Chapter 8

Syreena rolled over restlessly in her bed. The room was pitched in darkness, the silence of inactivity deafening. She knew that dusk was still an hour away. Though daylight did not reach into this depth of the monastery, she refused to get up. She was exhausted from roaming the hallways endlessly, her thoughts and body behaving like an impatient whirligig that refused to wind down. If she left her bed, she would do just that.

But being in bed only stopped the walking, not the pacing of her mind.

It was time for her to return to Siena. At least there, she would have something to do besides self-reflection. Her life at Siena’s side had proven to be a busy one. There was catharsis in being distracted from disturbing thoughts and feelings. She was not so ignorant as to think they would go away, but at least she might forget them for short spurts oftime as other, more pressing troubles crowded them out. That in itself had to be a relief of some kind.

Besides, she had to face their people at some point. She could not stay away waiting for her hair to grow so they would not look at her in that way she had grown to despise so quickly. She was healed enough now to resume her work; she had been able to access the falcon for short periods of time twice already. The missing feathers were not flight feathers, which meant she could still assume the Lycanthropic form she used most often anyway. The length of time she could become the bird would grow as she recovered from her trauma.

At least, she hoped so.

She would not confess it to anyone, and almost didn’t wish to acknowledge it herself, but something was different about the shapechange experience.

Different, to her at least, was rarely a good thing.

It was hard to pinpoint or describe how it was changed. It was the same shape and coloration, the same process of concentration combined with head shaking that brought it on and the body shaking and focus that reversed it. She could fly, glide, and cry out in the voice of that side of herself. In her second form, the one Siena jokingly referred to as “the harpy,” she was still a woman, covered in falcon feathers and sprouting large wings. A form which no doubt had started the fanciful notion of angels or, as Siena said, harpies. Perhaps both, only it depended on the temperament and the actions of the individual Lycanthrope that had created human perception of them.

The fact that she could not access the dolphin was highly expected. The same went for the “mermaid” she became in the combined Lycanthropic form of humanoid and dolphin.

So what was so different?

She was almost afraid to return to her sister’s household without being sure. It had something to do with Damien’s bite, of this she was reasonably certain, but it must not be anything of great note if it was not immediately apparent.

Frustrated by the constant vacillation of her thoughts, Syreena flipped over onto her stomach and buried her head beneath her pillows. She put her hands over her ears and hummed to herself, filling her head with the sound and vibration of it for several minutes before she began to feel comfort. She did not care that she was feeling a little suffocated with her face pressed into her bedding. All she wanted to think about was the tune she was humming, hoping that if she let it overwhelm her enough, she could actually manage to doze until a little past dusk.

Even forty minutes would be a welcome respite.

She hummed louder and more urgently when she realized she was in danger of thinking again. She was softening, forgetting snatches of her melody as it began to work about fifteen minutes later.

Damien smiled as he listened to her sing half in and half out of her sleep.

An impending snowstorm had blocked out the sun early that evening, much to his pleasure, but she would not know that down in the belly of the monastery as she was. He had found her easily enough. After spending the day as Noah’s guest at his residence in England, Damien had used the storm to take him to one of the more distant, lesser known entrances to the monastery caverns. Having been a fixture around the Lycanthrope courts on and off for most of his lifetime, he had come to know a few things about how to get around. Truthfully, however, it had been more about following the pulling instinct in his gut that had led him to her so quickly.

The advantage to the raven form he had suddenly become capable of was that Lycanthropes would not question the presence of a black bird fluttering its way through their halls. They were mostly asleep still, but those whom he had passed had not even looked twice at him as he had skimmed his way past.

He liked being a bird, he thought as he unfolded his arms from across his chest and moved closer to Syreena’s bed. It was a light body capable ofextraordinary speeds. Its aerodynamic form was a marvel, in spite of its apparent defenselessness. He felt as though he suddenly had an insight into what it was like for Syreena.

Freedom and speed at the price of vulnerability.

Always a trade-off. He wondered, for a moment, what the vulnerabilities of her other third were. He was already getting an idea of the ones present in her current form.

The Vampire Prince stopped when he reached the edge of her mattress, taking a moment to allow himself a leisurely look at her slender and athletic figure. She was bottom side up, and it made him smile wider as the quilt she lay under followed the shape of her legs up into the swell of her backside, then flowed abruptly down again to the exaggerated arch of the small of her back. The end seam of the handmade blanket stopped in the middle of her spine, allowing only for the flow of soft, peach-shaded skin.

He could feel her warmth even from the relative distance where he still stood. He had an impulsive thought, comparing the probable chill of his hands pre-hunt, as they were at the moment, in contrast to the superheated warmth of her Lycanthrope body. He imagined that if he touched her on the back that very second, she would jump out ofbed high enough to hit the ceiling.

