Damien. Jacquelyn Frank
again.
“I am not as happy as you are,” she teased her. “I do not have a handsome new husband making me happy every night”—she paused a purposeful beat for her own mischief—“and every morning, too, I am told.”
Siena threw back her head, laughing with delight even as she allowed herself a bit of a blush.
“Damn, I hate being Queen sometimes. I cannot even use the bathroom without someone taking note of it.” She self-consciously reached to fluff the thick, golden filament coils of her hair. “I think my attendants are already accounting for my breeding cycles in anticipation of an heir.”
“Should I be watching as well?” Syreena asked archly.
“No.” Siena chuckled. “Please. I will be staying quite far away from Elijah when I enter my heat cycle. At least for a few years.”
“Ha! Now there is a trick I would like to see. Elijah has never struck me as the sort who would relinquish a hard-earned prize for two weeks, even if it is only twice a year. And you have never been through a mated heat cycle before. As hard as it is to keep from the bed of the opposite sex when you are without a mate, I hear it is nearly impossible to tolerate with one.”
“And yet I am determined to forebear. Elijah and I must learn to live with one another before we think to bring children into the fray.”
“How like my wife to view everything as a battle.”
Siena and Syreena both came to a halt as the mocking comment rushed past them on a sudden cavern breeze. In a blink, the Demon warrior coalesced out of his element, metamorphosing from wind to flesh in a heartbeat, standing before them with all the assuredness of the cocky, powerful being that he was. He was a giant man, as golden blond as Syreena’s sister, and roped head to toe with the musculature of a well-seasoned warrior. He wore faded denim jeans and a long-sleeved silk shirt the color of deep turquoise. The dye set off the bright green of his eyes as they roamed the figure of his wife boldly and appreciatively.
Syreena was the one who stood in the nude, but she realized that to Elijah, her sister was the only one standing undressed before him.
“Hello.” He greeted Siena softly, his gentle tone taking about ten pounds of armor from his imposing appearance.
Siena’s return greeting was nonverbal. She released her sister and glided eagerly into Elijah’s opening arms. He hugged the Queen to his body, making her seem somehow much smaller and far more delicate by the reverence with which he did so. It was an impressive trick of perception. Syreena realized then that, as outrageous as it seemed from what she knew of them both, they had somehow become tamed to each other.
Which was not to say that they were either of them tame in any way. Suggesting such a thing to Queen or Consort would very likely earn a demonstration otherwise. It meant only that they were quickly finding a rhythm with each other that allowed one to flow in while the other flowed out. A tide that was powerful, volatile, and potentially dangerous, but a concerto of movement within itself. They were the very definition of what the Demons called an Imprinting; what humans called a soul mate. A perfect match. A meeting of life forces that transcended the limitations of the body.
Syreena could not help but envy them. She was happy for them, but she was also jealous, and she could not help herself. Siena had never tended toward domestication. Quite the opposite, in fact, swearing up until the day of her wedding that she would never marry, refusing to expose her heart and the responsibilities of her throne to the influences of a male. Syreena had always known that her sister’s attitude had come from being raised by an irrational and bloodletting warlord of a father. The Queen had not wanted to repeat their mother’s mistakes by risking marriage.
In truth, it had always been Syreena who had expressed wishes for a warm home, a loving mate, and a household of children in the letters the sisters had shared over the decades. Lycanthrope royals were allowed only one true mate, could have no other than that soul that existed out in the world somewhere only for them. Once they chose a lover, it was the equivalent of exchanging lifelong vows. It was supposed to be a bond without equal that would last through eternity, from one lifetime into the next.
And Syreena longed for it with all of her heart at times.
“Well, in spite of the fact that you two share a telepathic connection, I am certain that Elijah’s stay at Noah’s court these past two days has left you with a bit of catching up to do. So I will leave you both.”
Syreena bowed out and away from their presence with haste, grateful that they were so close to her chambers. She made a quick escape into her suite of rooms before either of them could protest.
“Damn,” Siena muttered.
“What is it?” Elijah asked, taking her face between his hands and tilting her head back so he could look into her eyes and divine her thoughts.
“Oh, nothing,” she assured him. “I just realized that she never answered a question I had asked her. I will make her do so…at a later date.”
Elijah grinned broadly as her ideas for what to do in the interim filled his mind.
“Someone missed me,” he teased.
“Someone missed me,” she countered even as his hands moved possessively over her back, drawing her ever closer to his warmth and his heart.
Chapter 2
Damien entered his home after his hunt, levitating down over the compound walls and landing on a third-floor balcony. The balcony led to a brightly lit library, and he entered, curious to see who had beaten him in the time it took to hunt and travel back to the Santa Barbara mansion.
He came around the shelves to the cozy sitting area several steps down into the center of the room. Sitting with her feet tucked up under her in a comfortable chaise, a book lying open in her lap, was Jasmine. She had not aged a day in nearly five hundred years, her skin still perfection, her black sweep of hair and dark eyes still as full of hidden, mysterious thoughts as ever. She was the one true presence he could not, try as he might, make himself grow tired of.
That is, she was the only surviving such presence.
Jasmine was one of the best hunters of his entourage, so it would not surprise him at all if she did hunt and return faster than he could, in spite of the fact that her hunting grounds were in Southern California.
But he knew just by looking at her that she had not hunted. Her body was chilled, not flushed with fresh heat. Yet she looked as if she were quite comfortable with her book and not intending to go out anytime soon.
“Jasmine?”
She looked up, clearly knowing he had arrived long before he had even cleared the compound walls. His presence was not one that went unnoticed to any Vampire of moderate skill. Since her skill was superb, she would have been aware of him the moment he entered the county, if not quite sure exactly who he was.
“Why have you not gone out?”
She closed the book, not even taking the care to mark her page. “I will. Are you suddenly my keeper, Damien?”
“Not suddenly. You have been a part of my household long enough to know I am everyone’s keeper.” He stepped lightly down, pushing aside a stack of books on the table across from her so he could seat himself directly at her eye level. “You are melancholy again,” he noted directly.
“Don’t they call it depression nowadays?”
Her glib tone did not sway him. He frowned slightly. “We are not human, Jasmine. Never were, never will be. Human terms will never quite suit us.”
“I suppose not,” she agreed. “And I am not melancholy. Nor am I bored,” she added quickly when one of his dark brows picked up questioningly. “Don’t worry. You won’t find me causing mischief in order to entertain myself.”
“Then explain to me why you are behaving so moodily.”
“I