Damien (3 page)

“Very well,” Noah conceded. “But let me know if you change your mind.”

“I rarely do.”

“I realize this,” Noah said. The other man stopped walking and they reached to shake hands once again. “Thank you for your time, Damien. I hope you will come to the naming celebration?”

“When is your sister due to give birth?”

“Within another month or two. Normally a Demon female would go a full thirteen months to term, but Gideon feels his son is very eager to make an appearance. Between that and Magdelegna’s strong desire to finish this pregnancy, I have no doubt I will be an uncle again very shortly.”

“Wish her well for me. I look forward to Horatio’s news of the birth.”

Noah gave him a nod, stepped back, and in a heartbeat became a twisting column of smoke that stayed in the shape of the tall, broad-shouldered man for several seconds before stretching out to the sky where it was lost to the night.

Damien followed the Demon King’s retreat with his other senses for a moment before he turned his attention back to the task of seeking his supper.

Syreena hit the ground with a loud grunt, the impact of her body and the hard exhalation of her breath kicking up a cloud of dust that, upon her next breath, promptly entered her lungs. She coughed, spat blood from her mouth, and then twisted up onto her hands in order to glare at the person who had hit her.

Actually, she should say persons.

They were The Three.

And she had crossed them badly.

“Get up, child,” the central robed figure commanded her.

She did so, drawing her slim legs beneath herself so she could push off from the dirt floor. She tossed back her hair, the two-toned tangles mixing iron gray and soft brown together for a moment before parting into uniform-colored sheets on either side of her head. They parted perfectly into a straight fall on one side and a feathered softness on the other. Her eyes flashed with anger. They were also one gray and one brown; however, they had the disconcerting position of being on the opposing sides of the hair color that would match them. The harlequin effect was always eerie, but in outrage it was downright disturbing.

“I am not a child,” she snapped at them, defying the fear of The Three that had been instilled in her from a young age. “I will not apologize for my actions now or ever, even if you beat me to a pulp. So you may as well reconcile yourself to it.”

“Your insubordination is untenable, Syreena. This is not how you were raised.”

“I know how I was raised,” she barked back, spitting once more before wiping the back of her hand across her lips. “I am no longer beholden to The Pride, Silas, and I have not been for fifteen years. If you recall, you are the ones who rejected me, who threw me out and into the Lycanthrope court so I could serve my sister.”

“You were not rejected, Syreena. You were reassigned. Monks of The Pride serve dual relationships all of the time in the world. Why must it be one or the other with you? You are a Monk
and
you are the Queen’s advisor.”

“And I am a Princess,” she reminded them. “A member of the royal family. Though my sister defers to your wisdom and protocols on occasion, she still holds reign over you as she does any member of the Lycanthrope race. That power is also mine now. You told me it was time to take up my mantle of royalty, and now you punish me for doing so!”

“We punish you,” the figure on the left retorted, “because you attacked one of your brothers without cause.”

“That pompous jackass dared question my sister’s survival when she was on the edge of death. She was poisoned so badly by the sun, gasping as if every breath were her last, and he insults her, belittles her efforts toward a peace she was willing to sacrifice her life for! I would, and I
will
do it again if anyone—”

“No one puts their hands on a member of The Pride!” Silas barked at her, showing the first ruffle in his exterior calm since the entire incident between them had begun.

“Oh, you mean like you did not just lay hands on me?” she countered. “Do as I say, and not as I do? That may have worked when I was a child, but I am an adult now. A well-seasoned adult—I thank you, your training has done me well. I warn you, Silas, if you raise your hand to me one more time, you will learn what it is I have held in check through my teachings all of these years, just as Konini and Hendor did when they disrespectfully disparaged my family. You got your lick in. Be satisfied with it and move on. You will not drag me to heel this time. You never will again. Those days are past.”

The Princess was not making an idle threat. Silas was well aware of what she was capable of, and just as aware of what he did
not
know she was capable of. No one would ever know that but Syreena herself, no matter that she had spent the past century under the tutelage of the best minds and members of The Pride.

