Shadow's Claim (52 page)

Gods help us.
“I’ve done
nothing
to warrant this summoning, Lothaire. I keep to my library—and to myself.”

“Exactly. You sit in your room and stroke off to memories of your Bride.”

Trehan ground his teeth, unable to deny this. “And you’ve been spying
on me
?”

“Of course. I spy on everyone. Why would you be any different?” he asked in all seriousness. “Not that I needed to in order to know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. You’re weak in body and spirit, as if the most insidious illness festers inside you. You can’t drink, can’t sleep. Your chest aches as if it’d been gouged to the spine. And when you envision the future without your Bride, all you see is a great yawning
nothingness
.”

“Yes,” Trehan rasped in surprise. “Yes, that is it precisely.”

Lothaire truly was the scion of his house, the one of wisdom and history. The House of Old.

“Ah, Cousin, there was a reason I clawed out my heart and sent it to Elizabeth.” Gazing past Trehan, Lothaire said, more to himself, “It hurt less outside my chest.” He returned his attention to the conversation. “So I’ll pass on some advice I received. Perhaps it will help you as well.”

“I’m listening,” Trehan said quickly. Anything to end this anguish—

“Stop being a pussy, and go retrieve her.”

So much for
wise
! Trehan’s fangs sharpened. “You don’t understand the dynamics of my situation!”

“Explain them,” Lothaire demanded, beginning to lose his temper as well. “How bad can it be? As your king, I command you to answer. And you vowed an oath of fealty to me.”

Trehan had no choice but to respond. “My Bride poisoned me so that I would lose a match against the demon male she loves.”

Lothaire hiked his shoulders. “So?”

“Did you not hear me? She dumped toxins into a goblet of blood, then handed it to me, urging me to drink. Then she disqualified me from a tournament I was sure to win. She removed herself from my reach forever. To add insult to injury, she wielded her Sorceri power—against
me
—to protect the demon.”

And even now Trehan craved her.
Comoara mea.
Gone.

“Lizvetta nearly decapitated me. And look how happy we are.”

“Queen Elizabeth
accidentally
struck against you with her new immortal strength. My Bride deliberately tricked me.”

“Who doesn’t have petty spats during courtship? So fucking what?”

“So she doesn’t fucking
want
me!” There. The words said out loud.

Lothaire roared back, “She doesn’t get a godsdamned say in the matter!”

Trehan’s brows drew together. “What are you advising—that I abduct her? As you recently did the Forbearer king? And your Bride before him?”

Lothaire snapped his fingers. “Exactly!”

He doesn’t deny capturing the king?
In the past, this news would have jarred Trehan. Now he could think of naught else but Bettina. “What’s your interest in my life anyway? You couldn’t care less about the rest of your family.”

“Your Bride is a princess of Dacia. Are you going
to allow a demon to rut betwixt her thighs? Not to be borne! If you won’t put your house in order, I vow to you I will!”

House? Had Lothaire meant that in a general sense?
Or has he actually been listening?
Then his other words sunk in. “You push too far, Enemy of Old! Bloodlust has enfeebled your brain—”

“Look in the mirror, Cousin. Look at your pale face and your eyes black with wrath. What amazes me is that you actually wonder
why
your mind’s declining. I’ll bet you didn’t mark your Bride’s neck when you claimed her. Denied your instinct, did you? Then prepare for punishment.”

Trehan fell back on an old argument. “Dacians don’t drink from the flesh. We don’t pierce other creatures!” No matter how seductive Bettina’s flesh had been, Trehan had withstood its call.

No matter how
wrong
it had felt to deny himself and his Bride—as if he were letting them both down.

“You’re a blooded Dacian in his prime, but you believe yourself above the most natural drives a vampire can have?” Lothaire smirked. “Above such ‘savage’ urges? It’s laughable that you Daci shun a vampire’s most basic need.”

That need
had
felt basic and natural—
and savage
—all at the same time. “Should I become red-eyed like you?”

