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.