow boyishly beautiful. Perhaps, she mused, it was the fullness of his mouth, almost feminine in its way, that foiled the attempt at being wholly toughened.

Siena laughed at herself as she realized what she was doing. She stood up, shaking out her hand as if in punishment to make it behave itself next time. She pressed back a smile at her silliness and moved to the front of the cave. She stood in the opening for a long moment, listening to the rain and smelling the sleeping forest as best she could. Rain masked even her formidable abilities of sniffing out prey or predator.

Then, stepping out of her dress with a simple shrug of her shoulders, she shook herself into the furred form of the Werecat and ran into the cold autumn wet of the forest.

Elijah had not moved so much as an inch in the hour she was gone. She checked him for fever, careful not to drip on him. She was soaked head to toe, her hair streaming as she padded closer to the fire. She settled onto a small, cushioned stool near the dry warmth of the blaze, using a cloth and the heat to try and dry her hair.

She ought to have remained in Werecat form, fur being so much easier and faster to dry, but she considered it would be unwise to do so. Elijah had made it quite clear during their brief meetings that he would not trust her or any of her kind any further than he could spit. It would not be wise to be in the form of a Lycanthrope when he awoke. He might not take the time to notice the ornamental collar of her office that she never took off. A Demon, even in a weakened state, was nothing to fool with. If her people had learned one thing over the centuries, it was not to underestimate the powers of a Demon who felt threatened. Truce or no, Elijah was bound to feel endangered by her presence alone, never mind the fact that he was already wounded.

The Queen turned closer to the fire, her back to the sleeping Demon as she continued to fuss with her hair. She had spitted one of the rabbits she had caught earlier and it was now rotating quite nicely in the fire, the rotisserie operated by a battery-powered motor. It clanked and screeched, not appreciating the nearness of the elemental male whose body chemistry was causing it to function at less than peak. Unlike Demons, Lycanthropes were not averse to the use of machines and technology, and those things did not react adversely to them. Since this was a simple hibernation hostel, it was not equipped with electricity or any superfluous needs that would go unused as the occupant slept more than she remained awake, and Siena supposed that was a very lucky thing. There was a natural source of water, plenty of wood for a fire, and a forest full of food just beyond the entrance. Truly, there was no need for more.

When her hair was mostly dry, settled once more into happy, tubular coils, she rose to dress herself and set about preparing a stew and a soup from the remaining rabbits and the wild turkey she had caught. She saved the feathers of the bird, a payment for Jinaeri for the use of her home. She shredded herbs and roots into both pots and then allowed them to cook slowly in the fire, suspended in swing-armed cauldrons.

It was true her diet consisted mostly of food that was more alive than dead, but she was humanoid too and very much appreciated a wide variety of culinary tastes. One of her favorite things was wild salad, all the greens and buds of the forest fair game, or in autumn, nuts, herbs, tuber roots, and berries, so long as they were not poisonous. All carnivores were actually omnivorous. What many did not realize was that carnivores preyed mainly on herbivores, not only because they were less able to defend themselves, but because the innards of the animals were usually bursting with the necessary vitamins and beneficent qualities of vegetation. That was why the belly was often the first thing a lion went for after taking down a gazelle or deer.

However, innards were a diet she left for the catamount, and upon occasion, the Werecat. In her human form, she preferred salad and meat, both cooked and raw. This meal was not so much for herself, in any event. It was designed for her patient. The herbs used to flavor the dishes were not merely delicious, they were also quite medicinal. Everything that went into the soup and the stew would serve its purpose toward helping him heal and regain his strength.

As she cooked, Siena filled her time by cleaning and stretching the furs of the rabbits on the frames that had been hanging near the fireplace. Nothing hunted was wasted. If a fellow animal must give up its life for her sustenance, she would see to it that every part of it was put to good use. And again, they would make a nice payment to Jinaeri, who did not even know she was playing hostess to her Queen and the Warrior Captain.