“As if you could! Do you know how many Loreans I had to tap to get like this? The sheer variety and quantity would astound you. Merely tippling from your toothsome Bride isn’t going to do it.” Lothaire rolled those red eyes. “Fool, you are
supposed
to mark her! You are
supposed
to drink from her!”

I know this, I felt this!

“If I have to instruct each of my cousins how to truly live as vampires, then I will.” Lothaire steepled his fingers once again, his eyes swirling with crimson. “I’m the Enemy of Old, from the
House of Old,
” he added with a sneer, “and my kinsmen each have lessons to learn from me.”

So much for his underwhelming attention span.

“Mark my words, Trehan. You will
all
learn from me—though you won’t like how I deliver my teachings. Now put your house in order!” Without a final look in Trehan’s direction, he traced away.

Breaths shallowing, mind in turmoil, Trehan returned to the library, standing before his lonely fire.

Maybe Caspion had pressured Bettina into tainting the blood. Perhaps she hadn’t
wanted
to betray him.

Not logical.
She possessed the poison, she’d handed him the goblet, she’d bidden Trehan to drink.
She doesn’t want
me.

Which is too bad.
He withdrew his scry talisman.
Since she doesn’t get a godsdamned say.

No longer would Trehan deny himself what he desired—no longer would his savage hunger go unsated. He’d rise up from the ground like a true shade and seize the female who haunted him. . . .

T
wo Sorceri and a sylph walk into a bar,” Bettina muttered as she peeked through a cracked window pane into Erol’s, a Lore watering hole.

Accompanying her this evening were Salem and Sabine: the Queen of Illusions, consort of the rage demon king, and Bettina’s esteemed patroness. The three of them were just outside the entrance of this Louisiana shanty, preparing to go in.

Bettina squinted to see inside, but a valance of cobwebs dangled across the dirt-caked glass. The interior was filmy; smoke from cigars, opium pipes, and intoxibongs steeped the air.
No use.
She turned from the window.

Sabine flipped her magnificent mane of red curls over one pale shoulder, saying, “I’ve never been the subject of a joke that doesn’t have ‘ . . . viscera!’ as the punch line. But then, the night’s still young.” She ran one of her claw-tipped gauntlets down the bar’s clapboard wall.

From Bettina’s collar, Salem said, “First of all,
Salem doesn’t walk. Second? I’d like to actually get into the bar sometime
tonight
. Third, I’d rather be the subject of a dirty limerick, preferably with the words
rising tunic, dick,
and
lick
.”

“How do we even know we’re in the right place?” Bettina asked. The two sorceresses were on a mission to find the soothsayer Nïx the Ever-Knowing, who’d disappeared from Abaddon without a whisper. Salem was tagging along to meet with someone from his phantom network of spies—about a lead on the poisoning case.

The three had just been traced here by one of Rune’s guards, their designated demon for the night. He awaited them in the oyster-shell parking lot, smoking with other drivers.

Behind her wicked leather mask, Sabine rolled her tawny eyes. “Of course, we’re in the right place. Nïx is leading the Vertas, and this is one of their haunts.” She lifted her face and delicately sniffed. “Can you not
smell
the self-righteousness of all those do-gooders inside?”

Sabine had joined the Vertas because of her adoring demon husband, King Rydstrom the Good; didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

“How do I look?” Bettina asked. Knowing she might meet new allies, she’d taken care with her dress, wearing a slinky bandeau top of gold thread, a jade mask, and matching sarong. A pair of strappy gold sandals with blades in the heels—a new line!—completed the outfit.

For jewelry, she wore her crown, a collar, two armlets, a thighlet, and an anklet—all doubling as weapons.

This was her first return to the mortal realm, and she was prepared for anything, her heart-stopping power at the ready. . . .

Like a fool, Bettina also wore that necklace with Daciano’s wedding ring tucked down in her top. But, alas, her summoning medallion had gone the way of Salem’s copper bell, melted down, its control over her ending forever.

