Shadow's Claim (5 page)

One window in particular held his attention. A lone lantern glimmered inside, like a beacon. For some reason, he felt nigh
compelled
to investigate it. Which didn’t make sense. No rational Dacian would court unnecessary exposure.

Focus on the mission.
A target roamed free; Dacia was at risk so long as Caspion lived. Because the demon knew the way back to Trehan’s kingdom.

Though the Dacians had mystically hidden their realm, no cloaking was foolproof forever. As an added security measure, they’d outlawed anyone from leaving without a special exemption. Disobey—and
die
.

That was where Trehan came in. As Dacia’s master assassin, he stalked these lawbreakers across the ends of the Lore, locating them with the scry crystal and striking them down before they could lead anyone back.

That was his sacred duty—and he would complete it this eve.

With a determined shake of his head, he dragged his sights toward the talisman’s flare over the tavern.

Yet just as quickly, his traitorous gaze slid back to the lantern. Why leave one lit in the window? What would Trehan find inside those apartments? What story was even now playing out within those walls?

Is my life truly
stupefying
?

Glancing from the flare . . . to the lantern . . . back to the flare . . .

Damn it, he was the last Dacian who should risk expulsion. No one loved his home more than Trehan.

When the lantern guttered out, he hissed a curse.
And
still
I go to investigate?

Although such a move was completely unwarranted—and unprecedented—he teleported to the balcony outside the apartments. A warding spell was in place to bar his entry, a security measure that he easily circumvented.

Over the years, how many had surrounded themselves with spells to keep Trehan’s sword from their neck? Breaching such magics was a particular talent of his.

He made himself into mist, ghosting past the glass doors into a spacious sitting room. The chamber was now pitch black, but he could see perfectly, noting the lavish—and feminine—decorations.

Instead of furs, woven rugs covered the stone floors. Precious silks in myriad shades of purple streamed over the windows and draped a settee.

Purple meant royal. So what demoness resided here? He wasn’t familiar with the line of this demonarchy. Was she the princess about to be wed?

Shelves of well-worn books lined a gallery, tomes on design, fashion, ancient art, weapon history, and . . . goldsmithing? All had pages flagged.

Trehan was someone who revered weapons—and books; the specific focus of this collection intrigued him.

But before he could explore the shelves, he found himself following the scent of a light perfume down a corridor.

Sketches lined the walls, the subjects as unusual as the books. A talented hand had rendered the inner
workings of an antique clock. The mechanisms of various spring traps. A three-dimensional diagram of a bolt-action crossbow. They were all signed simply
B.A.

The level of detail and the unique style were fascinating. To Trehan, this was unparalleled art. He wanted to possess these pieces, to closet himself with them in his solitary quarters; they wouldn’t be the first he’d “liberated” back to Dacia.

Only the sound of soft, even breaths coming from an adjoining bedroom could pry Trehan from his discovery. Inside, he stalked closer to a sizable canopy bed, easing back the curtain . . . to find a small female sleeping.

Shining braids of dark brown hair fanned out around the top of her head, while the rest of her mane lay loose about her slim shoulders. She looked as if she’d fallen back on the bed and hadn’t moved since.

He canted his head, taking in her delicate appearance. This was no demoness—she had neither claws nor horns.

She was trim, with a tiny waist. Young-looking.

Most Loreans were frozen into their immortality when they were physically strongest, never aging past that point. She couldn’t have been more than twenty when she’d transitioned. He’d turned at age thirty-one. As with all male vampires, his heart had gradually stopped beating and his lungs had ceased taking air. His sexual drive—and sexual ability—had vanished.

That had been nearly a millennium ago. . . .

Over that endless span, Trehan had made a study of the various species of the Lore, and he recognized this one’s clothing. She was dressed as a sorceress of old in a scanty outfit designed to reveal as much skin as possible, several pieces of gold jewelry, and a red mask.

One of the Sorceri. Here in Abaddon?

She was a long, long way from home. Perhaps she was a companion of the demon princess soon to be given away.

He wondered what her power was. He’d heard of Sorceri who could move mountains and boil oceans.

Her mask was slim enough that he could see most of her pixieish features: high, defined cheekbones, an elegant jawline, and a gracefully pointed chin.

Yet her carnally red lips seemed out of place on her finely-boned face, more suited to a siren.

He couldn’t tell if she’d be an incomparable beauty, not until she opened her eyes and removed her mask. No matter. For a male who enjoyed little, he was liking this inspection
very
well.

His gaze dipped to the delectable swell of her breasts in that revealing top, and lingered. He noticed his hands were opening and closing of their own accord, as if he was imagining fondling those little mounds.

Touching her? A frown creased his brow. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He was unblooded, the walking dead—until he encountered his fated Bride.

At that time, his body would wake for her.

For centuries, Trehan had awaited a daughter of Dacia for himself. As his father had told him: “If it’s meant to be, Mother Dacia will give you a Bride. Within our stone borders, you will find her. Until then, want for nothing and embrace the shadows.”

Trehan had done that.
I extinguished any foolish hopes.
He’d all but put a Bride out of his mind.

So why was his gaze rapt on this otherlander’s breasts . . . ?

I must leave this place, complete my kill.
Trehan had never missed a target. Besides, if she woke and saw
him, he couldn’t return home—unless he dispatched her. He had permission to leave and return, but only if he was unseen
by any he left living
.

There was one exception to the rule, but it was so ridiculous that it didn’t warrant consideration.

