Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(53)

He broke their kiss. “Gods, woman! I’m already at the edge. My fangs grow sharp.”

“Um, okay.” Surely he wasn’t hinting that they should end this. So close.

In a ragged voice, he said, “You know what this might mean, Bett.”

It means he’s so aroused, he’s losing control. Like her. “Just as long as we don’t have sex.”

“Ah, drag? . . .” He took her mouth with another hard press of his lips, more bold strokes of his tongue. She met him every one.

She was shivering, her body tensing, readying for her orgasm. On the brink of wet bliss—

Then came the tang of . . . blood.





Shocks jolted up and down Trehan’s body from his head to his toes, before convening in his shaft.

He’d nicked her tongue. Zeii mea, her blood straight from the flesh. If her kiss had brought to mind mead, her blood was a glimpse of heaven.

An injection of perfect pleasure seared his veins.

He shuddered, growling against her lips. The tip of his hungry tongue licked hers for more, hunting for that tiny nick.

Dimly, he remembered how taboo this was, even as he sought more. A perversion?

No, connection! Sharing her essence felt . . . pure. “Dulcea!” he groaned between kisses. “So sweet.” How could this possibly be wrong? The sense of union was almost like intercourse.

But she broke away. “Y-you tasted my blood?”

A drop of crimson stained her bottom lip, taunting him. His eyes locked on it, his cock hardening even more.

“Look at me, Daciano! You took my blood?”

He forced himself to meet her gaze. The way she stared at his eyes, he knew they must be stark black with thirst. “Yes.”

In a panicked tone, she said, “Can’t you see a person’s memories?”

Her anxiety seemed to prick at him, paining him. “I’ve never taken another’s blood.”

“Answer the question!”

“I believe I possess that ability.”

“Let me go!” She thrashed against him until he released her.

Again, I surrender my prize.

Scrambling to a sitting position, she draped an arm over her breasts, shoving her braids out of her face with her free hand. “You’ll see mine!” She was looking at him with disgust.

Deserved disgust. Any of his acquaintance would do the same. Trehan supposed he wasn’t much different from a vile Horde vampire. Or from Lothaire, the furthest fallen of the Dacians.

And yet Trehan knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d tasted her again.

From this night on, I’m a true vampire.



That raw, familiar feeling of violation rose inside Bettina. Her palms itched to unleash her power on him; she felt unwhole without it.

He could witness that night! At the thought, she nearly swayed. The humiliation of another seeing her like that . . . broken and naked on the floor of Castle Rune’s court. Coated with blood and liquor. Their laughter still ringing in her bleeding ears.

She darted for her sarong, hastily tying it in place. The vampire’s gaze followed her every movement, locked on her as she worked her top over her head. But when she scurried for her cloak, he traced to his clothes, stabbing his legs into his pants.

“This would have happened eventually, Bettina. I can’t control my fangs any more than I can stop myself from hardening every time I’m near you.”

In a dry tone, she sneered, “Because I’m such a tempting siren.”

Brows drawn, he rasped, “Yes.”

Seriously undercutting my argument! “Why did I trust you? I want you out of my sight!”

“You can’t leave.”

“Watch me!” She dragged her cloak on, marching for the exit. But just outside his tent, her feet froze. The rain had eased somewhat, but now the fog was thick as soup, visibility nil. At least for her.

She would have to brave that murky gauntlet to reach home. Right before her eyes, shadowy buildings moved, narrowing the alleys. The street grew darker, the air thick with foreboding.

That seed of anxiety burned. Vertigo threatened. Her heart began to pound in her ears, her eyes to water. Fear was a great steel fist wringing her chest free of air.

Her bones ached, actual pain arising where her ribs had ruptured her flesh.

All too clearly, she remembered how the skin of her torso had tented over her displaced ribs—like cloth over a dull needle. Only a matter of time. A kick to her side had sent the needle up and through her skin. . . .

The back of her hand found her lips. I want those four dead! Why won’t they die . . . ?

“Bettina?” The vampire was right beside her, studying her with eyes that were now steady and green.

He’d betrayed her and she couldn’t even manage to leave his company, couldn’t slam the tent flap in his face as she stormed off.

I hate this, I hate this, I HATE this!

“What is it, little Bride?”

Swallowing back bile, she said, “I don’t . . . I don’t like walking in the rain.”

“Of course,” he said, his expression unreadable.

He knows, he knows! Just as she’d started to shake, she found herself outside the concealed door to her castle. “Y-you traced me?”

“Bett, you never have to walk alone again.”