He had to suppress a chuckle along with the urge to do mischief. Play could wait until after she knew him better. At present, such tricks would very likely cost him his head.

Her sleepy song, a Lycanthrope lullaby sung in rounds, faded in and out of strength. It told him the story of her struggle to sleep, and he could easily sympathize. He also took comfort in it. It was the first sign that he was not the only one struggling.

Damien moved his eyes to the twisting combination of colors that made up her long hair. Most of it lay across her shoulder blades, the rest pooling down her ribs on the side nearest him. The fact that there was far more brown than gray settled an ill feeling on him. She had suffered much pain and had seen no justice for it. Hopefully they could somehow rectify that together.

As far as he was concerned, Ruth deserved vengeance from him just as much as she did from Syreena. The idea of the twisted bitch laying harmful hands on her made his blood boil with a possessive outrage. It was a bracing feeling, but he did not shy from it. In fact, he rather liked it. This was what he had been trying to explain to Jasmine.

Passion. There was nothing cool, dull, or blasé about it, and he really liked that. Would it fade in time? Was it just another brief delight that time would take the pleasure from?

He was not sure, but in the moment, feeling it as he did, he could not imagine it happening. That was quite a testimonial from the heart of the world’s eldest Vampire.

Damien slowly dropped to a single knee beside the bed that cradled her so cozily. He leaned forward, just past her upper arm, and purposely exhaled across her shoulder and the sensitive hair lying over it.

She twitched in her dozing state, lifting her shoulder as if to escape the sensation.

Damien’s lips drew up on one side, grinning.

He repeated the airy caress, long and slow, watching as her skin broke out into a chilled wash of goose bumps.

Syreena started suddenly, jerking her head up and out of the cocoon of pillows. A quick hand swiped away the hair hanging lazily across her face.

She turned her head and looked into fathomless eyes of midnight blue.

“Damien,” she said, her breath leaving her in a sudden rush as inexplicable delight and excitement rushed her from head to toe. She did not know why, but she did not fight the feelings. They felt too good. It was the best thing she had felt since … well … since she had last touched him.

“Damien,” she repeated breathlessly.

Damien was not expecting this reaction. He had somehow thought she would be angry with him. At the very least resistant to even seeing him again. When he had last seen her, she had shouted at him with fear and frustration.

Because she had been afraid for him.

That was when he realized she was happy to see him because it meant he was well. Unused to the regard of someone who wished to see him protected, at least someone besides Jasmine, Damien was a little overwhelmed. He found himself unable to speak even to greet her.

Syreena sat up suddenly, reaching to grasp his shoulders as she dragged him up for a closer inspection. He followed the powerful strength of her guiding hands until he was seated beside her on the bed. She drew herself onto her knees, shoved back her straggling hair once more, and began to inspect him with quick, intense eyes. Her hands flew where her eyes did, touching his shoulders, face, and chest in turn.

“Are you well?” she asked in an extreme whisper.

He responded by dodging past the torturous gentleness of her hands and catching her mouth with his. Syreena made a sound that was nowhere near surprise. He knew it well. It was relief. He was feeling it, too, he thought, as he kissed her taste from her soft lips. He caught her head into one large hand, holding her to him so she would not leave before he was over the initial scream of reprieve rushing his entire being. Despite what his mind struggled with, his chemistry knew what it wanted and what was compatible with it.

Compatible being too mild a term.

Her hands lifted to his face, her fingers flickering soft touches over his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. She invited him further with an exquisite parting of her lips and the hot firefly flick of her tongue against his.

The room around them filled and echoed with the sounds of breath, the rustle of his clothes, and the creaking of bedsprings as she shifted her body into his open embrace. Syreena slid into his hold and his lap as he kissed her with the intensity of a creature seeking sustenance for life. Her heart was pounding in her ears, as well as against his chest.

Damien felt it with ease since he had none of his own to confuse the signal. His head began to buzz with that strange high she gave him when he had fed off her before, but all he was feasting upon this time was her sweet mouth.

And that was when he realized it was not her blood that had done it at all in the first place. Not in the strictest sense. It was her, period. The chemistry, the movement, the passion.

He broke off their kiss suddenly in his shock, capturing her face so he could pull her under the scrutiny of his eyes. Searching her bewildered features, he realized what his mistake had been.

Having never known a true passion, he had been paralyzed by the feelings of it when she had unlocked it within him. Passion or love? Love or just unbelievable desire? He did not know. All he knew was that he had never felt anything like it, and that the pain ofleaving it was blinding. That was what his body had been trying to interpret for him in the easiest emotions he could relate to. The change caused by her blood to his systems was unrelated. In the strictest sense, at least.

