"You know, you sure picked a fine time to get talkative," he bit out, his voice echoing across the empty fields.
Elijah took a deep breath and turned his thoughts away from how that voice of hers, sexy even in her thoughts, seemed to seek out his spine in a way that stunned every nerve in his body. Cursing under his breath, he twisted into a wind devil that kicked up the worn dust of the practice arena as he left.
An hour later, Elijah finally materialized in his own home, half the planet away from any Russian territories.
Content at last, he began to light lanterns and dusted off his favorite chair before sinking into it with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to release himself into the quiet of the night. His home was actually one of the modern log cabins. Though it had every amenity that came with modern housing, there was no use for it. Electricity and such would not work for him or anyone of his species, their kinship with the forces of nature making technology and most mechanics react adversely to their Demon biochemistry.
I know. I have had to resort to using the old gas lighting system in the castle since Legna and Gideon came to court.
Elijah sat upright in a shot.
Why was it that she sounded even closer than she had before?
Damn her, she sure picked a lousy time to taunt him. It was almost like she was asking for him to completely lose his mind and come looking for her. And, if he judged correctly the tension surging through him and the urges that followed, she would have her way soon enough if she kept this up.
I'm not afraid of you, she whispered.
You should be, he warned, trying the connection himself for the very first time.
You'll have to find me first.
Her original threat. She was no doubt taunting him because she believed she could hide herself from him. She believed herself to have superior skills, and therefore she had nothing to fear.
The challenge was a foolish one, and Elijah had thought her smarter than that. He felt frustrated and upset as he stood up and began to pace the floor.
Siena, you are playing with fire. You do not want to do this.
Shouldn't I be the judge of that?
Damn her!
Elijah tried to push her out of his thoughts, running up the dark stairs to search for something, anything, to occupy his mind. To keep himself from thinking about her and his memories of her. The more she spoke in that soft, sexy whisper, the more he remembered the same whisper in his ear as she purred and urged him to move deeper into her sweet body. He remembered it right down to the feel of her fingers in his hair, her nails skimming his back.
Elijah entered his library, quickly striking a match and lighting two of the lanterns on the table. He was not much of a reader this century, tending to concentrate on his fighting skills and strategic abilities. Last century it had been perfecting his skills as a master weapons maker. As the library lit up, proof of that gleamed from every wall. There were about twenty swords, the variety diversified, and each made with his own hands from pommel to scabbard. Even the mounts they were displayed on had been painstakingly crafted by his own touch.
These were not just showpieces. He had practiced with them all and had used more than half of them in actual battle. Now he surveyed them slowly, waiting to see which one would speak to him the loudest.
The katana won his attention.
The blade was tucked tightly into a pure silver scabbard, and the light of the lantern flickered against it in a way that made the etchings on it come to life. He reached for it, then hesitated and lowered his hand. He tried not to remember the last time he had used it, knowing Siena was so close to his thoughts.
The blade that killed my father.
Elijah winced, not even realizing her tone was speculative, not accusatory.
I am sorry, Siena.
Do not be sorry, warrior. You changed both of our worlds for the better with the stroke of that blade.
Overwhelmed, Elijah backed away from the blade and dropped awkwardly into a nearby chair.
"What do you want from me, Siena?" he asked aloud, his voice hoarse as he tried to filter out his emotions.
I want to know what you want from me.
"Nothing," he whispered. "I don't want anything from you." He paused for only two strong heartbeats. "Except you," he said at last.
He stood up and walked to the glass doors leading from the library to a balcony that wrapped halfway around the house. He exited the house and took in the night air with a deep breath as he leaned on the wooden railing.
Your touch, your laugh, your beautiful eyes, Siena. Your temper, your brilliance in both your skin and your mind. I want to wake in the morning wrapped up in your hair and looking into your eyes. I want to learn what it truly means to know you.
Elijah's eyes closed as he felt physical pain singing through every fiber of his body.
I am not such a mystery, Elijah. I am the woman who wants nothing more than to lead her people into an era of peace and comfort.
Nothing more, Siena? Elijah lifted his hand to rub at the pained furrows of his forehead.
There is one other thing I want.
And that is?
I want you to see me, Elijah.
Elijah straightened away from the railing when she said that. His heart jumped erratically with a sudden surge of hope. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness, the night breeze blowing over him as clouds moved across the face of the waxing moon.
He caught a faint, familiar scent and he felt every blood cell in his body suddenly rush to all sorts of locations, leaving him a little dizzy in the aftermath.
