Shadow's Claim (33 page)

B
ettina frowned when Trehan’s offering lay strewn before her, as if she didn’t comprehend what she was seeing.

And Trehan realized he’d erred this eve.

Despite all the wise choices he’d made over the centuries, despite all his sage counsel that had helped others . . . when it had truly counted, his logic had failed him. He’d made a colossal mistake.

One that might cost him his life—and, worse, cost him Bettina.

He didn’t fear death; he’d lived long enough. No, Trehan feared never seeing her again. He dreaded what would happen to her in the coming days.
Likely wed to Goürlav, if the demon advances—and if my cousins fail to protect her.

“I’ll assist you with Lothaire,” he’d told the three of them, “if you vow always to safeguard Bettina. . . .”

Now regret hammered at Trehan. He’d thought he could personally present the bag to her, gentling her reaction; he hadn’t expected to be at sword point while Vrekener heads bounced before her eyes.

With no warning.

Realization was dawning on Bettina’s pale face, and there was nothing Trehan could do to remedy this, forced to watch helplessly.

“Heads, Bettina!” Morgana cried, clasping her hands to her breast and batting her eyes. “A bag full of them! Just like you’ve always wanted!” Trehan could hear the sorceress adding under her breath, “Not the most original of gifts, true. But these do appear to be
fresh
.”

Bettina looked like she was about to vomit.

Fuck.

Zeii mea, I’ve . . . failed.
After the momentous day he’d experienced?

Before dawn, he’d shot awake, fresh from a dream. For days he’d failed to access the memory he’d sought from Bettina’s drops of blood.

Finally, he’d succeeded; he’d relived her attack.

Her
beating
. Trehan had felt everything, every last second of the horror as a tender young girl was savaged by winged fiends in the name of “good.”

My
Bride
savaged. Her limbs broken at angles, her skull and pelvis cracked. Two ribs rupturing her skin. Blood painting her body.

Long after she’d accepted death, when she’d ceased screaming and her pleas had fallen silent, they’d still brutalized her.

Only Raum’s summoning had saved her from slowly burning to death.

Trehan had awakened to his own howl of rage,
covered in shredded fur. His fangs had been sharp as razors.

Hungering to punish, he’d envisioned flesh rending beneath his fangs, arteries plucked with his claws. Dear gods, yes, to
punish
.

Breaths heaving, he’d collected his sword, gripping his talisman. Trehan had hoped that with her memory of those attackers, he could use their identities and the crystal to trace directly to them. Sword in hand, he’d pictured the first one’s face, then begun to trace, having no idea if this would work. . . .

It had been night in the air territories, the shadows plentiful. He’d smiled, baring his fangs, knowing he was a chilling sight.

One by one he’d meted out retribution for his Bride; one by one he’d gathered their heads.

Trehan and Bettina were indeed connected. Her attack
had
happened the day he’d had that ominous sense. Had his Bride been calling out through the ether, calling for her male?

I answered today.

He’d returned to Rune still filled with rage, but knowing he had to win this round tonight.

Yes, an eventful day to die. Momentous.

Disastrous.

Strange—he’d never truly failed before. Figured his first time would result in his death.

Can’t stop shaking.
With unsteady steps, Bettina sank down in her seat.

The contents of that bag had shocked her, then dredged up horrors she’d desperately tried to bury.

She knew it was Daciano’s offering to her. He was the only one who could’ve accomplished this feat.

Just as Bettina had feared, he’d read her memories. He’d seen her most private moments like a voyeur in her mind.

Morgana turned to her with a slow grin spreading across her face. “Are they who I think they are?”

Bettina started to speak, had to cough before she could utter: “Vrekeners.”

Somehow the vampire had traveled to the air territories and wrought vengeance.

Their grimaces of pain in the torchlight were so very reminiscent of their masks of rage, lit by a pale yellow moon. The scent of crushed poppies . . .

She furtively pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, fearing she’d throw up. Judging from the disfiguring marks across their faces, they’d
died bloody
. Just as Daciano had promised.

She gazed over at him. His mien was as stoic as ever, but deep down he had to fear he’d made a mistake.

With sheer glee, Morgana announced to all,
“And lastly, we have the most wanted foes of Abaddon, executed and delivered.”

Surprised murmurs sounded throughout the stands, so few understanding the meaning of those trophies.

Raum hoisted his tankard above his head, not bothering to disguise his delight. The pressure to find her attackers had just been lifted.

Bettina glanced at Cas. He looked infuriated that Daciano had done what he’d been unable to.

Back to the vampire. Finally she discerned a hint of emotion on his face, his eyes flickering.

She thought that he was . . .
sorry
—not about the ultimate outcome of this round, but that he’d upset
her.
Why present them like this, vampire?
Yes, she’d wanted them dead.
But why like this?