He laughed suddenly, the laugh of understanding dawning on a mind too long mired in confusion. “I knew it,” he whispered to her, sounding momentarily cryptic. “I knew I should always trust my instincts.”

Before she could question his meaning, he had her mouth caught to his once more. Her head immediately reeled with dizzy pleasure and the understanding that his words were meant to be complimentary to her. She definitely took them as such.

“What I meant,” he said against her seeking lips, “is that you could never have hurt me. I only regret hurting you.”

“You did not hurt me. Quite the opposite,” she assured him. “I have never felt anything like that in my life.”

“You almost bled to death,” he scolded in a very gentle argument that lost its punch by being bracketed with the kiss of his mouth.

“It was because you were not prepared for what you were feeling, wasn’t it?” she queried.

“How do you know that? Damn it, it has taken me until just now to figure it out.” He lifted his head so he could see her sparkling eyes.

“I honestly do not know. I just figured it out, too.”

“Oh. Well, I feel better, then.” He chuckled.

Syreena laughed at him, wrapping slim arms around his neck and hugging herself to him tightly.

Until he touched her back.

The Princess yelped in shock at the bracing cold of his hands, jolting so hard out of his lap that she fell off the bed and onto the hard cavern floor, with nothing but a thin carpet to cushion the blow to her bottom.

Damien immediately realized what he had done and cursed in unison with her as he reached to help her.

“I am so sorry,” he said in earnest regret. “I completely forgot. I am chilled because of the weather and the fact that I have not had the opportunity to hunt yet. Forgive me.”

“That,” she gasped, “will definitely wake a girl up in the evening.” She reached for his offered hands, letting him pull her back onto her feet as he laughed at her remark.

“I should think so. I am sorry, I assure you.”

“I know. There is no need to apologize.” She exhaled and pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “I only need a moment to catch my breath.”

Then she abruptly lifted her head and turned to view herself, him, and the entire room.

“Um, I am not sure if you are aware of this, but you are in the monastery of the Pride.”

“I am aware of this,” he countered, lifting a brow in obvious curiosity. “I have been welcome before.”

“Yes, but … not in the bedroom of the royal heir who is a Monk and is supposed to remain celibate whenever she crosses the threshold.”

“And so you have, courtesy of my cold hands,” he said with amusement.

She laughed, realizing how easy it would be to enjoy his company if they actually managed to spend enough time on the same side of an interest.

“However,” he continued graciously, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I will leave.”

“No! I mean … well, yes. What I mean is—”

“Perhaps,” he interrupted her, catching up her free hand so he could place a calming kiss in her palm, “perhaps I will go for my hunt and meet you elsewhere on the other side of this threshold at a later time.”

She became thoughtful and silent for a moment, and Damien was tempted to peek into her thoughts. Instead, he resisted the urge and patiently waited while she gathered them.

“Damien, why have you come here?”

“You know why,” he said without hesitation. “I have come for you, Syreena.”

“But … Damien, I can’t …” Syreena made that characteristic sound of frustration at her uncharacteristic stammering. “I don’t have the freedom you do. I am of the royal line and that means—”

“I know what that means,” he said firmly.

Syreena blinked, then stared at him in momentary shock.

“That means,” he continued softly, pulling her a little bit closer so he could bask in the wash of her body heat, “that I will meet you later to discuss it. For the moment, I hear footsteps in the corridors. Your brethren are awakening. Since I do not wish to trespass on any rules, I will catch up to you later at your sister’s holdings. Is this acceptable?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, nodding as he brushed cool, affectionate fingers along her distorted hairline. The touch was tender and almost alluring. It was as if he saw the spot as an advantageous charm, not the mutilation all others saw it to be, herself included.

He stepped back from her, and then, to her shock, he shapechanged into a raven and flew once around her before winging off into the outer passages.

“He did what?” Siena was not sure she had heard her sister right.

“He took my blood. Twice.”

“Twice?”

Siena exhaled in worried frustration as she paced across her sister’s chambers for what had to be the hundredth time. “And I just saw him shapechange into a raven, Siena. I have never heard of a Vampire doing such a thing.”

“I have.”

The sisters simultaneously looked at Elijah.

“So have you, come to think of it,” he amended himself. “In human folklore, there are stories of Vampires being able to change into the shapes of animals.”

“Yes, but humans also think staking a Vampire in the heart will kill them,” Syreena argued.

“They are not entirely wrong,” Elijah said. “A trauma of that magnitude would eventually cause a Vampire to bleed to death if he did not replenish himself. Just like it would you and me.”

