Shadow's Claim (24 page)

The weight of him atop her was rapturous, the heat of him seeping into her. His fingers bit into the curves of her ass, holding her still for him, holding his hardness exactly where she craved it. She couldn’t rock against him, didn’t need to.

She was pressed so tightly against him that she could feel his shaft throb, could feel his heart thundering against her tingly breasts.

So tightly against him that when he moved, they moved as one.

He brought his lips down on hers once more. This time the kiss was more forceful, deeper, as if he wanted to mark her with his lips.

As she moaned into his mouth, their tongues danced and their breaths meshed. They were nearly molded together and she wanted his body closer still. Why wasn’t he closer?

More moans, his hoarse groans. His penis felt like it had swelled even more. The friction grew, until she was so close. Her first orgasm with another . . .

He broke their kiss. “Gods, woman! I’m already at the edge. My fangs grow sharp.”

“Um, okay.” Surely he wasn’t hinting that they should end this.
So close.

In a ragged voice, he said, “You know what this might mean, Bett.”

It means he’s so aroused, he’s losing control.
Like her. “Just as long as we don’t have sex.”

“Ah, dragă . . .”
He took her mouth with another hard press of his lips, more bold strokes of his tongue. She met him every one.

She was shivering, her body tensing, readying for her orgasm. On the brink of wet bliss—

Then came the tang of . . . blood.

S
hocks jolted up and down Trehan’s body from his head to his toes, before convening in his shaft.

He’d nicked her tongue.
Zeii mea,
her blood straight from the flesh. If her kiss had brought to mind mead, her blood was a glimpse of heaven.

An injection of perfect pleasure seared his veins.

He shuddered, growling against her lips. The tip of his hungry tongue licked hers for more, hunting for that tiny nick.

Dimly, he remembered how taboo this was, even as he sought more.
A perversion?

No, connection!
Sharing her essence felt . . . pure.
“Dulcea!”
he groaned between kisses. “So
sweet
.” How could this possibly be wrong? The sense of union was almost like intercourse.

But she broke away. “Y-you tasted my blood?”

A drop of crimson stained her bottom lip, taunting him. His eyes locked on it, his cock hardening even more.

“Look at me, Daciano! You took my blood?”

He forced himself to meet her gaze. The way she stared at his eyes, he knew they must be stark black with thirst. “Yes.”

In a panicked tone, she said, “Can’t you see a person’s memories?”

Her anxiety seemed to prick at him, paining him. “I’ve never taken another’s blood.”

“Answer the question!”

“I believe I possess that ability.”

“Let me go!” She thrashed against him until he released her.

Again, I surrender my prize.

Scrambling to a sitting position, she draped an arm over her breasts, shoving her braids out of her face with her free hand. “You’ll see mine!” She was looking at him with disgust.

Deserved disgust.
Any of his acquaintance would do the same. Trehan supposed he wasn’t much different from a vile Horde vampire. Or from Lothaire, the furthest fallen of the Dacians.

And yet Trehan knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d tasted her again.

From this night on, I’m a true vampire
.

That raw, familiar feeling of violation rose inside Bettina. Her palms itched to unleash her power on him; she felt unwhole without it.

He could witness that night! At the thought, she nearly swayed. The humiliation of another seeing her like that . . . broken and naked on the floor of Castle
Rune’s court. Coated with blood and liquor. Their laughter still ringing in her bleeding ears.

She darted for her sarong, hastily tying it in place. The vampire’s gaze followed her every movement, locked on her as she worked her top over her head. But when she scurried for her cloak, he traced to his clothes, stabbing his legs into his pants.

“This would have happened eventually, Bettina. I can’t control my fangs any more than I can stop myself from hardening every time I’m near you.”

In a dry tone, she sneered, “Because I’m
such
a tempting siren.”

Brows drawn, he rasped,
“Yes.”

Seriously undercutting my argument!
“Why did I trust you? I want you out of my sight!”

“You can’t leave.”

“Watch me!” She dragged her cloak on, marching for the exit. But just outside his tent, her feet froze. The rain had eased somewhat, but now the fog was thick as soup, visibility nil. At least for her.

She would have to brave that murky gauntlet to reach home. Right before her eyes, shadowy buildings moved, narrowing the alleys. The street grew darker, the air thick with foreboding.