“Time for the results!” Morgana said.

Bettina dutifully rose, pressing her hands against the table to steady herself.

“Which three gifts do you like least?
Princess?
” Morgana prompted more forcefully.

In a deadened tone, she answered, “The horses.”

The fire demon directly beside Daciano cried, “Wait—”

But Morgana had already waved her hand to wield the mystical sword. His head bounced to the ground. “And next?” she asked in a breezy tone.

Bettina grew even more nauseated.

When the Lykae saw the first head topple, he began grappling against Morgana’s hold with all the brutal force in his body, his ice-blue eyes wide. Whimpers broke from his chest.

“Princess?”

Did the Lykae believe they were all being summarily executed? Did he understand anything that was happening?

Does he believe he’s . . . next?

“Princess! Which gift?” Morgana’s expression turned sinister. Under her breath, she said, “Each second you dally, the wolf’s ungodsly strength tests my powers. Take care that I don’t accidentally swing for Caspion’s head.”

Bettina gave a wary nod. Just as she murmured, “The jewels,” she spied a flicker of clarity in the Lykae’s eyes. The ice-blue color faded as his gaze darted around him with . . .
comprehension
.

The former human had surfaced from the wolf’s grip—to find himself bound in an iron cage, surrounded
by blood-thirsty demons. A frantic bellow erupted from his chest.

Have I just killed him? Were the jewels from the Warlocks?
Bettina twisted toward the sorceress. “Please, Morgana—”

Morgana had already waved her hand; the Lykae yelled one word:
“Brother!”

His call still echoed, even after his head rested next to his limp body.

Bettina swayed, her jaw slackening. But Morgana simply tossed a temporary glamour over her, erasing any expression.

Inside, she was sick—about this tournament, about her existence, about her very world.
How long can I be powerless like this?

How long till she became as hard-bitten as Morgana hoped—or as weak as Raum expected?

Trehan swallowed, feeling cold steel against his throat, yet unable to trace away, unable to fight.

Such a gamble. Such a fool. You gave her fucking heads, Trehan?

“Lastly, Princess?”

The crowd was silent as a grave.

Bettina gazed at Trehan, as if to gather strength for her last pronouncement.

He stared back, taking her face into memory—

“The . . . phoenix.”

The stone demon roared, “No, you can’t!”

With a shrug, Morgana waved her hand once more. His muscles bulged, hardening like stone, but the sorceress’s power was too great. Another demon down.

Trehan just kept himself from sagging against the sword in relief. He, Caspion, and Goürlav would survive the night.

“And now for the winner! Which gift do you like best?”

Wagon of gold, concert tickets—or a seemingly impossible revenge?

Yet again, he and Caspion would be in competition. Now that Trehan hadn’t been decapitated, his confidence over his offering rose.
She’ll choose mine.
Anyone could give her tickets or riches. But not vengeance.

“I like . . . the tickets best.”

“Caspion the Tracker advances to the final round!” Morgana called with fanfare, but no real excitement.

Well-played, demon.
The crowd roared, feet stomping the stands. Raum whistled shrilly, whaling his massive hands in applause.

Had Trehan actually thought Bettina would prefer any gift over Caspion’s? Two fucking passes to some kind of mortal entertainment.

And now I face Goürlav tomorrow
.

“Which gift is your runner-up, Princess?” Morgana asked.

Bettina sounded sick as she said, “The . . . heads.”

Face Goürlav, have Bettina take me on a
tour
?

Any night of the week.

Trehan might die in the ring. He’d be damned if his Bride didn’t send him off with a smile on his face.

Bettina’s gaze kept straying to the Vrekener heads. Just looking at them provoked so many emotions inside her—fear, revulsion, yet there was also relief.

She’d reasoned,
I would pay Goürlav’s wagon of gold for those heads. Which means Daciano should earn the runner-up spot.

Points deducted for presentation, though. Their glassy eyes seemed to be staring at her accusingly.

She shuddered, her stomach churning even worse.
Need to get off this stage.
Before she humiliated herself in front of everyone. . . .

“Excellent!” Morgana called. “Goürlav the Father of Terrors will meet the Prince of Shadow in the semifinals. The winner will face Caspion the Tracker of Abaddon on the night of the full moon. This eve’s festivities have ended. You may leave.
Now
.”

At that, spectators scrambled away.

When Morgana’s floating swords disappeared, the three surviving competitors stood.

Cas traced to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. She quaked beneath his grip.

Too much to process
. Aside from the shocking development of the Vrekeners’ deaths, Bettina was rocked by the outcome of this round. Because of her choices, three entrants were dead, the fates of three others altered irretrievably.

Some part of her truly must have thought she could take out Goürlav with her lady’s choice. He remained, and he was seemingly unbeatable in the ring. Which meant . . .