Chapter 11

Elijah woke the next night with a start.

He sat up in bed suddenly, making his body protest the quick movement. He caught his breath, reaching to rub at the sore muscles of his shoulders. He had pushed himself and his troops to the utter limits the night before, hoping on some level that total exhaustion would do them all some good, considering the coming of Samhain.

Elijah didn't know exactly what it was he had expected, but at the moment he felt fairly normal. Well, as normal as he had felt for the past few days. Which basically meant he was dragging his feet, feeling indescribably blue, and was pretty much completely pissed off at a certain Lycanthrope female.

He had slept at Noah's, also with the hope that remaining close to the King would somehow provide a buffer for this overriding impulse to attack Siena that he was supposed to be feeling. But now, waking to feel nothing out of the ordinary in his thoughts and desires, he was ridiculously relieved.

He pushed back the bedding and walked over to the closet. He made a point of selecting his most comfortable pair of worn jeans and a rather ordinary basic white button-down shirt. It was what he considered workday clothing. Nothing special, not even the silk, a holdover from the time he had been raised in, he often favored in shirt material. He was not about to do anything he could misconstrue on any level as preparing to see or seduce a woman.

He rolled the cuffs halfway up his forearms and actually smiled at his casual reflection in the mirror. The warrior did take a moment to run his hands through his hair, still not quite used to the change in color. He had been fairly towheaded most of his life. It was still strange to see the strands of gold filament in place of that.

He wondered if it was meant to be a purposeful reminder of who he was supposed to be mated to. Every time he looked at it, he thought of where the color originated. No doubt it was the same for Legna when she saw her changed eye color in the mirror, the distinctive silver color all Gideon.

Elijah left his room and headed to the Great Hall. He hesitated midway down the central stairs when he saw Noah sitting by his fireplace, in pretty much the exact same position Elijah had seen him in when he had gone to bed. He glanced at Noah's desk as he passed it, seeing the stack of notes and translations that had grown during the daytime.

"Did you sleep today?" he asked the King directly.

"Of course," the King lied to him without taking his eyes from the flames he seemed to see so much in lately.

"Is everything all right, Noah?" Elijah persisted.

Noah finally looked up at him, giving him half a smile in reassurance.

"Hadn't I ought to ask you that question?"

"I feel fine. In fact, better than fine. I'm beginning to wonder if Gideon has his facts straight about all of this."

"Do not allow yourself to get overconfident, my friend," Noah warned softly. "Gideon is rarely wrong."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Elijah said. "Noah, forgive me for saying so, but exactly what planet are you on these past few days? You haven't been yourself."

"You know, I notice that people often think that way when they are avoiding talking about themselves. Worry about yourself, warrior. I am as I ever was."

Elijah didn't push the matter any further. Noah never kept his own counsel for long. He would talk when he wanted to and not a moment sooner. For the moment, the King was correct. He had his own troubles to focus on that night.

"I think I'm going to see about giving Jacob a hand tonight," he said, turning away from the King. "With Bella still not able—"

Elijah stopped when he felt Noah's hand encircling his upper arm. He turned to see the King standing behind him and raised a curious brow.

"I do not recommend that. Jacob will manage on his own."

"But—"

"Elijah, do I have to spell this out to you? Jacob and Bella are Imprinted and it is Samhain. I assure you, if you drop in on them unannounced, you will not be welcome."

Elijah raised both brows in understanding as Noah's meaning dawned on him.

Thickheaded male.

Elijah was almost getting used to the name-calling that went on in the back of his mind, but this was the first time he had heard it in response to something going on in his life. He was so distracted by hearing that lilting voice and the laugh that echoed after it, he forgot all about Noah and metamorphosed into a swift wind that shot out the nearest window.

Noah was left holding … nothing, a perplexed expression on his face.

Elijah's first stop was the training yards.

He stood in the center of the working grounds and heard nothing but the creak of wooden training dummies and targets. It was actually eerie how abandoned the place was. Usually it bustled with activity from dusk to dawn. But it was a holy holiday, and no one was required to be there. In the past, however, there had always been someone working out there, trying to refocus energies that could be dangerous if otherwise directed. Apparently, Elijah had exercised them a little too hard while trying to exhaust himself, and no one was in the mood to come anywhere near their Captain or the training facilities.

