Elijah. Jacquelyn Frank
Читать онлайн книгу.
a beat in anticipation. Her claws scraped over stone as she settled low onto her belly, the first movement in the dance that would follow.
The catamount spent a minute in the position, pretending to be relaxed when instead she was quite alert. The next step in the ritual was when she rose onto all fours and walked slowly away. The more she pretended he was unimportant, the bolder she became. It was a dangerous dance, for all the posturing involved. The most deadly moment would be when she was in striking distance. She would make the choice to bat his head from his shoulders with the swipe of one powerful paw or choose a different form of aggression to put him in his place. By the time she got that close to him, Elijah was beaded with perspiration and fighting a serious bout of fatigue. The ritual had taken a great deal out of a man too soon from his sickbed. But he still did not budge, wanting with every fiber of his being to make up for whatever part of this was caused by his unthinking behavior.
The mountain lioness was so close now he could feel the warmth of her breath and see the gleam of her collar out of the corner of one eye. She extended one paw in a long, tentative reach. Her claws were sheathed, which was an awfully calming piece of information. Still, he could not move. She had not judged him completely.
She sprang so suddenly that Elijah tensed involuntarily. It took every ounce of control he had not to protect himself, instead rolling with her as her powerful jaws clamped onto his neck. His chest heaved with his heightened breath, but he let her continue. All she needed to do was tighten her grip a fraction of an inch and she would puncture his carotid artery or break his neck.
But the hold was meant only to send a message. This was her territory and she was in charge. He would never frighten her again, the grip communicated to him, and if he did, the grasp she had on his neck would not be so harmless next time.
Siena let go after a very long minute, settling back on her haunches as the pupils of her eyes began to round out. The huge cat shook her head and began to change into the woman once more. Elijah sat up slowly once she had reformed completely. Siena remained sitting crouched before him on all fours, eyeing him cautiously. Her hair was wound around her protectively, concealing her bare body in a defensive gesture. It disturbed him because he knew Lycanthropes were rarely shy of parading around in a nude state. The idea that he had terrified her into second-guessing the habit did not sit easily on his stomach. He did not blame her at all, though.
Siena looked at the Demon with wide, cautious eyes, trying to make sense of everything she was feeling. He finally met her gaze, but remained as silent as the grave. His eyes were a swirl of numerous shades of green, the chaos of color reflective of how she was feeling.
How had she let this happen? Why had it happened? Demons and Lycanthropes were as different as cats and dogs. At least, that was the common view in both their societies. If that was true, then how had this been able to occur? They should not have been chemically compatible, never mind the fact that mentally they were in some ways still at war with one another. There was no denying, however, that they had been more than compatible, chemically and otherwise. Her body still, after all this passed time, burned with the memory of his touch and the depth of his passion. What was more, it boiled with her reciprocation of it, of the very clear message that it was perturbed with its unsatisfied yearnings for him. She felt hollow and unfulfilled, felt as though he had vacated her very soul when he had been forced to pull away in defense of himself.
The Queen rose to her feet, turning her back on him and padding quickly into the next room. She felt better once she had dropped another of the loose baby-doll dresses over her head, this one as green as his eyes had been when he had kissed her. She brushed the backs of her fingers over her mouth, feeling the bruises and memory-provoking soreness of her lips. She felt him approaching, her thoughts swirling with a confusion of what she was feeling and what she imagined he was feeling. She was grateful when he did not stop to talk to her, instead retreating into the bedroom. When he was gone, she sank down into the nearest seat and exhaled silently.
Siena could not believe what she had almost done. If things had gone much further, her entire life would have changed dramatically, provided there was such a thing as a life after a mistake of such incomprehensible proportions. She was the sole ruler of her people, no mate, no children, and had never wished for either. The ruling class of her people had one distinctive trait, and that was the fact that when they mated, it would be for life. There were several species that carried this trait, such as wolves and swans, just as there were the polygamous animals, like horses and deer, who changed partners not only year to year, but sometimes moment to moment.
But no matter what the form the ruling monarch took, he or she was driven to mate once and for always. One mate for all time. It was historically believed that this was in order to assure the fidelity and purity of the royal line. The royal’s mate would also succumb to this loyalty to monogamy. How this was accomplished, no one knew for certain. They suspected it was a genetic virus of some kind, rather like the one that caused a Demon to trigger the birth of power in a specific Druid. Perhaps one day they would know for certain.
This was why Siena had chosen to remain absolutely celibate, letting no male anywhere near her in a way that would tempt her. She did not want a mate, and she absolutely refused to share her reign with a man who would become her equal in her monarchy just because she had taken him to her bed. In fact, she actively despised the notion of mating with a male who, in the event of her death, could potentially gain her throne.
If Elijah had taken her body in that one wild moment, he could very well have written out both their executions. Fourteen years of peace was not enough of a base on which to lay making a Lycanthrope King out of a Demon. As adored and lauded as she was, the chances of rebellion and overthrow of her reign would have been an unfathomable and inexcusable risk.
The next thing of importance after that would be the very concept of being forced to spend the rest of her life as part of a pair. Part of a pair that included a male who didn’t trust a single thing about her. Bad enough to be forced to bear the lifelong company of any male, but this Demon warrior? He had sent so many of her people to their deaths during her father’s war, and, even though she had learned to be wiser than her male parent, the families of those the warrior had slain would have disemboweled her as a traitor to her kind, seeing to it her carcass was dragged from here to the original Russian province they had hailed from for daring such an abomination.
How had she ended up in his arms? Why had he even pursued her? True, they had never personally battled each other, but they were the harshest representatives of their people, who had done so for centuries. The idea of kissing, of wanting such a man in any way?
What in the nine hells had gotten into her? Into him?
And why couldn’t she erase the feel of him from not only the front of her mind, but the entirety of her body, both inside and out? Her skin was humming even now. Also, she could feel something else, a depth in her body and in her thoughts she had never known existed. She now could name this hollow, clawing sensation for the hunger of desire that it was. Had she not been paying attention to her own thoughts? It was utter insanity to go on feeling such a thing for even one second more! She should be shamed that she had allowed him such intimacies with her body, not continue to crave them.
The Queen rose to her feet, no longer able to sit still. She absently rubbed a palm over her flat stomach as she began to pace the width of the room. She felt as if he had somehow embedded his presence into her, staining her permanently. They had not mated, so why then did she feel as if his very essence was already swimming inside her womb? She was confused, taunted by his scent on her body, struggling with both the human and feline memories of the past days in his presence.
In spite of herself, she was impressed by the way he had handled the cat in its frightened state. She was aware of it now, now that she had changed back, but in those minutes she had been nothing but the puma, more likely to snap his neck in two than anything else. By all rights, she should have been so threatened by him as to gut him on the spot. But instead, the cat had run away. Hidden. Just as the lions in the wilds would do when threatened by anything they deemed more powerful than themselves.
But then to approach him once more and use such a low-aggression mode of punishment for frightening her into the change?
Siena