a siren’s touch. It was as if her hands had run over his naked 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.
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 hips 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.
