Elijah. Jacquelyn Frank
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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 was moving, inserting herself under his arm to give him support.
“I swear, warrior, if you make me carry you one more inch I will be quite annoyed,” she warned, using her considerable leg strength to propel him toward the bed.
Elijah had no choice but to follow her lead. She guided him down with surprising gentleness and an impressive show of physical power. He was quite aware that he was no lightweight, and, in spite of the fact that she was a good five inches shorter than he was, she managed just fine. She had him lying in the bed, covered and pillowed comfortably in a heartbeat. He immediately began to feel better. Well enough to flush at the realization of having shown his weakness to her.
“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk he could have done without, “I won’t tell.”
That, of course, upset him even more. Damn her, she was baiting him on purpose. He responded with coarse anger instead of the gratitude that he would have given to anyone else who had assisted him in such a manner.
“Just answer my question,” he snapped.
“Well, if you must know, I am in the process of saving your life.” She said this matter-of-factly as she bent to retrieve a bowl from the floor.
She disappeared into the next room before he could respond to that particularly inconceivable idea, but returned moments later with a clean bowl. She reached into the fire and the scent of food thickened in the air. He sat up, unwilling to lie there like some sort of invalid, using a pillow behind his shoulder to help prop himself up while softening the press of his wounded shoulder against the stone wall at his back.
Siena carried the bowl over to him and, placing a careful knee on the bed, she settled beside him, facing him and extending the offering of food to him. He looked her over suspiciously for a moment and then reached to take the presented food. She held on to it even after his hands encircled it, as if she were afraid he might spill it.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she noted dryly when he gave her a scathing look.
The remark put together a series of disconnected clues floating around in his head with a click. Quickly he realized he had scalded the skin on one of his arms, exactly the kind of burn that would result from hot soup being spilled over it. What was even more disturbing was he finally understood she had been holding exactly such a bowl when he had suddenly grabbed her.
Immediately he scanned her for burns, and for the first time he noticed both of her thighs were scalded a bright red. This, he realized, was why her dress was wet. He had caused her to burn not only him, but herself. An answer, he was understanding, undeserved of someone who he was realizing was intent on nursing him.
Elijah took the bowl from her and set it aside. He took hold of her arm before she could move away, holding her tightly when she would have pulled back. His free hand brushed aside a couple of inches of her dress’s material, exposing rapidly forming blisters. She tried to push his hand away, to retreat, but he would not let her. He was aware that he was holding her with his injured arm and she might have made a clean escape if she would only apply a little force, but she was clearly unwilling to do any more damage than he had already done to himself these past few minutes.
Suddenly, Elijah felt like an enormous jerk. Nothing was so shameful as the clarity of a moment like that, and it reflected in his eyes quite clearly.
“Never mind,” she insisted, trying to push his hand away once more.
“Siena…”
“Don’t,” she commanded sharply. “Don’t get all remorseful, warrior. I am aware you did not mean it. You need nourishment. If you wish to make me feel better you will brave my culinary skills and take some soup. I need to cool the burns and bathe. The mineral pool in the next room will help them heal quickly. We both of us heal rapidly, as you know, so this is a waste of your energy.”
“It is a terrible way to thank you for saving my life. I remember now what was happening. That scream…that was you.”
“I thought it would be counterproductive to my hard work offering peaceful overtures to your King if you were found suddenly dead in one of my territories. Believe me, my motivations were highly selfish. As you probably expected.”
She finally freed herself, turning away from him and exiting the room quickly. He saw her walk past the fireplace on the other side a couple of times before she retreated to a place some distance away.
Feeling like a complete barbarian, he settled his mind to accomplishing what she had requested of him. He finished the entire bowl of soup by the time he heard her returning to the room just outside the doorway. The only sound she really made was the patter of bare soles on stone. Even so, she