Shadow's Claim (50 page)

Trehan held her gaze, scorned her tears, withstood the blistering pain in his chest.

In his
heart
.

Somehow she had her sorcery back. And she was using it against
him
. Her male. Her fucking male!

Her gaze was uncanny. Those bright pinpoints that sparked in her eyes were now tinged amber. Her hands glowed with more amber light.

The sound of his heartbeat dimmed. A thousand years ago, his heart had stopped. But now—because of her—he needed it to live.

Only seconds remain before my other organs follow.

A fresh wave of torment erupted inside him.
Must escape her hold.

“You’ve gotten what you’ve always wanted, sorceress,” he grated. “Now live with your regret!”

With the last of his strength, he traced back to his tent, out of her power’s range. At once, the pain faded. His heartbeat resumed, his body recovering. But his mind . . .

Chaos!

She’d cried for the one she truly loved; she’d stopped Trehan’s newly beating heart. Nothing could be more telling. And she’d done far worse before that.

He lunged for the goblet she’d handed him, scenting it.

Poisoned.
Here, Trehan. Drink.
So guileless, so lovely.

Such treachery!

Like a flash, he recalled the night he’d sat with her on the grandstand. When he’d asked Bettina if she’d planned to poison anyone, she’d looked him dead in the eye and answered, “One leech is making the short list.”

How prophetic. With a deranged roar, he crushed the goblet. She and Caspion had
played
him.

And now Trehan had nothing! As he stabbed his sword into its scabbard, he remembered how his father had counseled him to accept his lot.

But with Bettina, Trehan had thought he’d found his family, friend, mistress, the grand love of his life.

Gone.

“Be an example, Son.”
All these ages later, Trehan had failed utterly.
“I have nothing!”

Nowhere even to fucking go.

“NOTHING!”
he roared, tearing at his bloodstained hair.
I want her, hate her. Go kill the demon. Can’t.

In the ring, Trehan had realized that his vows bound him; like a fool he’d told Bettina that both he and Caspion would survive.
Can’t kill . . .

“Trehan!” Viktor appeared in the tent, with Mirceo and Stelian behind him.

Maddened with rage, with loss, Trehan swung around, hungering to fight, didn’t matter against who.

Mirceo raised his brows at Trehan’s appearance. “Our apologies for the interruption, Uncle. Your wedding night will have to wait—”

“What do you three want now?”
Trehan thundered.
There is no fucking wedding night!
His prize, forever gone. “Gods damn it, I thought you were done with me! Why’ve you returned?”

Stelian said, “He’s as frothing at the mouth as you usually are, Viktor. You must field this one.”

“Give me credit,” Viktor snapped. “I’ve been doing much better.” To Trehan, he said, “What the hell has happened to you?”

“I won; I fucking lost everything!” he spat the words. “I am not who I was!”

“What does that mean, Trey? There’s no way you lost the tournament to
Caspion
.”

“I defeated him. I won, but I lost the prize!” Trehan clasped his forehead, squeezing until his skull threatened to shatter. “Tell me what you’re doing here or leave!”

“You need to calm yourself, Cousin.”

His head whipped up. “Fucking
leave
!”

“I’ll tell you then,” Mirceo said. “The situation with Lothaire has reached a crisis. He’s been attacked, nearly decapitated. We can’t breach his apartment because of his barrier spell, and his Bride is missing. We must locate her.”

Trehan gave a crazed laugh. “Must you, then?”

Stelian said, “Yet again, there’s a catch.”

All three hesitated before Viktor said, “Elizabeth was likely the one who brandished the sword.”

Lothaire’s Bride had struck out against him?
I feel your pain, brother.
“I will help him,” Trehan finally bit out. “I will do my godsdamned duty to Dacia!” He leveled his gaze on each of them. “But I want back in. . . .”

WEEKS LATER

W
e’ve come full circle, haven’t we?” Caspion said quietly. He and Bettina had taken their drinks out on the balcony, just as they had the night before the tournament had started.

From here, they could see the tops of the giant trees. Bats jagged in front of the waxing moon. But tonight the scene wasn’t romantic. Instead it was somber.

Seeing those moonraker trees reminded her of the folly she’d shared with Daciano, of perfect acceptance and pleasure. He’d been the ideal male for her. Until suddenly, he
wasn’t
.

Still, she missed that vampire—with his eyes like the forest, eyes that could turn onyx with desire.

Or with rage.

Now that she’d known true love—hurting, raw, stunning, spectacular love—Bettina wondered how she’d ever thought Cas was the one for her. . . .

She drank deep from her goblet of wine. “It might not feel like it, but I’ve got to believe we’re better off than we were then. Even though we’re both heartsore.”

“Better off?” Cas said. “I suppose. That night before the tournament, I was convinced I was about to die, and you were convinced you were about to wed a Cerunno.” He faced her, his handsome face grave. “But, Tina, things
are
bad for me here now.”

Her people worshipped strength and battle prowess; they hadn’t been keen on the loser of the match becoming the winner of the tournament. Especially not due to an ancient
Sorceri
technicality. Especially not when there were rumors of a poisoning.

Strongest equaled greatest.
Might maketh right.
The Deathly Ones considered the Prince of Shadow to be their king.

Once Cas had healed, he’d gone along with the tournament “win” long enough to accept Bettina’s summoning medallion and the king’s crown of Abaddon. Then he’d turned both of them over to her—along with any claim he had on the throne.