Syreena was a Lycanthropic anomaly. The cure to a childhood illness had left her dramatically mutated. Once she had hit puberty, she had developed into a Lycanthrope without equal.

Every Lycanthrope could exist in three forms of themselves. The human aspect, the aspect of whatever animal it was that ran through their blood, and a human-shaped combination of the two called the Wereform.

Syreena had been given an additional two aspects, a split that took on the form and Wereform of an additional animal. This gave her a position of precedence. No one truly knew where her abilities ended. No one but herself. While it intrigued everyone, even tempted them, none were all that willing to challenge her to her limits.

So even though The Three were the most feared and most powerful Monks of The Pride, Syreena was not surprised when they relented. It came in the form of Silas turning on his heel in displeased silence and marching out of the discipline room, the remaining two following silently in his wake.

Syreena exhaled in frustrated anger. She was not known for her temper, but it did not mean that she did not have one. In fact, she had been bred from temperamental stock. It was only her teachings and meditations that had allowed her to escape the infamy of the royal warlike tendencies. To be fair, her sister had escaped them as well. Siena was even renowned as a peacekeeper. Understandably, there was a distinct difference between Siena’s politics and her personality. That was evident in the fact that she had chosen a diehard warrior for her husband.

Syreena remained in the dungeon room of the monastery, pacing the floor in an effort to spend some of her unburned emotional energy. To be honest, this attempt at reining her in had not been at all unexpected. After she had nearly strangled the two Monks who had dared to gainsay her and her sister’s wishes, it was very much a given. Anyone who threatened a member of The Pride, even Siena herself, would face censure.

It did not follow that Siena would accept or allow the censure. She certainly would not have allowed Silas to strike her, had he been insane enough to do so. But Syreena was merely a younger Princess to them, heir to the throne only until Siena produced her first child. So, though it galled her until her stomach roiled with bile, they did not hold her in the same regard or esteem.

It did not even seem to matter to them that she had the potential to become one of The Three herself one day.

Though she never showed it outwardly, that really ticked her off.

She muttered a native curse, tossing her hair over so that only the brown side showed. She shook her head and body in a quick little shiver, sending the strands in a quick coating of her skin. Hair turned to feathers in a heartbeat, clothing dropping forgotten to the ground as a peregrine falcon took flight out of them.

Syreena flew through the closed caverns of the monastery dungeon quickly until she gained ground level. Then she winged quickly out of an entrance, leaving the cavern of The Pride behind her in a matter of minutes.

Siena turned her head when the sound of beating wings reached her ears. She watched from the corners of her eyes as the familiar falcon swooped into the chamber she used for prayer, transforming on the spot so that the Princess landed at a slight run of feet instead of talons. The Queen of the Lycanthropes rose from her meditative position on her knees, pausing briefly to shake the thin gown she wore into proper place.

Syreena stood in her nude human form, regarding her sister, whose long golden curls of hair hid the features of her luxuriant body far better than the sheer scrap of cloth she was using for a dress. Nudity meant nothing to either of them, nor any of their genus for that matter. A Lycanthrope could not change form in restrictive clothing, so they wore little to none of it. What they did wear was easily discarded either just before or during the change.

“How did it go?”

Syreena had not told Siena that The Pride had beckoned her, but neither was she surprised that her sister had found out. She was Queen, after all.

“Let’s just say I won’t be invited to tea anytime soon,” Syreena responded glibly, giving her sister a half grin that Siena could very much appreciate.

The sisters were as opposite as they could possibly be, at least in outward appearance. Where Siena was tall and carved out like a voluptuous Amazon, Syreena was petite, slim, and often referred to as willowy. Where Siena was golden-haired, golden-skinned, and a seductive beauty, Syreena looked more like a cunning calico cat with her bi-colored hair and opposite-set harlequin eyes. Siena had grown up in the thick of court intrigues and the freedom to mesh with the other Nightwalker races. Syreena had grown up in the monastery, secluded and sealed up from the real world from the moment everyone realized how different she was.

