the place, but with enemies who were perfectly capable of running around in sunlight and itching to kill this Demon, a smoke trail would not be worth the risk. So long as he was this ill, she was very much alone. Powerful or not, all Siena had to do was look at the felled warrior to know she would have odds no better than his if pitted against those diabolical women.
Exhausted herself, Siena moved back into the parlor and immediately curled up into the deeply plush cushions of the couch. She didn’t even bother to do her usual rituals, which often included kneading the bedding for added softness and a bit of moving and turning to find exactly the right spot. She simply flopped down, curled up into a snug ball, and fell fast asleep.
As she drifted off, the golden fur on her body peeled away, slipping off smooth, human skin to dangle in large golden coils, hanging willy-nilly off the edges of arms, hips, and the cushions of the couch. Claws turned into neat little nails, whiskers disappeared. The pads on her hands and feet became nothing thicker than the usual calluses, and her ears had only the tiniest little point to them after changing back to the shape and position of any normal woman’s ears.
CHAPTER 2
Siena woke feeling much better many hours later. For one, she could smell the distinct ionized odor of rain. There was a good-sized storm just beyond the cave entrance. The pressure was unmistakable, even if she couldn’t hear it with her keen hearing. This bathing of the Earth would hide what remained of their trail to the cave. She suspected that in their usual overblown sense of arrogance, the human magic-users were not likely to think they had failed in killing the Demon, and as a result would see no need to double-check. However, with the female Demons amongst them, she could not assume typical behaviors in this situation.
Siena sat up on the couch, stretching out one long limb after the other, soft, contented vocalizations accompanying each one. Jinaeri certainly knew a thing or two about comfort, she thought as she rose to her feet, shaking back her hair as it immediately curled into its proper places. The Queen moved to a pretty antique chest up against one wall and opened it. Inside she discovered neatly folded slips, dresses, and T-shirts.
The brevity of the clothing, most of it short, simple sheaths, was common for the women of her culture. Those who enjoyed the ability to transform into the form of an animal also enjoyed the type of clothing that would fall easily to the wayside and not impede their movement in the event of such a change.
The Queen plucked a soft, flowing minidress from the chest and donned it with a quick drop of fabric over her head. The cute little garment slid instantly into place, held on her by the thinnest of straps at her shoulders and the fact that she was quite a bit bustier than Jinaeri. She looked even more so as the low, scooped neckline left her in abundant display. The floating skirt’s hem fluttered over the tops of her thighs, a soft whisper of sensation that made her rub her fingertips with pleasure over the crushed pile of the fabric. Siena glanced into the mirror near the trunk and smiled as she admired the blue velvet and the way it shone as the garment drifted airily with even a twitch of motion. She might have to exercise the privileges of royalty on a subject and permanently borrow the delightful creation.
Siena then padded across the chilly stone to the fireplace, where she arranged wood and kindling, starting a comfortable blaze without worrying that smoke could be trailed in either rain or darkness. Evening was definitely on them. Siena felt guilty that she had not roused to check on her patient in all of this time, but it was senseless to reprimand herself. There was not much she could have done for him in any event.
She checked on him immediately after the fire took hold, however, crossing into the next room and letting only firelight illuminate her way. She gingerly rested one knee onto the mattress, sitting back on that heel, half on, half off the bed. She slowly began to inspect his injuries. As she had suspected, most were healing nicely, some even to the point of pink, new skin. She removed the bandages from those places.
The iron wounds were not doing quite so well, also as expected. The worst part about iron, as opposed to the silver used against her people, was that it tended to rust and flake too easily, often leaving behind specks of itself even after being extracted. These flecks of metal would continue to insidiously poison the wound as it tried to heal. The only way to remove them completely would be for a Demon medic of great skill to use his powers over the Body to do so.
She knew just the person she needed.
In fact, his wife was the ambassador the Demon King had appointed to her court, the Demon King’s own sister Magdelegna. Legna was a bright, beautiful woman, a Mind Demon of substantial power, one whose bravery Siena admired a great deal. It took a woman of great courage to maintain diplomacy in what was often a hostile court of former enemies, as well as expose herself to such a situation while carrying her first child.
However, Legna’s husband, the great Body Demon and medic called Gideon, was the oldest of all the Demons, as well as the most powerful. He was the one who could have tended such diabolical wounds, extracting the iron with magical ease. Though his skills as a medic were wasted in the Lycanthrope court, changelings being mostly unaffected by the powers of Demons of the Mind and the Body, Gideon was a valuable addition to it.
He had been the first Demon she had ever met, a prisoner of her father’s kept at court for the King’s amusement and bragging rights many, many years earlier. However, this had backfired on the monarch, because it was Gideon’s teachings that had enlightened the young princess about the true nature and goodness of the Demons.
Now he was back in her court and was quietly assisting his mate in doing the same thing, but on a much larger scale. He also served as his wife’s protector in the sometimes hostile task of winning over a prejudiced people. No creature with any sense would dare harm the mate of such a powerful being as Gideon, but in every race there was always someone lacking in good sense. The warrior’s injuries attested to that quite clearly.
It was useless to think about the medic. He was too far away and Siena would not leave the Demon warrior vulnerable and alone. It would have to wait until he became stronger. She would, however, need to hunt for food if there was none in the cave. It did not seem likely. As one who took the form of a lemur, Jinaeri was a vegetarian. Siena was mostly a carnivore and preferred the freshest game she could manage. It wasn’t likely she would find such in the house of an herbivore, never mind one that was not yet stocked for the winter. The nutrition of meat was something that could only be obtained fresh. It made no sense to leave anything behind from the season before that would attract animals or decay.
Siena gently rewashed the wounds on the warrior and dressed them with clean bandages. The only one she did not touch was the one bandaged with her hair. That would care for itself and was best left alone. She pulled the covers back over the Demon’s chilled skin. It was a good sign. Demons ran much lower temperatures than Lycanthropes or humans did. If he were to grow hot, it would mean he was fighting a fever, and that was the last thing the warrior needed. He was still terribly pale, perhaps even a little too cold to the touch, but he did look as if he were breathing easier. She could hear his steady heartbeat, stronger than it had been.
The Queen reached to push back the now-dry tendrils of his hair, the surprisingly soft silk of it slipping through her fingers. He wore it long, a common thing for Nightwalkers. Whatever he had used to bind it back from his face was long gone, and she thought she would make a point of searching for a replacement once she returned with food for them. His hair was quite thick, more like the density of a Lycanthrope’s, than what was the norm for a Demon. But Lycanthropes didn’t own a monopoly on thick, healthy hair. Still, it was a pleasant tactile sensation.
Siena found her hand drifting down his forehead, fingertips touching each thick, gold brow with a curious tracing of their arches. Even his lashes were blond, like her own. It was a dark, rich gilt color, offsetting the lighter shades of his hair just as