So that was two strikes. He slowly walked across the training yards as he tried to think of what else he could do to occupy his time.

Perhaps you ought to make a sacrifice to the Goddess.

Elijah stopped in his tracks.

It is a holy day. after all, the voice continued.

"You know, you sure picked a fine time to get talkative," he bit out, his voice echoing across the empty fields.

Elijah took a deep breath and turned his thoughts away from how that voice of hers, sexy even in her thoughts, seemed to seek out his spine in a way that stunned every nerve in his body. Cursing under his breath, he twisted into a wind devil that kicked up the worn dust of the practice arena as he left.

An hour later, Elijah finally materialized in his own home, half the planet away from any Russian territories.

Content at last, he began to light lanterns and dusted off his favorite chair before sinking into it with a sigh. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to release himself into the quiet of the night. His home was actually one of the modern log cabins. Though it had every amenity that came with modem housing, there was no use for it. Electricity and such would not work for him or anyone of his species, their kinship with the forces of nature making technology and most mechanics react adversely to their Demon biochemistry.

I know. I have had to resort to using the old gas lighting system in the castle since Legna and Gideon came to court.

Elijah sat upright in a shot.

Why was it that she sounded even closer than she had before?

Damn her, she sure picked a lousy time to taunt him. It was almost like she was asking for him to completely lose his mind and come looking for her. And, if he judged correctly the tension surging through him and the urges that followed, she would have her way soon enough if she kept this up.

I'm not afraid of you, she whispered.

You should be, he warned, trying the connection himself for the very first time.

You'll have to find me first.

Her original threat. She was no doubt taunting him because she believed she could hide herself from him. She believed herself to have superior skills, and therefore she had nothing to fear.

The challenge was a foolish one, and Elijah had thought her smarter than that. He felt frustrated and upset as he stood up and began to pace the floor.

Siena, you are playing with fire. You do not want to do this.

Shouldn't I be the judge of that?

Damn her!

Elijah tried to push her out of his thoughts, running up the dark stairs to search for something, anything, to occupy his mind. To keep himself from thinking about her and his memories of her. The more she spoke in that soft, sexy whisper, the more he remembered the same whisper in his ear as she purred and urged him to move deeper into her sweet body. He remembered it right down to the feel of her fingers in his hair, her nails skimming his back.

Elijah entered his library, quickly striking a match and lighting two of the lanterns on the table. He was not much of a reader this century, tending to concentrate on his fighting skills and strategic abilities. Last century it had been perfecting his skills as a master weapons maker. As the library lit up, proof of that gleamed from every wall. There were about twenty swords, the variety diversified, and each made with his own hands from pommel to scabbard. Even the mounts they were displayed on had been painstakingly crafted by his own touch.

These were not just showpieces. He had practiced with them all and had used more than half of them in actual battle. Now he surveyed them slowly, waiting to see which one would speak to him the loudest.

The katana won his attention.

The blade was tucked tightly into a pure silver scabbard, and the light of the lantern flickered against it in a way that made the etchings on it come to life. He reached for it, then hesitated and lowered his hand. He tried not to remember the last time he had used it, knowing Siena was so close to his thoughts.

The blade that killed my father.

Elijah winced, not even realizing her tone was speculative, not accusatory.

I am sorry, Siena.

Do not be sorry, warrior. You changed both of our worlds for the better with the stroke of that blade.

Overwhelmed, Elijah backed away from the blade and dropped awkwardly into a nearby chair.

"What do you want from me, Siena?" he asked aloud, his voice hoarse as he tried to filter out his emotions.

I want to know what you want from me.

"Nothing," he whispered. "I don't want anything from you." He paused for only two strong heartbeats. "Except you," he said at last.

He stood up and walked to the glass doors leading from the library to a balcony that wrapped halfway around the house. He exited the house and took in the night air with a deep breath as he leaned on the wooden railing.