After another hour passed, the Queen ladled some of the piping hot soup into a wooden bowl, dropped in a spoon, and made her way to her patient’s side. Once more she knelt on the bedside, settling back on her heel as she held the bowl in one hand and stimulated him with a rubbing motion on his arm with the other. She didn’t expect he would wake right away, but she would at least try every fifteen minutes until he did and she could get some nutrition into him.

When the warrior suddenly burst into life, Siena was caught completely off guard. He exploded into movement, seizing her by both arms and hauling her violently over his body. Her back slammed into the mattress, her breath leaving her in a rush. He pinned her beneath himself painfully, his massive strength formidable even in his weakened state, his weight an overwhelming force. Siena did not make a single sound, not even as the boiling hot soup cascaded down her legs. She made no noise or movement that would be mistaken as an act of provocation. The only thing she did do was to encircle the thick wrist of the hand clenching around her throat with the firm, staying fingers of both hands. She would not provoke him, but neither would she let him throttle her to death.

The warrior’s green eyes were wild with confusion and pain, his movements highly detrimental to his carefully dressed wounds. Siena was immediately aware of the scent of fresh blood, and her eyes flicked down to the wound on his chest. She saw a fresh stream of blood slipping over his skin, dripping from the ridges of his abdomen onto her dress. His immense body was crushing hers, his hips and legs nailing her to the soft mattress as he braced half the weight of his torso on one hand and supported the rest on the hand attempting to cut off her air supply.

Elijah blinked, trying to take in everything he was seeing through a hazy wall of pain. He was aware that he was trapping one of the females, that he could break her neck in a breath if he wanted to, but there was something not quite right about what he was seeing and feeling and he needed a precious moment to figure it out. He looked down into wide, golden eyes, feeling a familiarity in them that was disturbing. There was also something about the thick piece of jewelry beneath his hand. It prevented him from having a perfect grasp on her slender neck, but somehow he knew that was not the most important thing about it.

The next thing he was aware of was that he was completely nude and that she was not much better off in a short, damp skirt that was gathered up around her bared hips. This made her decided lack of fear impress itself on him. Not that he would take advantage of such a situation even if had she been his worst enemy, but how would she know that he meant her no harm? Considering the fact that he was the one in the dominant, aggressive position, her bravery seemed either very impressive or very foolish.

He looked away from her, his eyes darting around the room, more pieces to a puzzle that still seemed to have too many gaps. He could smell food, was aware of his hunger and unusual weakness. He noticed he was bandaged and healing, and not lying dead on the forest floor. It seemed an inane thought, but it was an important ingredient in his ability to understand what was going on.

His hand loosened slightly as he looked back to the female beneath his body. There was hair everywhere, hers, tangled between them both. She had an intriguing body, quite strong for a female and impressively fit. She was also full of soft, abundant curves just where a male would appreciate such things most. He could feel all of this more than he could see it, just as he felt her appealing warmth, the satin smoothness of the skin brushing his thighs and calves, and the rapid rise and fall of the breasts crushed beneath the weight of his body as she drew for breath.

He became aware of her scent, this aspect also somehow familiar, even though it was layered beneath the aroma of food. It was attractive enough to distract him from his pain, the fight-or-flight reaction he had woken up with twisting with intriguing ease into the powerful stirring of male interest. Powered by adrenaline, he was far deeper into the reactions of his instincts than the civilization of his intelligence. Demons were as much the heirs of their animal sides as the Lycanthropes were, though they never manifested into the forms of that side of their nature. It was this instinctive side, which they embraced in conjunction with their moral side, that made them the impressive hunters and warriors that they were.

When the warrior took a long breath in through his nose, Siena became aware of the fact that he was taking in her scent. She was not concerned at first, because it would have been her first reaction had she woken in a strange place. But something changed the color of his eyes from a troubled jade to a very vivid emerald, and she found herself completely fascinated by the transformation. A powerful sort of speculation rippled through them just before he lowered his head to her ear and drew another slow breath. His lips faintly brushed her jaw, his soft hair falling against her forehead.

That was when she became aware of the change in his scent, a sharp spike of the rich musk that was always present on him. She felt her stomach tighten with instinctive anticipation, even as her mind rebelled against the feeling, understanding that she was in a fair amount of danger and that all of this behavior was primitive and unjustifiable. For her. For him, waking into a world of confusion, it was not. She was the one with her senses about her, she lectured herself sternly, her fingernails digging into the wrist that still pinned her head to the pillow.

