Shadow's Claim (26 page)

How to deliver an immortal death blow—without spilling a single drop of blood?

There had to be a solution. Every conundrum had one.
What I wouldn’t give to research this in my library.
He rubbed his palm over his nape, feeling another’s gaze.

Ah, Caspion studies me.
Though incredibly young—not much older than Bettina—the demon wasn’t without skill. Trehan suspected he would advance far in the tournament.

Trying to uncover my weaknesses, whelp?

In times past, Trehan had few. If the sun threatened to burn his skin, he’d always been able to turn to mist. Now he had to keep that talent hidden. Fortunately, he also possessed the ability to half-trace: manifesting himself just enough to be visible—and poised to attack—yet still insubstantial enough for the sun’s rays to pass through him.

No, Trehan’s greatest weakness was one brand-new to him: any threat to his Bride.

Caspion chose that moment to trace in front of him. “You often take advantage of innocent young females, old man? Stealing into their bedrooms?”

“Not one in an eternity.” Trehan viewed him as he might an annoying insect. “You feel misplaced anger toward me. I’ve done nothing to you. Yet.”

“You sneaked into the room of my best friend and future wife, compromising her.”

“Future wife?”
Control your anger, Trehan, lest it control you.
“And how would your fated demon mate feel about your marriage to another?”

“You’re a prick, Daciano. No wonder Bettina hates you.”

Hates me?
“So you
know
she’s not yours. She indicated to me that you hadn’t planned to enter—did you change your mind to avoid my sword for mere days?”

“I entered
for her
. And we won’t know if she’s mine until I bed her for the first time.”

The idea of them together enraged Trehan. His fangs went sharp as he imagined her saying those words to Caspion:
You can do anything to me.

Calm! Control!
“You and I both know you won’t get out of this tournament alive, boy. I had to save your forsaken life in the first godsdamned round. I could have ended you then.”

“I had that under control!” His horns straightened with aggression. “And the only reason you helped me is because you want to kill me yourself.”

Trehan had helped solely for an advantage with Bettina.
Considering last night, I’d do it again.
“Right now I very much wish to kill you myself.”

“If you do that, you’ll devastate Bettina.”

“Which is regrettable. Luckily, as you pointed out, she’s young. I’ll make sure she recovers.”
Why am I baiting him?

“She loves
me
. She always will. She might be your Bride, but she’ll never be your wife.”

Trehan clutched his sword hilt, fury burning inside him.
Control your anger. Control your instinct.

His rational mind knew Caspion had no fated claim on Bettina. After this conversation, Trehan also knew that the demon didn’t feel love for her—at least, not romantic love.

But his heated instincts still demanded satisfaction, a swift death as punishment. Since encountering Bettina, Trehan had been inundated with a ferocity unlike any he’d ever known.

Control . . . control. Inhale. Exhale.

The horn blared then. Ignoring Caspion, Trehan turned his attention to Goürlav, due to fight the young animus demon this round.

Goürlav eased his massive body to his feet. Had he been slow to move initially? Had his primordial joints creaked?

Or was he feigning weakness?

Instead of tracing, Goürlav stomped from the sanctum to the ring, his horns scraping the top of the twelve-foot-high entryway, gouging the rock. His horns were unmarked.

The animus demon followed with leaden feet. Sweat covered the male’s pallid face. When the iron gate closed behind them, he lost control of his bladder.

Trehan traced to the gate to watch the bout. Caspion made a frustrated sound and followed.

Just outside the ring, a cadre of Rune’s soldiers had gathered, readying to fight Child Terrors, should any arise from Goürlav’s blood. They needn’t have bothered.

As the match began, so would it end—abruptly.

With one blow, Goürlav sliced his opponent from
balls to scalp. Another sword strike took both halves of his victim’s head.

Goürlav gave a monstrous roar to the sky then disappeared, likely returning to whatever hell dimension he ruled.

Trehan glanced at Caspion, finding the young male’s eyes narrowed, his expression determined. Trehan imagined them both sharing a singular thought:
I will do anything to keep that creature from Bettina.

T
he vampire’s match was next.

Once Rune’s guards had cleaned up the remains of Goürlav’s opponent—who’d been halved like ripe fruit—Daciano and the troll entered the ring.

The vampire was dressed all in black, again in tailored pieces of obvious expense. Bettina alone knew what he concealed beneath those garments.

His unique sword was at his side. His one
cold
weapon.

The troll was at least a dozen feet tall, wearing what looked like the largest—and rattiest—toga Bettina had ever seen. It thumped its spiked tail aggressively, but Daciano ignored his opponent, instead gazing up at her, alone at her table.

His lips were thinned with intent; she now knew how sensual they could be.

Bettina wasn’t even surprised when that electric thrill coursed through her body. So she pointedly ignored
him, hiding her face behind the rim of her oversize goblet.

As soon as the gate clanged shut, the troll raised his club in the vampire’s direction, spitting the words: “I’m going to gut you and feed on your entrails! I’ll take your head and suck on it like a sweet!”

The horn sounded. At once, the troll swung; Daciano feinted left and dodged the blow.

“And then I’ll slurp from your gullet!”

Daciano moved right and struck so fast, she couldn’t see the flash of his sword.

Blood began to seep around the troll’s bristly neck like a crimson scarf. The creature’s expression was one of shock as its body and its head crashed to the ground with all the grace of a demolished building.

The crowd went silent. She saw others around her blinking, as if they hadn’t seen the fight correctly. Daciano had dispatched his opponent with one blow, and not a drop of blood on his immaculate clothing.

After a stunned moment, the Sorceri cheered.

