Shadow's Claim (18 page)

She turned to her godfather, begging under her breath, “Raum, the horn!”

“Caspion will pull out of this. He must! If I end it now, everyone will know why. He will lose the respect he’s earned.”

“Please! He could
die
.”

Raum couldn’t be moved. “Might maketh right, Bettina.”

Only one thing could save Cas now.
Help him, Daciano!
she inwardly cried. Gods, she would do anything, would agree to any number of boons to save Cas.

As if he’d heard her, Daciano glanced up with a scowl, then to Cas and back. He held up five fingers.

She nodded instantly, not even pausing to consider what this would mean in the future.

At once, Daciano traced in front of Caspion, his sword slashing out with breathtaking speed. With one swing, he cleaved through the waists of the Ajatars—and the whip holding Cas. Another swing, and Daciano’s bloody sword took the pair’s four heads.

Cas staggered back in confusion, no doubt wondering why Daciano hadn’t slain him as well. Only then did Raum give the signal to end the melee.

Just as the great horn began to sound, Daciano vanished, reappearing once more before the Horde vampire.

Slash.

The red-eyed vampire’s head toppled as the horn’s blast faded. . . .

At least three dozen others had fallen—although the melee had lasted
not ten minutes
. Even the bloodthirsty crowd had quieted, gaping at the carnage.

Gradually the remaining contestants dropped their weapons, backing away from each other. Most began limping toward the sanctum entrance. Their eyes burned with emotion—rage, fear, even excitement—from the hell they’d just endured.

But not Daciano. His eyes were a steady, compelling green—and locked on her.

Raum counted the fallen then announced, “So concludes the first night! Congratulations to the one hundred and ninety-two survivors. Tomorrow will commence the one-on-one, randomly drawn bouts. Each contestant may bring one cold weapon into the ring—a sword, a lance, a club, a mace, and so on. The bouts begin at sunset. Good eve!”

A group of jubilant young Abaddonae had already surrounded Cas, but Daciano remained amidst the bodies, blood splattered over his clothing, rivulets of it running down his grim face as he gazed up at her.

He’d killed so ruthlessly, yet so . . . calmly. Bettina had never seen anything like him.

And she owed that dangerous male her
favors
.

He’d taken out five competitors just for her and had saved Cas. But not for long.
If Cas faces Daciano, he
is
as good as dead.
A small sob escaped her lips.

Daciano simply stared at her, as if there were nothing else on earth worth beholding.

T
rehan was up to his ankles in blood, viscera, and writhing corpses.

Freshly slain bodies of all species would often twitch, but immortal corpses and body parts clung tenaciously to life. Severed hands still clenched and unclenched. Mouths opened on soundless screams. The faces on severed heads changed expressions before freezing into grimaces of pain.

He supposed it was fitting that Bettina see him like this, without shadows to conceal him, his true nature exposed.
This is what I bring to you.

If you need a protector,
this
is what I offer.

Her lips were parted, her eyes wide behind her mask. He inclined his head to her, acknowledging for whom he’d fought.

Tonight he’d been Bettina Abaddon’s champion. And
zeii mea,
it’d felt good to kill for her!

When he started for her, she gasped, turning to Raum, who was now waylaid by outraged delegates, each demanding his champion’s release from the blood contract.

—“I never would have entered my son if I’d known Goürlav would be in the lists.”—

—“Not to mention the remaining vampire! Who the hell is he? What is his line?”—

—“The word
contest
indicates a
fighting chance,
demon!”—

Apparently those idiots hadn’t realized that Raum was not to be ordered about. The grand duke’s chest was bowed even more, his horns straightening with hostility.

Bettina wisely turned from that group without a word. She glanced at Caspion, who was surrounded by a throng of admiring demonesses, which clearly irritated her.

That wastrel had a female like
Bettina
wanting him. But he was too stupid to see what was just before him.

His loss.
If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure of it.

The vampire was coming for her. So naturally, Bettina had chosen to flee.

Of course the one time she’d hoped for Morgana’s intrusiveness in her life—if anyone could devise a way out of a bargain it would be the wily sorceress—her guardian had left. Raum was busy, Salem nowhere to be found.

Cas was . . . occupied.

Bettina glanced over her shoulder.
Vampire still
nearing.
She peered around for
anyone
to talk to, but suspected Daciano wouldn’t be stopped anyway.

When he traced in front of her, she drew up short.
Snared.

“We’ve ten favors between us,” he grated, taking back the coat she’d forgotten she still held. “Are you prepared to pay what you owe?”

She parted her lips to answer, only to fall silent as she peered up at him. “Your eyes were green the entire time.”

“Why is this noteworthy?”

“All that killing and blood, all those screams and flames, and you’re unaffected.” In a way, he reminded her of . . . of
gold
—a noble metal that didn’t react to most other elements.

“I’m accustomed to death and all its faces. But when I think about last night, I’m
utterly
affected.” At once, his eyes flooded black.

In turn, she grew breathless, flushed, that awareness redoubling. The more she tried
not
to think about last night, the more images arose in her mind . . . his big hand between her legs, his hot mouth on her nipples.

