Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(116)

Just yesterday he’d announced to the court that he would like to “go kill something. Anything!”

Running her forefinger over his chest, Elizabeth had purred in her mountain accent, “Let’s go kill time, baby. In our bedroom.”

Lothaire’s eyes had flashed red, and he’d traced her away in an instant.

Now he told her, “The question remains . . . do we open the gates of Dacia?” He yearned to announce Dacia’s presence to the Lore. In one of his bouts of madness, he’d railed, “A king of a kingdom no one f*cking knows about! I’m the tree in the forest that silently falls—when no one is around to be crushed!”

Lothaire looped both arms around her, tucking her even closer to him. “I want your opinion, Lizvetta.”

“You’re only askin’ ’cause you’re afraid I’ll cut off your head again.”

“Just so. But I also like how your tricky mind works.”

“I think we should have a soft opening,” she said. “You know, like they do with fancy restaurants.”

He tapped his chin with a black claw. “Soft opening. Yes.”

“We could keep folks, I don’t know, quarantined when they come in. Make sure that vampire plague doesn’t hitch a ride inside.”

In a move that would have pulverized Elizabeth as a mortal, Lothaire yanked her even tighter to his chest. “My wise little hellbilly.”

“Shut it, Leo.” She’d nicknamed him that, an acronym for his name. He was one of the most feared fiends in all the Lore—and yet she ribbed him with ease.

Lothaire, in turn, loved it.

They were about to kiss when Trehan cleared his throat.

“Ah, Cousin Trehan.” Though Lothaire’s red eyes were uncanny, today he looked rational—and very cunning.

“I’ll let you two boys chat.” Elizabeth extricated herself from his arms, earning a growl of displeasure. “And once you’re done, Leo, come on up and see me.” She winked and began sauntering toward the exit; like a male possessed, Lothaire rose to follow her.

Then, making a visible effort to restrain himself, he sat once more. “I know what you’re thinking, Cousin. Lothaire keeps a tight rein on her,” he said, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Indeed I do.”

From the anteroom: “Oh, please! I’ve got you locked down tighter than a gopher’s ass in flood season. And we both know it!”

Lothaire gazed with utter longing in Elizabeth’s direction before turning to Trehan. “She’ll pay for that comment later.”

“Brang it, Leo.”

“Let’s be quick about this, Trehan, because I’m about to—as my beloved Bride likes to put it—get laid.” Steepling his fingers, he began, “Your occupation for centuries has been to track Dacian fugitives as the official royal killer, or some such. Know that if we open the kingdom, your position will be downsized.”

As if Trehan gave a damn about that.

“It’s a new economy here in the Realm of Blood and Mist. Some fortunes will rise, some will fall. Perhaps you should reconsider your lead on that Abaddon job?”

“I have no interest in this topic,” Trehan said stonily, wondering how Lothaire had found out about Abaddon. Probably Stelian. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Yes, there’s another matter. You are related to me by blood and, like me, are a Dacian royal.”

“So?”

“So that means your ridiculous behavior reflects upon me.”

“What are you talking about? My ridiculous behavior?”

In the short time Lothaire had been king, he’d already lost a soothsayer within the realm, destroyed the council room, and lashed out against all the cousins, crushing Viktor’s skull in a vicious attack. Viktor still railed over the insult.

And earlier, one of Trehan’s assassins had brought word that Lothaire might have secretly abducted the Forbearer vampire king, to settle some age-old vendetta.

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—