more comfortable in its environment than in the more modern choices that were available.
Dawn was starting its approach and she should be tired, preparing for bed, and getting ready to snuggle down in the warm sunlight-streamed room for the day.
Legna glanced at the magnificent four-poster bed behind her, even going so far as moving to touch the heavy tapestry bed curtains she had made for it many decades past. The scenes depicted within reflected all those she had loved at the time, most of whom existed still. She touched the figure of a dark-haired, jovial male Demon who was prevalent in the artwork, his image repeated often.
Lucas.
Her Siddah, her mentor. The man who had become as much a father to her as her brother had become after their father"s death. She had never been at a loss for strong males in her life, and she had adored every one of them. They had taught her so much, molded her into who she was, striking the perfect balance between guidance and freedom, discipline and contentment.
And now, along with her father and her mother, Lucas was dead. She closed her eyes, shaking her head to try and ward off the last images she had been given of Lucas. Darling Lucas, trapped in a pentagram across from her, spouting her most precious secret, her power name, for all to hear and use against her. And, the ultimate betrayal, his poor body and soul twisted into those of a demoralized monster.
That was the night Legna had learned what it truly meant to hate another creature. She had never thought herself capable of it, but she had felt it like a white and black poison burning through her every cell, scorching beneath her skin until she was certain her pores would ooze with the vileness of it. It had struck her in the moment she"d finally gotten her hands on one of the four human magic-users responsible for the travesty that had forced the end of Lucas"s precious life. She had acted on her rage and, for the first time in all her years, Legna had learned what it meant to let loose her instinctual animal nature.
It was this nature within her that had wrapped her hands around the throat of the necromancer who had dared to be a party to caging Legna and her mentor. This living predator inside of Legna had refused to let go, encouraging the female Demon to plunge her mind into the psyche of the necromancer, visiting a relentless mental hell upon the offending creature until the reprehensible girl was dead from the horrors of her own twisted mind.
What had frightened Legna about the act was not the fact that she had discovered herself capable of taking a life, but that she had thrown her face and voice up into the night and enjoyed it so wildly. In that moment, it had seemed as though she had never known such delight, and it had taken hours until she had finally begun to come down from the rush of it. It had been days before the high had dissipated completely. To say that she had felt bereft afterward would have been an understatement. In fact, she wasn"t certain she had ever gotten over the resulting emptiness. Had she so enjoyed being a killer?
Or was it the idea of revenge she had soared upon? As a Demon, she had never been led to believe that selfdefense and even retribution were things to be feared, so long as the laws of her people were followed closely. But still, this aftermath had disturbed her greatly, and five months later it showed no signs of being resolved.
A sudden prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck brought Legna"s attention sharply from her soulsearching.
Her head came up, her sensory abilities extending from her like a rippling blanket, seeking to identify the disturbance approaching her.
And it was an approach. She was certain of it.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then the air in the room displaced itself from the sudden occupation of Gideon"s imposing figure in the center of the floor. There was no scent of sulfur, as she usually left behind in these instances, but that only told
Dawn was starting its approach and she should be tired, preparing for bed, and getting ready to snuggle down in the warm sunlight-streamed room for the day.
Legna glanced at the magnificent four-poster bed behind her, even going so far as moving to touch the heavy tapestry bed curtains she had made for it many decades past. The scenes depicted within reflected all those she had loved at the time, most of whom existed still. She touched the figure of a dark-haired, jovial male Demon who was prevalent in the artwork, his image repeated often.
Lucas.
Her Siddah, her mentor. The man who had become as much a father to her as her brother had become after their father"s death. She had never been at a loss for strong males in her life, and she had adored every one of them. They had taught her so much, molded her into who she was, striking the perfect balance between guidance and freedom, discipline and contentment.
And now, along with her father and her mother, Lucas was dead. She closed her eyes, shaking her head to try and ward off the last images she had been given of Lucas. Darling Lucas, trapped in a pentagram across from her, spouting her most precious secret, her power name, for all to hear and use against her. And, the ultimate betrayal, his poor body and soul twisted into those of a demoralized monster.
That was the night Legna had learned what it truly meant to hate another creature. She had never thought herself capable of it, but she had felt it like a white and black poison burning through her every cell, scorching beneath her skin until she was certain her pores would ooze with the vileness of it. It had struck her in the moment she"d finally gotten her hands on one of the four human magic-users responsible for the travesty that had forced the end of Lucas"s precious life. She had acted on her rage and, for the first time in all her years, Legna had learned what it meant to let loose her instinctual animal nature.
It was this nature within her that had wrapped her hands around the throat of the necromancer who had dared to be a party to caging Legna and her mentor. This living predator inside of Legna had refused to let go, encouraging the female Demon to plunge her mind into the psyche of the necromancer, visiting a relentless mental hell upon the offending creature until the reprehensible girl was dead from the horrors of her own twisted mind.
What had frightened Legna about the act was not the fact that she had discovered herself capable of taking a life, but that she had thrown her face and voice up into the night and enjoyed it so wildly. In that moment, it had seemed as though she had never known such delight, and it had taken hours until she had finally begun to come down from the rush of it. It had been days before the high had dissipated completely. To say that she had felt bereft afterward would have been an understatement. In fact, she wasn"t certain she had ever gotten over the resulting emptiness. Had she so enjoyed being a killer?
Or was it the idea of revenge she had soared upon? As a Demon, she had never been led to believe that selfdefense and even retribution were things to be feared, so long as the laws of her people were followed closely. But still, this aftermath had disturbed her greatly, and five months later it showed no signs of being resolved.
A sudden prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck brought Legna"s attention sharply from her soulsearching.
Her head came up, her sensory abilities extending from her like a rippling blanket, seeking to identify the disturbance approaching her.
And it was an approach. She was certain of it.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then the air in the room displaced itself from the sudden occupation of Gideon"s imposing figure in the center of the floor. There was no scent of sulfur, as she usually left behind in these instances, but that only told
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