He had such a good face, she marveled as she traced a thumb over well-defined cheekbones, a strong masculine nose, and a firm chin with the faint imprint of a cleft in its middle. It was so rugged, and yet somehow boyishly beautiful. Perhaps, she mused, it was the fullness of his mouth, almost feminine in its way, that foiled the attempt at being wholly toughened.
Siena laughed at herself as she realized what she was doing. She stood up, shaking out her hand as if in punishment to make it behave itself next time. She pressed back a smile at her silliness and moved to the front of the cave. She stood in the opening for a long moment, listening to the rain and smelling the sleeping forest as best she could. Rain masked even her formidable abilities of sniffing out prey or predator.
Then, stepping out of her dress with a simple shrug of her shoulders, she shook herself into the furred form of the Werecat and ran into the cold autumn wet of the forest.
Elijah had not moved so much as an inch in the hour she was gone. She checked him for fever, careful not to drip on him. She was soaked head to toe, her hair streaming as she padded closer to the fire. She settled onto a small, cushioned stool near the dry warmth of the blaze, using a cloth and the heat to try and dry her hair.
She ought to have remained in Werecat form, fur being so much easier and faster to dry, but she considered it would be unwise to do so. Elijah had made it quite clear during their brief meetings that he would not trust her or any of her kind any further than he could spit. It would not be wise to be in the form of a Lycanthrope when he awoke. He might not take the time to notice the ornamental collar of her office that she never took off. A Demon, even in a weakened state, was nothing to fool with. If her people had learned one thing over the centuries, it was not to underestimate the powers of a Demon who felt threatened. Truce or no, Elijah was bound to feel endangered by her presence alone, never mind the fact that he was already wounded.
The Queen turned closer to the fire, her back to the sleeping Demon as she continued to fuss with her hair. She had spitted one of the rabbits she had caught earlier and it was now rotating quite nicely in the fire, the rotisserie operated by a battery-powered motor. It clanked and screeched, not appreciating the nearness of the elemental male whose body chemistry was causing it to function at less than peak. Unlike Demons, Lycanthropes were not averse to the use of machines and technology, and those things did not react adversely to them. Since this was a simple hibernation hostel, it was not equipped with electricity or any superfluous needs that would go unused as the occupant slept more than she remained awake, and Siena supposed that was a very lucky thing. There was a natural source of water, plenty of wood for a fire, and a forest full of food just beyond the entrance. Truly, there was no need for more.
When her hair was mostly dry, settled once more into happy, tubular coils, she rose to dress herself and set about preparing a stew and a soup from the remaining rabbits and the wild turkey she had caught. She saved the feathers of the bird, a payment for Jinaeri for the use of her home. She shredded herbs and roots into both pots and then allowed them to cook slowly in the fire, suspended in swing-armed cauldrons.
It was true her diet consisted mostly of food that was more alive than dead, but she was humanoid too and very much appreciated a wide variety of culinary tastes. One of her favorite things was wild salad, all the greens and buds of the forest fair game, or in autumn, nuts, herbs, tuber roots, and berries, so long as they were not poisonous. All carnivores were actually omnivorous. What many did not realize was that carnivores preyed mainly on herbivores, not only because they were less able to defend themselves, but because the innards of the animals were usually bursting with the necessary vitamins and beneficent qualities of vegetation. That was why the belly was often the first thing a lion went for after taking down a gazelle or deer.
However, innards were a diet she left for the catamount, and upon occasion, the Werecat. In her human form, she preferred salad and meat, both cooked and raw. This meal was not so much for herself, in any event. It was designed for her patient. The herbs used to flavor the dishes were not merely delicious, they were also quite medicinal. Everything that went into the soup and the stew would serve its purpose toward helping him heal and regain his strength.
As she cooked, Siena filled her time by cleaning and stretching the furs of the rabbits on the frames that had been hanging near the fireplace. Nothing hunted was wasted. If a fellow animal must give up its life for her sustenance, she would see to it that every part of it was put to good use. And again, they would make a nice payment to Jinaeri, who did not even know she was playing hostess to her Queen and the Warrior Captain.
After another hour passed, the Queen ladled some of the piping hot soup into a wooden bowl, dropped in a spoon, and made her way to her patient’s side. Once more she knelt on the bedside, settling back on her heel as she held the bowl in one hand and stimulated him with a rubbing motion on his arm with the other. She didn’t expect he would wake right away, but she would at least try every fifteen minutes until he did and she could get some nutrition into him.
When the warrior suddenly burst into life, Siena was caught completely off guard. He exploded into movement, seizing her by both arms and hauling her violently over his body. Her back slammed into the mattress, her breath leaving her in a rush. He pinned her beneath himself painfully, his massive strength formidable even in his weakened state, his weight an overwhelming force. Siena did not make a single sound, not even as the boiling hot soup cascaded down her legs. She made no noise or movement that would be mistaken as an act of provocation. The only thing she did do was to encircle the thick wrist of the hand clenching around her throat with the firm, staying fingers of both hands. She would not provoke him, but neither would she let him throttle her to death.
The warrior’s green eyes were wild with confusion and pain, his movements highly detrimental to his carefully dressed wounds. Siena was immediately aware of the scent of fresh blood, and her eyes flicked down to the wound on his chest. She saw a fresh stream of blood slipping over his skin, dripping from the ridges of his abdomen onto her dress. His immense body was crushing hers, his hips and legs nailing her to the soft mattress as he braced half the weight of his torso on one hand and supported the rest on the hand attempting to cut off her air supply.
Elijah blinked, trying to take in everything he was seeing through a hazy wall of pain. He was aware that he was trapping one of the females, that he could break her neck in a breath if he wanted to, but there was something not quite right about what he was seeing and feeling and he needed a precious moment to figure it out. He looked down into wide, golden eyes, feeling a familiarity in them that was disturbing. There was also something about the thick piece of jewelry beneath his hand. It prevented him from having a perfect grasp on her slender neck, but somehow he knew that was not the most important thing about it.
The next thing he was aware of was that he was completely nude and that she was not much better off in a short, damp skirt that was gathered up around her bared hips. This made her decided lack of fear impress itself on him. Not that he would take advantage of such a situation even if had she been his worst enemy, but how would she know that he meant her no harm? Considering the fact that he was the one in the dominant, aggressive position, her bravery seemed either very impressive or very foolish.
He looked away from her, his eyes darting around the room, more pieces to a puzzle that still seemed to have too many gaps. He could smell food, was aware of his hunger and unusual weakness. He noticed he was bandaged and healing, and not lying dead on the forest floor. It seemed an inane thought, but it was an important ingredient in his ability to understand what was going on.
His hand loosened slightly as he looked back to the female beneath his body. There was hair everywhere, hers, tangled between them both. She had an intriguing body, quite strong for a female and impressively fit. She was also full of soft, abundant curves just where a male would appreciate such things most. He could feel all of this more than he could see it, just as he felt her appealing warmth, the satin smoothness of
