Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(64)

He’d also learned much about her personality, confirming all the facets he’d already admired. Indeed, she was remarkably intelligent, she was sensitive, and zeii, she was lusty.

That night in his tent, she’d viewed him with an artist’s eye. And she’d liked what she saw. Just as he’d observed, she’d been happy.

She’d marveled at his erection, musing what it would be like to part her lips for it and touch the tip with her tongue. She’d wondered if he would shudder and groan.

Yes, Bettina. Yes, I would.

He groaned now, just from the thought of it.

During that day he’d spent with her, as she’d slept, she had dreamed of Trehan. She was intrigued by him, reluctantly attracted to him. She’d absently thought of his eyes, I’ve seen that color green before. In the deepest forests of Abaddon.

If only Caspion didn’t stand between them.

Trehan also had some of her memories of that demon. Caspion had saved her from a lonely and friendless childhood, accepting her as others in her kingdom hadn’t. He and Bettina had traveled all over the mortal realm, exploring together.

Jealousy clawed at Trehan. I should be the one to show her the world.

As he sifted through his dreams, other memories arose. He’d learned that she resided with a phantom warrior. One who spied on her bathing? The f*ck that would continue!

And Trehan had seen the dynamics of her relationship with her godparents. She’d once thought, “Why do I topple over whenever they push? Because I’ve never found my footing?”

He’d even experienced her using her power. A little over a year ago, two ghouls had gotten loose in Rune, cornering her in an alley. Instead of being frightened, she’d blasted them with her power, stopping their hearts. Starved of blood, their organs had shut down. The creatures had thrashed on the ground, howling with agony.

The memory had been so intense that Trehan now splayed his fingers, feeling his palms tingle as if he himself had wielded her power.

That innate sorcery had been like her soul. It’d been so intrinsic that magic would emanate from her body whenever she’d experienced strong emotions. Heated whirls of light had marked her happiness, her excitement.

Now . . . nothing.

Trehan had to get it back for her. Or, he thought darkly, help her steal another Sorceri’s. What wouldn’t Trehan do for her?

A fiery arrow to the temple? There was no recovery from it.

But he still lacked the memory of her attack. I must see what happened to my Bride.

To find her foes and make them pay—

He sensed another’s presence inside the tent. Eyes flashing open, hand shooting for his weapon, he traced to his feet. “You won’t catch me unawares, Viktor. Cease trying.”

His cousin materialized in front of him. “That’s not my intention. Remember, I’m in no rush to kill you now.”

Trehan didn’t even argue the impossibility of Viktor managing to do that. “We still have a blood vendetta between us.” An inherited one, but all the same.

“That’s the thing about vendettas. There’s literally no expiration date.” He tsked at Trehan’s appearance. “You look like hell, old man.”

Understandable. He’d had little sleep and less blood. When he’d tried to drink a meal earlier, he’d spat out the contents of his goblet. He feared all blood would be tasteless after Bettina’s. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Truce for the eve. I’m here because I need your assistance.”

Trehan glanced at him with surprise. Viktor simply didn’t ask for help. This ought to be good.

Another male voice sounded: “We all need your assistance.” Mirceo? He’d just appeared inside the tent, along with Stelian.

All the royal male cousins in one place. At least, all the sane ones.

“Truce?” Trehan raised his sword. “I’m supposed to believe that the four of us are in one tent—and we’re all getting out alive?” Each of them was dark haired and tall, each bearing the Daciano stamp upon their faces. Yet they were no family. “I haven’t any patience for your jesting. Draw your weapons.”

Viktor shrugged. “I vow to the Lore that we hold no ill intent toward you.”

“Tonight, at least,” Stelian added.

A vow to the Lore couldn’t be broken. “I don’t know why you’ve come, and I don’t care. I’ve my own concerns now. A life of my own.”

“It appears your suit goes well,” Viktor said.

“What do you know of it?” Trehan demanded, but he feared he knew. The Dacians were observers. . . .

Viktor smiled widely. “Your Bride is lovely in mist.”

“You watched us?” This shouldn’t surprise him, but, gods, it enraged him.

“I was mainly watching the fights. And we turned Mirceo’s head away,” Viktor said. “Eventually.”

Trehan didn’t know whom to attack first. Their gazes had been on his Bride’s trembling body; they’d seen her skin kissed with Trehan’s mist. His fangs went sharp.

“Such aggression,” Stelian said disapprovingly. “You’re as bad as Viktor usually is. Your blooding has turned you savage.”

“The better to bite your throat out with, Stelian.”

“You’d attack when my sword remains sheathed?”