Your touch, your laugh, your beautiful eyes, Siena. Your temper, your brilliance in both your skin and your mind. I want to wake in the morning wrapped up in your hair and looking into your eyes. I want to learn what it truly means to know you.

Elijah's eyes closed as he felt physical pain singing through every fiber of his body.

I am not such a mystery, Elijah. I am the woman who wants nothing more than to lead her people into an era of peace and comfort.

Nothing more, Siena? Elijah lifted his hand to rub at the pained furrows of his forehead.

There is one other thing I want.

And that is?

I want you to see me, Elijah.

Elijah straightened away from the railing when she said that. His heart jumped erratically with a sudden surge of hope. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness, the night breeze blowing over him as clouds moved across the face of the waxing moon.

He caught a faint, familiar scent and he felt every blood cell in his body suddenly rush to all sorts of locations, leaving him a little dizzy in the aftermath.

And then he saw the gleam of moonlight on gold.

Bracing a hand on the railing, Elijah leapt over it, dropping two stories down to the ground. He broke into a run, but stopped when the soft scent disappeared. He looked around for the source of the golden light and suddenly saw something hanging from the bony fingers of a tree limb. He reached for it, pulling it free and turning it over in his palm. It was an armband, made of gold and moonstones in a fashion as intricate as Siena's collar.

Tell me what this means, Siena, he demanded.

It is the band of the Queen's Consort, Elijah.

She said nothing more, explained no further. She knew she did not have to. Elijah was a man close to the details of a monarchy. He knew full well what it meant to be a Royal Consort.

Elijah's heart was pounding so hard, he barely heard her. In that moment, everything seemed to change. The feelings overwhelming him were irresistible, longing and craving and just shy of maddening.

"Tell me where you are, Siena. Tell me right now!"

I am home, Elijah. And I am waiting for your decision.

Siena knelt before the beautiful stone altar, carefully lighting the natural, homemade incense that Anya had given to her as a gift last Beltane. She sat back on her heels, closed her eyes, and tried to focus on her prayer. It was difficult, however, because she felt him coming with more than just her heart and her soul, and definitely more than her body. What that was exactly … she could not fathom in the moment. Nevertheless, it was as impossible to ignore as it was to explain.

He was still an ocean away, but she already had goose bumps rippling up her arms, across the back of her shoulders, and swiftly along the back of her neck until the sensation was prickling over her scalp in a way that made her hair rustle to attention.

Her chamber was already full of the scent of incense. It had been burning all day, according to tradition, in preparation for the night to come. Also according to tradition, Siena had spent the entire day doing nothing more then sleeping, bathing, perfuming, shampooing, and smoothing on a variety of oils and lotions meant to make her skin the utmost in soft perfection.

She had been a Princess before she had been a Queen, all of her life spent at the court. So all the fussing and primping and the attention she had been paid was exactly what she was used to, and exactly what she enjoyed. In fact, the familiarity of it alone had helped her to keep calm, relaxed, and focused on most levels. As a result, there wasn't a spot on her body that was not soft and delicately scented, and she was still able to maintain an image of dignity and calm while she was waiting.

Just the same, Siena had been lucky.

Elijah had been asleep until fairly late that night, up until about an hour ago. If he had woken up sooner, she might not have been able to conceal her activities, or excitement, as she prepared for a night he didn't even know about. As controlled as she was, this connection that was growing stronger between them would have had the potential to give her away. She could conceal so much from a great many others, but Elijah was embedded in her very spirit, and soon, she had finally realized, there would be nothing she could keep from him. And as he came for her, she felt the rushing of his heart and his blood, his adrenaline and every other endorphin in his biochemistry flooding into his system. It was like a stunningly potent drug, making her head whirl and rush as if she were swimming in stimulants.

Technically, she should wait for him to give her a proper response about becoming her Consort. But she had felt, in her heart, the minute the warrior had come to understand the meaning of the armband, and any step he made in her direction had been everything a voiced acceptance could have been.

Siena pushed up from the floor, the stone cold beneath her warm, damp palms as she did so, and stood up. Her quarters were filled with women in the form of aides, guards, and ladies-in-wait. And, of course, Anya and Syreena were right by her side.

