Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(15)

“Then what? Why are you in Abaddon . . . ?” She trailed off, her gaze fixing on his sword, on the cross-guard over the grip. The forged metal was distinctly rounded—

“A crescent moon?” she cried. “Oh, gods, you’re the one Cas spoke of, the Prince of Shadow! You’re the assassin from the Realm of Blood and Mist come to kill him!”

The vampire didn’t deny this. “He broke the laws of my people. He must pay.”

Now everything Cas had told her began to make sense. An assassin without equal . . . the last thing I’ll see is a crescent moon. “Please don’t hurt him! He didn’t realize he’d done wrong.”

“Understand me, Bettina, the only thing he didn’t realize was that I could find him here. I will dispatch him just as I have thousands before.”

He didn’t say this in a boastful manner—more like he merely stated an unavoidable truth.

Though Caspion was a powerful warrior, everything about this male convinced her that Cas had been right to fear for his life. There was a chilling lethality about the vampire, a confidence in his own coldbloodedness.

“And what is your interest in a wastrel like him?” he demanded. “Besides what you obviously intended to give to him.”

“He’s no wastrel! If you hurt him, I will never forgive you!”

Baring his fangs, he grated, “We’ll sort this out back in my home.”

“What gives you the right to accost me like this, to try to abduct me?”

“I told you who I am. I’ve told you what you are. You’ve blooded me. I didn’t choose for this to happen with you. Fate decided this. And now we must bow to her commands.”

“You can’t trace me from Rune!” Olden ways. She was trapped on this plane—until she wed. Raum had used that damned summoning medallion to prevent her from leaving.

“Can’t I?” The vampire reached for her, his gaze intent.





When Trehan yanked her naked body to his chest and tensed to trace home, two things happened: he didn’t budge her; pain shot through his palm.

He released her, staring down at three deep wounds in his hand. “What the hell is this?” he roared while she scrambled back under the sheet. “Where is your weapon?” As he wrapped his bloody palm with the ripped sleeve of his shirt, he saw what had caused his injury. When he’d grabbed her upper arm, her gold band had ejected spikes.

Clutching the sheet over her chest, she breathed, “It worked.” He detected pride in her expression before she dropped her gaze once more, fiddling with the armlet. With a flip of a hidden lever, the spikes retracted.

All at once, he understood—that was her book collection. Those were her drawings. Weapons, gold-smithing, design . . . “You made that?”

She shrugged.

Clever little sorceress. How did she craft a pressure sensor—

No! With a sharp shake of his head, he reminded himself that he had larger issues to deal with. Namely, how to get her back to his home. “Are you under an enchantment?” He began pacing with frustration, unable to seize the Bride who was just before him.

Blood still ran from his palm. Should’ve sampled hers!

Could this night possibly decline any further? “Why was I unable to trace you?”

She pursed her lips, her glare telling him she’d answer no questions.

As a natural-born vampire, Trehan was, in fact, physically incapable of lying. If he even attempted to, the words would make his throat burn like fire. So what could he promise to get her to cooperate with him? “Bettina, if you answer my questions, we could leave together—and perhaps I need never return for Caspion.” Of course he would return.

To be marked for death by Trehan Daciano was to be as good as dead.

Her eyes went wide. “I’ll tell you anything!”

Anything to save that bastard. Had Trehan actually thought her clever? She had no sense if she favored Caspion—and she was still slurring.

My Bride, the mistress of the legendary House of Shadow, is a drunken, senseless Sorceri. His ancestors must be tracing over in their graves right now. “How can I take you from here?”

“My godfather has a summoning medallion, one I’m tied to. He’s used it to ensure I remain in this kingdom until the tournament ends.”

Trehan had heard of those kinds of medallions, knew they were an archaic means to control . . . demons. “You’re part demon?” Yes, the night can decline further.

No, no, she had neither horns nor fangs. She looked like a fragile mortal, if anything. Scarcely a hardy demoness.

“My mother was a Sorceri, my father king of this demon realm,” she said with a touch of smugness, but Trehan was in no way impressed with royalty.

My Bride is a drunken, senseless halfling. Of all the potential mixes in the Lore . . . This creature was the product of two of the most opposite immortal species.

As far from a proud, logical Dacian female as possible. He exhaled. No matter. Bettina was still his. “How do I procure your medallion?”

“It’s being offered up as a prize,” she said in a deadened tone. “For a tournament.”

“You’re the orphaned princess. You’re the trophy?” Declining still further.

She shrugged. “There’s an invitation on my dresser.”