Demon Princess Chronicles 01: Lucinda, Darkly

by Sunny

  His eyes met and held Lucinda’s. I prayed that you would come back for me.

  And I did, her eyes conveyed silently back. I returned for you.

  “Well, that was quickly enough,” Nico said dryly. “My lady, I still—”

  “Call me Lucinda.” It was an order, not a request.

  “Lucinda,” Nico said. His eyes had lightened to diamond gray. “I swear upon my honor as a Monère warrior …” He broke off, his lips twisting. “Well, that can’t be too reassuring. Sorry. I forgot for a moment that I am a rogue now, that I have no more honor to lose in another’s eyes.”

  “You are no longer a rogue,” Lucinda said. “You are one of my men now.”

  A rogue, Stefan thought, a poor cast-out soul like himself. And some of that stinging jealousy lessened.

  Nico continued, his eyes fierce. “Lucinda, I swear upon all that I hold dear that I shall see these two safely to your territory.”

  “Nico,” Lucinda said gently, “I would see you safe as well before I return to my realm.” Leaving the blond warrior speechless for a moment.

  Be generous, Stefan told himself, and he tried. But he could not help feeling envious of the easy way they interacted. And of the blatant statement she’d just made—that she cared for Nico, too.

  Jonnie shuffled over to a chair and gingerly sat down, his movements slow and careful. To hide his feelings, and because it was something that needed to be done, Stefan set the bags down by the door and brought Jonnie’s sneakers to him. He helped Jonnie ease into the shoes, and tied the laces for him. Jonnie flushed with embarrassment beneath the others’ scrutiny but made no protest.

  “The boy is injured?” the blond warrior asked, frowning.

  “He was shot three days ago,” Stefan said.

  “As were you,” Lucinda murmured.

  “Is he able to travel?” Nico asked.

  Stefan straightened. Met the other warrior’s gaze. “He comes with us, even if I have to carry him the entire way.”

  “I can walk,” Jonnie said quietly. “I just have to move slowly.”

  Nico crouched down before the boy. “Let me see your wound, Jonnie.”

  The young Mixed Blood glanced up at Stefan.

  “I just need to see how badly you were hurt and how much you have healed,” Nico said patiently.

  At Stefan’s slight nod, Jonnie lifted his shirt. There was a neat inch-long incision in front, another two-inch long incision in back.

  “Were any organs damaged?” Nico asked.

  “Luckily, no,” Jonnie replied.

  Nico thanked him and straightened, facing his other charge. “I need to see your wounds, too, Stefan.”

  “It has been three days,” Stefan told the other warrior. “There is no need.”

  “There is every need,” Nico returned. His voice was mild but his eyes took on a stubborn diamond-hard cast. “I must know the condition of those I am to be responsible for.”

  Stefan’s face became cold and shuttered, his voice a brittle warning. “You overstep yourself, warrior. You are not responsible for my care.”

  “On the contrary,” Nico drawled, an inexplicable expression in his light-colored eyes. “That is the only reason I am here—for you and Jonnie. As companion, babysitter, and guard to you both.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Jonnie said, his tone flavored with the same coolness that iced Stefan’s voice.

  Deliberately, Stefan reined in his rising temper. “Your protection of Jonnie would be appreciated,” he said as civilly as he could manage. “But I can see to my own safety.”

  Nico shook his head. “Your reticence makes it even more necessary now for me to see your wound. You are wasting time, Stefan, when every second that passes endangers Lucinda’s existence.”

  Stefan lasered him with a hard look. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Lucinda could die—the final death—if this energy dissipates while she is still here on Earth. She must be back in her realm before that happens.”

  “Is that true?” Stefan asked Lucinda.

  She nodded, one curt downward gesture.

  “Then I must side with Nico. You must go now, my lady. We shall await you in your territory.”

  Lucinda shook her head. “In the Monères’ eyes, you both are still outlaw rogues. I would see you to my province first. You’ll be safe there. No one would dare enter without my permission first.”