She was flanked by them, each dressed in a very specific ceremonial robe. Each robe was loose with long angel-wing sleeves. Anya's was made of a sheer green material, a very thin, fine silk that only their oldest and most accomplished artisans could create. Woven into the pattern of the silk in a way that, by touch, could not be discerned from the silk itself was the image of a vixen whose tail wrapped over Anya's hip and down her thigh.

Syreena's robe was made out of the same sheer silk, except hers was cerulean blue. Twisting in one direction around her body was a dolphin, and in the other, a peregrine falcon. Sparkles of diamond-dust sprinkled about doubled for the splash of the ocean and the starlight in the night sky.

Siena extended her arms palms up, and each aide took one side of the white lace and satin robe she was wearing over her own gown. Slowly, their fingertips moved to the ribbons in the front of the gown and they began to weave them intricately together, as if tying shoelaces, except that they each used only one hand, the other's hand acting as their second. It took concentration, coordination, and cooperation to be successful at such a task, and Siena's best friends, sisters of her soul, if not both in her blood, performed it flawlessly.

When they were finished, Siena picked up Anya's hands in her own and squeezed them affectionately.

"You have been my most trusted companion for almost all of my life, and it honors me to have you here by my side during this … this event that neither of us thought we would ever be a part of." Siena pulled Anya's hands close until she was pressing the palms of them just above her heart. "But by tradition I can no longer choose you to bear the marriage dagger. That honor must go to my sister, Syreena, despite her protests otherwise." Siena's golden gaze flicked up to quell the supporting protest on Syreena's lips. Syreena had felt that Anya deserved this right, no matter whose blood was whose. "It is her right," Siena continued, her eyes warming, softening as she looked from one to the other. "I have longed to honor her in a way that a sister honors a sister. For though she hardly knew me when this ruling journey began, she has earned every reward for her unquestioning loyalty."

"I know, My Queen," Anya said softly, her expression softly amused because they both knew she was not the one who needed the reassurance of such gestures. Despite her constant countenance of independence and confidence, Syreena's heart was a social one, in need of acceptance and supporting love.

Anya pulled her hands free slowly and then turned to face Syreena. The Princess's eyes were closed, and the half-breed gave her a moment. When her dual-colored eyes flicked open at last, the dampness on her lashes glittered like the diamonds of her dress.

The Princess then held out both hands, palms up, while Anya withdrew the ceremonial dagger from its scabbard, the sharp singing of metal ringing off the high ceilings of the bedroom. The sound was echoed by the abrupt stamp of the guards' feet as they suddenly came to perfect attention. All of the guards drew their swords with the echoing song of finely honed blades, slamming them down hard, point first, into the stone floor. Sparks flew as stone chipped away and metal was bent or pitted.

By tradition, all but two of these guards would now spend the night reforging their blades. Supposedly, the heat of the forge was a blessing on the marriage bed, that it be equally well fired and able to mold the future protection of the throne. But the symbolism went deeper than that. The guards would shape new blades to serve the new shape of the regime. A Consort lacked direct ruling power politically and legally, but he was given all the social respects and courtesies of a King.

An equal in all things … except her sovereignty.

Anya placed the dagger on Syreena's fingertips. Syreena bowed in gentle respect.

At about that moment, a chill rushed into the room. The bed curtains and the tapestries that hung around the room began to snap louder and louder as the subterranean breeze grew stronger and stronger. Unable to help herself, Siena breathed a little quicker. Her cheeks flushed, contrasting sharply with her unusually pale complexion. But it only served to flatter her beauty and set up a contrast to the white gown that she wore.

A remarkable sound, like the sound of rolling thunder, reverberated around them. All of the women in the room gasped. There was no such thing as foul weather in a subterranean castle. It seemed to pique everybody's excitement about their soon-to-be-arriving guest Half of them did not know whether to be afraid, upset, or just plain curious.

