"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 br**sts, 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 na**d 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.