Page 101 of Shadow's Edge (Night Prowler 1)
He sank down next to her on the mattress, framed her face in his hands, turned her body to his. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted, and the thought that you’re going to leave—that you’re only waiting until you’re well enough—makes me want to die.”
She stared at him, openmouthed, pale as a sheet. The fire popped and sputtered. A log fell through the grate. Somewhere outside, a nightingale began to sing.
“Well,” she finally managed, blinking away tears, “and here I thought leaving wasn’t an option.” She dropped her gaze, but he caught the tiny smile that crossed her lips, fleet and wry.
“On the contrary.” He allowed himself a smile to match hers. “The Queen is allowed quite an astonishing array of liberties.” He gently lifted her wrist to his lips, then spread her hand against his cheek.
She pressed the smile from her mouth. “There’s that word again,” she mused, her eyes still downcast. “I don’t think I want that title.” She paused. “I definitely don’t deserve that title.”
“The Assembly thinks you do,” he said. He brushed his cheek down her forearm to the crook of her elbow, inhaling the scent of her skin, then kissed his way back up to her wrist.
Jenna looked up at him, startled.
“They put it to a vote, taking into account several important things. First, there is the matter of your powerful Blood. As your father was the only skinwalker—”
“What the hell does that mean?” Jenna pulled her wrist from his grasp and leaned forward to stare at him with piercing eyes. “Edward said that to me before, that day in the Assembly meeting—what does it mean?”
Leander stared back at her with his eyebrows raised. “You must have known,” he said. “You must have seen it before, when you were a child, your mother must have told you...”
Jenna shook her head no.
Leander folded her hands very gently in his own. “It’s a term we borrowed from the Native American lexicon...the only appropriate thing we could think of to describe what he was, what he could do.”
“What could he do?” Jenna breathed.
Leander hesitated. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth over both her hands, stroking, warming. “Jenna, your father could Shift to anything he chose,” he said softly. “Not just vapor. Not just panther. Any animal on the planet, any human he wanted to resemble, anything organic in nature, anything elemental, anything inanimate. Wind. Water. Fire. A tree. A lamp. Anything.”
She stared at him, breathless, the sound of her pulse banging away in her ears. She made a noise that wasn’t quite coherent as she thought of that night on the lanai so long ago: Her father. The crow. The butterfly.
Leander smiled as he saw recognition dawn across her face. He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek.
“Where was I? Oh, yes, secondly, Morgan’s disclosures of your own quite astonishing Gifts were taken into account, and finally the fact that you risked your own life to save Daria—which, even Durga had to admit, is something only the pure of heart would ever do—they’ve made the formal proclamation that, pending proof of all your Gifts, you are the Queen.”
Jenna swallowed and blinked, breathing unevenly. “Pending proof of all my Gifts? But I...I can only Shift to vapor...and just that once to panther.”
His finger stroked over her cheek, back and forth, back and forth. His smile deepened. “The Ikati have an ancient saying, Blood follows Blood. What your father could do...that could be in your Blood too. Most likely it is. Needless to say, we’re all quite eager to find out.”
A dimple flashed in his cheek. “Some of us more than others.”
She stared at him. Her mouth made several odd shapes, but nothing came out.
“I...I...” she finally managed. She dropped her eyes back to the bed and drew lazy circles with her finger on the fur coverlet between them. “I see. Well. That’s all very...interesting.” She took a long, shaky breath. “To say the least. But—”
She lifted her eyes straight to his and gazed at him steadily, her eyes cool, quiet green.
“I don’t want to be your Queen.”
“Another title, perhaps?” he murmured, watching her closely. “Duchess? Empress? She Who Must Be Obeyed?”
Her expression soured. “You Englishmen are way too fond of your titles.”
He waited, not speaking, holding her gaze.
“What good is it to...rule...over people who have no say in their own fates, people who can’t even decide who they’re going to marry? People who hate you for having what they don’t have—freedom.” She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “I told you before. You have no idea how wonderful it is to be free. If I’m the...whatever you want to call me...and I have a choice—I choose my freedom.”
“So you have no desire to make changes to the Law, then,” Leander said, matter-of-factly.
“Changes?” She frowned at him while he remained gazing at her benignly, handsome and enigmatic with the light sketching patterns of gold and red over his skin. “What do you mean, changes?”