Chin raised imperiously, Sabine said, “You look passable—though not nearly as good as me.” Bettina’s great patroness wore a black miniskirt that matched her thigh-high boots and her mask. Atop her fiery red locks sat a blue-gold crown studded with gems, a present from Rydstrom. Sabine’s solid-gold bustier was engraved to look like dragon scales.

Not bad work, if I say so myself.
Well, except for a minor nip slip or two.
Or four.

Sabine narrowed her eyes. “Though I am the fairest, you really are wearing the better jewels. Is it wise to outshine your patroness, Queen of Hearts?” Shimmying, she tugged up her bustier. “And you two price-gouged me with this piece.”

“None doin’, Trixie.” Salem took his partnership in the biz
very
seriously. “We gave you a bang-up deal.”

“I suppose. If you like nip slips.” Sabine sighed, “And, let’s face it, I
do
.”

Salem said, “While you birds are arguing over who’s the fairest of them all, just know this: I am. Me and me swingin’ dick would put you two to shame. So if you ladies are done tarting yourselves up . . . ?”

“You’re fortunate that I like you,” Sabine began solemnly, “you price-gouging, foul-mouthed, sylphic man-slut. Ah, yes, I like these things about you indeed.” With that, she opened the door.

As they entered, all eyes turned to them: two former Pravus sympathizers in full Sorceri regalia and an invisible sylph.

Conversations halted midsentence. Even the old-fashioned jukebox ran out of quarters at that moment.

Crickets.

Haughty Sabine traipsed deeper inside; Bettina put her shoulders back and followed.

Once conversations and the music resumed, Bettina said, “Do you always get this reaction here?”

“Of course, it’s one of the reasons I continue to return,” Sabine said over one shoulder. “I think of it this way: they stare because fear; they fear because they respect.”

Bettina gazed around the place, supposing Erol’s had a certain charm. Other Loreans seemed to be enjoying themselves. In the back, a foursome of fey threw darts from a good thirty feet away, aiming for a board the diameter of a tankard.

At the bar, several twenty-something Lykae chugged whiskey. Their clothes were stained with mud and blood, and they tossed around a dirty rugby ball. A handsome, slightly older Lykae broke up any roughhousing with a threatening growl.

That jukebox didn’t play the music Bettina normally enjoyed, but at least she was out of the castle for a spell—away from things that reminded her of Daciano.

Such as, oh,
everything
.

When they passed a table full of nymphs, Salem took notice; Bettina’s collar started to thrum. “Been so long since I got laid, I’m goin’ to be revirginized,” he muttered.

She’d been trying to glean more about his predicament from the secretive sylph. From his offhanded comments, she’d begun to suspect that the phantom had either gotten caught stealing something very valuable—or that he’d scorned a very powerful female.

Still vibrating for the nymphs, he said, “If I didn’t have business to tend to, I’d just pop off for a spot of thigh diving and cleavage nesting. But then, that would be wrong.
Wrong
. Depraved, even. Immoral . . .”

Stifling a grin, Bettina scouted for the raven-haired Valkyrie. “I don’t see Nïx.”

“We can at least get a lead on her whereabouts,” Sabine answered, her eyes alight with purpose. She was desperate to save her sister Melanthe from the Vrekeners. To that end, the sorceress was determined to find the soothsayer, so she could find . . . Daciano.

Gossip had spread among the Sorceri about the Prince of Shadow, the “Forbearer” who hunted Vrekeners “for fun” and jaunted to Skye Hall “at his leisure.” When Sabine plotted rescue scenarios, they always included Trehan.

Bettina sought the Valkyrie for more selfish reasons. If that pointy-eared creature had already been meddling in her life, and Abaddon’s affairs, then Bettina wanted to know why she’d . . . stopped.

I’d been so close to a life with Daciano.

“Someone here must know where Nïx got to,” Sabine said. “If they’re reluctant to share, we can field-test our weapons.” She flashed the last one Bettina had made: a collapsible wand infused with a jolt of heart-stopping power.