“That is an interesting point,” Siena murmured. “But shape changing? I have always heard that throughout Nightwalker history that was limited to us and Mistrals.”

“And Demons. And Shadowdwellers, too, actually.”

“Wait.” Syreena held up a hand when her sister went to question her husband. “You mean that you change with your elements, and that ’Dwellers can become the shadows themselves in order to hide the substance of their bodies.”

“See, she didn’t go to school for a century without making progress,” Elijah teased them both.

“So Vampires are the exception,” Siena argued. “They are Nightwalkers who do not change form.”

“And yet, in ancient human texts, there are tales of Vampires turning into bats, birds, wolves, mist, and shadow. I think there are others,” Elijah said, “but I am not the scholar here, so I do not recall what they are. But I will ask our scholar what she notices about this particular list.”

“They are representative of several forms from every Nightwalker species,” Syreena responded instantly. Then she truly saw what path he was leading her to, and her eyes widened enormously. “If Damien took in my blood and became a bird, what would happen if he drank of a ’Dweller?”

“He could have the power of shadow?” Siena stood up and joined Syreena’s pacing progress. “And one who drinks of a Demon?”

“It would depend on the Demon,” Elijah speculated.

“Water. Fire, Earth, and Air … the Mind and the Body. These are all your people’s elements, Elijah.”

“Mist, smoke, dust, wind … teleportation and healing,” he reported in turn. “I have read human fiction dating back to the dawn of humanity where they first speak of Vampires, saying they can do these things. So why are the Vampires we know now incapable of them, except for Damien?”

“Because Damien drank from me to save my life …”

“And because they believe that Nightwalkers, next to magic-users, are the ultimate taboo.” Siena bit her lip and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Damien must have fed from you to give you the benefit of the coagulants you needed when you were bleeding from your damaged hair. Weall know it can be as bad as slicing an artery if we lose enough of it.”

“I lost enough of it,” Syreena said grimly, her hand going self-consciously to her hairline. “He went against the grain of everything he knew, risking his own life, just to save mine.”

“A profound act,” Siena agreed, appreciating her sister’s disturbance enough to put an arm of comfort around her shoulders.

“The ramifications of which are very enlightening,” Elijah mused. “I wonder if it is just Syreena.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” the Princess snapped at her brother-in-law.

“It means,” Elijah responded calmly, “that I wonder if it is a cumulative thing or limited to one effect per customer. Can he feed, for example, on me and then be capable of raven and wind? Or does it switch to wind and purge the raven? Or is it raven and now no other?”

“Oh.” Syreena backed down sheepishly. “My apologies, brother.”

She did not notice the shock on their faces. She had never referred to Elijah with such intimacy before. Though she had respected him, she had never warmed to him personally. It made her apology full of impact.

“Understandable. It was a poor choice of language,” he said with unusual grace for him. He was learning a great deal about diplomacy, even in his short time in their court. It was necessary to have when in a household of people who did not trust him, save the fact that he was in the heart of their Queen.

Then again, Elijah had won over many people just by being very obvious about how deeply entrenched the Queen was in his heart. If Elijah had ever been shy about showing affection in front of others, no one in the Lycanthrope court knew about it.

“Nevertheless, it is an excellent question. One, I am willing to bet, that is riding on Damien’s heels as well.”

Syreena did not like the sound of that. It bothered her, for some reason, to think of him running around biting random necks as a way of accumulating power.

In fact, it bothered her thinking of him biting necks, period.

Female necks especially.

She had seen enough even in her sheltered lifetime to know there was a difference for him between males and females. Their own intimacies aside, she had always had a sense that there was a pleasure involved when Vampires took the blood of the opposite sex, no matter what species. And Vampires were certainly not above dallying with humans. To be fair, neither were Lycanthropes. That was how half-breeds had come to be. Anya, Siena’s General, was a half-breed. She was clearly of vulpine descent, a vixen had she been full bred. Instead of shapechanging, however, Anya was a permanent mixture of human and Lycanthrope. She had all the looks of a human, but the skills, claws, and features of a vixen.

Syreena wondered briefly if there was possibly a Vampiric equivalent to a half-breed. She had never heard of one, and to her knowledge neither had anyone else, but they were fast learning that even for an ancient species, new and different things were always possible.

“I would be interested to see if there is anything about this in the Library,” Siena said.

Syreena, however, was not paying attention. Instead, she was overwhelmed with the desire to find Damien, to have him at her side. She tried to push the impulse away, realizing it was a ridiculous jealousy she had no right or claim to.

She was unsuccessful, however.

Without another word to her family, she transformed into the peregrine, her empty dress fluttering to the floor before their startled eyes as she soared free of the neckline.

