On the Prowl

two smaller bedrooms adjoining it. With murmured directions from Dontaine, our individual pieces of luggage were sorted out and set in the proper rooms, and the footmen discreetly filed out. With just the three of us, we each had a room to ourselves.
    “If you will stay here until I return, my Queen,” Dontaine said, his face grim. And though politely couched as a request, it was a clear order. I lifted my brows but had no desire or plans to wander elsewhere, so I simply said, “Sure.”
    After he left, I showered and changed into a fresh black gown. I had brought all three—all that I owned—with me. No jeans and T-shirts here.
    I dried and brushed out my hair, leaving it loose in a dark spilling cloud down my back, and with Tomas glued to my side, ventured downstairs for something to eat, knowing they’d be awhile with Dontaine.
    He returned an hour later, as we were finishing our meal.
    “That wasn’t long,” I said, gesturing for him to sit down. Dontaine did so reluctantly.
    “There wasn’t really much to tell. Nor was it the important part.” Meaning, he’d had no actual part in killing the Queen, what the Council was most interested in knowing about. “They will see you now.”
    I gestured a young footman over, although calling him young might have been inaccurate—all Monère under two hundred and fifty years of age looked young—and told him to bring out the plate of food I’d asked them to prepare for Dontaine. “They can wait five minutes. And”—I smiled—“you can talk fast while you eat. What did they ask you? And even more important, what did you tell them?”
    Between gulps of red meat—they liked their meat raw—Dontaine spilled out the details of his testimony. Even with the talking, it didn’t even take five minutes to wolf down the entire bloody steak. Part of it was he didn’t want to keep the Council waiting long; the other part was that his appetite was back now that his part of it was over, and relatively painlessly so, by his accounting.
    Downing the last gulp, he wiped his mouth with the napkin and stood. “If we may go now, milady.”
    I walked out into the night with my men flanking me, feeling like a prisoner heading for my execution, although that wasn’t true. Or at least I hoped not. My greatest danger lay not with the Council, really, but with the secrets I held—and that I had to take great care not to reveal.
    A multitude of guards, dressed in various colors according to the Queens they served, crowded the wide corridors of the Council Hall, some sitting, some standing, others milling around, chatting, all waiting. None of each court numbered less than six guards. The two sentries standing watch before the large double doors leading to the inner chamber dipped their head in greeting to me. “It is a private hearing, milady. Your guards must wait outside,” one of the sentries said.
    I’d kind of gotten that idea already. “Of course.”
    I walked alone into the high-domed chamber, the heavy doors closing silently behind me. A dozen of the Council seats were occupied, all women but for one man, Warrior Lord Thorane, the Council speaker. Other Queens were there—I felt their distinct irritating buzz against my skin—and over them, I felt the weightier presence of the Queen Mother. But it was a new odd sensation, the awareness of a presence that I should not have been aware of, that caused me to stumble, almost fall. Before I even saw the darker skin, I knew the demon was there. Because I felt him. And I should not have.
    Demon dead are children of the moon who have died, but had enough psychic power to make the transition to that other realm. Their hearts did not beat, they did not breathe. Perfect predators, making no noise. Nothing to betray their presence. We barely felt them or sensed them, their presence no longer that sharp rush of attraction as with a Monère male or the comforting recognition with a Full Blood female or the buzzing abrasion with another Queen. We had only a muted awareness of their presence, so that we sensed them only when it was too late, when they were too close to us. Almost upon us.
    When I lifted my eyes to the chair on the raised platform to my far right, I knew that the person sitting there would be a flash of warm golden color among the sea of white Monère skin and have nails that were long, sharp, and pointed. All that was true, I found, as my eyes settled upon that suddenly vibrant presence. Not a pull, not a