Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(56)

In reverie, her mind had replayed the night with him. She’d relived endless kisses and slippery hot flesh. She’d eagerly revisited that image of him standing before her clad only in firelight.

Over and over, she’d awakened on the verge of orgasm.

A day of sensual torture. Yet she’d been unable to do anything about it, because of the last shocking favor Daciano had asked of her.

Don’t touch yourself.

She’d been flabbergasted. “Pardon?”

“Over the day, if you feel need, don’t act on it. That’s the favor I want from you. Then you’ll owe me only two boons.”

“Why would you want this?”

“So you will crave me as I do you.”

“More plots, more plans?”

“When the prize is so dear . . .”

Sensual. Torture.

He’d kissed her, aroused her to the brink of release, then forbidden any relief. She didn’t know how she was going to face him tonight.

Maybe I should pull for the troll.



Trehan wanted to begin his match—so he could end it. At last it neared, next after Goürlav’s.

He was keen to see his Bride once more, to determine whether she’d kept her end of their final bargain last night.

He’d caught only a glimpse of her as the tournament had begun. She’d narrowed her eyes at him, seeming particularly irritable—not the demeanor of a sexually satisfied female.

Yet Trehan hadn’t been able to talk to her, compelled by his contract to join the other competitors in these dank catacombs.

Water seeped from slimy stones. Kobolds hissed and scurried in the distance. Crude benches had been carved into the walls. Male voices echoed throughout this labyrinth, voices tinged with fear or bravado.

Trehan said nothing to his opponents, instead reliving the day he’d spent—a day of need and denial.

He hadn’t accessed her memories yet, because he hadn’t slept. Uneasy away from her, he’d returned to her room, just for a glimpse of her sleeping to tide him over until sunset. He’d found her in a fitful sleep, her brows drawn as a nightmare tormented her.

Wrapping her in mist, he’d secretly lain beside her in the darkness of her curtained bed. Her silken locks had haloed out over silken sheets, her lips parted so temptingly.

As he’d stared at her face, he’d been overwhelmed with feeling, as if centuries of yearning had risen in a single moment: I want her draped in mist, under my protection. I want her in my bed, gazing up at me with those glittering eyes as I enter her. I want her pleasured cries in my ear and her blood upon my tongue. . . .

Yet then her dreams had grown sensual. She’d raised her slim arms over her head, spreading her legs, her hips rocking, rocking . . . until she’d awakened in the dark with a gasp, on the verge, having no idea he was less than a foot away.

His fangs had shot as hard as his shaft, just as uncontrollable. He’d wanted both buried inside her.

In the past, he’d observed Horde vampires blood-taking in deranged attacks. Needless to say, the victims hadn’t enjoyed it. But what if Trehan took Bettina’s leisurely, painstakingly?

There were females rumored to find pleasure from a male’s bite. He’d wondered, Could my female? It would be a perfect exchange. She’d give me blood, and I’d make her come. . . .

At that thought, it’d taken every ounce of his control not to reach for her. But she was already angered with him. Finding him in her bed would only add to her pique. So he’d clenched his fists and suffered with her, telling himself she would be sorely in need this eve, and he could use that to his advantage.

When she’d drifted back to sleep, the same thing had happened again and again.

He couldn’t plant dreams—he was no dream demon—but apparently the mist had brought him to mind.

Trehan hoped. If he even supposed that those hungry little moans had been for Caspion . . .

Once she’d awakened for good, he’d forced himself to leave, wondering if she could possibly refrain from caressing her trembling body. From masturbating her sex during her bath.

Delicate pale fingers against rosy flesh.

When he began to grow hard—even in this foul place—he shook his head. Focus, Trehan! Concentrate on the task at hand. Study your opponents.

He peered across the dingy corridor, gaze landing on the troll. Armed with a massive club, the creature was large but lumbering, with foot-long bristles dotting his body. Not exactly threatening. Yet Trehan had noticed in the melee that weapons had shattered against those bristles. They must be as strong as titanium—and dozens of them sprouted from its throat.

Trehan thought he spied a sliver of space between them. Basically he’d have to slice his sword perfectly—through an opening the width of his flat blade.

If he missed and his sword broke, he didn’t know how he could relieve the troll’s body of its head.

One shot.

With a mental shrug, Trehan turned his attention to Goürlav, hoping to spy some weakness. Yet the demon merely leaned back against a wall, eyes closed, breathing deep and even.

Trehan could glean little, other than the fact that the pre-demon’s body had been made for war. A rippled plate of bone covered its heart; those tusks hung down from its chin, protecting its neck like a shield. Three pairs of horns only added more protection. Even its green eyelids were thick, doubled over with many scaly folds. All vulnerabilities defended.