Shadow's Claim

studiously ignored him.

Yes, I will possess her—and I’d do far worse than this for the privilege.

He almost looked forward to battling for her favor. Killing was what he did, was all he knew. And Caspion? He was a mere obstacle to be dealt with when the time came.

Somehow Trehan would devise a way to seduce her once more. I’m betting everything that she’ll respond again. Perhaps he should do as the madman Lothaire did, and bargain with her?

Before the tournament began tomorrow night, Trehan would ready himself, gorging on blood and perhaps finally sleeping for an hour or two. Many of the demon lords would imbibe this eve, were already drunken. Tomorrow, they’d be compromised. Trehan would have another advantage. Not that I’ll need it—

“But there’s a twist,” Raum announced. “Night one . . . begins in five minutes.”

Gasps sounded. Those drunken lords sputtered their protests.

“Two hundred and twenty-eight will enter the Iron Ring before the gate slams shut,” Raum said, his voice booming with finality. “You’ll kill until the great horn blows. Though many of our contestants will never get to hear it. . . .”

Chapter 13

As the competitors filed off to the ring, Bettina chewed on a fingernail, the fingers of her other hand drumming.

Just moments ago after Raum’s announcement, Caspion had traced to her side, smoothed a braid behind her ear, then bravely set off to the warriors’ sanctum.

Daciano had strode off as well, yet he lingered outside the ring. Awaiting something from her?

“So, Raum, who do you think will be the bettors’ favorite?” Morgana asked.

Raum dragged his face from his tankard. “No Abaddonae would bet against their own.”

Cas, my demon, who’s about to be locked in that cage! Bettina started on another nail.

Morgana slapped her hand down. “I believe I’ll put karats on the clear-eyed vampire.”

Bettina’s gaze darted to Daciano. His overall demeanor was bored. But she could see his cunning gaze taking in his enemies. She suspected she was about to witness the lethality she’d only sensed before.

Would he target Cas immediately?

Turning to Bettina, Morgana said, “I believe the Prince of Shadow is particularly motivated. He looks like his heart is in this. His beating heart.”

Bettina stifled a gasp. Of course Morgana had figured out who Daciano’s Bride was. But Bettina couldn’t think about that now.

“The leech is blooded then?” Raum asked, taking another gulp from his mug. “Wonder what his Bride has to say about this?”

She’s pissed! And terrified for Caspion. “If Cas can trace, he’ll be safe in there, right?”

Morgana snorted. Raum uneasily pulled at the collar of his breastplate.

“Couldn’t he just continually teleport around the ring if he wanted to?” Bettina asked. “Or if he got injured?”

“If he wasn’t caught fast by a stronger opponent, then yes,” Raum said. “But tracing is not without its perils. To strike an accurate blow you have to materialize fully for a split second. And whenever you disappear, you risk losing sight of your opponent, something no warrior is keen to do.”

Morgana added, “Plus you run the chance that someone will predict where you will reappear and be waiting with, say, a raised mystical sword. I killed my last demon that way.” She made her voice like an innocent girl’s as she said, “Oh, no, please stop with your tracing! It’s confusing my feeble female mind!” She abruptly made a chopping motion against the table. “Then SLASH.”

Raum looked unimpressed with her theatrics. “It’s also physically draining, especially for the injured. The ability is a great advantage, but it also brings great risk.”

Talking around another fingernail, Bettina asked, “If a competitor gets into trouble, what’s to stop him from teleporting back home or something?”

“The blood pact they signed.”

So Cas was well and truly trapped? If he . . . died, she didn’t know how she’d recover.

The highlights of her history with him flashed through her mind—all the things he’d done to win her heart. Cas taking her to her first baseball game and patiently explaining the rules. Teaching her to drive a mortal car. Escorting her to fashion shows and art exhibits, even when he was so bored he could barely stay awake.

He was young, and sometimes he could do stupid things, but he was bighearted. She’d recently found out that he’d been secretly giving food and clothing to other foundlings, using some of his newfound influence to set up apprenticeships for older orphans.

Everyone was always so dazzled by his looks that they never realized he had substance—and loyalty. She knew he would give his life to protect hers. . . .

Bettina’s reverie was interrupted when one of Morgana’s Inferi hastened over to the queen with a written message. The sorceress snapped, “What fresh hell is this?” then tore open the black seal.

In a completely unsmooth attempt to be smooth, Bettina stretched her arms, leaning back for a look at the page. She caught a few words—“portents,” “Gilded One,” “rising,” and “Accession”— before Morgana wadded up the paper so hard her metal claws dug into her palm.

The Gilded One was La Dorada, the Queen of Evil—and Morgana’s nemesis, thought to be dead.

With a curse, Morgana rose, shoving her chair back with a wave of her hand.

Bettina dared to ask, “La Dorada is rising?”

In a distracted tone, Morgana answered, “Do excuse me. Someone needs to die.” Over her shoulder, she told Raum, “In my absence, keep this tournament . . . interesting.”

“Absence?” he sputtered. “You can’t leave! You’re the cohost!” He leapt up and followed her, arguing with her as she and her train of Inferi hastened toward her travel portal.

As soon as Bettina was alone, the vampire traced beside her and grasped her hand.

Aware of the spectators watching her, she tried to appear calm as she hissed, “Release me!” between gritted teeth.

He didn’t. His hand was hot, swallowing hers.

She inhaled his crisp scent, and memories of the night before overwhelmed her—which infuriated her. “You told me you wouldn’t come back for me!”

“I said I didn’t plan on returning for you. I’ve since changed my mind.” His eyes were now green, his gaze narrowed with intent. “Listen to me, female. Your Caspion will live or die this eve based on my actions.”

She raised her chin. “So certain you’ll defeat him? I’m not convinced. And if you did strike him down, I’d hate you forever.”

“Then convince yourself of this—I will influence the others, telling them that Caspion the Tracker is a kingdomwide favorite who must be eliminated early. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“You vow to grant me a boon, one to be determined later.” He spoke over her sputtering: “And I will not only spare him, I’ll dispatch any competitor you choose.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

“Consider it . . . bargaining.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You know I don’t lie.” Leaning down, he murmured at her ear, “Tell me a target, or tell Caspion goodbye.”