Shadow's Claim (42 page)

Salem had left, Cas was mad at her, and Raum’s guards would balk at escorting her down into the bowels of the ring. Could she manage to get there by herself?

Last night, the idea of walking those twenty-five feet had struck her as ridiculous. Then . . . possible.

Then . . .
achieved.

Drawing on her cloak, she wended through the castle. At the exit, she hesitated to cross the threshold.

Never to hear Daciano’s steely voice again? Never to feel his strong arms around her? She peered up at the sky, stunned by her thoughts.

The mouse would rather risk the hawk.

T
rehan scented Bettina’s light perfume an instant before he heard her racing heart. He spied her hastening down the darkened catacomb toward him, looking far too fragile and bright to be in this foul, dank place. As she neared, rats and kobolds scurried.

“Bett? What are you doing down here?” He put his hands on her shoulders, felt her shaking beneath his palms. “Where’s your escort?”

Would she be too preoccupied to notice he had no sword belt around his waist? That his unusual weapon lay across a nearby bench?

“Don’t have an escort. Needed to see you,” she said in a rush. “To tell you not to die tonight.”

“You came by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“My brave girl!” He took her in his arms and spun her around, before setting her on her feet. “My chest swells with pride,
dragă mea
.”

But she didn’t share his happiness. She clasped his face and drew him down for a kiss. His mouth met hers.

Her lips were trembling—her kiss . . . fierce.

He’d always considered kisses a prelude to sex. This was different. She was telling him how she felt, and he wanted to respond in kind. He cradled the back of her head as he took her mouth with all the feeling inside him, holding nothing back.

She met him stroke for stroke, softening against him, sagging . . . until she finally drew back with a cry. “Vampire?”

“Bettina,”
he rasped, straightening her little mask, “that was a gallows kiss.”

Her eyes went wide. “I . . . I’m sorry. You need to be concentrating. I should never have come here.” She glanced away, frowning at the long sheath lying on a bench.

He pinched her chin, drawing her attention back to him. “You admitted to me that you care about my well being. Is that the extent of your feelings?”

“I-I . . .”

“You believe I’ll die in minutes. Come, Bett. Take pity on me and lie.”

“You’re manipulating me again!”

“Yes.”

She groaned. “How can I stay mad at you when you agree with me like that?” She smoothed her palms over his chest. “Very well. I’ve grown to . . . well, it’s like this—”

Goürlav stirred deeper in the bowels of the sanctum, roaring his readiness.

Damn it!
“You need to go at once.” Trehan traced her to the exit. “I can’t take you from here, but you have to leave.”

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice was sad, yet she seemed to force herself to smile. “I . . . I’ll see you soon?”

Trehan wanted to tell her that she would, to reassure her—but even that unfounded optimism burned in his throat like a lie. So he said nothing, just stood trapped in the sanctum, watching her walk away from him.

While everything inside him screamed for him to follow.

Moments after she’d left Daciano, Bettina saw Cas, hanging out with his rowdy group of demons. Was he still angry with her after last night? He spotted her then. Would he even acknowledge her?

At once, he traced to her side, leaving his cohorts behind. “You’re by yourself, Tina? Strolling around?”

“I, uh, had something to do.”

“Then you’re getting better. I knew you just needed to see those Vrekeners dead.” Regret tinged his expression. “I wish I could have given that to you.”

And Daciano wishes he could have been there for me after the attack.
Bettina had needed both of them in different ways.

“Can I walk you to the ring?” he asked. “Or do you want to remain alone?”

“I’ve managed enough for one day. Go with me?”

They fell into step together, meandering through the town, like they had as children. But so much had changed since then. Instead of companionable silence, tension stretched between them. What was he thinking?

At length, Cas said, “Tina, I wanted to tell you I’m
sorry about yesterday. About the things I said. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Me neither, Cas!”

“It just felt wrong. Can we be friends once more?”

“Friends.” In the past, that word would have made her ache for more. Now she found that she longed to call him friend. “Of course. You’re my truest friend. The one who’s always there for me. Even when we quarrel, you’re still in my heart.”

In a quiet tone, Cas said, “And so is
he
?”

“Yes. I care about the vampire.”

“I should never have said anything about Daciano and seduction. I can’t blame you for getting caught up in your first affair—especially not with one of the Daci. They can be . . . irresistible.”

Had some Dacian female tempted Cas to her bed? The thought didn’t sting as it would have in the past. “Cas, I didn’t mean for it to happen, but there it is. I will worry for him, just as I will worry for you tomorrow. And I can’t predict how I’m going to react tonight.”

“I understand.”

As they neared the ring, she recognized that she’d never been more nervous in her life.

This was really happening. Daciano’s fight. And everyone present was certain he was about to die.

Frustration welled inside her yet again. She was a soon-to-be queen with zero control over what happened in her own realm.

Once Cas had traced her onto the grandstand, Raum greeted her with a questioning look.

“I’m okay,” she assured him.
I feel like I’ll scream!
“Nothing happened last night.”
I may have begun to fall for that gorgeous, patient, brave vampire who wants me to be his wife.

Who’s about to risk his life for me.

“Good. This old demon worries, Tina.” Raum patted her shoulder with a rough paw, then turned to Cas. “A word, son.” The two males retreated to a back corner of the stage.