  “So much for hoping that you would have more influence over her,” Nico muttered, then snapped at Stefan. “Your wound, warrior. Quickly.”

  Jaw clenched tight, Stefan yanked up his shirt. Lucinda made a small sound of surprise.

  Wounds still marred his body. Slowly healing wounds that would take another few days before they were completely healed. A week in total. A week to mend what should have mended in one day, two at the most.

  “Why are you not fully healed?” Lucinda asked.

  Stefan felt her vibrating presence draw near, and he burned with shame at having his weakness bared so obviously to her.

  “It has been a long time since I have been in the company of a queen. I heal slower now.”

  “How long since you last Basked?” Nico asked, coming directly to the point.

  Stefan damned the other warrior’s perception.

  “So long that I no longer remember what it feels like. Over twenty years,” Stefan said. “And you?”

  “Two months.”

  Two months to twenty years. Another reason to resent the other rogue. Because Nico was stronger than him in this way, a better protector. And for that reason—for Jonnie—Stefan swallowed down his antipathy. But the fear remained. Fear that Lucinda would no longer want him. She was beside him now, but he dared not look at her, dreading what he might see in her eyes.

  “Not Basking for so long affects the speed with which you heal,” Lucinda murmured with sudden comprehension, “as well as how quickly you age.”

  Stefan nodded. He kept his gaze averted, even when he felt her hand whisper lightly over his entry and exit wounds; stood frozen as she lifted her hand, shifted through his hair, and then stilled. And he knew what she had discovered—a white hair. Only two or three scattered among the blackness. But with time, a time that passed by more quickly than it used to, there would be more.

  “How old are you?” Lucinda asked.

  “I am a hundred and forty-five years old.”

  “White hair should not have appeared until you reached two hundred years of age,” she said.

  “The price for leaving my Queen. Without Basking, I age as humans do now. My twenty years spent here are as if sixty Monère years have passed instead, bringing my true biological age to two hundred and five. I am fast becoming an old man, with only ninety-five more Monère years to live.”

  A Monère’s average life span was three hundred years. But that was for others, not for those who fled their queen.

  “Which, in human terms, means only thirty more years left to serve you. Do you still want me?” Stefan asked, his face tight, expressionless.

  Lucinda laid a gentle hand against his jaw, the light touch at odds with the coiled vibrancy he felt emanating from her. She turned his face down until his eyes met hers and he felt as if he were drowning in those rich chocolate depths. To his surprise, they were filled not with pity, but with a hard mocking light.

  “At two hundred, you are a warrior in your prime. But even had you only one more year left, I would still want you.” The mockery he glimpsed in her eyes deepened. “But since you bring up age, you should know mine. I’ve been demon dead over six hundred years.”

  Jonnie gasped.

  Stefan felt a little shocked at the revelation himself.

  She continued in that soft, languid drawl. “Is that too old for you, Stefan?”

  “No.” He answered without hesitation.

  She smiled, stroked his jaw once more—so vibrant that touch— before lifting her hand and the featherlight graze of her nails away. “Then do
not talk anymore of age. Let us be on our way.”

  Thirteen

  Age, we did not speak of anymore. But think of it, I still did, as we walked down the corridor, silent but for Jonnie’s limping shuffle. Instead of heading for the stairwell as I would normally have done, I walked to the elevator and pressed the button, waited for the slow mechanical lift to ascend to our level. Talon was a silent shadow by my side, a mocha-colored shadow now instead of jet black. The boy, Jonnie, walked alone, grim, resolute, unaided, hobbling slowly behind Stefan who carried both backpacks, one slung over each shoulder, and the long bag in his left hand. Nico, with both his hands free, brought up the rear.

  Men and their pride, I tsked silently. I hadn’t realized it started so young. Such a heavy, awkward, and unnecessary burden they made it. I strode back to Jonnie, slid my arm through his, and gave him the aid he would not have accepted from the others. “Give an old lady a hand, will you, darling. Perhaps your youth can prop up my decrepitude.”

