momentum as she was yanked over from front to back. They landed in the snow, and the Queen’s sister felt the warm rush of her own blood pouring back into her hair. The saturation was so fast and so thorough that even the snow was pooling it in a swiftly melting hollow by the time Ruth regrouped enough to grab her around the throat with her now free hand. The hold was enough to remind Syreena that the woman had once been a warrior. A very good one, at that. One who had served in the three hundred year war between the Demons and the Lycanthropes. She knew all their weaknesses and, obviously, how to exploit them.
And Syreena had thought herself up to this challenge?
Ruth was cutting off her air supply, all the while forcing fear into her mind until her thoughts were so hazed over that she was paralyzed and could not think of a way to counterattack. The Princess suddenly realized that what made a remarkable fighter by her own people’s standards was significant only when brought up in a cloistered setting. She had never fought a Demon hand to hand before.
It was clear why the Demons had so often been victorious in battle against them. Her father had truly been a madman to perpetuate such a war, madder still to think he could ever have won it. It was only now, seeing Demon power at its harshest intensity that she began to appreciate the restraint Noah’s people had used all of those years.
That was her last thought before the world went black.
Chapter 3
Damien stepped out of the cavern exit he had traced the Princess to, his foot obliterating her smaller print in the snow. The cold hit him harshly, but he ignored it and closed his eyes. His head tilted as he reached out for her with better senses. She was a creature of both nature and power. It would make her easy to sense if she was not too far away. She might have taken flight for all he knew, in which case tracking her would become a much more complex project.
He opened his eyes and moved forward into the darkness, taking note of the deadly quiet around him. Special membranes flicked over his eyes without even a thought and, some distance away, a smear of pink residual heat stood out like a neon beacon. Damien could tell that there was no living being there, but one had been, so he continued his tracking.
Why he felt so compelled to tender an apology for what was probably a mostly imagined slight, Damien did not know. He had learned to obey his instincts, however, through a long lifetime that had taught him it was more often better to do so than not. As Damien neared the fading pink blur, he became aware of faint shapes to it. The least pronounced was a handprint in the snow. Then there was a sweeping flare of patterns he could not determine an origin from.
He flicked to normal vision and dropped to a single knee near the wide circle of disturbed snow. The only thing he could immediately determine in the darkness was that there were no footprints leading from the place, only Syreena’s and his own leading to it.
He was about to give up, thinking she had obviously flown out of the spot, when he realized that the moisture soaking through the knee of his pants was not normal.
It was not cold.
It was warm.
The pungent tang of blood reached him a heartbeat after that thought.
The Vampire swore softly, cursing himself for his inattentiveness and carelessness as he scooped up a handful of the red-tinged snow.
Suddenly everything added up. All the pieces came together with dreadful clarity. Damien cursed again, realizing that his perceptions had been toyed with. There was no way he would ever miss a blood scent. Not even from a hundred yards away. His skills were beyond bountiful when it came to such things. He was the oldest and most powerful of his kind.
And he had been fooled by a simple little glamour.
He stood up, clenching his fist around the snow he held, letting it drip unheeded to the ground through tightened fingers as he extended every sense he had once
And Syreena had thought herself up to this challenge?
Ruth was cutting off her air supply, all the while forcing fear into her mind until her thoughts were so hazed over that she was paralyzed and could not think of a way to counterattack. The Princess suddenly realized that what made a remarkable fighter by her own people’s standards was significant only when brought up in a cloistered setting. She had never fought a Demon hand to hand before.
It was clear why the Demons had so often been victorious in battle against them. Her father had truly been a madman to perpetuate such a war, madder still to think he could ever have won it. It was only now, seeing Demon power at its harshest intensity that she began to appreciate the restraint Noah’s people had used all of those years.
That was her last thought before the world went black.
Chapter 3
Damien stepped out of the cavern exit he had traced the Princess to, his foot obliterating her smaller print in the snow. The cold hit him harshly, but he ignored it and closed his eyes. His head tilted as he reached out for her with better senses. She was a creature of both nature and power. It would make her easy to sense if she was not too far away. She might have taken flight for all he knew, in which case tracking her would become a much more complex project.
He opened his eyes and moved forward into the darkness, taking note of the deadly quiet around him. Special membranes flicked over his eyes without even a thought and, some distance away, a smear of pink residual heat stood out like a neon beacon. Damien could tell that there was no living being there, but one had been, so he continued his tracking.
Why he felt so compelled to tender an apology for what was probably a mostly imagined slight, Damien did not know. He had learned to obey his instincts, however, through a long lifetime that had taught him it was more often better to do so than not. As Damien neared the fading pink blur, he became aware of faint shapes to it. The least pronounced was a handprint in the snow. Then there was a sweeping flare of patterns he could not determine an origin from.
He flicked to normal vision and dropped to a single knee near the wide circle of disturbed snow. The only thing he could immediately determine in the darkness was that there were no footprints leading from the place, only Syreena’s and his own leading to it.
He was about to give up, thinking she had obviously flown out of the spot, when he realized that the moisture soaking through the knee of his pants was not normal.
It was not cold.
It was warm.
The pungent tang of blood reached him a heartbeat after that thought.
The Vampire swore softly, cursing himself for his inattentiveness and carelessness as he scooped up a handful of the red-tinged snow.
Suddenly everything added up. All the pieces came together with dreadful clarity. Damien cursed again, realizing that his perceptions had been toyed with. There was no way he would ever miss a blood scent. Not even from a hundred yards away. His skills were beyond bountiful when it came to such things. He was the oldest and most powerful of his kind.
And he had been fooled by a simple little glamour.
He stood up, clenching his fist around the snow he held, letting it drip unheeded to the ground through tightened fingers as he extended every sense he had once
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