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?
CHAPTER 3
Night turned to day again and Elijah's grumbling nurse disappeared, no doubt to get some sleep. Meanwhile, he had been doing little else but sleeping. Now, set so far back from even the slightest touch of sunlight, he found himself fairly wide-awake. He was feeling stronger with every passing hour and every bowl of the aromatic soup she pushed on him. She had even begun to feed him the thicker rabbit stew.
He was amazed to realize the Queen was no slouch at the fire. One would think such skills were below a member of royalty, but apparently not. It reminded him of Noah. The King stood on very little ceremony and was quite willing to serve his guests himself.
Elijah pushed the comparison aside stubbornly. He didn't want to find any more similarities between her and anyone else he respected. He was having enough trouble as it was from everything else he had been mulling over.
It had been much easier just to blindly hate and distrust all of her kind.
Still, at one point when she had returned to fetch his empty bowl, Elijah had reached out to take hold of her arm. She had turned a dark stare on him, lifting a filigreed brow in mock curiosity. Wordlessly, he had reached for the short hem of the black silk minidress she now wore, sliding the loose fabric up slightly to examine her damaged legs. As she had assured him, she had healed as remarkably fast as he did. The skin had become a soft pink color, the color of newly emerged, healthy flesh.
Satisfied, he'd let go of her. When he looked up at her again, she had seemed perplexed, the sardonic lift of her brow gone. But she did not say a word as she turned to enter the other room.
Elijah had his fill of lying in bed several hours later. He had no company because she was keeping her distance, and he was thoroughly bored. By all accounts he should have been sleeping soundly during sunlight hours, but he'd had enough of sleeping as well. The warrior found a towel under the stack of sheets nearby and wrapped it around his h*ps since he was unable to find his clothing. He walked out of the room on bare feet, out of habit making as little sound as she did.
He found himself in the middle of a Spartan but tasteful parlor. It had everything it needed, nothing more, nothing less, and everything was very well suited to the environment. He noted the comfortable couch nearby that had a distinct impression in it. No doubt this was where she had been sleeping, but she was not there at the moment. He had always thought Lycanthropes as severely affected by daylight hours as any other Nightwalker, so it surprised him she was not dead asleep. Then again, he was not exactly acting par for the course of his species either.
A breeze blew gently into the room and his head immediately picked up so he could take it in with a deep breath.
All Demons had an innate connection to the base element their powerful abilities came from. He was of the Wind, all of Her properties, temperatures, and volatile ways his to command and enjoy. The Wind filled him down to every last cell of his being, called to him with a lure that was almost unparalleled. And with the crisp, clean scent of Her whisper blowing around him, Elijah realized he had been indoors for far too long.
With a single-minded thinking, Elijah followed the breeze to its source. He strode up the cavern steps, then up the slope of the floor with eager expectation. He was so focused on his goal that it took him a full minute to realize he was approaching a lake of water within the cave, and that standing in the center of it, covered only to her h*ps with the liquid, was his wayward Lycanthrope nurse.
Elijah stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body tensing from head to toe with a mixture of utter shock and that sharp, brutal sexual awareness she inspired so effortlessly within him. The Queen had her back to him, the long, beautiful line of her spine gracefully exposed as she bent forward to swing her hair through the water she was using to wash it. The water lapped flirtatiously at the site of her tailbone, drawing his immediately riveted attention to that beckoning female curve of sleek waist blending into voluptuous backside. Her skin glittered with water, both real and reflected, hundreds of beads of the liquid sliding down to rejoin the surface of the lake. With her hair swept forward for washing, her long, arching spine was exposed, a palette of perfect, golden skin. She was shaped like a sculpture depicting the epitome of womanhood, strong, curved, and lush with the impression of fertility.
Elijah completely forgot about where he had been headed, his fingers curling into fists in reflection of the inexplicable desire instantly coiling throughout his body. He should have looked away, turned away, run away. He should have done any one of a thousand things except stand there gawking at her like some pubescent boy who had never seen a na**d woman before. Though the initial breeze he had been following had picked up, he felt as if there wasn't an ounce of oxygen in the room. He could not explain or control the effect she had on him. All he could do was struggle to breathe, and continue to watch every alluring movement the siren in the water made as her flawless body sang its riveting, seductive song.
Even the wind betrayed him, he realized a heartbeat later. It skimmed over her wet body, full of October cold, and he saw it ripple over her unblemished skin in an ever-expanding carpet of goose bumps. It worked down from her shoulders, along that length of feminine spine, until it was sprawling over her bottom and meeting the waterline.
Siena turned slightly, throwing back her heavy head of hair, releasing an arc of sparkling water from it all the way up into the air where it almost touched the stalactites reaching down from the cavern ceiling above her. She turned a little farther, her hand trailing in a playful pattern over the surface of the water, her br**sts swaying gently with the motion of her reaching arm. Elijah's smallest remaining breath escaped him as his darkened eyes burned over her bare form. Siena's muscular fitness might have made some females look too masculine, but the smoothness of the curve from hip into waist, from waist back out to rib cage, and continuing on up into full, perfectly lush br**sts, spoke of a creature who was made to be the most pristine of feminine lures to any male with a pair of eyes in his head.
Elijah's gaze became riveted to the dark definition of her ni**les, a blended rose and tan color that was boldly offset by the golden color of her skin. They were crested into an attractive thrust from the chilled temperature of the water and air, the effect eddying out into gooseflesh that crept over both br**sts. Outside of those little puckered pores, her skin was immaculate and looking every inch as satin soft as he knew it was. She was unbelievably perfect, so well formed, and so beautiful she had the power to literally stop his heart. His chest hurt with the sensation, but not as much as the sudden, blinding urge to go to her did. He could smell her, feel her as every hair on his body became erect, making him feel as though his very skin was reaching toward her. Every sense and natural device for sensing demanded more input.