Shadow's Claim

Raw instinct burned inside Trehan, aggression overwhelming him. The need to mark his mate grew irresistible, not necessarily for blood but for dominion.

For possession. She’s mine.

Biting simply wasn’t done—but his control faltered. Goaded over the edge by jealousy, he knew he would answer the call.

She wants another. My female craves another male in her bed.

“Bride? V-vampire?” she cried, fighting his hold on her wrists. “Wait, wait!”

He spied her pulse fluttering in her neck. His fangs sharpened to tap that spot—never had they been beyond his control, never had they throbbed to pierce flesh. No vampire could resist this temptation.

But a Dacian would be expected to.

Compared to his hunger, that thought was too dim to be heeded. He leaned down, parting his lips to lick her neck, instinctively preparing her for his bite. Just below her collar, soft, pink skin beckoned him. “I feel your pulse against my tongue. Ah, your flesh . . . it tastes so sweet.”

If her skin tasted like this, her blood would be like heaven. Hot, rich, heaven sliding down his throat.

Over. His restraint gone—

“Don’t bite me!” she pleaded. “Don’t hurt me!”

Hurt her? “I don’t want to hurt you . . . I can’t stop this.”

“P-please don’t.”

You’re going to fucking bite her? Like some savage vampire? You’re a godsdamned Dacian! “If you’ve any defenses, sorceress . . . use them . . . against me now! Stop me.”

He heard a sob, felt moisture on her face. Tears? She was crying?

Her small body trembled against him as she whispered, “I-I can’t s-stop you.”

The idea of her in such distress cut through his frenzy. Somehow he forced himself to draw back, to not plunge his dripping fangs into her.

Behind her mask, her glinting eyes darted. Darted blindly? He waved his hand in front of her face. Nothing.

Then he remembered—Sorceri senses were nearly as diminished as a mortal’s.

Reason whispered, Your little Bride is terrified, can’t see in the dark, has no idea who’s in her bed.

Instinct screamed, Mark her! So another male can’t take what’s yours!

With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he released her, surrendering his prize.

She jerked upright, scrambling across the bed from him, snatching the bedspread to her chest, eyes still darting.

She hadn’t been able to see Trehan whatsoever. She truly had believed that he was Caspion.

So what will she think of me when she gazes upon me for the first time? Perhaps he oughtn’t to be kneeling there, bare-chested, with his spend drying in his pants, for her initial impression. He rose, yanking on his coat and slinging his sword around his hips. His tattered shirt was ruined beyond use.

“Wh-why would you do this to me?” she whispered, her mask askew. “I don’t know you.” She dropped her face into her hands.

It was everything he could do not to touch her, to comfort her. But I’m the one she fears. . . .

He’d frightened his Bride. Because I’m not Caspion. Yet another reason to kill him.

How excited Trehan had been to find her, how optimistic—but it’d all been an illusion, her sensual responses meant for another.

Each of the things he’d so enjoyed with her was now tainted. When she’d stroked Trehan’s shaft to come, she’d believed it was that demon’s. When she’d whispered, “You know you can do anything to me. I’m yours—I always will be. . . .”

The thought sent his anger skyrocketing once more, his fangs sharpening again. Trehan wanted her to tell him those same charged words, whispering them in his ear.

With a vile curse, he reached for a candle.

* * *

The strike of the match made Bettina jump. As a candle alleviated the darkness, she saw that the vampire was turned from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. His head was down, his broad back heaving with breaths.

He dug his fingers into the stone as he clearly grappled for control. “You awaited him this night?” he bit out, launching his other fist against the wall, sending rock shards flying.

She gave a cry, briefly ducking under the cover.

At the sound, he tensed even more. “You fear me. You shouldn’t. I will never hurt you,” he grated. “Gods know if I haven’t yet . . .”

“B-because I’m your Bride.” She could scarcely wrap her mind around that.

“Yes.”

“Are you a natural-born vampire?” Born vampires couldn’t tell lies.

“What you really want to know is if I can speak untruths. I can’t. I wouldn’t anyway.” His voice was deep, his words marked by an accent she didn’t recognize. “Lying is counterproductive and illogical.”

“Oh.” She found her tears drying. The fear that so often dominated her life had receded—and she didn’t know why. Maybe because this vampire had somehow kept himself from biting her even though she’d blooded him—and infuriated him. His restraint reassured her somewhat.

Instead, other emotions arose. She was humiliated and still drunk, and her body felt like a stranger’s.

Ah, gods, she’d just gotten with some foreigner vampire named Trehan Daciano. Not with her beloved.

This male had touched her as no one had before. “You wanted to bite me though? Isn’t that what your kind does?”

“I’ve never bitten another.”

That was difficult for her to believe. Every vampire she’d ever met—and there were many, since her demonarchy had allied with the Horde in the past—had eyes red from bloodlust.

When he turned, she caught a glimpse of his eyes before she averted her own. Clear of blood?

“Look at me, then. Know the male you belong to.”

She cautiously returned her gaze.

He was handsome, she supposed, in an angry, brooding way. He had chiseled cheekbones and a strong chin. His wide, masculine jaw was clean shaven. His hair was thick and black, his irises like onyx from his emotions. She wondered what color they would be normally.

Individually, his features were pleasing. Together, they appeared too severe, his expression harsh.

Body-wise, he was as tall and muscle-packed as Cas. Mistaking them now seems a touch more plausible, she drunkenly reasoned.

But overall, he wasn’t nearly so glorious as Caspion—the standard by which she judged all males.

Though the vampire had ordered her to look, he appeared uncomfortable with her frank stare. She supposed it was rude to gawk like this, but she’d never seen a shirtless vampire before. And they had just been intimate.

Her gaze dropped to his muscular chest. What an odd crystal he wore—

“Tell me your name, female.”

Her head snapped up. “I’m Princess Bettina.”

“Bettina,” he said with that unusual accent. “Bettina,” he repeated in a huskier voice, as if he liked the way her name rolled from his tongue.