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.
The warrior touched his nose to her temple and inhaled deeply once more. His lips touched her; she felt them part just enough to imprint a wisp of moisture, like the barest of kisses, against her cheek. Siena felt a wash of chills flowing down the front of her body in inexplicable and wild response. Her breasts grew taut beneath the heavy velvet fabric of her dress, the pointed crests of her nipples rubbing his chest in an inadvertent flirtation of response.
Elijah made a low, appreciative sound in his throat before raising his head from her again, his jeweled eyes bright but smoldering as they drifted down to her breasts. The vocalization called to Siena, very deeply, sending a rapid rush of heat and awareness bursting across her skin. She felt her mind turning away from logic and reason as the primitive reply to that call bubbled up from her own throat.
Her answering song had a dynamic effect on him, and she could feel the evidence of it solidifying between their bodies. Her golden eyes grew wide as she felt that male weight and hardening heat against her inner thigh. Just like that, an instantaneous metamorphosis, and for some reason just the understanding that she was responsible for it melted her body from the inside out. She inhaled a quick, full breath of emotion. She was suddenly overwhelmed by this feeling, this rush of adrenalized sexual response that she had always tried to tell herself she was not in the least curious about. And she hadn’t been…until this very moment.
It was raw and base, like the driving hunger that followed a long hibernation. She felt sensations darting around inside her, hot and intrigued, crying out a call that she couldn’t hope to understand. She was poorly prepared and felt it keenly. Siena was a creature of instinct, but she was also one of complete bodily control. Until that moment, she would have sworn there was no part of her that was a stranger to her. That was the only way it could be for any being that altered the shape and nature of who it was with the will of its mind alone. Yet, there was no control in and of that moment, and her entire being was now very much a stranger. She was first flushed, and then chilled. She was terrified, but craving. She was seeping liquid heat, and locking up in solid awareness. The contradictions battered her from the inside out and she felt wildly, deliciously out of control of it all.
The warrior felt the female’s heart pounding madly beneath him, the sensation causing a curl to one side of his lips as he looked down at her. She was aroused, he could smell it, feel it, and hear it. He was aware of how he was reacting to this delicacy entwined with his body. He was fully aroused against her; her hot skin, so soft and smooth like a thick satin, cradled him. He felt a tremor shimmer through her and he was pressed with the urge to rub himself up against her supple body. It made no impression on him that he was still weak and wounded. His mind was little more than an endorphin-pushed rush at that point. He was blind to everything but the sensations and the desires of his instinctive thoughts.
Elijah was no stranger to women—he enjoyed them immensely, in fact—but this was something quite remarkable. Never had he reacted so strongly, so quickly, to a female before. Except, perhaps, one other time. But he had refused to acknowledge it then for what it was, excusing it as part of the heat of battle. It had been the attraction of creatures who, though they were completely differing species, were joined by the common thread of one warrior appreciating the dynamic skills and flush of battle upon another. Other than that, the very idea of it had been utterly appalling because the woman in question had been—
That was when recognition finally set in.
Elijah’s eyes went pale, just as the rest of him did, as he finally realized exactly who it was he held pinned beneath his body. Who it was he was feeling this outrageous craving for. And who it was that was responding with an inconceivable reciprocation of heat and interest.
“Siena,” he hissed, his hand finally leaving her throat to reveal the gold and moonstone collar she wore.
Elijah rolled off her and out of the bed in such a swift movement that he ended up staggering as he gained his feet. As he moved, he jerked a sheet off the bed to wrap around his body. He was not doing so out of shyness, but he would be damned if he would stand naked, aroused, and vulnerable in front of any Lycanthrope woman.
Especially the Queen.
The warrior ran a violent hand through his hair as everything settled at last into the proper place in his awareness. He watched warily as the Queen slid into a sitting position, smoothing her short skirt down to a somewhat more proper placement. She then, quite casually, looked up at him with those eerie gold eyes that always made him feel like she was dissecting him. No doubt because her people had done plenty of Demon dissecting over the centuries as they had relentlessly pressed a genocidal war upon his society.
“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 breasts, 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
