Shadow's Claim

“It doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t be suitable for me.” Bettina had her own realm to rule. She could scarcely be expected to live in this underworld with him.

She’s in love with another.

“Did you claim her?” Viktor asked.

A sharp shake of his head. “And it’s just as well. Once I take the throne—”

“So certain you’ll be king?” Slash.

Dodge. “Unfortunately, yes. You know I’m the logical choice.”

He was the most qualified to rule, but in fairness, each of the contenders had strengths. Trehan had cultivated an order of trained assassins. Viktor controlled the military. Their cousin Stelian governed who entered or exited Dacia. The youngest male cousin, Mirceo, was the most beloved by the people and had a loyal ally in his little sister, Kosmina.

However, Trehan was the most “Dacian” of the royals, believing in this kingdom, like a religion.

“Ah, that vaunted Dacian logic,” Viktor sneered, feinting a trace to the right, then striking to the left. With a well-timed block, Trehan deflected, but Viktor’s leg shot up, booting Trehan in the stomach.

If Viktor wanted to fight dirty . . .

Between breaths, Trehan grated, “Perhaps you wouldn’t resent that trait in others . . . if you weren’t the most illogical of the family?” Like a blur, he swept down, kicking Viktor’s legs out from under him.

Just before Viktor’s back met the floor, he traced to his feet. “King Trehan? Never while I live.”

They faced off once more. “You’re too hostile and rash,” Trehan said. “Mirceo’s too self-absorbed and hedonistic, not to mention young. And Stelian is nearly too drunken to handle his responsibilities as gatekeeper.”

“And you are too emotionless.”

I haven’t been tonight. Gazing down at Bettina’s eyes, watching them glitter with need, Trehan had been filled with emotion. He hadn’t been emotionless when he’d come in his Bride’s soft hand. . . .

Distracted once more, he barely dodged Viktor’s next strike.

“The people would wither under your stifling rule, Trehan. You are the sword of the kingdom, a cold, unfeeling blade.”

“This is a debate for another night.”

“So be it. Back to your missing Bride . . .” He trailed off, his gaze landing on Trehan’s desk—on the invitation. Before Trehan could reach the parchment, Viktor had snatched it up, swiftly perusing the writing. “Abaddon? I’ve been there! Used to go watch the fights. The mist blends with that fog so seamlessly, you know. Wait, this is her, isn’t it? ‘Challenges inherent’? I should say so. She’s a godsdamned tourney prize!”

“Enough, Cousin.”

“Not even close! Why are we wrangling over this crown when you can just go get another one?”

“I have no interest in that kingdom—solely the girl.”

“The one who just happens to be under the protection of a Deathly One and the most powerful sorceress ever to live? Did you try to steal her from them this eve?”

“I did,” Trehan admitted. “But she’s bound to that plane.”

“Wait, she’s a . . . a demoness? Again, why are you not bedding her right now?”

“For the record, she’s half sorceress. And she knows my target. They’re . . . close. She will hate me forever if I kill him.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“And why’s that?”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Because you’re a slave to your duty, to your house.”

Over the last millennium, Trehan had sacrificed everything for the good of Dacia. For once in his life, would he have what he desired? “What if I . . . wasn’t?”

Viktor backed away, unsure what to do with that. “Perfect, selfless Trehan Daciano entertains selfish thoughts? This I must explore. Truce for one eve?”

Trehan exhaled. “Pour the mead.” Once he cautiously sheathed his sword, Viktor did as well.

“Tell me about her.” Viktor traced to the sideboard, selecting a crystal decanter filled with mead-laced blood.

“She’s young. Lovely.” Talented, creative, innately sensual. With the sweetest skin I’ve ever imagined.

“How young?” Viktor handed him a glass topped off with crimson.

After a hesitation, Trehan said, “Kosmina’s age.” Mirceo and Kosmina were so much younger than the elder cousins that they called each one “uncle.”

Viktor’s lips parted. “You’re jesting.”

“Not at all.” He took a drink, but found the blood tasteless. Again he wondered what Bettina’s would be like.

Observant Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Did you bite her?”

Came so close. He recalled how his fangs had ached to pierce her—completely beyond his control. Like an ungovernable erection.

Would he be able to stop himself from tasting her blood if given a second chance? How did other Dacian males keep themselves in check?

Is something . . . wrong with me?

“You did!” Viktor raised his glass. “How very deviant of you, Trey! Did you mark her skin? Did you take her memories into you?”

“Don’t be absurd.” One of the reasons Dacians disavowed drinking from the flesh was because of the cosaşad—the ability to read memories through blood. When a cosaş took blood directly from the flesh, he took his prey’s memories into his own consciousness, even from the merest drop on the tongue. The coldly rational Dacians believed this to be a pollution, an intrusion into their pure minds.

If I’d taken Bettina’s memories, what would I have witnessed? Probably scenes of her lusting after Caspion. Trehan just stopped himself from crushing his goblet.

“Thinking about it even now?” Viktor said. “I can’t believe you used your fangs on her—Trehan the Perfect is actually perverse!”

“I didn’t bite her.” He glanced up. “You look disappointed. So eager to see me fall?”

“But you wanted to.”

Will fantasize about it for the rest of my life. “If I did, I’d never admit anything so shaming to you.”

Viktor gazed away. “You might have once.” He took a deep drink. “Back to the matter at hand. What are your options with the girl?”

“Kill Caspion. Forget her and move on.” As he said the words, they burned like a lie. Forgetting her wasn’t an option. Could he possibly move on?

There were so many questions surrounding her, so much to discover. He felt as if he’d read the first page of the most absorbing book he’d ever opened, only to have it slammed shut. “Second option: kill Caspion, find a way to steal the girl’s medallion, then abduct her.” Would she truly hate Trehan forever? Surely in a few decades she’d get over her displeasure.

Viktor shook his head decisively. “Morgana’s magics won’t be circumvented, not even by the likes of you. We have no spellcaster to aid you, much less one who could take her on. Logically, you know stealing the medallion isn’t an option. A campaign like that would be doomed to fail.” He lowered his drink, growing very serious about the topic.

This could be because Viktor had identified an enemy in Morgana, one who was thwarting the desires of a fellow Dacian. Or perhaps he was sensing imminent violence and hoping for a part of it. Maybe Viktor wanted to help because he sought to damage Trehan’s chances at the throne.

Likely all three motives.