Shadow's Claim

Three onerous hours had passed since Bettina had returned to her spire, with no sign of Daciano.

She’d spent the time with Morgana and Salem in her room. The two were convinced that Bettina and the Prince of Shadow would consummate their relationship tonight, so they’d decided to wait, hold vigil with her—and give her pointers.

Bettina was not convinced this was happening. I just want to talk to him, to ask his opinion. She knew exactly what she would say: “Okay, you were right, vampire. Cas is just a friend, but he’s my best and oldest one. I can’t lose him. Having sex for the first time—with the male who’s going to behead my best friend—is a difficult concept to wrap my mind around. Suggestions? Comments?”

Now Bettina crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you said he was coming.”

“So eager to be bedded by the vamp?” Morgana asked, reclining over the foot of Bettina’s bed, wineglass in hand. She looked tipsy, relaxed, and happier than Bettina remembered seeing her in, well, ever.

Salem had been hanging out in her headdress, thrumming comfortably.

“You shan’t go to him—it would scream of desperation,” Morgana said. “He’ll be along.”

Bettina’s eyes went wide at a sudden thought. Oh, gods, what if Daciano’s injuries had been worse than she’d supposed? She hopped from the bed to her feet.

“Salem here will bar the doors. Won’t you, Salem?”

“Right you are, Morgana.” He was all but purring.

With a glare at both of them, Bettina grudgingly sat back down. When did they get to be so chummy?

“Besides, we haven’t finished our chat,” Morgana said. A birds-and-bees lecture. “I’m just getting to the good parts.”

Bettina knew that no matter how hard she mentally scrubbed her brain, the sorceress’s words of “wisdom” would never be forgotten. Nor Salem’s commentary.

Among other things, she’d learned about . . .

—An immortal male’s refractory period: “A vamp in his prime? We’re talkin’ seconds, chit.”

—A sorceress’s infrequent fertile seasons: “No ankle biters for a while, then? Actually, Princess, vampire spawn will bite your ankles. You’ll be knees up, doin’ a lively jig.”

—And some mortal named Gräfenberg: “Now, that’s the spot!”

Though Bettina had barely digested this information, she supposed listening to them beat waiting for Daciano alone to the sound of the clock ticking. “You two are just assuming I’m going to sleep with the vampire?”

“Like it or not, he’s coming for you,” Salem said. “Probably just getting hisself cleaned up. Letting his wounds heal a bit.”

Morgana grinned. “Ah, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak?”

He chuckled.

Bettina narrowed her gaze. “You’re both happy, celebratory.”

In a deadpan tone, Morgana said, “Yes, goddaughter. We are pleased that you don’t have to wed a giant toadlike creature.” They both chuckled.

“I’m going to lose someone tomorrow,” Bettina said gravely. “I’m going to have to watch him die.”

In a harsh tone, Salem said, “Cas is a big boy. If he wants to live, he’ll bloody figure out how to win. I’ve faced worse odds.”

At times like this, Bettina recognized that Salem was harder—and colder—than she’d initially supposed. He could be playful and teasing, but beneath that front, a calloused phantom warrior lurked. She parted her lips to ask him about his curse—

Without warning, Daciano traced into the room. Bettina scrambled to her feet again.

The vampire wasted no time, telling Morgana, “I have much to discuss with my queen in private, and you are in our rooms.”

Our rooms?

“Ordering me about? Deference would serve you well just now,” Morgana said, all earlier signs of relaxation replaced with ire as she rose. “It’s one thing for me to tease Bettina that you’re as good as king of Abaddon, it’s another for you to act like it. For now, you’re merely the king of foregone conclusions.”

“What do you want?”

“It seems that I stand between you and something you desire”—she waved at Bettina wide-eyed by the bed—“I can put your discussion on hold indefinitely.”

“You try to keep me from what’s mine, and I will end you, Morgana.”

Bettina gawked at his tone. Morgana allowed Raum to get away with his blustering, because that was all it would ever be. But this quiet menace coming from the vampire was something else entirely.

“Though I’ve put you on your knees before and could easily do it again, I’m feeling magnanimous. Let’s bargain, shall we? I’ll turn a blind eye toward this little liaison. But I want the scythe.”

The accessory Morgana “must possess.”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“I’m sentimental that way. Hand it over and”—again she indicated Bettina—“enjoy.”

Bettina was appalled. “You can’t just trade me! I’m not a bargaining chip.”

“In fact, that’s exactly what you are, freakling.”

While Bettina sputtered for a reply, Daciano disappeared. An instant later, he returned, brusquely tossing the staff to Morgana.

“Wise choice.” She caught it in one hand, twirling it like a baton. “Just my size!” Turning toward the door, she said over her shoulder, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which means naught in the definitive sense.”

And then she was gone.

Daciano started for Bettina, only to pause and narrow his eyes. “Phantom.”

Salem had remained?

“I discovered a way to kill an unkillable being tonight,” the vampire said. “Watch my queen bathe again, and next I’ll discover how to gut a sylph. Now, begone.”

“Right you are, Your Kingness,” Salem said with a chuckle, but then he did disappear.

Leaving her alone with Daciano. “There’s nothing like being bartered for a weapon to make one feel like chattel,” she snapped. “You’re just as bad as she is.”

“I want you as my wife, my queen. But I want you freely given.” He began advancing on her with the same dark look of hunger that he’d had in the folly. I can see where I would kill to be. . . .

With a swallow, she started retreating.

“I gave up something very valuable for the chance to convince you that you are mine.”

“I-I can’t be with you. Not like this.”

He stalked her around the bed. “The first time I was in this bed with you, I believed I was about to make love to you. The last time we were together here, you dreamed of me taking you. Why would you deny us?”

* * *

Trehan’s eyes narrowed with realization. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” Earlier, instead of cheering for Trehan after his match, Bettina had slipped her gaze up to Caspion, her wide eyes full of sadness.

Then she’d hastened away from the ring without a word, without any acknowledgment.

Trehan had barely registered his victory, or even his injuries—until they’d continued to bleed. He’d ordered his squire to bandage his chest, then forced himself to wait for enough regeneration to stem the blood loss.

Trehan had felt no pain, the need to mate overwhelming him. Now that he could claim her without repercussions, nothing would stand in his way.

Nothing. Least of all Caspion the Tracker.

“Be careful, female. One day I will reach my limit. One day you will convince me you want him above all others.” After last night, Trehan had thought they’d come to an understanding.

Maybe he’d only imagined how agonized she’d been during his battle, wanting something so badly he’d