Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(43)

Now he stood in the foggy drizzle upon a rooftop outside Castle Rune, awaiting Bettina—to watch over her. After the way those drunken entrants had spoken about her, he would never allow her to walk through the encampment alone.

Earlier, he’d collected his bag of clothing and weapons from beneath the bridge—he supposed some part of him had always known he’d enter the tournament—then traced to the fallen vampire’s tent.

Inside, he’d found an ornate desk and chair, a divan, golden goblets, carafes of blood, and a bed of furs on the ground, as was the vampire way. Amenities and luxury for the taking. The Horde had always been wealthy.

So he’d unpacked his few belongings. In his haste, he’d been forced to leave behind so much. But he had the two items he truly treasured: his father’s sword and the scry crystal. The former was sentimental; the latter was priceless.

After hanging his standard outside the tent, he’d made himself at home—because that was the closest thing he had to one now.

A short conversation with the dead contestant’s vampire squire had gained Trehan a new servant as well.

Now in the streets below him, the mad scramble of delegates and contestants spying on each other had begun. Soon he’d have to undertake a fact-finding mission of his own. But for now, his focus was on Bettina.

Through the fog, he spied movement at the base of the castle. A concealed door was opening, revealing her at the threshold. She wore a cloak that covered her hair and most of her body, as well as a mask. But he could still see she was panting, her gloved fingers digging into the doorjamb.

She looked as if she were a vampire about to check the time—with a sundial.

Eyes darting behind her mask, she took one halting step out, then another. By the time she reached the closest building, she had to stop and lean her slender frame against a wall for balance as she nearly hyperventilated.

She dreads meeting me this much?

And why wouldn’t she? He’d forced an overprotected, virginal—and very young—female to sneak to his tent for an assignation. In her mind, he was almost a stranger, and she would have no idea what he might demand.

No doubt she imagined the worst, and now her nerves were frayed. Guilt scored him.

But then a scavenging kobold, a sort of reptilian gnome, knocked over a basket near her, scuttling away. She jerked away from the clatter with a cry and flattened herself against the wall. Chanting something between breaths, she pressed one hand to her forehead as she swayed.

Surely this was more than nerves, more than virginal misgivings. She was utterly terrified.

Her trembling brought to mind the moments from last night when he’d been struggling not to bite her. Though he’d been nigh mindless in the grip of his blooding, he now recalled two words she’d whispered, “Not again.”

She’d thought he was about to hurt her; clearly someone already had. Another vampire? Trehan didn’t think so—she’d shown no more reaction to that Horde vampire at the tournament than to any other contestant. Then who?

She was like the most absorbing book he’d ever encountered. How to turn the page?

Suddenly that strange and inexplicable frustration from months before returned, the dread that had woken him. He rubbed his chest. What had called to him so sharply then? It must have been related to her.

Protect.

Trehan traced behind her, secretly wrapping her within the mist. As his blood female, she was of his kind—even if she didn’t accept that yet—and the mist was a part of them all.

She soon calmed, not completely, but enough to steady her breaths and continue on to the tent.

He had to uncover what his little Bride feared. So he could destroy it.

Of course, he was the last person she’d confide in. But there were other ways to learn about her. His gaze fell to her neck, to her wildly beating pulse.

Using one of Lothaire’s tactics had brought about this meeting. Perhaps if this bargaining with Bettina proved successful, Trehan would employ another of the Enemy of Old’s tricks. . . .



I made it! Somehow Bettina had walked—alone at night—all the way to the vampire’s tent.

She glanced around the empty space. So where was he?

“Bettina,” he intoned from behind her.

She whirled around with a cry. “Y-you startled me.”

The vampire was studying her with a quizzical glance. Right now, his eyes were a steady, dark green. They were handsome.

He was handsome?

He wore black leather pants, the cut more old-fashioned, but they looked good on his muscular legs. His tailored white shirt was made from a light material that did nothing to disguise the latent strength of his chest, those corded biceps and broad shoulders.

The sight made her frown. She’d had the run of his body last night—but she’d wasted her chance to satisfy her curiosity. Great. She dragged her gaze up to his.

When not wearing a scowl, his face was . . . pleasing. He’d certainly cleaned up well after the melee.

She felt safer with him than out on the street, even found the tension leaving her shoulders, her temples and jaw. In its place, that heated awareness returned, bringing with it irritation. Was she actually attracted to this vampire?

Every time he was near her, those molten feelings returned—she seethed inside, not with anger, but with something.

“Please sit,” he said, ushering her to a divan. “Shall I take your cloak?”