The medallion hung from a lead on her neck, right beside a plain gold wedding band.

She was queen alone in her own right. But her crown, which she’d forged to look like demon horns, sat heavily on her head. . . .

The vampire’s poisoning had rocked the kingdom, with almost everyone suspecting Cas. Though she’d blamed Daciano’s cousins, she’d felt obligated to ask Cas and Raum if they’d had anything to do with it. When they’d denied it, she’d asked Cas, “Then what was his weakness you were going to exploit?”

“His arrogance, Bettina. His overconfidence. I
wanted to use his cold-bloodedness against him. I had no idea he’d turn into an animal.”

Just as Morgana had once predicted, Daciano had turned into an unthinking, savage brute.

Salem hinted around that he was on the trail of the real poison culprit: “Update at eleven.” But the sylph could look all he wanted to—he would never reach Dacia. No one could.

Cas said, “You know I can’t stay in Abaddon any longer.”

She admitted, “I thought this is what you wanted to talk about.” From the moment he’d arrived tonight, she’d sensed he was soon to leave. “But I need you here, Cas. You’re one of the few people I can completely trust.” He was part of the ragtag family she’d assembled, along with Raum, Morgana, and even Salem.

“You don’t need me. You’re doing an amazing job.”

“What if we’re to go to war?”

Cas gazed up at the sky. “Do you think the Vrekeners will ever attack?”

She didn’t know. Surely, they would have by now. “In any event, I need a general by my side.” Raum had declined the position, telling her, “I’ll get you settled in, m’girl, but then I want to retire. Maybe learn
golf
!”

“A general?” Cas scoffed. “They won’t
follow
me, Bettina. But they’ll follow you.”

Though she had been accepted as queen, in the beginning the reception had been
chilly
. Basically, her entire populace believed she’d been spurned by
two
suitors.

Morgana hadn’t been here to advise—the sorceress had disappeared, leaving only a message: “La Dorada risen. Happy Accession.” So Bettina had followed Morgana’s example, holding floor shows every night.

Raum had been instrumental in helping her organize the drunken festivities. Though he hadn’t spoken to her about her situation—other than to offer a few gruff but well-meaning platitudes—he’d devoted himself to rehabilitating her image.

He’d taken care of all the heavy lifting with the extravaganzas, leaving her to provide the final touches and Sorceri flair. Gold plus color plus spectacle equaled dazzled demons.

Now when she passed people in the street, they smiled and called her “Good Queen Bett.”

Each day, Bettina grew more comfortable in her role as regent, exerting power more confidently. The days of Bettina the Pushover had disappeared, replaced by Queen Bettina, a bold(ish) sorceress. Like Morgana and Patroness, Bettina got what she wanted.

The situation hadn’t improved for Cas, though.

“Tina, believe me, I’d rather not go. I hate leaving you after he . . . after Daciano . . . after you lost the male you thought to marry.”

The vampire had humiliated her and her oldest friend, but she still missed him to an aching degree. She’d been up and down—cursing Daciano, then yearning for him.

Tonight, I’ll make you my wife,
he’d said.
Bettina eternitate,
he’d assured her.

How could the vampire just leave her behind?

Directly before he’d traced away, he’d said: “You’ve gotten what you’ve always wanted, sorceress.” Had he thought she still wanted Caspion over him? After she’d given the vampire her virginity? After the night they’d shared?

Perhaps the poison had muddled his thoughts?

But then, even before the finals, Daciano had seemed unwell—besieged by that grinding tension. . . .

So many things in the kingdom reminded her of him. She thought of Daciano every time she practiced with her power, or worked in her shop, or simply walked by herself around town.

Merely lying in her bed made her crave him to a staggering degree. She tossed and turned, waiting for him to appear.

It had been
their
bed—at least for one amazing night.

She had so many feelings bottled up inside her, with no outlet. What she wouldn’t give for a chance to talk to him!

Bettina knew exactly what she’d say:
Trehan Daciano, I screwed up. I thought you were going to die, and I acted to save you. Clearly, I was too hasty. Sometimes I do foolish things, especially if my entire life is off kilter, and I’m struggling with emotions I’ve never felt before.

But you . . . your behavior . . . how could you turn into a nightmare?

Sadly she wasn’t expecting a sit-down with him anytime soon. He could be anywhere in the worlds.

Now Cas pointed out, “You’ll have Salem to keep you company when I leave.”

Though Bettina couldn’t turn Salem back into a regular phantom, she’d revoked his servitude to her, melted down his copper bell, and made him a partner. He was a full-fledged businessman, even now out negotiating her next commission. “Where will you go, Cas?”

“The Plane of Lost Years.”

That plane was a hell dimension of continual wars where time moved even more slowly than in Abaddon—because
days stretched on endlessly in hell. “You wouldn’t go there. You can’t.”

Cas could experience years and years there, then return a day later.

“I need to go work this off. And get stronger.” Many Abaddonae went there to make kills and harvest power.

“I understand, but does it have to be there?”

His hand tightened on his mug. “I will do anything—
anything
—so that I may never know defeat like that again.”

“Please, just give this some time,” she said, but she knew he couldn’t continue on as he’d been doing.

“The people don’t accept me.
I
don’t accept me.” He wasn’t exaggerating; when Cas passed Abaddonae, they . . .
spat
in his path.