The warrior touched his nose to her temple and inhaled deeply once more. His lips touched her; she felt them part just enough to imprint a wisp of moisture, like the barest of kisses, against her cheek. Siena felt a wash of chills flowing down the front of her body in inexplicable and wild response. Her breasts grew taut beneath the heavy velvet fabric of her dress, the pointed crests of her nipples rubbing his chest in an inadvertent flirtation of response.

Elijah made a low, appreciative sound in his throat before raising his head from her again, his jeweled eyes bright but smoldering as they drifted down to her breasts. The vocalization called to Siena, very deeply, sending a rapid rush of heat and awareness bursting across her skin. She felt her mind turning away from logic and reason as the primitive reply to that call bubbled up from her own throat.

Her answering song had a dynamic effect on him, and she could feel the evidence of it solidifying between their bodies. Her golden eyes grew wide as she felt that male weight and hardening heat against her inner thigh. Just like that, an instantaneous metamorphosis, and for some reason just the understanding that she was responsible for it melted her body from the inside out. She inhaled a quick, full breath of emotion. She was suddenly overwhelmed by this feeling, this rush of adrenalized sexual response that she had always tried to tell herself she was not in the least curious about. And she hadn’t been…until this very moment.

It was raw and base, like the driving hunger that followed a long hibernation. She felt sensations darting around inside her, hot and intrigued, crying out a call that she couldn’t hope to understand. She was poorly prepared and felt it keenly. Siena was a creature of instinct, but she was also one of complete bodily control. Until that moment, she would have sworn there was no part of her that was a stranger to her. That was the only way it could be for any being that altered the shape and nature of who it was with the will of its mind alone. Yet, there was no control in and of that moment, and her entire being was now very much a stranger. She was first flushed, and then chilled. She was terrified, but craving. She was seeping liquid heat, and locking up in solid awareness. The contradictions battered her from the inside out and she felt wildly, deliciously out of control of it all.

The warrior felt the female’s heart pounding madly beneath him, the sensation causing a curl to one side of his lips as he looked down at her. She was aroused, he could smell it, feel it, and hear it. He was aware of how he was reacting to this delicacy entwined with his body. He was fully aroused against her; her hot skin, so soft and smooth like a thick satin, cradled him. He felt a tremor shimmer through her and he was pressed with the urge to rub himself up against her supple body. It made no impression on him that he was still weak and wounded. His mind was little more than an endorphin-pushed rush at that point. He was blind to everything but the sensations and the desires of his instinctive thoughts.

Elijah was no stranger to women—he enjoyed them immensely, in fact—but this was something quite remarkable. Never had he reacted so strongly, so quickly, to a female before. Except, perhaps, one other time. But he had refused to acknowledge it then for what it was, excusing it as part of the heat of battle. It had been the attraction of creatures who, though they were completely differing species, were joined by the common thread of one warrior appreciating the dynamic skills and flush of battle upon another. Other than that, the very idea of it had been utterly appalling because the woman in question had been—

That was when recognition finally set in.

Elijah’s eyes went pale, just as the rest of him did, as he finally realized exactly who it was he held pinned beneath his body. Who it was he was feeling this outrageous craving for. And who it was that was responding with an inconceivable reciprocation of heat and interest.

“Siena,” he hissed, his hand finally leaving her throat to reveal the gold and moonstone collar she wore.

Elijah rolled off her and out of the bed in such a swift movement that he ended up staggering as he gained his feet. As he moved, he jerked a sheet off the bed to wrap around his body. He was not doing so out of shyness, but he would be damned if he would stand naked, aroused, and vulnerable in front of any Lycanthrope woman.

Especially the Queen.

The warrior ran a violent hand through his hair as everything settled at last into the proper place in his awareness. He watched warily as the Queen slid into a sitting position, smoothing her short skirt down to a somewhat more proper placement. She then, quite casually, looked up at him with those eerie gold eyes that always made him feel like she was dissecting him. No doubt because her people had done plenty of Demon dissecting over the centuries as they had relentlessly pressed a genocidal war upon his society.

