Elijah: The Nightwalkers Read online

  She considered building one to warm the place, but with enemies who were perfectly capable of running around in sunlight and itching to kill this Demon, a smoke trail would not be worth the risk. So long as he was this ill, she was very much alone. Powerful or not, all Siena had to do was look at the felled warrior to know she would have odds no better than his if pitted against those diabolical women.

  Exhausted herself, Siena moved back into the parlor and immediately curled up into the deeply plush cushions of the couch. She didn’t even bother to do her usual rituals, which often included kneading the bedding for added softness and a bit of moving and turning to find exactly the right spot. She simply flopped down, curled up into a snug ball, and fell fast asleep.

  As she drifted off, the golden fur on her body peeled away, slipping off smooth, human skin to dangle in large golden coils, hanging willy-nilly off the edges of arms, hips, and the cushions of the couch. Claws turned into neat little nails, whiskers disappeared. The pads on her hands and feet became nothing thicker than the usual calluses, and her ears had only the tiniest little point to them after changing back to the shape and position of any normal woman’s ears.

  CHAPTER 2

  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 her
s 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.