Elijah: The Nightwalkers

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “Then think, for a moment, about those traditions. Did you not tell me that before you allowed males equal measure in your society, there was no such thing as a King? That it had changed by example about nine hundred years ago when…”

  “…when Queen Colein elevated her Consort to equal level,” she supplied when he searched for the names of the people involved.

  “Yes. Alexzander. The first King in your history.”

  “I do not understand your point.”

  “Siena.” Legna spoke up, her voice soft and urgent. “Elijah does not want to be your equal in your monarchy, only in your heart and soul and body. He is content with his life and his duties to Noah. Do you not understand this?”

  “You see him as a threat to your throne. So I offer the solution of removing the threat until such time as you decide otherwise,” Gideon urged her. “Make him your Consort, Siena, not your King. If one day you choose to elevate him as your political equal, then it will be your choice to do so and no one else’s. There is no Lycanthrope law that demands you make him your equal in the throne, only that you make him your mate. Invoke an old tradition, keep your power over your people, and stop punishing Elijah and yourself with these fears of yours.”

  “Do you know what you are asking?” Siena asked hoarsely, her head spinning as hope and relief tried to overwhelm her. “You are asking me to publicly treat him in a way…in a way no man of his ego could tolerate.”

  “We are asking you to do what you have always done. To do the best thing for your people. That comes as natural to you as breathing, Siena.”

  “You do not know Elijah so well as you think,” Legna added. “For you, I believe he would make any sacrifice. He does not need to impress your court. Only you. His position to Noah is more than enough for him. And I will tell you this, even if it did bruise his ego, Elijah would still take you to his heart under any conditions.”

  “But…”

  “Siena,” Gideon said with a sigh, “nothing is gained without venturing to risk.”

  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 tow-headed 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 modern 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 sh
e 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.