The one thing that they did know for sure, however, was that life at court and life in general was never going to be the same again. What that meant exactly was unknown to any and all of them, including the Queen herself. But fate had spoken, and the Queen as well as The Pride had said they must comply. They must welcome yet another Demon into their court.

But such a Demon? The Butcher himself?

Those closest to the Queen would of course accept anything she asked them to, but they feared for her life and for her safety. Growing up on stories of Elijah's infamy had done its damage. Plus, to any Lycanthrope, a Demon was so alien. So different The women who watched the Queen prepare for this unorthodox wedding were filled with questions that were even now echoing through the court.

Would she be murdered in her sleep? The Queen was a huntress through and through and the warrior Demon would not find her an easy mark, but the Queen was actually excited by this coming prospect, and that was the most confusing part of all. True, the male Demon in the court, the one called Gideon, was a remarkably handsome creature and fascinating for the mind, but he was an educated man of uncommon wit and skill.

One could hardly expect the same from a barbarian who swung a sword and slaughtered enemies for a living. Was he attractive enough to hold the interest of a mate who took the form of the lusty cat? Would he, in fact, be affected by the meshing of the mating and be forced to keep to the Queen's bed only, or would they experience the first royal affair in the history of their race at some point?

Would their chemistry even be compatible enough to provide heirs for the throne? Now this was the most important question. Even with the existence of half-breeds proving that breeding across species was apparently possible, there were no creatures alive in their culture who had been concocted from such a volatile DNA cocktail as Demon and Lycanthrope. What would a blend of the animals and the elements produce, if indeed it could produce anything at all?

That was actually the most fascinating question of all of them. Lycanthropes found mutation interesting and exciting. The more powerful, the better. It was why Syreena was so coveted. This could perhaps be the only aspect of the marriage that would win over the more distant members of their society, who would not be so easy to please or so quick to comply when it came to the topic.

But the Queen had been quite blunt when she had announced her intentions of taking this man to mate. This was a duty, yes, but she had not sobbed and sniffled about it, she had made sure everyone knew it was an arrangement she welcomed quite deeply. She had confessed the doubts she had mulled over these past few days. Then she had told them of her solution. He would only be her Consort and not her King, certainly not their King, and he would be neither if he would not accept that condition.

Many thought he would not accept these terms, by which reasoning they thought they were safe from ending up with a Demon anywhere near the throne. The Demon ego, they thought, especially the ego of such a man, would never be able to tolerate such a lesser position of power. Siena had reminded those who voiced further protests of old traditions, customs which included royal marriages as a way to resolve wars, to secure peaceful borders. And though they were no longer at war with the Demons, the Goddess, in her wisdom, had chosen a way to solidify that peace forever. And for those who most stubbornly persisted to protest with prejudice, Sienna reminded them that it had been her father's acts of terrorism that had forced the Demons to pick up the gauntlet and defend themselves in the first place. This was a convenient fact of history that had been rewritten in a lot of minds over time.

There had been only silence after that last slap down.

So the wedding was coming to pass.

The guards quickly opened the doors to her chambers, leaving them welcoming and wide as she turned to face them, her aides by her sides. The ladies-in-wait were lined up beside the bed. Siena closed her eyes, her hands nervously sliding over her stomach as she held her breath and felt the wind around her continue to grow.

He was so powerful!

She knew he was at a distance still, but projected a great deal of power and energy before him, perhaps without even realizing it. His race to her side was raising the level of frenetic urgency that he was feeling. She could feel it in his mind, in her mind. The electricity of it was all around her, inside her, sparking through her hair with static charges that sent shivers of anticipation to her spine.

All but two of the guards proceeded out of the room and down the hall, heading for their night at the forge. The two remaining guards moved to stand on either side of the door out in the hallway. The only thing they were to protect, however, was the Queen's privacy on her wedding night. To say that they were perfectly calm would be misrepresenting them. Elijah's entrance was becoming increasingly unsettling.

Siena had been very careful, though. She had made certain that the two guards that remained had never stood in battle against Elijah. There was no chance of them acting on any impulses that could become hostile or unwelcoming. Siena wanted nothing to get in the way of that night.

Too much had come between them already.