“What in hell is going on here?” he demanded, unable to help himself as he reached out to steady himself against the bedpost.

She didn’t immediately answer, instead getting to her feet in one supple motion as his eyes followed her every movement. She moved very carefully as she reached to take fresh sheets from a stack sitting on a nearby chest. Amazingly, she turned her back on him and, of all things, began to make the bed. It was a harmless, domestic thing, and, to say the least, it was an incongruous act for a woman who was not only royalty, but one of the most ruthless fighters Elijah had ever had the pleasure of seeing in battle.

She had finally set the bed to rights, tossing the sheets that had been covered in strange debris, including what he assumed was his own blood, into a corner. It was after that when she finally turned to face him. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, as if she were a stern parent about to give him a decisive lecture on manners and behavior.

“I will explain once you return to bed,” she offered generously.

“I’ll do no such damned thing!” Elijah barked, his eyes flashing with a bottle-green fire quite indicative of his anger. “Answer me, woman. Queen or no, I’m not above—”

Elijah cut himself off as he was struck by a wave of nausea frighteningly resistant to his efforts at mental and physical repression. She was by his side before he knew she was moving, inserting herself under his arm to give him support.

“I swear, warrior, if you make me carry you one more inch I will be quite annoyed,” she warned, using her considerable leg strength to propel him toward the bed.

Elijah had no choice but to follow her lead. She guided him down with surprising gentleness and an impressive show of physical power. He was quite aware that he was no lightweight, and, in spite of the fact that she was a good five inches shorter than he was, she managed just fine. She had him lying in the bed, covered and pillowed comfortably in a heartbeat. He immediately began to feel better. Well enough to flush at the realization of having shown his weakness to her.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk he could have done without, “I won’t tell.”

That, of course, upset him even more. Damn her, she was baiting him on purpose. He responded with coarse anger instead of the gratitude that he would have given to anyone else who had assisted him in such a manner.

“Just answer my question,” he snapped.

“Well, if you must know, I am in the process of saving your life.” She said this matter-of-factly as she bent to retrieve a bowl from the floor.

She disappeared into the next room before he could respond to that particularly inconceivable idea, but returned moments later with a clean bowl. She reached into the fire and the scent of food thickened in the air. He sat up, unwilling to lie there like some sort of invalid, using a pillow behind his shoulder to help prop himself up while softening the press of his wounded shoulder against the stone wall at his back.

Siena carried the bowl over to him and, placing a careful knee on the bed, she settled beside him, facing him and extending the offering of food to him. He looked her over suspiciously for a moment and then reached to take the presented food. She held on to it even after his hands encircled it, as if she were afraid he might spill it.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she noted dryly when he gave her a scathing look.

The remark put together a series of disconnected clues floating around in his head with a click. Quickly he realized he had scalded the skin on one of his arms, exactly the kind of burn that would result from hot soup being spilled over it. What was even more disturbing was he finally understood she had been holding exactly such a bowl when he had suddenly grabbed her.

Immediately he scanned her for burns, and for the first time he noticed both of her thighs were scalded a bright red. This, he realized, was why her dress was wet. He had caused her to burn not only him, but herself. An answer, he was understanding, undeserved of someone who he was realizing was intent on nursing him.

Elijah took the bowl from her and set it aside. He took hold of her arm before she could move away, holding her tightly when she would have pulled back. His free hand brushed aside a couple of inches of her dress’s material, exposing rapidly forming blisters. She tried to push his hand away, to retreat, but he would not let her. He was aware that he was holding her with his injured arm and she might have made a clean escape if she would only apply a little force, but she was clearly unwilling to do any more damage than he had already done to himself these past few minutes.

Suddenly, Elijah felt like an enormous jerk. Nothing was so shameful as the clarity of a moment like that, and it reflected in his eyes quite clearly.

“Never mind,” she insisted, trying to push his hand away once more.