And then he saw the gleam of moonlight on gold.
Bracing a hand on the railing, Elijah leapt over it, dropping two stories down to the ground. He broke into a run, but stopped when the soft scent disappeared. He looked around for the source of the golden light and suddenly saw something hanging from the bony fingers of a tree limb. He reached for it, pulling it free and turning it over in his palm. It was an armband, made of gold and moonstones in a fashion as intricate as Siena's collar.
Tell me what this means, Siena, he demanded.
It is the band of the Queen's Consort, Elijah.
She said nothing more, explained no further. She knew she did not have to. Elijah was a man close to the details of a monarchy. He knew full well what it meant to be a Royal Consort.
Elijah's heart was pounding so hard, he barely heard her. In that moment, everything seemed to change. The feelings overwhelming him were irresistible, longing and craving and just shy of maddening.
"Tell me where you are, Siena. Tell me right now!"
I am home, Elijah. And I am waiting for your decision.
Siena knelt before the beautiful stone altar, carefully lighting the natural, homemade incense that Anya had given to her as a gift last Beltane. She sat back on her heels, closed her eyes, and tried to focus on her prayer. It was difficult, however, because she felt him coming with more than just her heart and her soul, and definitely more than her body. What that was exactly…she could not fathom in the moment. Nevertheless, it was as impossible to ignore as it was to explain.
He was still an ocean away, but she already had goose bumps rippling up her arms, across the back of her shoulders, and swiftly along the back of her neck until the sensation was prickling over her scalp in a way that made her hair rustle to attention.
Her chamber was already full of the scent of incense. It had been burning all day, according to tradition, in preparation for the night to come. Also according to tradition, Siena had spent the entire day doing nothing more then sleeping, bathing, perfuming, shampooing, and smoothing on a variety of oils and lotions meant to make her skin the utmost in soft perfection.
She had been a Princess before she had been a Queen, all of her life spent at the court. So all the fussing and primping and the attention she had been paid was exactly what she was used to, and exactly what she enjoyed. In fact, the familiarity of it alone had helped her to keep calm, relaxed, and focused on most levels. As a result, there wasn't a spot on her body that was not soft and delicately scented, and she was still able to maintain an image of dignity and calm while she was waiting.
Just the same, Siena had been lucky.
Elijah had been asleep until fairly late that night, up until about an hour ago. If he had woken up sooner, she might not have been able to conceal her activities, or excitement, as she prepared for a night he didn't even know about. As controlled as she was, this connection that was growing stronger between them would have had the potential to give her away. She could conceal so much from a great many others, but Elijah was embedded in her very spirit, and soon, she had finally realized, there would be nothing she could keep from him. And as he came for her, she felt the rushing of his heart and his blood, his adrenaline and every other endorphin in his biochemistry flooding into his system. It was like a stunningly potent drug, making her head whirl and rush as if she were swimming in stimulants.
Technically, she should wait for him to give her a proper response about becoming her Consort. But she had felt, in her heart, the minute the warrior had come to understand the meaning of the armband, and any step he made in her direction had been everything a voiced acceptance could have been.
Siena pushed up from the floor, the stone cold beneath her warm, damp palms as she did so, and stood up. Her quarters were filled with women in the form of aides, guards, and ladies-in-wait. And, of course, Anya and Syreena were right by her side.
She was flanked by them, each dressed in a very specific ceremonial robe. Each robe was loose with long angel-wing sleeves. Anya's was made of a sheer green material, a very thin, fine silk that only their oldest and most accomplished artisans could create. Woven into the pattern of the silk in a way that, by touch, could not be discerned from the silk itself was the image of a vixen whose tail wrapped over Anya's hip and down her thigh.
Syreena's robe was made out of the same sheer silk, except hers was cerulean blue. Twisting in one direction around her body was a dolphin, and in the other, a peregrine falcon. Sparkles of diamond-dust sprinkled about doubled for the splash of the ocean and the starlight in the night sky.
Siena extended her arms palms up, and each aide took one side of the white lace and satin robe she was wearing over her own gown. Slowly, their fingertips moved to the ribbons in the front of the gown and they began to weave them intricately together, as if tying shoelaces, except that they each used only one hand, the other's hand acting as their second. It took concentration, coordination, and cooperation to be successful at such a task, and Siena's best friends, sisters of her soul, if not both in her blood, performed it flawlessly.