She had never thought to be as excited about this as she was, but she realized she could not help herself. As much as she had dreaded taking a mate, she found that the benefits and anticipations that would come with this particular mate actually outweighed her doubts, dreads, and fears. At least they did now that Gideon had provided her with a solution that, while not perfect, had allowed her to come more than halfway.

Now all Elijah had to do was come the rest of the way. His words earlier, so powerful and so sincere, made her feel as though she was looking into his heart. But she could not be certain and she would not be certain until he stood before her and told her with his mouth, his eyes, and everything that he was that this commitment was what he wanted and accepted.

The wind that was her mate was whipping around her by then, causing the thin gowns on the triad of women to snap sharply behind them, blown back and clinging to every feminine curve on their bodies. The ladies-in-wait, made nervous by the display of power, reached to take one another's hands. Soon they were closing the distance between their bodies protectively so that they were all almost squashed up together like an accordion.

For some reason, this made Siena smile.

A moment later, she knew what that reason was.

Elijah coalesced into his imposing form with an impressive twist, standing so close to her that they were nearly toe to toe by the time he became solid. He was such a tall and remarkable figure of a man that all the ladies in the room, even those directly before the Demon, let out involuntary murmurs of surprise. These sounds were followed by soft whispers of speculation that had no place in this particular ritual. However, Siena was far too busy looking up into beautiful, startling green eyes. Eyes so full of emotion, the vastness of which she realized she would never be able to touch upon in the span of that mere second. She found herself swallowing hard, although her entire mouth and throat had gone completely dry.

Slowly, she let her eyes roam down the entire length of his body. Her initial foray was quickly diverted when the gleam of gold and moonstones surrounding a flexed, sturdy bicep caught her eye.

"How did you…?"

Siena stopped herself from asking the question. The armband had been linked. It would have taken nothing for him to slip it over his arm so long as he distorted himself into some form of the air. It would be interesting to see if this unconventional choice in mate would be able to escape his enchanted badge of office as easily as he had managed to put it on. But Siena no longer had to envy him that freedom. The touch of his fingers and the clever or inadvertent manipulation that could free the collar from her throat could happen at any time.

Siena looked up into those eyes once more, so vivid, so green, so clearly starved for her.

Elijah flexed the muscle beneath the armband as he turned one shoulder toward her slightly. He lifted one gold brow.

"Is this the answer you were looking for?" he asked, his voice so low, so rough that it made heat sing past every red blood cell in her body.

"Only if you truly know and accept what it represents."

"I am no stranger to what it means to be a Royal Consort, Siena. Say only that it means we will be equals in all things except your rule, and my affirmation is yours." Elijah reached out to touch the curve of her cheek with his fingertips, unable to help himself in spite of all the eyes he felt on him. "I never wanted your monarchy, kitten. Only you. Just you."

His conviction was strident, unmistakable. Siena's heart was pounding so hard she couldn't even hear herself breathe.

"I wish you had said so in the first place," she whispered, a lift to one corner of her mouth matching the light in her golden eyes.

"My apologies," he whispered back, leaning so close their foreheads almost touched. "I had not realized there was more than a single option."

"To be honest, it had slipped my mind as well."

Syreena cleared her throat softly, drawing the Queen's attention.

Siena suddenly understood the draw of the chemistry that came with this kind of bonding. Her people referred to it as "mating for life," his called it the Imprinting. But "a rose by any other name" … it was clear they were more similar than not after all. In any event, every part of her that lay beneath her skin was yearning toward him. She was the magnet, and he magnetic north.

Siena took a painful step back from him, allowing Syreena the space needed to step up to him and present the dagger to him on the very tips of her fingers. Her hands were steady, her balance flawless. It was notable considering how heavy the weapon was and how long she had been holding it.

"My Lord Elijah, Warrior Captain of the great Demon King, trusted and respected by that great lord who is our ally, do you accept our Queen as your everlasting mate, putting her above all others and below no other importance for the rest of your natural life?"

Elijah was silent for a long moment and Siena could feel the brief flit of hesitation that marked his heart. This did not disturb her. His honesty had always impressed her.