It was not that she had been shunned or outcast. Quite the opposite. She had been overtreasured. Lycanthropes loved a good mutation, especially a powerful one like hers. She had been sent to The Pride not only for training and education, but to protect her from those who would use her as a weapon to gain power. More specifically, to gain the throne her father had held until only fifteen years earlier that, upon his death, Siena had ascended to. Siena had demanded Syreena’s return that very same day, extracting her from her sheltered existence in order for her to take her place as heir and to use her learning skills as a diplomat and chief advisor for Siena.

They had been veritable strangers the day the Princess had come home, in spite of the constant exchange of letters between them over their century apart. Though Syreena had initially felt like an outsider, Siena had seemed to merely flip a mental switch that made her an immediately loving and doting elder sister.

Syreena had found it easy to love her, a fact that continued to baffle her to this day. Though the Monks had guided and cared for her, they were not known for their overflow of affection or emotion. She had not realized she
could
love until Siena had taken her so easily into her heart.

“I hope they were not so foolish as to be too harsh with you,” Siena said thoughtfully, crouching slightly to extinguish the incense she had been burning for her prayer.

“If you are referring to my rather bloated lip, I would not worry about it.” Syreena touched the swollen area and shrugged matter-of-factly. “It makes for a tender beak when turning into a strong breeze or thermal, but otherwise causes no harm.”

“I do not like the idea of anyone striking you,” Siena responded, moving closer and inspecting her sister’s otherwise unbruised body for a brief moment. “You should be afforded the same respect that they would show for me.”

“I reminded them of that.” Syreena chuckled, her harlequin eyes twinkling with triumphant mischief. “If The Three wore shorts under their robes, you can bet they would be in a mighty big twist at the moment.”

The remark made Siena laugh out loud. Syreena was such a staid student, full of respect for her upbringing and all the lessons she had learned in the monastery, so this was a rare side of irreverence.

“Well, I am afraid to ask you this favor, then.”

It was not like Siena to hedge, and Syreena narrowed her dual-colored eyes on her sister. “Ask anyway,” she said.

“I would like you to join the scholars who are going into the Library. Most of them will, of course, be Monks of The Pride. However, since you have one foot in the monastery and one foot in the court, it makes you my best selection in bridging the gap between those two disparate interests. You will have the respect for study and religious tradition that so pleases The Pride, and you will balance that with your perspective of my interest, which I know is never too far from your heart.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Syreena said dryly, giving her eyes a dramatic roll.

“Ease, I suspect, will have very little to do with anything that is even remotely connected to the Nightwalker Library,” the Queen noted, a curl furrowing through her brow. “There is one other reason I wish to send you.”

“One I suspect has something to do with the fact that I can usually manage to end up on top in a fight,” Syreena said helpfully.

“Every Monk of The Pride can fight, I realize, though they usually do so only to protect themselves and their own interests. I am not concerned with shielding them, for you all can do that for yourselves. I also take note of the fact that you personally are far more a pacifist than you are a warrior. I have learned that much about you these past fifteen years. Discounting, of course, your recent incident on my behalf.”

“Of course,” Syreena agreed, giving her sister a wicked smile.

“In spite of all these factors, I am forced to consider the fact that we were forced to destroy an encampment of necromancers, hunters, and the Demon traitors that was little more than one hundred feet above and away from the cavern the Library is located in. Then there is the additional fact that this is in our territory and we will be hosting other Night-walkers in this expedition for knowledge. I need someone who has had at least some exposure to other Nightwalkers, someone who will take their safety and well-being into consideration. I cannot post military there. Not if there will be Demons about. The peace between Demons and Lycanthropes is far too young after so many centuries of war, and we Nightwalkers tend to have very long memories. Though the Demons will be scholars, there is still too much potential for a volatile outburst of some sort.