Damien. Jacquelyn Frank

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      “…and the perfectly capable Nightwalkers who will be in the Library at the time,” she finished, her tone mocking and hostile.

      “And how many will that be at that time? Ten? Five? Jasmine included, I only see four at the moment. Hardly enough to even hope they will survive any attack in force. We will be forced to sleep within the daytime; our human enemies have no such limitations. Perhaps not even the Demon traitor, as powerful as she has grown.”

      Again, he had a point, Syreena felt. Actually, he had only thought of it quicker than she had. She truly was not in disagreement with his observations. So why, then, did she feel so offended?

      Damien had to admit, he had baited her deliberately. He had wanted to ruffle that placid calm and marked self-assuredness she kept around her like a cloak. He remembered a night not long ago when he had seen determined and fierce protectiveness in her, as well as cold outrage, when he had watched her defend her sister from harm. It titillated him, the idea of getting under her skin and shaking that resolved composure. He could sense when her thoughts and emotions stirred, when she allowed herself to think hotly about how much she did not like him and that she absolutely would as soon take his head off his shoulders as trust him.

      His impulse satisfied, Damien put aside his interest in her with a wave of one hand and a dismissing turn of his body before she could respond.

      The Prince walked into the Library and up behind the female who had come with him. He slid a hand around her rib cage, his fingers settling just beneath her breast as he leaned in and whispered something to her, an infuriating lilt of his lips and the brief cast of his eyes in Syreena’s direction giving her the impression he was mocking her.

      Syreena took a deep breath, trying to cool the rush of her temper. She had been giving in to this volatile aspect of her personality far too much of late. It was almost as though she was seeking a good fight. She had to admit, however, that she would have gained a great deal of satisfaction in slapping the smirk off the Vampire Prince’s face. Political ramifications aside, even Siena would have appreciated the fact that he really deserved it.

      Syreena was now in no mood to study. The Library was continuing to fill, the variety of Nightwalkers at a balance that assured maintenance of the peace they all studied in. Or so she told herself as she justified the action of leaving to get a breath of air. She walked out of the Library entrance, pausing to survey the three other caves branching off from just outside of it.

      The network of caverns went on for miles, some of them too tight in access for something larger than an average-sized animal. This was why Lycanthropes enjoyed the caverns so much. Access to them was difficult, fresh water and hot springs abounded, and there were never any crowds or interruptions outside of the occasionally unfortunate spelunker. The temperature was constant; no matter what the season, it was always cool and comfortable. And perhaps most of all, it was always night. After a fashion at least. One could travel for miles through these networks during broad daylight and never once touch the sun.

      Since exposure to the sun was rapidly poisonous to a Lycanthrope—sickening, polluting, and blistering them in a deadly sun sickness that could kill them far too easily—the advantage of the caverns was clear. A Lycanthrope who had been deeply envenomed by the sun would spend days in utter agony and sickened distress before finally expiring. Perhaps “easily” was a poor representation of such a death, a death Syreena’s sister had almost succumbed to only a month earlier.

      In the above world, it was now winter. A Russian winter, for that was where Lycanthrope territory was. The caverns had dozens of exits, both known and unknown, that led up into the wintry place. Syreena had entered by one that had formerly led to the hibernation spot of a Lycanthrope named Jinaeri, who had since vacated and found a new hostel for herself in anticipation of the Library traffic that would potentially threaten her winter rest.

      Syreena wished she was of a hibernating bent. She could have used the solitude and the rest. But the falcon and her other aspect, the dolphin, were both migrating species. Her urges tended more toward a change in location, following the warmer seasons, than they did curling up for a long sleep. Perhaps this was why she could not quite sit still recently. Maybe this was why she felt so restless and found herself so easily stirred up.

      That restless stirring led her to take one of the cavern paths.

      When Damien looked up, the Lycanthrope Princess was gone.

      He turned from Jasmine to look around the enormous room, his brow furrowed in momentary confusion. The Princess had not struck him as the type to run off and sulk, but he considered for a moment that his taunting may have caused her to do so. He tilted his head slightly as he used all of his supernatural senses to seek her out, just to see where she was. It was little help; the caverns created strange echoes in his sensory network, reflecting ghosts and shadows of presences that were difficult for him to sort through. The only thing he could be sure of was that she was not in the immediate Library any longer.

      Why he cared, he did not know. He moved to the Library entrance, still searching.

      Syreena broke out of the unexpected exit she had found, stepping into the crunch of untouched snow and the biting chill of winter air.

      But it was fresh and clean and bracing as she breathed deeply of it with pleasure. At the same time, she folded her arms tight and close around her middle to conserve the warmth of her body. She was wearing a sheath dress knit of cashmere that was held up only by her bare shoulders and barely reached her knees. She wore a simple slip-on shoe, inappropriate for trudging through snow.

      She was part animal, however, and designed to withstand those sorts of hardships. It would not bother her as easily as it would a human or even some of the other Nightwalkers.

      She was in forestland, half of the trees standing stark and bare on the dark landscape, the other half hulking shadows of pine and other trees that kept their hearty foliage year-round. She began to walk, the crunching of her steps the only sound around her. Beneath that, of course, were the natural life sounds of the forest. However, even that would become quiet soon. In spite of her affinity to animals, she was still an apex predator, something to be feared more than harmonized with. In shapechange, she was only an apparent threat to smaller animals.

      She was tempted to discard her clothes and become the falcon. She so enjoyed free-flying in the clear night sky. But she was supposed to carry out certain responsibilities on this first evening of the opening of the Library. It was bad enough that she had wandered off. She would allow herself a short, refreshing walk in the snow and then she would return. The purpose was to gain a clear head, to readjust her perspective. Nature in and of itself was a meditative process, so she was hoping she would find a calmer center for herself. She could not afford the mood with which she had greeted the Vampire Prince. It was her duty, in fact, to be just the opposite, to be cordial and diplomatic to all other Nightwalkers who did not threaten her.

      Because there was no way, in practice, to put politics aside in these matters. An insult to any person, whether of the type of power Damien weighted or just the simplest citizen in the Nightwalker world, could have far-reaching implications that had the potential to begin wars.

      Syreena moved forward slowly through the dark night. There was no moon in the sky, at least not one that could be seen through the heavy veil of dark clouds that hung low near the treetops.

      She honestly needed to figure out what was wrong with her. It was as if she had reverted to the confused, volatile child she had been just before she had been sent to The Pride. But she was not a child. She was one hundred eight years old, well trained, highly intellectual, and emotionally centered.

      Usually.

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