“Syreena!”

Syreena reeled, dipping an apologetic wing, and soared into the cavern corridors.

Damien eased his sleepy prey to the chilled ground.

The canine sitting patiently just behind him, its tail wagging against the concrete, was looking up at him expectantly when Damien stepped back from his need of the animal’s master.

“Good boy,” the Prince praised the animal gently. “Now, I expect a few licks on your friend’s face after I am gone will rouse him. I do not recommend letting him sit in the cold long. These humans do not have your fur to warm them.”

Damien knew the dog understood him. An animal mind was very different from a human one, but with skill could be just as easily touched. Besides, the dog understood the circle of nature and the predator and prey who revolved within it. So long as Damien caused the man no harm, the beast was not inclined to harm him in return.

The Vampire stepped away from the guard and his dog, falling back into the shadows of the building they were protecting. With a hard, pushing thought, he produced an altered perception onto the man he had fed from. It was designed to blur reality, allowing the man and all others who looked at him to perceive nothing marking his neck during the time it would take him to heal. Damien did a last sensory check of the area to assure himself that both man and beast would remain in safety for some time after he had gone.

To his surprise, he was aware of Syreena approaching him.

The speed she used was a marvel to him. Perhaps, with practice, he would attain such grace and swiftness in the raven form. It was easy to become the bird, but less easy to be a bird. For instance, cold Russian nights and wings not agreeing well with one another was an important detail that would not have occurred to him normally.

Syreena changed form midair, but landed on the balls of her feet with amazing grace and balance just the same. She swung back the hair that had peeled from her body after changing back from its feathered state.

She was quite a sight to behold, the Vampire thought, feeling a little light-headed as he did indeed behold her. She was standing on the icy ground in her bare feet. In fact, her entire body was bare. Bare and obviously chilled, he thought, a slightly naughty smile toying at his mouth.

“A bit cold to be flying about,” he noted, drawing her attention to the place of his concealment. Given time, she would learn how to divine him from the background of darkness he wore so well. For the moment, he joined her in the light of the nearby streetlamp.

“Funny that you should know that,” she countered.

He would not bother to pretend that he was ignorant of her reference to the raven form she had so recently seen him take. It must have been quite a shock, yet she seemed level and matter-of-fact enough.

“Ah, yes. Noticed that, did you?”

“I’d have to be as dumb as a post you weren’t roosting on to miss it. I can imagine the theory behind this development. I should like to hear about it.”

“A discussion we can have in more comfortable surroundings than this.” He took her elbow in hand, drawing her close to the very warm flush of his recently fed body. “You look like you will freeze to death in another ten seconds. Your lips are blue.”

He reached up to rub a knuckle over her bottom lip. He dropped his hand back to his side, but on the way, she felt his very warm fingers stroke down over her neck, collarbone, breast, and tightly thrusting nipple. Even though she managed to repress any obvious sounds of the effect the intimacy had on her, there was no concealing the rush of her breath on the cold air. It clouded instantly, betraying her as it ebbed against him.

Damien was terribly intrigued, and suddenly found himself with an appetite that had nothing to do with predator and prey. Then again, he sometimes was overwhelmed with the feeling that she could provide a sweet sustenance for him in ways far beyond the nutrition of blood.

“Come, let us find shelter.”

Damien went to sweep her up into his arms, but she stepped back out ofreach. With a shake of her head and body, she was quickly covered in feathers. This time, however, she maintained her feminine form. Large wings expanded from the joints of her shoulders and she drew herself up into the air, turning a dark avian eye down to him briefly before she soared off into the cloud cover.

Damien maintained his usual form and followed her.

It did not take them long to reach the mountain range that housed the caverns of the royal holdings. Syreena led him through a back entrance that he suspected only she knew about. By the time they reached the true beginnings of the underground castle, they had been traveling underground a good twenty minutes.

Syreena settled into a semiprivate alcove with a pool of steaming water in its center. She shook form, and, without a word for him, she dove into the clear pool head first.

He moved to the edge of the rock rimming the small but deep lagoon. It was clearly a hot spring, and an ingenious way of warming up after standing in the cold.

Damien waited for her to surface, well aware that though she could not change into her second form of the dolphin at present, she could still hold her breath for as long as she needed or wanted to. She took to water like she took to the air. It meant that if she had to, Syreena could travel the earth, the air, and through water. It was an excellent ability to have. It meant she always had alternatives for speedy travel and that very little could stand in her way, save perhaps solid rock.

And, he realized, he could claim the same. Though he was not fond of the water, he could swim well, and his lack of need for air could benefit him with that. He walked the earth as she did, and even traveled the air. But with the change in size his body went through to become the raven, it allowed him a new sort of access he was quickly coming to appreciate.

