Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(55)

“No harm, no foul. So far. I’ll keep my invisible mouth shut, if you don’t meet the leech again.”

“Not—a—problem.” She still couldn’t believe Daciano had taken her blood.

Worse? She couldn’t believe that her main problem with it was probably vanity.

Maybe he wouldn’t see her memories of that night. Maybe he wouldn’t see anything—because he’d die in the ring tomorrow. “Wait. Why do you care if I see him or not?”

“I’m not one to pull my telekinetic punches, Princess, so I’ll tell it to you straight. After my night of spying, I’m convinced Goürlav’s about to be your new gent. Which means your cherry best be unplucked.”

At the thought of marrying the primordial, chills danced up her spine. The Bettina-the-Black-Widow option would fly out the window. Even if her power was returned, it wouldn’t likely be enough to take Goürlav out. Not when newly restored and unpracticed. “Nobody can defeat him?”

“I found zero weaknesses. Zilch, f*ck-all. None of my contacts in the network know anything either,” he said. “You saw the heads rolling tonight. Think of the amount of blood someone would have to spill to take his. Barrels. It’d spawn a legion of Child Terrors.”

“I’ll prevail upon Morgana. There’s got to be some kind of sorcery we can use.”

“You do that. In the meantime . . . you were really into that leech.”

Into him? Like when she’d been a split second away from orgasming against his insistent shaft?

Like when she’d tasted her own blood in their kiss and for a moment had considered just going with it? “I was there only for Caspion.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were completely swamped with thoughts of Cas. By the way, that demon of yours rose a notch in my estimation.”

“Oh, was his pile-driving even more vigorous than last night?”

“No. He went home. Alone.”





Night two. Well past midnight. Drunk again.

Bettina slouched over the banquet table, head propped in her hand, a glass of wine tilted precariously in her other hand. Her eyes were glazed over from watching fights for umpteen hours.

Die already, she inwardly cried for the hundredth time.

She gazed around, noting that she wasn’t the only one drunk; all of Rune was in rare form.

They’d been imbibing since sundown and the demon brew was beginning to hit them, sweeping over the crowds like an apocalypse of drunk.

Initially, the ring had been divided into several different cages so the matches between less well-known contenders could occur simultaneously. Still, they’d taken ages to complete. At midnight, guards had removed the inner cages to prepare for the heavy-weight contenders like Goürlav, Daciano—and Caspion.

Pretty much all of the kingdom’s females had rallied around “Abaddon’s fair-haired son.” Even the males were coming around.

He was slated to fight the remaining Cerunno last, and she’d been on edge all night. Goürlav’s match was up next, with Daciano’s bout against the giant troll to follow.

Like all the competitors, they’d been required to wait in the sanctum for hours.

Morgana had long since returned to her castle, located in her own private Sorceri plane. Early on she’d endured two matches, yawning widely, even at the gruesome ends. Assured that Bettina had dressed scantily enough to be worthy of the Sorceri name, she and her Inferi had portal-ed away.

During the ring changeover, Bettina had spied Raum escorting two pretty nymphs backstage.

Which left her all alone at the table. Winners could have come and visited her after their bouts, but they always left, never joining her at banquet. Each one intended to marry her in mere days; none of them made an effort to get to know her better.

Well, except for one. A vampire with the most sublime body she’d ever imagined—who’d provided her with the most erotic vision she’d ever witnessed.

When Cas had shown up today at sundown, she’d barely been able to look him in the eye.

He’d gone home alone the night before, trying to make it work between them, while she’d been moaning into Daciano’s mouth.

But she wouldn’t be seduced again. Tonight, she and Cas had started over. . . .

She waved for a refill, glancing over her shoulder at the other banqueters. Again the grandstand was divided between armored demons and gold-clad Sorceri.

On the demon side, the table was laden with platters of suckling pig, rack of lamb, wild boar, venison. Tankards of demon brew abounded.

Most Sorceri, however, were strict vegetarians. On their side, fruits and vegetables were arranged in elaborate platters and towers, and sweet wine flowed from crystal decanters.

Bettina definitely preferred their table. When she was young, she’d tried to eat like a demon, to have one thing in common with her subjects. She’d been as successful in that as she’d been in growing horns, getting strong, or learning to trace.

Hey, at least I can be summoned!

Different as the two groups were, both sides were sauced. The demons openly pawed the serving girls. The Sorceri flirted with their coy looks that could say a thousand things.

Most of the latter had remained to enjoy the wine, but also to watch their new favorite—the Prince of Shadow.

He was responsible for a good part of Bettina’s exhaustion, for her fitful sleep over the course of the day. When she’d first drifted off, she’d suffered her usual nightmare; yet then the subject—and the nature—of her dreams had changed.