That seed of anxiety burned. Vertigo threatened. Her heart began to pound in her ears, her eyes to water. Fear was a great steel fist wringing her chest free of air.

Her bones ached, actual pain arising where her ribs had ruptured her flesh.

All too clearly, she remembered how the skin of her torso had tented over her displaced ribs—like cloth over a dull needle.
Only a matter of time.
A kick to her side had sent the needle up and through her skin. . . .

The back of her hand found her lips.
I want those four dead! Why won’t they die . . . ?

“Bettina?” The vampire was right beside her, studying her with eyes that were now steady and green.

He’d betrayed her and she couldn’t even manage to leave his company, couldn’t slam the tent flap in his face as she stormed off.

I hate this, I hate this, I HATE this!

“What is it, little Bride?”

Swallowing back bile, she said, “I don’t . . . I don’t like walking in the rain.”

“Of course,” he said, his expression unreadable.

He knows, he knows!
Just as she’d started to shake, she found herself outside the concealed door to her castle. “Y-you traced me?”

“Bett, you never have to walk alone again.”

And with just those words, her anxiety ebbed. Which infuriated her! How could he affect her so easily?

How could he have taken her blood?

Daciano could now witness scenes of her life, could see her at her lowest. He would learn of her cowardly, irrational fears.

Then she berated herself. Why should she care what he saw? Her entire court had seen her as a victim, an object of pity.

Bettina feared her
vanity
had something to do with her anger. She didn’t want this handsome, devious vampire—who already seemed obsessed with her—to see her fall. Because he
liked
her, was attracted to her, seeming charmed by everything she did.

His response to her had been such a balm after Cas had admitted to feeling no attraction to her, that he’d
entered the tournament because he was marked for death anyway.

Once a warrior like Daciano saw what she’d really been like—sobbing, begging for mercy—he’d disdain her as well. His lacking Bride.

And then I’ll never experience him like this again.
Where had
that
thought come from?

“
Dragă,
” he grated, “tell me who hurt you.”

When he grazed his knuckles over her cheekbone, she turned her face away.

“Very well. But I’ll have one more boon from you. . . .”

Trehan waited until a light glowed from her bedroom before returning to his tent. For a loner, he found parting from her surprisingly . . .
paining
.

Inside, he picked up one of her silk gloves, left in her haste. So slim, so small. His fragile female—who’d been attacked by more than one fiend. Who still suffered.

She’d frozen outside, with her heart racing so fast he’d thought she would pass out.

Again and again, he’d reflected over the day in Dacia when he’d awakened with that unusual restlessness, that dread. He’d suspected that he’d somehow sensed her pain and terror, even when buried deep in his kingdom.

Now he was sure of it.

Instead of saving her, he’d been closed up in that coffin of a mountain, frozen in that city, that godsdamned
library,
never seeing her—never
seeking
her.

I left her to fate.
Unforgivable. Her broken plea echoed in his mind.
Not again. . . .

Tonight he’d learned much about his Bride, about her fear—and her desire.

Her desire taught him that her body—and her affections—could be won. Her fear taught him that she needed help to heal.

Trehan’s plan had now transitioned and expanded.
Win the tournament, find and slaughter her enemies, capitalize on her passion.

He’d taken her blood, the first step in locating her foes. Even though he’d never harvested memories, he assumed that he, like other Dacians before him, was a
cosaş
. Once he slept, he would dream scenes from her past, reliving them from her point of view.

I know exactly which memory of hers I need.

He traced outside once more, peering up at her room. Her light was still like a beacon, calling him.

Trehan suspected he knew who’d attacked her—if he could dream her memories of them, then it was possible that he could use the crystal to find them. No plane was safe from Trehan, no hiding place too remote.

Wrong an assassin’s woman, and he will make you pay.

“Bettina of Abaddon”—he gazed upward, higher even than her spire—“your enemies’ days are numbered.”

“Well, well, well. The princess was out catting around,” Salem said when he returned to her suites, just minutes after she had.

Shit. She hadn’t yet had time to recover from the events of the night. Her lips were probably still kiss swollen, her hair even more of a mess than usual.

“Careful, else you’ll get a rep.” He chuckled. “Soon you’ll be as notorious as me.”

“And what precisely were you notorious for?”