He saw her streaming up through the clear water, heading toward him and the surface. She broke through with a long intake of air, slicking back her hair with her hands automatically. The Vampire squatted down low, so that he was much closer to her as she held on to the ledge and treaded water.

“Better?” he asked.

“Some.”

The response was enigmatic, but she pushed back and swam away before he could question her about it. He straightened to his full height again and watched as she floated lazily across the surface, her lithe body turning and twisting, diving and surfacing, giving him teasing flashes of flank and skin, and of long, graceful arms and gently arched feet. He walked the edge of the steaming pond slowly and thoughtfully. He barely spared a glance for the carved stone archway leading into the circular chamber and the intricate art etched into the faces of the walls. There was a stone bench, a part of the wall itself, that circled the half-moon alcove from one side of the entrance around to the other. He did not make use of it, instead moving around her as she played in the water.

She turned to look at him after a few minutes and then swam to the edge nearest to him. With capable hands, she hauled herself onto the dry stone and up onto her feet. Water cascaded from her long hair, splashing over the ground, his shoes, and the lower part of his pants. He cocked a brow at her, realizing there was a little bit of malice to the supposedly innocent accident.

“Passive-aggressive behavior does not become you,” he informed her mildly.

“Neither does jealousy,” she said, her tone tight and strained. “And yet, I am still engaging in it. Perhaps you can tell me why that is?”

“Jealousy?” He mused over the term with blatant curiosity, one that was tinged with a little too much amusement for her liking.

“Don’t be so smug,” she warned him. “Not until you have seen a jealous Lycanthrope.” She growled under her breath impatiently. “Tell me why I feel this way! I hardly know you. I have no claim on you, nor do you have one on me. You seem to have a wisdom about all of this that I do not. I want you to tell me what is going on!”

“Your premise is in error. We do have claims on each other.”

“Because you drank my blood? What is that to you but a meal? Just another tasty tidbit before the next comes along.”

“Hmm,” he murmured.

He let his eyes roam over her slowly for a moment, memorizing her shape where it was sleek and also where it was soft and round. His obvious appreciation made her body shift in spite of what she preferred it to do. How could he turn her inside out so easily, with just a look? She walked the world in the nude without interest or care, yet one glance from him and she felt truly naked before him.

“There are certain foods that can never be topped, Syreena. Did it not occur to you that you are perhaps the tastiest tidbit of them all? That against you, all the others pale dramatically in comparison upon my palate?”

“Is that how you see me?” she asked, her bewilderment terribly obvious to them both. “I admit, I have no idea. Everything we have experienced together so far has come from necessity or impulse. You seem to know so much, where I am lost and baffled.”

“Is that your impression?” Damien reached out, brushing droplets of water from her forehead above her left eyebrow. “I can see how it would appear so, but I assure you it is not always the truth. You see, Syreena, I am working with the experience of a long life of living by my instincts. It has always served me well. What you perceive as ease of understanding is merely familiarity of action.”

“Perhaps that is exactly what I am afraid of,” she noted quietly, turning away from his touch and walking around him.

He was left to follow her the short distance to her chambers. “Would you mind clarifying that remark?”

She ignored him for a minute, reaching into her wardrobe for a short sheath dress made of olive green silk. It shimmered over her head and down her body, with only a slight twitch of her hips to settle the loose fabric in place.

Damien took the opportunity to look around the room, taking careful note of the Spartan setting that resembled the conditions at the monastery. She had no waiting room or parlor, and no ladies catering to her needs as her sister did. Siena enjoyed her privileges and her luxuries, and though little things like the fabrics Syreena wore and the silky sheen of her bedding attested to the fact that Syreena enjoyed a certain level of luxury herself, it was clear to him that it did not extend too far beyond her person.

She was a private person, as he had become over the years. He expected her cloistered upbringing was behind her penchant for solitude. She was definitely a thinker, someone who meditated on her approaches, thoughts, and actions, keeping her settings as simple as possible in order to avoid disturbance or distraction.

If she had not been the type to deeply consider her actions, she might have come at him with the full force of this jealousy she was laying quiet claim to, instead of walking carefully around its edges, just as he had walked the edge of the hot spring.

“Am I merely your latest instinct, Damien?” she asked abruptly, the brush of her hands over the hips of her dress broadcasting an uncharacteristic nervousness that the Prince picked up on instantly.

“The latest? Yes. Merely? No, Syreena. By the nature of who you are, it could never be a mere thing.”