Morgana wasted no time cozying up to Bettina, handing her a goblet of wine. “I told Raum you would come away unscathed from your meeting, but that the vampire might not have been so lucky. So, did my little freakling sully the Prince of Shadow? I want details.”

“We didn’t make love, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hmm. You look exhausted.”

“I know, I know. And I’m not a great beauty anyway,” she said, even as she inwardly smirked.
But one vampire can’t get enough of me.

“No, I wasn’t going to say that.
Attitude
makes a sorceress beautiful. And it seems you’re demonstrating a touch of it—at last.”

“Maybe so. But I’m still anxious about tonight. And the pressures of this tournament are weighing me down. Which you must have predicted would happen.”

“Because of this tournament, your enemies are dead, your pathetic crush on the wastrel”—she jerked her chin at Cas—“is dwindling, and you’re even richer than before.”

But Bettina still didn’t have her ability, and she was still trapped at this table, about to watch Daciano fight for his life.
Can I
watch
him die?
She attacked another nail. “Morgana, can’t you do
anything
to help him?”

“We are bound by those cursed rules. As I told you, I cannot, by thought, action, or deed, influence the outcome of this tournament. Though I can capitalize on the results,” she added cryptically.

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll say no more about it.”

Bettina gritted her teeth. “There’s got to be something,” she insisted, setting her goblet away so she could think.

Morgana suddenly gasped. “This isn’t just infatuation. You’re in love with the vampire!”

Bettina couldn’t deal with this anxiety and fend off her godmother’s inquiry too. “How could I be?” she said. “I hardly know him.”

“Because you’re a sorceress, who can sense her male.”

“
My
male?” In the folly, Daciano had said Bettina had called for him—because he was hers. “But we don’t have mates.”

“Perhaps not mystical ones. Yet what if we have a single perfect affinity in all our lives?”

“I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done to Morgana—”

“I’m quite serious. Sorceri wed for life; we choose our mates with free will. But what if something helps us along? Otherwise, how could we bond so completely? Bettina, we Sorceri
cleave
 . . .” Morgana trailed off when one of her Inferi gestured urgently for her attention, then handed her a message.

Bettina studied her godmother’s placid glamour, so at odds with her flying braids. “Well, what is it?”

“More reports that La Dorada’s risen. But no one can confirm.”

“Do you have to leave?”

“No. Tonight, it’s imperative that I stay here.”

“Why?”

“I’ll say no more about it. This time because I
know
no more.”

Whatever that meant. Bettina surveyed the gathered spectators. She wasn’t the only one who feared the Child Terrors. The crowd had thinned for this fight, at least in the stands. Hundreds of demons crowded the surrounding rooftops, jostling for the best views. Those in attendance who couldn’t trace had crowded to the upper tiers of the stands.

Except for that odd black-haired female. She sat alone in the front row and stared at Bettina with uncanny golden eyes. Then suddenly she waved directly at her, a cheery salute.

Out of the corner of her mouth, Bettina said, “Morgana, who
is
that black-haired lady?”

The woman had twined her fingers together and was making heart palpitation gestures over her own chest.

“I don’t know her,” Bettina added, “but it seems she definitely knows me.”

Morgana replied, “
That
is the reason I will never have foresight. She’s Nïx, a Valkyrie soothsayer. Has high hopes that the Sorceri will join with the Vertas side for this Accession.” Morgana snorted at that.

The impending Accession would pit all immortals against each other, and battle lines were already being drawn. Pravus against Vertas. . . .

Raum and Cas returned then, both looking irritated.

“It’s time,” Raum muttered. Pausing only for a deep draft from his tankard, he raised his hands for everyone’s attention. “Tonight is the battle you’ve all been waiting for! The semifinals, the death match without equal, an event to go down in history!”

Sporadic cheers sounded.

“First we have Goürlav, the Father of Terrors, king of hell planes untold!”

Goürlav emerged from the sanctum, stomping into the ring. Fearful whispers carried throughout the crowd. More than one family eased even farther up the stands.

The primordial had sharpened all six of his oversize horns for this event. Pointed tips jutted from his head, shoulders, and the backs of his elbows. Again, chains crisscrossed his chest, bulky metal strapped over his roughened toadlike skin. His yellow eyes were devoid of all feeling. His chin tusks looked like a dirty, fossilized beard.

This is what Morgana and Raum expect me to marry?

Raum continued, “Next we have the Prince of Shadow, hailing from lands unknown!”

Daciano stalked into the ring, his strides long and sure. His bearing was ice-cold, no hint of nerves or emotion.

A killing machine.

Cas muttered, “Never thought I would be pulling for the vampire.”

Morgana murmured, “I’d sully him so hard. . . .”

As ever, Daciano was simply dressed. Black leather pants encased powerful legs. His black long-sleeved shirt molded close over his brawny chest.

The combatants had each been allowed one weapon. Goürlav grasped a sword that looked about seven feet long, and Daciano held—

A staff?

“Where’s his sword?” Bettina’s voice scaled an octave higher as she asked, “Is that a . . . that isn’t a
walking staff
?”

Under his breath, Raum said, “What’s the vampire thinking?”