Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(119)

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 N?x 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.

“Oh, no, no. You need to be on your best behavior. If your husband finds out you’re here . . .” Bettina reminded her, adjusting her mask.

Sabine wasn’t listening. She’d stopped in front of a table with her brows raised, telling its demon occupants, “I’m curious as to why you’re sitting at my table.”

If Morgana was like a mesmerizing serpent, a giant king cobra of unfathomable power, then Sabine was like a sleek jungle cat, entrancing but deadly. And she’d just swished her tail.

The demons were burly, each wearing a black jacket embossed with NOLA GHOUL DISPOSAL—obviously a tough and hazardous job; still they fought each other in a beer-tossed wrangle to get away from Sabine.

As the Queen of Illusions, her power was matched only by her lethal reputation.

Salem politely used telekinesis to brush peanut shells off the table. “Ladies . . .”

As they sat, Sabine said, “Rydstrom won’t even know I’m gone. He’s shoring up a damaged dam today, selflessly rescuing demon lives.”

How wonderful that must be—to have a hot, adoring king at home who was busily involved in public works. Bettina had learned that being a single ruler was challenging; now that Abaddon was a hopping, new Lore-ist destination, life could get crazy around the kingdom in a hurry.

It’d be nice to have a partner. . . .

“And besides,” Sabine continued with a glare, “I wouldn’t have to be here if you hadn’t chased off the one mysterious vampire who knows the way to Skye Hall.”

Bettina would never live this down. When she’d told Sabine—who knew much about vampires—the overview of her relationship with Trehan, the sorceress had been incredulous. “You allowed him to claim you, but then you denied him his vampire bite?”

Daciano had been so bent on pleasuring Bettina, on soothing her fears, that he’d agreed to wait until she was ready.

Sabine had gone on to explain, “Do you remember how empty you felt without your power? Well, imagine you’d suffered that lack for lifetimes, but at last you could get it back, little by little—from your mate’s neck. Regrettably, he just didn’t feel like putting out.” Then she’d added the coup de grace: “His denying his instinct to bite would be like you denying your need to create. No wonder he lost his mind and ditched you.”

Now that Bettina understood more about his kind, her guilt had mounted—even as she’d felt a spark of hope about their future.

Then she’d remembered that she still couldn’t find him.

A shifter waitress sauntered up to the table then. “What’ll you two have?”

“Clearly, we’re Sorceri.” Sabine gestured at her resplendent self. “Ergo, we’d enjoy some Sorceri wine.”

“Don’t got it.”

Sabine quirked a red brow. “Do you not? Check with Erol, shifter. He’ll have an emergency bottle for me—because whenever I arrive, it’s an emergency.” She rapped her claws together. As the shifter scurried off, Sabine advised her, “And never naysay me again.”

Back to business, Sabine asked Bettina, “You still have no reason to expect your vampire to return?”

“I don’t know.” No reason at all. “Maybe?” Never.

Salem snorted. “The vamp basically told her, ‘I’m in a weird place in me life right now, and I need some space.’ Of course he told her that by pointing a bloody sword at her whilst bellowing, ‘I forsake you!’ in front of the entire kingdom.”

Bettina glared down at her collar. But then she admitted, “I think I kind of . . . broke him.” Reflecting over that week, she’d begun to compare Daciano to metal under strain. Lack of blood and sleep had been applied pressure and heat. Apparently, denying his instinct to bite her had been corrosion.

Her plea of mercy? The blow of a smith’s hammer. Broken.

At Bettina’s stricken look, Sabine said, “Listen, Rydstrom and I had a few bumps in the road. Our initial romance consisted of me chaining him in a dungeon and sexually tormenting him. And yet we worked past it.”

“Don’t they make cards for that?” Salem chuckled.

“But Rydstrom wouldn’t let you out of his sight until you were bonded,” Bettina pointed out. “I can’t even locate my male to work things out.”

The waitress returned then with a bottle of wine and fine crystal glasses. Her hand shook as she poured. “Erol s-says this is on the house.”

Sabine blinked at her. “Any reason it wouldn’t be?” Before fleeing headlong, the female backed away three steps, as one would to royalty—which Sabine was.