She sighed, but not with relief. It was more a sign of growing agitation. “You have such a way with words. I never know if it is just because of years of practice, or because you have feeling behind it. What I do know is that Vampires are hard to impress and not known to show their emotions. Yet you do not hesitate here?”

“No. I do not.”

“I need you to explain why,” she insisted, stepping closer to him. She was warmer than usual, her body superheated from her swim. He could feel it even though she stood a good yard away yet. He suspected her rise in emotion had something to do with it as well.

“I already told you, I am not certain why. It just is.”

“And what will ‘just’ be tomorrow? Will you take the blood of another and find yourself acting on instinct as well?”

Ah. The point, Damien thought with an inner smile. “Let us say that I did. It would not change how you feel, will it?”

“That depends on how far I let this go. I will not play the odds like my sister did. She gambled that making love with a man not of our species would suspend the mating rules. She lost her bet, although in actuality she won, because Elijah is her perfect complement. Only a male such as he is could temper my sister.”

“And what kind of man would temper you, Princess?” he asked silkily, moving a step closer, the single advance closing the distance between them to mere inches.

Syreena looked up to meet his eyes and was aware that he was finding some sort of amusement in their conversation. For once, however, she sensed that it was not at her expense. She understood that it was just who she was that he took so much delight in.

“If you mean for it to be you, Damien, you have to know that, for me, there would be no going back. There would be no other choices. For the rest of my life, I would want only you, and never anyone else. It is written in genetic code on every cell in my body. No member of the royal household has ever been successful at defying it. They never even wanted to.”

“And as I understand it, that applies to your mate as well.”

“Usually. But this is uncharted territory. You are not Lycanthrope.”

“It worked with Elijah,” he pointed out.

“An extraordinary chance of luck. Demons have the Imprinting. We have it, too, only we call it something else. I have never heard of such a bond between Vampires.”

“Vampires also never shapechanged before,” he reminded her softly. Again, he reached to touch her, as he seemed always compelled to do when close to her. “Syreena, I cannot guarantee what I do not understand myself. I understand the risk involvedon your behalf, and that you do not see it as being as much of a sacrifice on my part, but,” he said, his fingertips brushing that spot on her hairline that was already sprouting downy-soft growth, “if it will make you feel better, I will tell you that I have thought of nothing but you since we parted. I cannot sleep; I take no joy in feeding. Jasmine says I am moping and melancholy.”

The terms used against someone like him were comical, and she laughed in spite of the anxiety twisting beneath her breastbone.

“I have not experienced this state of disenchantment for nearly eight hundred years. I cannot afford the luxury of such things because I have a species to care for. And yet, I indulge in it in spite of myself. No one, no female of any species in all the years of my life, has affected me the way you have. I have had obsessions and infatuations, but none were like this. Is that what you want to know, sweetling? Or do you want to know that I will not one day actively seek a way out of your arms when I grow tired of you? Perhaps you wish for a promise that I am not thinking of taking you to bed simply for the experience of intimately knowing a one-of-a-kind creature, who has no genetic equal?

“I think that no matter what I swear to or promise to, you will find another reason to worry. Your insecurity shows, Syreena. Your need to believe in yourself and to have others believe in you is sharp, and it must be so very painful when we do not live up to your hopes.” Damien ran those gently searching fingers back along her hairline until they were circling the back of her ear. It was a sensitive spot, and she shivered under the caress.

“All I can tell you,” he continued quietly, “is that from the moment when first I saw you, I saw beauty. I saw strength and determination. I saw the sweetness of your love for your sister. All of this I saw while we were in the dark. Remember? I saw nothing ofyour eyes or your hair. I saw nothing of your crown. I took nothing from your bloodstream. Even then I felt myself intrigued by you. I felt desire for you. Perhaps it was because you were threatening my life. I do find that particularly sexy.”

“Damien!” She laughed in shock, reaching to touch his chest because she couldn’t bear not to any longer.

“Your heart is as harlequin as the rest of you, Syreena. Gray in some areas, natural in others. I would learn them all, if given a chance. And while I do not deny that I want very badly to take long amounts of time exploring everything about you …” He paused long enough to run his eyes down her body, his inference as clear as the increasing beat of her heart. She felt heat slipping through her everywhere at once, until she was light in her head over it. “In this instance, however, I see that I must leave you to decide when you wish to come to me and soothe my desires.”

Damien’s fingers slid from behind her ear to the back of her neck, his thumb stroking over her cheek as he pulled her closer. He touched his lips to the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes, her slight body shivering in excited anticipation. She understood what he was saying. She realized that he would walk away and give her time to think, if he had to. It relaxed her, opening her closed and suspicious thoughts to possibilities just out of her reach.

“I suspect such a thing is not possible,” he murmured against the skin of her cheek after a moment.

