Damien by Jacquelyn Frank Page A

Vampire Prince was undoubtedly quite fond of the lissome brunette. “I had not expected anyone other than Kelsey or you to be coming.” Syreena broached him directly. “Why the sudden change?”
    “Jasmine is an excellent student and quite loyal to me,” he said by way of explanation, “a bill that Kelsey, while certainly loyal, does not reasonably fit. If you are worried, I give you my word she will not cause any trouble.”
    “Isn’t that an oxymoron? A Vampire not causing trouble?”
    Syreena had not really meant to say that. At least, not aloud. So she was startled when he laughed. He was rather handsome when he laughed, she found herself thinking unexpectedly. Oh, he was a handsome creature overall, his Nightwalker genetics seeing to that quite thoroughly. He had bright white teeth, no sign of fangs at all as they were retracted at the moment much in the way a cat hid its claws. He wore a closely barbered beard and mustache, the line of it trimmed along his jaw and accenting that masculine, squared contour. Another anomaly, she noted. Vampire males tended to be almost baby-faced, giving the illusion of an early adolescent hairlessness. Rarely did one cultivate facial hair like the Prince did. When taken in addition to the other slightly out-of-step traits he bore, it made her wonder if he purposely defied cultural norms, and if so, why?
    His extraordinarily dark blue eyes gleamed with a merriment that made his features come alive. A thick braid of hair snaked over his shoulder, the end tip brushing just below his well-defined pectoral muscle. In that moment, the sheer beauty of him almost made him look like he was the most harmless man on the planet.
    And that was probably what gave Syreena the chills.
    She did not trust him.
    She shouldn’t trust him, she assured herself. Even though there was a relative peace between Vampires and Lycanthropes, who in their right mind could possibly trust anyone from a species that took great delight in using trust to suck in a mark they were playing with simply for their amusement? Syreena had heard stories, stories often concerning Damien himself, of exploits and exploitations that had the potential to curl her hair.
    “There is no protection here,” Damien mused suddenly.
    Considering that the only people there were scholars and that there had been some very determined enemies excavating enthusiastically for this very place, he had a reasonable point. Yet she felt insulted despite agreeing with him.
    “ I am here,” she noted coldly.
    “Yes,” he observed, his voice as slow and as speculative as his eyes while they roamed over her from head to toe in obvious measure. “So you are.” He paused long enough to turn half his mouth into an infuriating smile. “Not to impugn your abilities, my dear, but I do not see how you would be sufficient to hold back a tide of magic-users and human hunters led by a turncoat Demon, should they decide to come back.”
    “Well, my dear ,” she countered caustically, “I suppose I will have to rely on the fact that they failed in their initial search and do not know of this place…”
    “Yet,” he injected.
    “…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