Elijah - Jacquelyn Frank Nightwalkers

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through him, but was beyond creating any sound. He forced himself to be satisfied with the screaming of his soul.

      To his wonder, Elijah heard the scream echo in the distance.

      It was a wild, savage thing. Unbelievably beautiful, and making him shiver as it vibrated across his nerves. He was succumbing to his own internal night, but the scream was repeated and he found himself fighting to hear it, to understand what it meant. The cold of his body was replaced with an inexplicable flush of heat and he felt his senses trying to return to him, to work for him, trying with every last available cell to hold on to that primal and stunning sound.

      But he was too close to his death. With frustration clawing through him, he succumbed.

      CHAPTER 1

      The catamount screamed across the expanse of the forest meadow, making the circle of women forget their dying prey as inexplicable fear coursed through them. Humans were born with instincts like any other species, and they knew as surely as they knew their names that it was not wise for them to remain in the path of the beast that made such a sound. It did not matter that they were a power unto themselves. Nothing could circumvent that inbred terror of prey fearing a predator.

      The necromancers backed away, eyes wide and magic blossoming forth as they began to levitate from the ground, hoping height would provide a sense of safety they simply could not feel with both feet on the ground. When it was still not enough, they could only ease their panicking hearts with a full retreat, flying away and above the trees, fleeing for home or any place they associated as being one of true safety.

      Some of the female hunters were lucky enough to be remembered by the fleeing necromancers and were levitated into retreat with them. Those who were not so lucky took to heel and bolted wildly into the tree line, taking only a minute before they were nothing but an amusing, distancing sound of crashing underbrush.

      The Demon females were not so easily affected. The younger one was a Demon of the Earth. The creatures of nature were hers to empathize with and control. Though she was just a fledgling, weak compared to the great Elders of her kind, charming animals was a rudimentary skill. She reached out with her mind, trying to touch the thoughts of the approaching predator. Her fair brow furrowed in confusion, though, when the puma proved unusually unreceptive to her coaxing thoughts. The great golden cat broke through the tree line, stalking through the deep grasses in a hunting circle, the rotation of her shoulder blades as she walked both mesmerizing and frightening, her golden eyes fixed on the two females who yet remained in the clearing.

      The cat could scent the massive amounts of blood spilled upon the ground. The scent called deeply to the animal’s basest instincts. It attracted the catamount with an almost singular lure. Usually she would have avoided approaching other predators, but that blood scent was too powerful to resist. She stalked closer and closer, making the young blond Demon break a sweat as she struggled to touch the animal mind so thoroughly hazed over with the delights of blood scent.

      “Mama, I cannot reach it. It will not listen to me.”

      “Never mind. We are done here.”

      Ruth tightened her hold on her child, and with a snap of displaced air, the two Demon females teleported to safety.

      The great golden cat raised her head, stopping mid-step, testing the air as the stench of the invading women faded. The bloodied body lying in the center of the clearing was the only remaining scent of any strength, and the cat began to advance on the hapless victim.

      She was so close to the unconscious creature, she could touch her muzzle to him. She did so, testing his scent. Under the blood was the unmistakable musk of maleness. It was a rich, heady thing, eliciting a speculative purr from the beautiful cat. She lowered her head to the largest of wounds, her tongue lapping roughly over the sweet tang of his blood. Her purr deepened, and the lioness opened her powerful jaws, closing them over the male’s throat. All it would take was a single snap and she would finish him.

      Suddenly the cat retreated, shaking her golden head as if coming out of a spell. She shook again, like a dog trying to shed water. As she shook, her fur began to peel away, stripping off in long coils until, with a final shudder, the beast became a woman, dressed only in a gold and moonstone collar and foot upon foot of long, golden hair.

      Siena, marked by that richly appointed collar as the Queen of the Lycanthropes, took in a deep, calming breath, trying to ignore the urgent craving that tasting the male’s blood had inspired in her. She knew this Demon, knew his name and his import to the Demon King. But she also knew that Demon blood was like nothing else in the world. It was rich and full of the power they possessed. However, though she was sometimes more beast than woman, she did not need blood to survive as the Vampires did. She was the most powerful of all her people, and this was a craving she could overcome.

      If only there were not so much of it invading her senses.

      But she needed to think more clearly, needed to act. As she knelt in the deep grasses trying to control her baser nature, the Demon warrior known to her as Elijah lay dying—nearly dead, in fact. It was a startling sight. She had battled beside this warrior a mere six months ago, knew his skill and power and undeniable strength. How had one such as he come to this?

      Siena reached out with a tentative hand, her fingers threading through long golden locks not too unlike her own, though his were a whiter blond than her more purely filigree-colored hair, and only shoulder length where hers covered her entire torso. It was her hair that she reached for next, pulling one long tress between her teeth, her canines rending through the inch-thick coil of silken gold. The lock curled around her wrist and forearm, as if unwilling to leave the body it had been cleaved from. She tossed back her head, ignoring the droplets of blood that sprinkled from the torn ends of the severed strands that yet remained attached to her scalp. She leaned over the Demon, pushing open the once-fine silk shirt he wore, licking her full lips slowly as she took the coil of golden hair and let it curl like a braided carpet, around and around, until it covered the wound in its entirety.

      Blood immediately seeped into the gold filaments, blending with the droplets already welling out of their severed ends. The wound instantly began to coagulate, the hair turning into a red and gold bandage that stayed fast to the gaping hole, plugging it quite effectively.

      She could do nothing about his blood loss at the moment and could not leave him where he was lest his attackers decide to return and finish him off. His breathing was so shallow, so weak, that if not for her keen hearing she would not have been able to mark it. Luckily, she knew these woods well and could find some excellent shelter. Then she would see what she could do to aid him.

      What the Demon was doing in Lycanthrope territory would be something to discover at a later date. Right now, she had to get him away from the approaching dawn. Though sunlight did not char either of their species with the agonizing pain and the promise of death in the way it did Vampires, it was no friend to any Nightwalker race. For Demons, its effect was like that on the nocturnal cat, making them feel fat, lazy, and lethargic. Many Demons actually loved the invading warmth of the sun, finding the daylight to be the best time to succumb to comfort and sleep. Unfortunately, this reaction was often an involuntary one, making them desire nothing but sleep to the point of distinct vulnerability. In this case, any further weakness caused by the light could depress the warrior’s autonomic systems completely, finishing the task his attackers had begun.

      For the Lycanthrope, it was a little bit more hostile. A changeling became ill in the bright light of day, a literal version of sun poisoning. Since they were a species inherently guided by moon phases, it seemed to make sense that the sun would feel unnatural to them. Being part cat herself, Siena was doubly inclined to remain active in the dark of night when she was most powerful, and to find rest and shelter out of the reach of daylight when she was susceptible to its effects. She did enjoy a higher resistance to the sun than most if she kept mostly to the shade, but it was not something she enjoyed doing.

      Siena needed to decide the best and shortest route to reach where she would be able to care for him, and the best way to get them both to that place of concealment. Her people were too far to travel to, and she sensed none but herself in the area.

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