  Jonnie laughed then gasped. “Ouch. Laughing’s not good. Pulls on my stitches.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured, discreetly supporting some of his weight.

  Jonnie accepted the aid with a rueful smile. “You may be old,” he said, “but you’re far from decrepit.”

  “A most gallant defender.” I smiled. He was sweet and refreshing. And had absolutely no fear of me, from the time he had opened his eyes and first seen me beside him in the hospital. But then, he’d had no knowledge of what I was. So young, I thought with a pang, feeling his youth, his reedy slenderness beside me. And he had nearly died. Life truly was not fair, oft taking the innocent, and leaving behind the wicked and undeserving, such as I.

  The elevator pinged its arrival, and we all moved into the cramped confining space—one of the reasons why I hated these things so much. It left one feeling trapped, with little room to maneuver in a fight.

  “When were you released from the hospital?” I asked as the doors closed, locking us in and starting its slow ponderous descent. Talk about old and decrepit. This elevator surely fit that description.

  “They discharged me this morning.”

  I glanced up at Stefan, standing beside us. “You ventured out into the sun?”

  Stefan nodded. “For a short time, to bring Jonnie back from the hospital. It did not bother me much.”

  The Monère were creatures of the night. The sun was their enemy; it burned their skin. Not right away. But an hour under its rays painted them with a visible redness. Four hours and the damage it rendered to a cold-blooded Monère were grotesque and life threatening. Stefan’s skin was still perfect white, but it bothered me to think of him venturing out in the daylight, alone and vulnerable, no one to come to his aid should he need help. And he had been doing so for over twenty years.

  “Stefan sometimes comes to my daytime games, even though I tell him not to,” Jonnie said. “I play football.”

  “I enjoy watching you play,” Stefan said. “And standing beneath shade with hat, sunglasses, and thick cloth covering my skin, I hardly feel the sun’s rays.”

  The last was a blatant lie. Old as I was, I still remembered the stinging bite of the sun across my skin. When the brightness of the sun touched you, it was as if fire ants were tearing off little bits of your flesh. You could withstand the rays for a time without visible damage, but the discomfort… that was always present.

  Still, I did not contradict him as the elevator groaned and shuddered to a halt, and the doors finally opened once again.

  The taxi was still waiting for us.

  “Where are we going?” Stefan asked when I directed Jonnie toward the waiting cab.

  “To the county airport.”

  “I know where that is,” Stefan said. “I can drive us there.”

  That surprised me so much that I stopped and stared up at him. “You drive? A car?”

  “Why does that surprise you?” Stefan asked, a smile brightening his beautiful face.

  “Most Monères do not drive.”

  “I have lived among humans for some time. It is a skill I had to learn.”

  “You have a car?”

  He nodded.

  “We can only take it as far as the airport. You will have to leave it behind,” I said, regretfully.

  “That was my understanding. As I said, all other things can be replaced.” Then he added, whisper soft, “All but you.”

  I blushed. I actually blushed. And marveled at the ability of this man to fluster me so. To make me feel things I had not felt for so long a time, if ever: vulnerable, nervous … shy.

  Men did not usually treat me this way. I’d always been desirable, but not precious. They lusted after me. They did not treat me with gallantry and sincerity.

  Nico spoke from behind, jerking our eyes apart. “Can we save this until later? Time, boys and girl. Time is ticking.”

  “Shove it, Nico.” Slapping a twenty-dollar bill into his hand, I told him, “Pay the driver and send him on his way.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  My brow arched. “Ma’am?”

  “I may not be able to drive a car … yet. But I can sure talk like a human,” Nico said, and sauntered off to pay the driver.

  The yellow cab sped off.

  “No change?” I asked when Nico returned, empty handed.

  “Change? I thought you meant to give the rest as tip?”

  “Maybe two dollars as tip. Not ten dollars, the same amount as the fare,” I said, shaking my head.

  Another thing Monères usually didn’t have much concept of— money. But why should they? They didn’t use it. Power and sex were their usual currency.

