Damien. Jacquelyn Frank
was warm.
The pungent tang of blood reached him a heartbeat after that thought.
The Vampire swore softly, cursing himself for his inattentiveness and carelessness as he scooped up a handful of the red-tinged snow.
Suddenly everything added up. All the pieces came together with dreadful clarity. Damien cursed again, realizing that his perceptions had been toyed with. There was no way he would ever miss a blood scent. Not even from a hundred yards away. His skills were beyond bountiful when it came to such things. He was the oldest and most powerful of his kind.
And he had been fooled by a simple little glamour.
He stood up, clenching his fist around the snow he held, letting it drip unheeded to the ground through tightened fingers as he extended every sense he had once more, this time circumventing the trick, pushing away the outside influence that had deceived his mind.
The scent and vibration of battle overwhelmed him instantly. There was fear and rage and desperation so intense that he could taste it right along with the flavor of blood that now rose up from all around him. Snow that had appeared white moments ago now showed the truth of the blood splattered into it. Residual energy and heat blanketed the area of the struggle.
He raised his hand to his mouth, breathing deeply of the scent of the blood he held gripped in his palm, familiarizing himself with the hormone and pheromone levels of it. It was Lycanthrope, clearly Syreena’s. His fangs exploded behind his lips and he snarled softly.
That was when he realized he was clutching strands of gray hair between his fingers and palm along with the snow.
He threw down the compressed slush.
He had her blood scent, and now he could quickly and far more easily track her.
That was all that mattered.
Ruth took great pleasure in throwing the Lycanthrope Princess into a corner of the small stone room they had arrived in. All Syreena could do was protect her profusely bleeding head from striking the wall.
At least for the first moment.
The next moment she had her feet under her and was lunging with unexpected calculation at the Demon female. Ruth had forgotten that this Lycanthrope was not just some weakling little figurehead to a monarchy. Syreena was a Monk, and she had spent nearly her entire life with The Pride finding out what that made her capable of.
Her rigid bicep contacted Ruth’s unprotected throat, knocking her right off her feet. The Demon hit the floor on her back. She got kudos for a quick comeback, however, as she swiftly used her position on the floor to kick Syreena’s legs out from under her. The Princess lost her breath and saw stars as her back and head hit the stone floor. On top of the blood loss she was beginning to feel the effects of, it thoroughly disoriented her.
Disorientation was more than enough to give Ruth the advantage. The Demon shouted out a phrase Syreena did not comprehend, but a heartbeat later she understood it was a spell.
A spell.
A Demon casting magic.
The Lycanthrope knew this was so because out of thin air she felt hands closing around her throat. All she could do was gasp for breath and claw at her own neck for something that was not even there. There was nothing to latch on to, nothing to struggle with, except for the slim gold and moonstone collar she wore that was the badge of her inheritance to the Lycanthrope throne.
Ruth took the opportunity to regroup, straightened her clothing, and kneeled down over her victim. Syreena watched with wide eyes as the Demon smiled with clear contentment.
“There now, that is much better,” she said, her tone almost motherly and soothing as she reached to pat the Princess on her forehead.
Syreena’s face was turning red, her feet kicking out violently for some kind of purchase.
“If you sit still, I will let go,” Ruth told her gently.
Syreena did not believe her, and it was apparent in her defiant eyes. She might die at the madwoman’s hands, but she would not do so submissively.
“Oh, have it your way, then,” Ruth snapped at her, clapping her hands and releasing the spell.
Syreena gagged violently. She rolled over, turning away from the Demon as she struggled to recapture her breath. Tears ran down her face and she fought the nausea and the headache lancing behind her swollen eyes.
“Now…let us keep in mind that I am a Mind Demon, and I can read your thoughts,” Ruth said amiably as she settled herself into a comfortable cross-legged position on the floor just behind the Princess.
She was lying. Female Mind Demons were empaths. Only the males were telepaths.
“I am not lying,” she leaned in to whisper to the misguided Princess. “Though I can see why you would think so. It is true, I was once relegated to the shortcomings of my sex. Terribly unfair, really, how the men got all the goodies in our species. However, since I broke away from that hypocritical culture, I have found the way to unlock those abilities within myself. So let us save a good deal of time here and take my word for granted, hmm?”
“Bitch,” Syreena croaked.
“I can see how you would think that, too,” Ruth said, still using that affable tone as she reached to turn her captive onto her back so they could see one another. “But actually, you only have your sister to blame for this. She should have never taken that heartless murderer to her bed. Royal Consort, indeed! At least she had the sense not to make him King. Can you imagine?” Ruth’s disgust was obvious, as was her hatred for Elijah. “But soon they will have an heir, making you rather obsolete, Princess, so truly it is best I use you to my benefit now while you still have some value left.”
Ruth paused to reach out and sift her fingers through Syreena’s dual-colored hair. The strands cringed, pulling back and slithering away from between her fingers. But it was easy enough for her to grab another handful of it, twisting it once around her hand to keep it from escaping again.
“Are you and your sister psychically connected? We never could figure out if that was the case between your people. You always had an uncanny way of moving in perfect concert in battle. No? That is too bad. I had hoped she would be able to experience some of this.”
Ruth fisted her hand and pulled back hard.
Syreena’s hair tore out of her scalp, flinging blood in a wide spray as it traveled through the arc of Ruth’s powerful ripping motion. It was as if Ruth had just amputated a hand or foot from Syreena. Certainly, the blood loss and the pain were comparable. The Princess screamed, her feet kicking against the floor as her entire body convulsed. She catapulted into motion, using all her remaining strength to scrabble across the uneven floor and into her original corner. Once there, she huddled into herself, shaking with pain and sudden terror like an abused animal. She couldn’t even see Ruth because of the wash of blood pouring over her eyes and face.
Ruth contemplated the hank of gray hair in her hand with a smile.
“This is going to be fun.”
Tracking someone who had seemingly winked out of existence would be impossible for the inexperienced hunter. For the experienced hunter it would be intensely difficult. For Damien, it was a matter of having lived a very long life as a hunter who chased prey every single night. It had taught him how to track just about every sort of quarry there was, provided he had encountered it at some point and was familiar with its instincts and tactics.
For the moment, he was relieved that there was a trail at all. Whether or not the Princess would be alive at the other end would be something he would worry about when the time came. Hope came with the fact that there was a certain tension to this trail, indicating that someone had dragged Syreena against her will likely the entire distance.
He did not delude himself about how Syreena had been taken captive. The scent of a Demon lay parallel to every part of her path, and there was only one