Again, the vampire gave Bettina a formal bow, acknowledging the prize.

She scowled. She didn’t like the effect he had on her, didn’t like how out-of-control her body felt, while he appeared completely self-possessed.

He wiped his sword on the troll’s toga, sheathed it, then traced to Bettina. When he took the seat beside her, Sorceri on the grandstand cheered again. It seemed to take him a moment to realize their fanfare was for him.

The muscles in his neck tensed, his unease noticeable.

The secret assassin who’d been
naught but death
was quickly becoming a celebrity. How odd that must be
for him. Over his shoulder, Bettina spied other Sorceri females gazing at him with blatant attraction.

Which irritated her.
For no reason!

He took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm, making her gasp. At her ear, he murmured, “You worked off a boon over the day. Good girl.”

Was it that obvious? She felt her cheeks go hot. Delicately clearing her throat, she asked, “A vampire taking a seat at a banquet? What exactly do you intend to eat?”

His smoldering gaze landed on her neck. Had he just run his tongue over one fang?

She almost shivered. “Don’t even think about taking my blood again. I’m still pissed at you.”

In truth, she couldn’t muster much anger over that. He
had
tried to warn her, and it wasn’t like he’d pierced her neck.

Since last night, her outrage over his taking had cooled to . . . curiosity? Maybe even titillation? Whenever she recalled his reaction to her taste, she experienced a forbidden thrill
. “Dulcea!”
he’d groaned. Sweet.

If he did harvest her memories, then the damage was already done. She told herself yet again,
Don’t cry over spilled blood.

Or maybe she was just drunk.

“I apologize, Bettina. I have little control with you.”

Me, Bettina the Freakling, making a centuries-old vampire lose control.
She sighed.
Delicious.

“As for this banquet, I
can
eat,” he said. “And drink wine.” He took
her
glass and drank a healthy swallow before handing it back. Proprietary.
Perception is reality.
“I’ll do both if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

Daciano was all charm again this eve, looking handsome
and noble. She was immune. She
was
. Damn it, she was starting fresh with Cas. From
this
minute on.

She would not let this vampire plant any more doubt. Because today, when she’d tried to picture
Caspion
straight out of the bath, she’d seen nothing but deep green eyes, black hair, and a chiseled body wracked with vampiric lust.

Daciano could make her doubt her own heart, if she let him! “Comfortable, vampire? Trying to close the gap on all our many differences?”

“Yes.”

Flustered, she glanced at the program for the night. The next fight was between two fire demons. She didn’t care either way who won that meet. In fact, the only rounds she cared about were Cas’s, the vampire’s, Goürlav’s, and, weirdly—the Lykae’s.

She didn’t understand why the wolf couldn’t restrain the beast inside him. All the Lykae males she’d met before had been brimming with sensual charm, hot Scotsmen with wicked grins and a repertoire of clever innuendo.

But this creature was brimming with pain and confusion. Earlier when it’d won its match against a rage demon, it had begun to feed on the demon’s corpse. Cloaked warlocks had drugged the Lykae and hauled it away. Its handlers. Disgusting.

And there was nothing she could do about it. The powerless queen. In more than one regard.

When she waved for a refill, Daciano frowned. “Do you always drink so much?”

“No, but if it bothers you, I’ll drink much more often.” She thanked the attendant.

“I can use it to my advantage.”

At the rim of her goblet, she said, “Oh, and how’s that?”

“You’re soon to see. Now, tell me, what creation have you this eve?” he asked, lifting her hand, examining the sizable ring on her forefinger.

Normally she took every opportunity to talk about her lethal luxe, even as people’s eyes glazed over, but her tone was put out as she explained, “Standard-issue toxin delivery.” She’d created a flip-top reservoir on the bottom of the band.

Most Sorceri owned at least one poison ring. Her kind were talented toxinians—who didn’t hesitate to practice their craft. She demonstrated the function for Daciano, turning her palm up and flipping the lid on the full powder well.

“So you would dump that in someone’s drink?”

“Yes, or I could blow the poison into someone’s eyes, like I was blowing a kiss.” Exactly the reason why mimicking a blown kiss was a heinous insult to Sorceri.

“The craftsmanship’s flawless.” He appeared proud. Yet then his expression grew lustful, as if his pride had only stimulated his desire. “Planning to poison someone?”

“One leech is making the short list.”

“My clever sorceress has a tart tongue this eve.” Leaning closer, he rasped at her ear, “When last night it was so exquisitely sweet.”

Not going to fan myself.
Wine!
Gulp.

“Come back to my tent.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For a time, you enjoyed yourself there.”

Enjoyed? Understatement. For a time, she’d been crazed with lust. Just remembering his hard, damp
chest against her breasts made her nipples tighten under her bandeau top.

Apparently he noticed, because he had to clear his throat before saying, “And it’s still your turn, Bett.”

Turn? What did he—
Oh!
She flushed, wishing she’d worn a full face covering instead of a narrow bandit-style mask. Her pink cheeks were on display for all to see. “You like embarrassing me.”

“I’m a vampire—naturally I’m going to love it when blood heats your cheeks.” Before she could pull back, he’d grazed the backs of his fingers below her mask. “It’s beautiful.
You
are beautiful.”

He can’t lie.
Wait, speaking of mask . . . “I left things in your tent. I need them back.”

“Impossible.”

“Your squire could find them!”

“They remain secure in my possession.”

What could he possibly want with them—

“Did you dream of me when you slept?” he asked.

She raised a startled glance to him. “What? N-no!”

His lips curled. “Liar.”

“And what about you?” she demanded. “Did you dream my memories?”

“I didn’t sleep. I haven’t since I met you.”