Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(44)

Parameters, Bettina. “Look, Daciano, I came here to pay off boons, but I didn’t agree to open-ended favors. I want to set a time limit for this meeting. I suggest twenty min—”

“You’ll stay till dawn.” His tone brooked no argument. “Your cloak?” he asked again, as if she hadn’t spoken.

There went that plan. With an aggrieved air, she removed it, handing it to him. Or trying to.

For a long laden moment, he just stood there staring at her body, his eyes smoldering.

She’d deliberately worn a more modest outfit, one her godmother would consider “frumpy.” Bettina’s top of braided gold strands barely molded to her breasts; her jade silk sarong was split high, but only on one thigh. Accessories: a jet black mask, small diadem, and black full-length fingerless gloves. No flirty garters or thigh-highs.

All in all, this was demure by Sorceri standards. She’d seen Morgana attend a state dinner in nothing more than a micromini and glorified pasties.

She delicately cleared her throat; he exhaled a gust of breath, finally meeting her gaze and reaching out to take her cloak.

“Arresting, Bettina,” he said in a roughened voice. “Quite literally.”

Bettina was a design geek, a virgin who’d failed to seduce the male she was closest to. Now this vampire was looking at her as if she were a femme fatale. And for a crazy moment, he’d kind of made her feel like one.

“Would you like a drink?”

“I guess.” Desperately. “Sweet wine if you have it.”

“No demon brew?”

“Never again. The one time I tried it, a vampire appeared in my bed.”

With raised brows, he traced to pour her a glass. She thought she heard another exhalation. Had she rattled the centuries-old vamp?

Taking a seat, she surveyed his appropriated tent. A fire burned in a copper pit, the smoke venting out through a shielded opening in the canvas. Though a light rain had started outside, the interior was snug and warm.

The floor was a platform of wood, covered by luxurious rugs. A desk and chair occupied one side of the tent, that log-like scroll of rules on the floor beside it.

A deep bathtub stood in one corner, while a sprawling pallet of furs lay directly atop the platform in another. No raised bed for him—because vampires slept as close to the ground as possible.

As he poured himself a goblet of blood from a warmed carafe, she said, “I can see why you wanted this tent. It screams vampire.”

A slight frown. “You and I are not so different, Bettina.”

“We are wildly different.”

“Not so much that we can’t find common ground.”

“Oh? Is that why I’m here?” she asked, adding dryly, “To look for ‘common ground’?”

He simply said, “Yes.” Offering her the wine, he asked, “Were you worried about someone seeing you on the way here?”

She accepted it. “I wanted to avoid that, yes.”

“You seemed . . . on edge walking here alone.”

“You spied on me?”

“I watched over you,” he corrected, sitting beside her. “I would never let you walk alone this late at night.”

Bettina supposed that should irritate her, that she should rail at him for being a stalker and hate him even more.

Instead, the realization that she’d had a deadly guard watching over her the entire way was . . . reassuring. “That was your mist. You surrounded me.” She’d perceived the cool, comforting embrace of it, but hadn’t known what it was. It had blunted her panic attack.

Not all by myself, then. “So you truly can turn into vapor?”

He inclined his head. “All Dacians can. A talent born from a time before we came upon our mountain realm, when the light was too great and the shadows too few.”

Before she could ask him more about this, he said, “Were you that nervous about meeting me? Or was it more?”

More, so much more! “I have no idea what you’ll demand.” And yet she wasn’t frightened of what he might do. Again, she felt no trepidation where he was concerned.

He gazed away, looking troubled. “I told you I’d never hurt you. If given leave, I’d do nothing but protect you.”

He’d seen her reaction outside; she didn’t want him to think he was responsible for that. Not out of concern for him. She simply didn’t want the vampire to think he’d intimidated her. “Look, I just don’t like to walk alone at night. I might have . . . issues—ones that I don’t want to speak of.”



Naturally, Trehan wouldn’t rest until he was fully versed in these issues. “Your kingdom is secure. Most beings cower before your guardians. Not to mention that you’re a sorceress. What issues could you possibly have?”

Her eyes narrowed with irritation. “We’re not friends, Daciano. We’re not confidantes. Why should I tell you anything about myself? You are a threat to me. You blackmailed me today.”

“Unfortunate but necessary.” He leaned forward on the edge of the divan, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now back to the subject at hand. You whispered ‘Not again’ when you thought I was about to hurt you last night.”

She glanced away, clearly trying to remember what she’d said.

“Has another vampire touched you?”