Even as he mused these things, he inched closer to the bed. Before, he’d thought the beacon in the window had drawn him; now he wondered if this female had somehow been the draw.

Remember the mission!
He finally pried his gaze away, only to realize he’d been so spellbound by her that he’d allowed his mist to fade. The carelessness! With a flare of unease, he turned back—

Her eyes flashed open, met his.

I am . . . seen.
But
zeii mea,
my gods, what eyes she possessed! The irises were the lightest brown, ringed with stark black. He could stare into them for lifetimes.

Where had a thought like that come from?

She blinked thick black lashes up at him. “Oh! You scared me,” she murmured in English.

Seen.
Why hadn’t he disappeared before she’d awakened? Why hadn’t he remained invisible to her? Now he would be forced to kill her, or else never return home.

“You’ve come at last.” Her lips curled into a grin that would’ve stolen his breath. If he still breathed. She raised her arms over her head, stretching sensually.

At last?
Who did she think he was? She gazed up at him as if they knew each other. She gazed at him . . . with desire.

All at once, he understood why he hadn’t disappeared, why he’d let his mist fade.

Because deep down, he’d
wanted
this creature to see him.

As she rose to a sitting position, her exotic braids and lustrous, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her locks were chestnut brown, threaded with strands of black, the colors complementing her distinctive eyes.

She reached for him, boldly laying her hands on his torso. When he perceived the warmth from her palms, he shuddered like a young vampire, unschooled with women—

Boom! . . . Boom! . . . Boom!

The floor seemed to quake beneath his feet, the walls to shake with deafening tremors.

Yet Trehan knew what was actually happening. The sound was his heart awakening for her, a drum beginning to thunder in his chest.

Beating again and again, faster,
harder
.

This ethereal creature had roused his body! Soon his lungs would fill with breath, his shaft with blood.

An otherlander belongs to me? A sorceress?
He’d heard of worse pairings. Considering where he’d found her, she could have been a demoness.

Then he remembered a critical fact. To return home, Trehan had to eliminate all who witnessed him—
except
for his Bride. The far-fetched loophole that was too ridiculous to consider had happened tonight!

Thoughts of witnesses and ancient laws faded, replaced by an instinctive protectiveness.

Could she feel the same pull toward him? She was born of a different species. From the tales he’d heard of otherlander Brides, he knew she wouldn’t automatically want him with the same ferocity with which he desired her.

“So happy you’ve come to me,” she whispered in a slurred tone, eyeing him with such a proprietary glance
that he was taken aback. “To my bed.” She was looking him dead in the face, but acting as if they’d met before.

Then comprehension struck. She was of the Sorceri; it was likely that she—or one of her kind—had foreseen her mate. Of course!

“Been waiting for you, darling.”

At her words, excitement soared inside him. A shade with a stupefyingly boring existence? No longer.

He merely needed to complete this blooding, then take his new Bride back to his underworld realm. His target could wait until she was safely ensconced in Dacia.

Then this delicate sorceress would grace his home—and his bed—for all eternity.

He knew of other males who’d felt panic at this realization; Trehan experienced only satisfaction. Secret longings resurfaced, at last to be appeased.

I am
ready
for her.

At that moment, his lungs started to expand. He inhaled deeply, until they felt too big for his chest. Blood rushed to his shaft, hardening it. He groaned as it distended against the confining fabric of his pants.

His gaze raked from her pert breasts to her waist, dropping to the titillating skirt that bared most of her gently flaring hips and her long, shapely legs.

Her Sorceri adornments—the collar around her neck and the gold climbing her pale arms—now struck him as unbearably erotic.

A sexy, delicate sorceress. Apparently I’ve been waiting for you as well.

Long-dormant drives came roaring back to life—to mate, to claim, to
bite
? After eons, he
hungered
.

No,
not
hunger! Dacians didn’t pierce the flesh of others. He wanted only to possess and master her.

But first, he had questions.
What is the name of my pretty Bride? Why are you so drunk? What is your connection to this demon realm?

He’d gone the better part of a millennium without bedding a female.
Will you forgive how out of practice I am with all this?

She gazed up at him from under her lashes. “I won’t disappoint you, I swear it.”

Disappoint
him
? “I am—”

She raised her fingertips to cover his lips. “Shh. Don’t say a word.
Please.
You’re in my bedroom for a reason. Let me show you how right you were to come here.” She began unlacing her bodice, shimmying from the material. With a shy grin, she tossed it aside to bare the most exquisite little breasts he’d ever seen.

At the sight of her rosy nipples tightening before his eyes, Trehan’s powerful, rational mind went blank, his questions forgotten.

B
ettina had awakened to a darkened room.

All her candles had burned out, but she’d sensed a male’s presence, an awareness that made her skin tingle. She’d barely been able to discern the outline of his towering form.

Cas! He’d returned.
How to get him to stay?
she’d thought in a drunken panic.
How to get him into my bed?

So she’d taken off her top. His response: a sharp intake of breath. Which told her he either liked the view—or was merely surprised by her daring.

Talk to him; don’t let him get away!
“I’m going to make you so glad you’ve come to me, darling,” she said, but she could
hear
herself slurring.
You’ve got one shot at this, one shot at a future worth having!

Strike fast and hard? She would seduce him yet. When she piled her hair atop her head and arched her back in invitation, he gave a not-so-subtle growl. A
growl of appreciation? Or frustration that he couldn’t have what he wanted?