Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(37)

“For more of these boons? Forget it.”

“Know that I’ll kill the Horde vampire for free.” At her frown, he explained, “I will require his tent for the duration.” And then he was gone.



Trehan stood within the Iron Ring, surrounded by stands of gawking Loreans, but he focused his mind on what was at stake.

Her. Bettina.

Now, like so many times in the past, he had a sanctioned kill to make. He marked his prey—the Cerunno his Bride must fear above all the others.

Trehan gave a cursory glance over the weapons available: lances and varieties of spears, war axes, maces, swords, and two different types of whips. One was coiled razor wire, the other coated with a viscous layer of oil—a whip of fire. He was a master with all these.

He noted that many of the competitors were studying the placement of the weapons, deciding which would suit their own strengths best. But few were studying their opponents. Fools. Weapon choice depended upon the opponent.

Try felling a Cerunno with a spear and see where that leaves you. . . .

Besides, within moments there would be far more weapons than those alive to wield them.

Trehan made quick calculations. The males most likely to give him any competition whatsoever: the incredibly fast Cerunnos, the other vampire, the three Ajatars, the rabid—and therefore unpredictable—Lykae. The two massive stone demons as well. They could make their muscles so rigid that blows would bounce off them, as if off stone.

The Horde vampire stared hard at Trehan, no doubt trying to assess his strengths. He would believe Trehan was a weaker Forbearer, a turned human.

Ah, but that ravening Lykae was barely able to refrain from attacking the red-eyed vampire even now. Could he be counted on to keep that Horde lord occupied?

And the Cerunnos? Trehan had stalked them in the past, had observed them in battle. He knew how they distracted your attention with their sword work, while their tails slithered up behind you. . . .

When Raum returned, apparently from arguing with Morgana, he signaled for demon guards to close the enormous iron gate. The other entrants’ muscles were tensed. Trehan’s were relaxed.

I’ve prepared my entire life for this tournament, even if I hadn’t known it—

He felt a vibration beneath his feet. Then another. Footsteps. Something was coming, something with mass. A last competitor?

Just before the gate closed fully, a being emerged from the fog, heading for the ring.

Trehan raised his brows as he craned his neck up. And up . . .

The things I do for my Bride.





What—is—that?” Bettina murmured as a giant demonlike creature entered the ring.

He stood well over ten feet tall, with pebbly green skin like a toad’s. He sported not one, not two, but three pairs of horns. Rising straight up from his forehead were two slimy yellow ones that matched the color of his slitted eyes; two more capped his muscular shoulders; a third pair jutted from the backs of his elbows.

Fangs protruded up from his bottom row of teeth. A line of mottled tusks jutted down from its chin, like a bony, spotted beard. Lengths of chain crisscrossed his otherwise bare chest, holding up a leather half-tunic like suspenders from hell.

At each step, the packed-clay earth quaked beneath his boots.

Raum bit out a curse. “Goürlav.”

Mutters sounded in the crowd.

—“That’s the Father of Terrors.”—

—“He’s a pre-demon, a primordial.”—

—“If a drop of his blood hits the ground, a monster will spring up.”—

Looking furious, Raum said, “For once, the rumors have it right.”

“I don’t understand? What will happen?”

“If anyone so much as nicks one of his veins, he’ll spawn hideous new creatures bent on annihilating anyone who thinks to harm their ‘father.’ ”

Cas was about to be caged in—with that nightmarish being? “Can’t we kick the primordial out? Why wasn’t he in the procession?”

“The procession was just a formality. Someone signed a proxy contract to enter him. There’s no way to expel him, no barring entry to any Lorean.”

Raum’s craggy brow furrowed, sending a chill of unease through Bettina. This was the first look of regret he’d evinced over the tournament.

He’d been so positive that this was the right course—good for commerce, “good to show other Loreans that we’re a free and open kingdom.” He’d waved away all her concerns, and the concerns of the people; Bettina had overheard him assuring his cronies that a demon of some kind would have to prevail.

They’d surely never expected a demon of the primordial variety.

As the gate clanged shut behind Goürlav, Bettina’s stomach lurched. There was so much danger to Cas. Over all their years together, he’d been a lifeline, a mentor, a guide, and a protector. Now Bettina wanted to protect him.

But couldn’t. No amber light boiled up from her palms, no destructive sorcery.

She reminded herself how skilled Cas was, how quick. He’s safe from Daciano. . . .

“Might as well get this over with,” Raum muttered. He gave the signal.

At once, the great horn sounded. The crowd’s roar grew deafening.

Many competitors charged for weapons, and within seconds the clang of steel rang out.