Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(21)

All the females. Even mine.

Viktor feinted left, making a short jab to the right; Trehan arched his back, narrowly escaping the sword tip.

“Did the great Trehan actually leave a target alive? No, no, because then you wouldn’t be back here.” Another thrust.

Trehan parried. “I didn’t engage him,” he answered, half-tempted to tell his cousin everything. If not Viktor, then whom could he confide in?

No one.

Their relationship was complicated, to say the least. As the last members of their respective houses, they’d been trying to kill each other for most of their lives, yet there was no one Trehan would rather have at his back if they fought a mutual enemy. Viktor also kept his cousin’s secrets, refusing to sully himself and Trehan with court politics, preferring to settle their grievances by combat.

Trehan swung; Viktor blocked. Their swords connected, quaking in their hands.

“You’re strong tonight,” Viktor observed with approval. He venerated strength and relished violence.

Viktor was perpetually disappointed that their hidden kingdom afforded no chance for open conflict. As he’d once said while in his cups, “I’m the general of the world’s proudest and most perfect army—one that will never go to battle.”

Strike; swift parry. Slash; deflect.

“What is this I hear?” Viktor suddenly exclaimed. “Ah, Trehan, your heart beats! That’s where this new strength hails from.”

A vampire derived strength from age, Dacian blood, drinking straight from the flesh—and his blooding. “So it does.” He didn’t know if Viktor was blooded. His cousin utilized an old witch’s spell to camouflage whether he had a heartbeat or not.

Trehan had a theory about that. . . .

“Where is your new Bride?” Viktor risked a glance past Trehan. “Why were you reading when I stole upon you?” A look of confusion followed. “Why are you not rutting her even now? Perhaps I’ll find her sprawled across your bed with a soothing pack of ice between her legs?”

“You’re crass.” Another flash of his sword. “That’s my Bride you speak of!”

Another parry. “Then where is she?”

“There were challenges inherent with her.” He traced away from Viktor’s charge, appearing feet away; the blade sliced the air where Trehan had just been.

“Tell all, Cousin!”

“It doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t be suitable for me.” Bettina had her own realm to rule. She could scarcely be expected to live in this underworld with him.

She’s in love with another.

“Did you claim her?” Viktor asked.

A sharp shake of his head. “And it’s just as well. Once I take the throne—”

“So certain you’ll be king?” Slash.

Dodge. “Unfortunately, yes. You know I’m the logical choice.”

He was the most qualified to rule, but in fairness, each of the contenders had strengths. Trehan had cultivated an order of trained assassins. Viktor controlled the military. Their cousin Stelian governed who entered or exited Dacia. The youngest male cousin, Mirceo, was the most beloved by the people and had a loyal ally in his little sister, Kosmina.

However, Trehan was the most “Dacian” of the royals, believing in this kingdom, like a religion.

“Ah, that vaunted Dacian logic,” Viktor sneered, feinting a trace to the right, then striking to the left. With a well-timed block, Trehan deflected, but Viktor’s leg shot up, booting Trehan in the stomach.

If Viktor wanted to fight dirty . . .

Between breaths, Trehan grated, “Perhaps you wouldn’t resent that trait in others . . . if you weren’t the most illogical of the family?” Like a blur, he swept down, kicking Viktor’s legs out from under him.

Just before Viktor’s back met the floor, he traced to his feet. “King Trehan? Never while I live.”

They faced off once more. “You’re too hostile and rash,” Trehan said. “Mirceo’s too self-absorbed and hedonistic, not to mention young. And Stelian is nearly too drunken to handle his responsibilities as gatekeeper.”

“And you are too emotionless.”

I haven’t been tonight. Gazing down at Bettina’s eyes, watching them glitter with need, Trehan had been filled with emotion. He hadn’t been emotionless when he’d come in his Bride’s soft hand. . . .

Distracted once more, he barely dodged Viktor’s next strike.

“The people would wither under your stifling rule, Trehan. You are the sword of the kingdom, a cold, unfeeling blade.”

“This is a debate for another night.”

“So be it. Back to your missing Bride . . .” He trailed off, his gaze landing on Trehan’s desk—on the invitation. Before Trehan could reach the parchment, Viktor had snatched it up, swiftly perusing the writing. “Abaddon? I’ve been there! Used to go watch the fights. The mist blends with that fog so seamlessly, you know. Wait, this is her, isn’t it? ‘Challenges inherent’? I should say so. She’s a godsdamned tourney prize!”

“Enough, Cousin.”

“Not even close! Why are we wrangling over this crown when you can just go get another one?”

“I have no interest in that kingdom—solely the girl.”