Shadow's Claim

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?”

Cas sounded stunned. “Bringing a stick to a sword fight?”