"In return," she said aloud, her tone strong and sincere, "I swear never to put you in a position that will conflict with your loyalty to Noah. There will be no war between our people for as long as I reign and live."

"He is my King, Siena, but you are my mate, my wife, and I am unable to do anything that will harm your heart or your soul. So long as I am at your side, for all that I am a warrior born and bred to conflict, there will never be a need to consider war between our people again. And I will endeavor the rest of my lifetime to help generations far into our future come to understand the best of both our worlds."

Elijah paused only long enough to slip two strong fingers under the blade of the dagger, just beneath the hilt, lifting it perfectly balanced from Syreena's hands. There was a flash of light reflecting off metal, the blade moving nimbly through his fingers as he caused the momentum that would twirl the hilt directly into his palm. The dexterity of the move, the confidence of it, was mesmerizing.

Syreena could barely step away in time as he came closer to his bride once more. Siena tilted her chin up just as he loomed over her and tilted his down. His mouth came close to hers, his free hand reaching out to encircle her slim throat.

"As of this moment, kitten, I am yours. Once I complete one last task for Noah, I will resign my post. If this is to be my home, the land where my heart and soul is occupied, then my body and my skills must come to stay as well. But you must understand that there will be no peace in my conscience if I leave my duty incomplete."

"I would expect nothing less from you," she responded, her tone firm and assuring. The promise was more than she had wanted, but as soon as he made it, she realized his wisdom in the gesture was but one more step toward easing the wary hearts of her people. The magnitude of the sacrifice was not lost on the Queen.

Siena reached for the blade, her palm curling firmly around its honed edges. When she turned her hand over, it was bitten and bloodied in two lines from the double-edged weapon. With a mental prompt from his bride, Elijah did the same. Then, palm to palm, they laced their fingers together.

Anya raised her hands to the ceiling and let out a celebratory cry that was immediately echoed by all the women in the room. It ended almost as soon as it began.

"Behold, the Queen and Consort! We are all the blessed ones to be here on this remarkable day! No one can claim to have seen its measure," Syreena declared.

"And now, for the bedding!" Anya added, her laughter bold and mischievous. The women all cried out again, their fears and doubts swept away by the aides' enthusiasm, the sound rising from them a feminine cheer of encouragement.

Elijah lifted a brow that could only be described as a cross between amused and lecherous. Siena was not a shy woman, but she still could not help the soft flush of color that tinged her cheeks. There was too much excitement and anticipation rushing through her.

"My Lord," Anya whispered softly. "You must sever the ribbons with the dagger."

"Oh?" Again that smile and the lift of a brow. "I like it here already," he mused, forcing his Queen to smother a laugh by pressing her lips firmly together.

Elijah inspected the weaved ribbons down the front of the robe that might as well have not been there at all. It, and the gown beneath it, was so sheer he could see every curve of her body, and every accent from golden curls to dusky nipples.

Elijah flicked bold emerald eyes up to her gaze, the look coming from under his lashes intriguing her. In a quarter of a heartbeat, light winked like a little supernova from the blade he held.

It was the only sign of movement any of them saw, but the ribbons of her robe parted perfectly. The ladies all gasped, and this time Anya and Syreena were impressed enough to join in the surprised murmur. Siena, however, took it completely in stride, smiling as her mate grinned in that cocky way of his.

The Queen moved from his side and approached the bed. The ladies suddenly remembered their duty to her and reached to draw off the neatly separated cloth from her shoulders. As they peeled the second shift of silk and lace down their mistress's shoulders, they were all aware of the Demon's covetous eyes. The ladies were proud of their Queen's perfection and it pleased them immensely to make slow, silky work of her disrobing.

Elijah's smile faded rapidly as he watched this. He had never known the sound of silk and lace on skin could be so distinct. But it was. The light fabric paused to cling teasingly to the thrust of her rigid nipples. Finally she stepped from the tissue-like garment, slowly tossing her hair over her shoulder, giving him a perfect view of a gorgeous, pale golden figure.

And that was the moment he finally understood what it meant to be an Imprinted male on Samhain.