“What is not possible?” she asked on a whisper of breath.

“Soothing my desire for you,” he said, the sudden rush of longing very apparent in his heated voice and the unrestrained fingers sliding around the curve of her ribs, gripping her side as if she were a prized possession he wanted to keep very close, lest another covet her. “I cannot imagine a hunger like this being satisfied with a small taste.”

Syreena closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the obvious changes in his scent wash over her as he let a few of his restraints slip away. It allowed her a startling insight into how she could arouse him even when he was simply holding her close to himself. She marked all the attractive, delicious changes in his chemistry, and how they seemed to cycle through her blood, awakening the response within her own systems.

He was breathing against her, telling her that he had switched into that place where he began to lose his control over how his body functioned. The reflex was a compelling clue, one that gave her a strangely prevailing sense of satisfaction.

“You enjoy your effect on me,” he noted on a low, aggressive pitch. “I know because it radiates from you like a sun, searing through me.” He turned his mouth an inch so he could kiss her in a short, forceful style, making quick work of relearning her textures, her warmth, and her incredible sweetness. “Be careful, Princess,” he warned on a hot and rapid breath, “or you will start a fire that I will not be able to control.”

It always amazed her how, when he began to touch her and kiss her in such ways, it never took long before she couldn’t care less about consequences. His warning had little impact when pitted against the flavor of his mouth and the feel of his domineering hands.

“I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” she said with wired emotion, her hands gripping at the fabric of his shirt along his sides. “You say all the right things, you do all the right things. Even things I deem mistakes, you manage to explain away as if they had all the logic in the world behind them. Where do you get your unshakable surety, Damien?”

“For me, it is a survival instinct, Syreena. Without it, my throne would fall into someone else’s hands … along with my head to the ground. I cannot afford the luxury of secondguessing myself.”

“You cannot possibly know how much I wish I could say the same,” she said longingly.

“You can, you know. Youhave no one you need answer to. Not unless you wish to answer to them. But first,” he said, taking her by the arms and easing her away from his overeager body, “first you need to figure out what question you need to ask yourself. I know I could easily sit here and influence you,” he said, stroking stimulating fingers down her throat to prove his point, watching the effect it had on her already erratic pulse. “Syreena, you have let the world manipulate your life enough. I will not tell you what to do. I will only tell you your options.”

“Tell me my options, Damien. Make it clear. Do not couch it in pretty words and elusive observations. Be straight with me. Tell me what you want from me—from us, if there is to be an us.”

Damien looked down into her serious bicolored eyes, knowing exactly what she wanted to hear. He was surprised to realize how much he wanted to say it.

“I want to learn how to love you, Syreena. And no, I do not mean make love to you. I believe I can figure that out well enough.” The sparkle in his eyes and the pointed twitch to his brow made her laugh. “I want to learn why it is and how it is you have effected these changes inside me, both physically and spiritually. I wish to know how one such as myself, so nonchalant in emotion all of his life, can be so moved by a single little creature like you.

“This is not a phase for me, Syreena. This is not a fancy that will flit out of my system. I have lived long enough to know what is and is not unique to my make-up. If you want promises, I will find ways to make them and keep them. If you want forever, sweetling, then I will gladly live another long lifetime.” He let go of her, his reluctance obvious. “Now it is up to you to decide if these things will make you happy, if they are something you will want with equal measure. Be warned,” he said, holding up a hand to stay her interruption, “because there is another side to this. We both have responsibility besides to ourselves. If we cannot reconcile these things, then the choice becomes one of what we are willing to give up for the sake ofourselves. Even I have not had time to consider that. I have only had time to realize that it is not so important to me as it once was, and that, perhaps, is the first step. Do you understand my meaning, Syreena?”

“You speak of our thrones, Damien. So, there is something we must answer to after all.”

“Again, only if we wish to.”

“Wishes cannot come into it, Damien. I am Siena’s heir. There is no changing that.”

“Only if you do not wish it to change. But that is not the immediate question. It is merely an affected consequence of the answer. Discover one, before worrying about the other.”

“Find out what my heart wants, without considering my responsibilities?”

“To you, that sounds irresponsible, I know. But it is the mark of true freedom, Syreena. To follow one’s heart and instinct above all else. I may not have much of a heart, but I do know that much.”

With that daunting remark, he reached to press a lingering kiss to her forehead and then turned to leave her.

Everything inside Syreena wanted to jump at him, leap at him and grab him, hold him in place so he could not leave. Her skin screamed with his absence, her pumping heart abusing her with a flood of sickening dread that rushed her every major artery. It was as if he held a tether to her spirit, and he was ripping it free of her as he went.