“Siena…”

“Don’t,” she commanded sharply. “Don’t get all remorseful, warrior. I am aware you did not mean it. You need nourishment. If you wish to make me feel better you will brave my culinary skills and take some soup. I need to cool the burns and bathe. The mineral pool in the next room will help them heal quickly. We both of us heal rapidly, as you know, so this is a waste of your energy.”

“It is a terrible way to thank you for saving my life. I remember now what was happening. That scream…that was you.”

“I thought it would be counterproductive to my hard work offering peaceful overtures to your King if you were found suddenly dead in one of my territories. Believe me, my motivations were highly selfish. As you probably expected.”

She finally freed herself, turning away from him and exiting the room quickly. He saw her walk past the fireplace on the other side a couple of times before she retreated to a place some distance away.

Feeling like a complete barbarian, he settled his mind to accomplishing what she had requested of him. He finished the entire bowl of soup by the time he heard her returning to the room just outside the doorway. The only sound she really made was the patter of bare soles on stone. Even so, she walked very lightly for a woman of what could be considered Amazonian proportions. It was quite some time before she entered the room to retrieve the bowl and take a willow broom to the remaining debris of the spilled food that was on the floor. She remained well out of his reach this time, unusually silent as she worked.

As he watched her in similar silence, Elijah was forced to recall the first time he had seen her. It had been in Kane’s home immediately after Kane’s mate, Corrine, had been abducted. It had been there that they had first come to understand that Ruth could be a potential traitor to Demonkind.

It had been Siena’s sources that had led them to the truth of that particular matter. But as seemed to be his sudden habit around her, he had been hostile to her instead of being grateful. Again, it had been an affliction of pride that had instigated the behavior. He had been very irritated that she had been able to unearth the betrayal where he had not. Irritated and embarrassed. It did not matter that she was better equipped to get such information from the start, it just mattered that she had been the one to tell his King how poorly he had done his job, however unintentional it may have been.

On top of that, he had not been able to take his eyes off her. She was a breathtaking creature, a beauty one could not help but admit to being unparalleled, even if she was a Lycanthrope. That was saying a great deal, in Elijah’s mind. He knew very well what three centuries of war had done to his perspective concerning her species. He was prejudiced, angry, and unrelentingly unforgiving. So for him to show any appreciation to any of them for any reason was nothing short of a miracle. A miracle, and a total truth. Demon women were very beautiful creatures, inside and out, and there were some that were blindingly attractive, but none he had seen could outshine the Lycanthrope Queen. She was golden, luminescent, and she held herself with all the pride and stubbornness of dignity of her race. He had absolutely no right to be attracted to her on any level, never mind with the ferocity he had experienced. She had turned those enormous eyes on him, meeting his appraisals with an unconcerned air, and Elijah had felt as though she had stolen the very breath from his body with just that single, unblinking look.

It had worsened the day she had joined their forces in battle against the onslaught of human killers at the Battle of Beltane. He had seen Lycanthropes in battle countless times, but he had never once seen anything like her. She was a full-blooded huntress, a warrior of remarkable speed and lethal beauty. She was as merciless as he was, efficient once her mind was set to her purpose. She did not hesitate or shy from the kill. In fact, she reveled in it. And so she should. The necromancers had deserved their fate. They had harmed and destroyed innocents, some of them her own people, and retribution was the only acceptable punishment.

Elijah remembered smelling the scent of the hunt on her, the blood of her prey, and the adrenaline of her victory. He remembered that moment vividly because he had never known such a fast and hard reaction of arousal as he had in that singular, unbelievable instant. His blood had been high and hot, the lust and delight of justice riding him like a wicked mistress, and then those golden eyes of a woman warrior fresh from her victims’ throats had skimmed over his body like a siren’s touch. It was as if her hands had run over his naked flesh, determined and skilled and just as bold as she was when she hunted anything else.

Then she had spoken to him, completely oblivious of how she had affected him, and made a statement that had haunted him almost day and night for the months since she had uttered it.

He had spoken briefly of his mistrust of her, a knee-jerk reaction to the confusion pounding through his mind, and she had responded.

“I would think you an utter fool if you did not doubt me, warrior. Instead, I am forced to respect your uncommon intelligence. Now what, do you suppose, should I do from there?”