Voice gone husky, he murmured, “Your irises grow lighter, female. I’m not the only one who enjoyed what happened between us.”

She swallowed. “Because I thought you were another.” She glanced over at Cas. A horde of females cooed over his slight injuries, jockeying to fondle his muscles. Bettina wondered if she had any place at all in his thoughts.

Daciano gripped her upper arm, drawing her attention back. “I ask you again, will you pay what you owe?”

She raised her chin. “Up to a point.”

“To a point? That wasn’t one of the terms of the deal.”

“I’m still a lady—a princess! I expect to be treated as such. And I’m still embroiled in this tournament. As soon as this farce began, I knew I’d be held to certain . . . standards.” By ancient law, Bettina could be stoned to death for breaking the terms of the contract. “I won’t jeopardize my life by sleeping with you.”

“Meet me in my tent at midnight, and I promise you,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, “that I will treat you
like a lady
.” Such innocuous words, but the way he said them . . .

“What if I can’t sneak away tonight? I won’t be alone.” Salem would surely tell Raum if he learned of this. And her godfather would shift to second gear—battle-ax to the brain.

Which would probably only get Raum killed by the menacing vampire.

“Then I’ll come to you.”

“That’s not possible,” she snapped. “I’ll figure something out.” She thought she could get the guards outside her doors to take the night off, but would Salem balk? “This will count as . . .
five
boons.”

“One.”

“Three,” she countered. When he inclined his head in agreement, she asked, “Which tent is yours?”

“The quarters of the slain vampire. Look for my standard.”

Then he disappeared.

She sagged, yearning for the privacy of her rooms. Now that her royal responsibilities were over, nothing was stopping her from returning. Nothing except for herself.

The winding, foggy lane to the castle was a short stroll filled with beings, but to her, it rolled on . . . and on . . . and on. . . .

She could call guards to escort her, but her kingdom was a safe place. It would send the wrong message. Plus, she didn’t want others to know of her fear. In the Lore, fear equaled weakness. Weakness eventually equaled death, even for an immortal.

There are crowds all around,
she told herself,
nothing can get me.
But then, she had been within earshot of crowds when the four had attacked her.

Bettina remembered getting dressed with friends before going out that night. She’d thought,
A rave out in a poppy field—what could possibly go wrong . . . ?

Though her bones had healed seamlessly, at times like this she could swear she still felt the fractures aching.

Rubbing her arms, she took a few tentative steps, breaths shallowing, anxiety constricting her chest. Anxiety and
anger
—at the Vrekeners who’d twisted her. At herself for becoming a shell of the old Bettina.

She’d once been bold(ish) and quick to laugh, generally happy. She had never imagined she’d end up like this—a timorous, incapacitated mess.

Sheer will netted her a few more steps. But when she made it to a well-lit storefront, she froze, glued to its safety as if soldered there.

Someone would soon come along to walk with her.
Surely. For now, think of other things.

As she feigned interest in a shelf of figurines on sale, her thoughts returned to Daciano. He’d entered for her hand—not because he was a glory hound or because he’d been condemned on his home plane.

No, apparently he’d surrendered his home forever.

And once the tournament had begun, that vampire had been the only one who’d acknowledged her, acknowledged that he’d fought for her. No one else had even looked at her. Not even Caspion.

Cas had been helpless not to respond to those battle groupies surrounding him, especially the voluptuous demonesses.
My hips will never be that round, my breasts that plump.
The one bad thing about freezing into immortality? If unhappy with your appearance, you were eternally screwed.

Yet even the slim demonesses got a swoon-inducing grin from Cas. In fact, it seemed there was only one female he didn’t respond to.

Me.

Five minutes passed. Ten. She’d begun meandering through the store, picking up a figurine here, a vase there. But soon, the shopkeeper started insisting that Bettina take them all as gifts, refusing any offers to pay.

“No, please. I’m just resting a bit inside your lovely store. I couldn’t accept more.” And there went another vase into a bag.

Bettina was unable to leave, and equally unable to decline the merchandise without insulting the kindly shopkeeper.

I don’t even
like
knickknacks!
Morgana would never have this problem. Bettina’s deadly patroness wouldn’t. Those two Sorceri females
always
got what they wanted.

Why can’t I?

When the shopkeeper began looking for a larger bag, Bettina inwardly groaned.

Ultimately, she accepted all the offerings with a strained smile, then forced herself to turn toward the exit.

Outside, the buildings loomed taller, the alleys twisting narrower and darker. As she cautiously peered upward, that familiar seed of anxiety started to seethe in her chest—the one that wouldn’t stop growing until she was covered with sweat, shaking with fear, gasping for breath.

She was trapped, standing at the threshold like an idiot, clutching her sack like a life preserver.

I hate this! When did I become
that
girl—the pushover afraid of her own shadow?

She knew her fear was irrational. There’d never been a Vrekener in Abaddon. If one managed to enter this plane, the Abaddonae milling around would never let it hurt their princess.

The demons would trace into the air and attack, asking questions later. She
knew
this.

So why wouldn’t her body listen to her mind?