  “Another thing I’ll have to learn about,” Nico said ruefully. “Money.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t learned about it already. How did you manage to live while on the run? You seemed quite comfortable when I found you. Well cared for by your ladies. Or perhaps,” I drawled, “I just answered my own question.”

  “They were my companions. You are my lady,” Nico declared with that loopy smile once again on his face. “I had an arrangement with the owner of Smoky Jim’s after I stopped a brawl the first night I was there. He provided me with a bed to sleep in and food to eat. In return I prevented his drunk and disorderly human patrons from fighting each other. A peacekeeper.” He grinned. “An odd role for an outlaw rogue to play. But I distract myself. Time,” he said, and made a shooing forward motion with his hands.

  “The role of nanny also seems to come naturally to you,” I observed dryly.

  “There are many roles I would wish to play with you.” He leered, wagging his brows outrageously. “But not now. Maybe when you return.”

  I rolled my eyes at Nico’s silliness.

  “My car is parked at the corner,” Stefan said gruffly, pointing to a small SUV, a blue Ford Escape. A newer model, not more than one or two years old, I saw as I helped Jonnie into the front seat. Nico and Talon slid into the back, and I squeezed in next to them.

  Stefan started the car and pulled onto the road, driving smoothly, with confidence. Like the way he makes love, the thought whispered in my mind. And my beast rose up within me, stirred restlessly, as the memory of those elegant white hands gripping me as firmly as he gripped the steering wheel now washed over me, heating me. Not now, I told it firmly. And not like this, when my beast was too much a part of me.

  It snarled with displeasure. Raked me with its sharp claws, so that I shifted in my seat, bumped against Nico. He shivered slightly as my skin brushed against his. The beast liked him, too. He carried our scent, our marks upon his body, and smelled sweetly of hot blood and tender flesh. It wanted to play with him again, and stretched eagerly within me, pushing out.

  No, I told it. Not here. Not now.

  Yes, it urged. Pain. Blood. Hungry!

  Never had the monster in me been so powerful, so dominant. So vibrant and strong, barely leashed under my control. Almost like a distinct and separate personality.

  I
glanced at the reason why I felt this way, so wild, so full of energy, so alive. Talon met my gaze. He looked at me with both fear and wary hope, huddled against the side of the door, with Nico between us.

  I tried to imagine how it must be like for him, going away with people who were strangers to him, all but Nico. Leaving behind all that he had known, all that was, if not comfortable, then at least familiar. I tried to see him as a person, but my beast saw him only as food. Food and prey, stinking of fear.

  My mouth watered and my teeth sharpened into elongated points at the remembered flavor of that one small taste of him … piquant, bursting with sweet and pungent flavor. Like a waterfall of life. Flower of Darkness. Flower of Life—another thing they were called, and why they were hunted. For the way they made us feel. Sweet Mother, how they made us feel. I’d never known.

  Like a giant invisible paw, the power within me flared out toward Talon, reaching for him. More, it said with hungry greed. Give me more. More blood. More power.

  I stopped it just before it reached him, barely, just barely, straining with the effort it cost me to hold those invisible reins. A taut leash pulled so tight, so real, it actually shifted me toward Talon, pushing me up against Nico. Trying to shift us both nearer.

  My vision doubled and I suddenly saw with eyes that were separate from my own. Eyes that viewed Talon clearly, closely. So close to him. Not from the other side of the seat where I sat, but from inches away. Had I a heartbeat, it would have stuttered in fear.

  “Mother of Darkness, what is that?” Nico whispered. But I could not answer him. I was too busy fighting myself.

  Let me live! my beast demanded, straining, tugging, an invisible shimmering thing stretching out from me, trying to close those scant few inches separating it from Talon. And I knew what it thought, what it believed—that with one more drink, one more deep gulp of that bursting, flavorful blood, it would fully be. Not a part of me anymore, but a separate existing entity.

  No! I cried out in my mind, yanking it back ruthlessly, with almost desperate mental effort. Why are you fighting me? You have never opposed me like this before.