With those words she had proven herself to be the better person. While he clutched his prejudices and hostilities close to heart, she had once more laid down her ideas of peace and a desire to respect him for exactly what he was. She had humbled him by humbling herself, and he could not forget it.

She had shamed him, angered him, aroused him, and confused him, a deluge of emotions so powerful he didn’t even recognize them as his own at first. It had been exactly the same less than an hour ago. She had done it to him all over again, but this time he had been at a disadvantage. In his confusion and weakness in that moment when she had been beneath him, oh so beautiful and so incredibly lush, Elijah had allowed her to see what he had spent these many months hiding from everyone, including himself.

Siena was an audacious creature, self-assured to a fault and almost cocky in her attitude toward things that would have given anyone else a healthy dose of fear. She never had to second-guess herself, and certainly would not show it if she did. So her silence after his callous treatment of her disturbed him on very deep levels. He did not imagine her sulking in some simpering, feminine way, the ways that had made it easy for him to discard some of his past female acquaintances.

No.

This was the silence of a female predator who was nurturing a pride of her own, trying for all she was worth to remind herself of the greater purpose she served so she wouldn’t give in to an urge to break his fool neck. He was forced to remember the self-control she had used as he’d had his hand wrapped around her soft, vulnerable throat. She had not even made a sound when he had inadvertently burned her.

Elijah knew he was notorious to her people as a legendary slaughterer of men, women, and children. Of course, the worst of the stories were quite exaggerated, as happened in the case of the differing perspectives of a war. But for her to be so still, so quiet, when he’d had the upper hand? Resisting every instinct he realized must have been screaming at her, trying to force her to protect herself, to strike back, had to have been an act of remarkable inner strength. And one of utter devotion to the cause of peace that she seemed to serve so adamantly.

Elijah rubbed at the ache in his healing chest as he mulled over that piece of information. He was no stranger to powerful women, but this one was exceptional. Unnervingly so. He was not supposed to think in these ways about her. To respect her in any other way than as a worthy opponent was a dangerous pastime. She could be his enemy by this time tomorrow. Lycanthropes chose their friends and enemies just that quickly, and as randomly. One day war, the next peace, then vacillation back to brutal war.

The warrior felt the edges of the coarse bandage that was sealing the wound on his chest and he looked down. Immediately his heartbeat quickened when he saw the telltale coil of hair that was helping him heal. When he shot his gaze back to her, she was looking at him with a resigned expectancy.

“What have you done?” he asked hoarsely, his body trembling with the outrage surging through him so violently, so suddenly.

“I had no choice, warrior. I am sorry for that, but not sorry for saving your life. At least, not yet.” She gave him another one of those saucy smirks, her golden eyes flashing with challenging amusement.

“I do not find any humor in this,” he said darkly. “You have tainted me with your blood!”

“I have healed you with it,” she countered sharply, her hands curling into offended fists. “You and your narrow ideas! Thank the Goddess Noah had the sense to send Gideon to teach me your ways, warrior, because if he had sent you I would have had you executed by the second morning! My blood is no more or less tainted than yours is, Demon. Though I’m sure I can produce just as many pigheaded, prejudiced people from my own species that would say yours is utterly diseased. I had hoped you were slightly smarter than those superstitious simpletons.” She seemed to be laughing at him even in her resignation over his character. “Are you poisoned? Rotting away? Are parts of you that weren’t furred before suddenly becoming so?” Again, that twisting of her lips, reminding him that she had taken quite a detailed accounting of his entire body during his unconscious state. “Trust me, Demon, you are no more or less an animal than you were when this began.”

With that veiled insult, she marched out of the room with her broom. He heard her swearing softly in a Russian dialect as she went, being dubiously polite enough to make sure she added some from his own ancient language so he would be quite certain to understand her meaning. It made his ears burn with renewed embarrassment at himself. Hadn’t he just told himself to quit being an ungrateful ass? Yet, somehow he had managed to do the exact same thing all over again. And this time she had not let it slide, her careful patience suddenly finding an end.

And why the hell did that bother him so much?