Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(25)

She swiped her sleeve over the glass, then studied her reflection. No better than before the bath. She still looked hungover and exhausted. When she’d finally managed to drift off to sleep this morning, her customary nightmares had plagued her.

“I don’t understand why you spy on me,” she said. “It’s not like you have a body.” A servitude curse—for some mysterious crime—prevented him from becoming corporeal. And though he was still telekinetic, he couldn’t feel.

“I won’t be like this forever. Why, one day I’ll be a real boy! And this gives me much masturbation fodder for the future.”

She rolled her eyes, hoping he was kidding. When he’d arrived here three months ago, she’d made the mistake of picturing him as a harmless, genie-type sprite, much as Raum still thought him.

The first time Bettina had sensed Salem spying, she’d figured if he wanted a peep at small breasts and zero hips . . . knock yourself out.

Then she’d found out more about the “notorious” Salem from Morgana and her coterie, who’d known him before his curse. Apparently, Salem had been a ruthless warrior who “dripped sex appeal.”

Bettina’s innocent genie bath time had taken on an awkward new dynamic.

“You look like utter ass, chit,” he said now, nudging a glamour trinket toward her.

Morgana had given it to her to conceal all her wounds after the incident, but there was still some magic left over. Should Bettina do a cursory camouflage, so her godmother wouldn’t spy anything amiss?

Morgana was already hypercritical about Bettina’s looks, finding her lacking compared to Bettina’s mother, Eleara.

Bettina remembered one of her earliest visits with Morgana: “Oh, for the love of gold, you are an odd, tiny thing, aren’t you?” she’d said with a frown. “Your features can’t decide if they want to be impish like a demon cub’s or arresting like Eleara’s. Hmm. Well, little freakling, be of cheer, for it can only go up from here. . . .”

At the memory, Bettina set the glamour away. She wanted her godmother to know something was amiss. No less than my entire life.

“Still having the nightmare?” Salem asked.

“Unfortunately.” This afternoon, Bettina had shot upright in bed, midway into one of her panic attacks. Ever since her beating, she’d been plagued with them. Her body had been tight with strain, her skin covered with perspiration. Her lungs had felt constricted as if by a vise.

She’d peered around her room, assuring herself, I’m in my home. Those fiends aren’t here. No Vrekener has ever come to Abaddon. . . .

Bettina had two goals in life. One of which was to feel safe again. She could remember what it was like not to have fear constantly creeping up on her. She remembered life without her debilitating attacks.

She used to be able to walk the town without a care, used to be able to visit the rain forest by herself. Now she couldn’t exit the castle unescorted, could scarcely navigate the interior of it alone.

Her episodes seemed to be getting worse. And last night’s break-in had been a serious blow to her recovery. Despite a warding spell, the vampire had entered her room “with ease.”

“You should talk to someone about it,” Salem suggested. “Get it off your chest.”

She rubbed her pounding temples. “Are you offering to be a sounding board for me?”

“Only if you want to hear your mirror snore. From what I’ve been able to piece together, I’d be bored silly.”

She glared, unable to tell if he was joking. “Then why are you still here?”

“I found out a lot about our mysterious assassin. Did a little digging, calling in favors from some very old phantoms. No one knows secrets like phantoms.”

“Tell me,” she quickly said, beyond curious about the vampire Daciano.

“It’s rumored that his people live inside the hollowed-out mountains of an entire range. No one in the Lore can prove they exist, not even the most skilled phantom spies. Caspion could very well be the only outsider at large who has seen Dacia and lived. They’ll remedy that soon enough.”

Bettina’s hands fluttered to her throat. Why wouldn’t Caspion agree to enter the tournament? He’d prefer death by assassin over her? Was he so averse to exploring even the possibility that she was his?

Salem continued, “Their species is proud, powerful, but they never engage wiv the outside. If a Dacian is seen outside of the realm by an otherlander—that’s what they call us—then he’s mystically forbidden to return. Except for in your case. According to my sources, the Bride of a Dacian is a Dacian, to their way of thinking. So he could go home. But not after he comes for you tonight, before all and sundry.”

“He’s not interested in me. Remember? He flat-out told me he had no plans to return for me, and he can’t lie.”

Naturally Bettina was delighted by the idea of his never returning—if that meant Cas was safe. Yet a tiny part of her also had to wonder why males found it so easy to pass her over. She’d never heard of a vampire ditching his Bride. Ever.

“You can’t see, but I’m shrugging.” In a contemplative tone, he said, “Can you picture living in Dacia? Learning all about the Realm of Blood and Mist? I’d give me right invisible arm for a chance at that.”

“Living underground, inside a mountain? With no forest? Never to feel the sun on one’s face?” Nice place to visit, but . . . “Let’s just say I’m glad I don’t have to worry about Daciano returning.”