Free Damien by Jacquelyn Frank

more, this time circumventing the trick, pushing away the outside influence that had deceived his mind.
    The scent and vibration of battle overwhelmed him instantly. There was fear and rage and desperation so intense that he could taste it right along with the flavor of blood that now rose up from all around him. Snow that had appeared white moments ago now showed the truth of the blood splattered into it. Residual energy and heat blanketed the area of the struggle.
    He raised his hand to his mouth, breathing deeply of the scent of the blood he held gripped in his palm, familiarizing himself with the hormone and pheromone levels of it. It was Lycanthrope, clearly Syreena’s. His fangs exploded behind his lips and he snarled softly.
    That was when he realized he was clutching strands of gray hair between his fingers and palm along with the snow.
    He threw down the compressed slush.
    He had her blood scent, and now he could quickly and far more easily track her.
    That was all that mattered.
     
    Ruth took great pleasure in throwing the Lycanthrope Princess into a corner of the small stone room they had arrived in. All Syreena could do was protect her profusely bleeding head from striking the wall.
    At least for the first moment.
    The next moment she had her feet under her and was lunging with unexpected calculation at the Demon female. Ruth had forgotten that this Lycanthrope was not just some weakling little figurehead to a monarchy. Syreena was a Monk, and she had spent nearly her entire life with The Pride finding out what that made her capable of.
    Her rigid bicep contacted Ruth’s unprotected throat, knocking her right off her feet. The Demon hit the floor on her back. She got kudos for a quick comeback, however, as she swiftly used her position on the floor to kick Syreena’s legs out from under her. The Princess lost her breath and saw stars as her back and head hit the stone floor. On top of the blood loss she was beginning to feel the effects of, it thoroughly disoriented her.
    Disorientation was more than enough to give Ruth the advantage. The Demon shouted out a phrase Syreena did not comprehend, but a heartbeat later she understood it was a spell.
    A spell .
    A Demon casting magic.
    The Lycanthrope knew this was so because out of thin air she felt hands closing around her throat. All she could do was gasp for breath and claw at her own neck for something that was not even there. There was nothing to latch on to, nothing to struggle with, except for the slim gold and moonstone collar she wore that was the badge of her inheritance to the Lycanthrope throne.
    Ruth took the opportunity to regroup, straightened her clothing, and kneeled down over her victim. Syreena watched with wide eyes as the Demon smiled with clear contentment.
    “There now, that is much better,” she said, her tone almost motherly and soothing as she reached to pat the Princess on her forehead.
    Syreena’s face was turning red, her feet kicking out violently for some kind of purchase.
    “If you sit still, I will let go,” Ruth told her gently.
    Syreena did not believe her, and it was apparent in her defiant eyes. She might die at the madwoman’s hands, but she would not do so submissively.
    “Oh, have it your way, then,” Ruth snapped at her, clapping her hands and releasing the spell.
    Syreena gagged violently. She rolled over, turning away from the Demon as she struggled to recapture her breath. Tears ran down her face and she fought the nausea and the headache lancing behind her swollen eyes.
    “Now…let us keep in mind that I am a Mind Demon, and I can read your thoughts,” Ruth said amiably as she settled herself into a comfortable cross-legged position on the floor just behind the Princess.
    She was lying. Female Mind Demons were empaths. Only the males were telepaths.
    “I am not lying,” she leaned in to whisper to the misguided Princess. “Though I can see why you would think so. It is true, I was once relegated to the