Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(80)

“No one expects you to turn off your feelings—they’ll always be there—just start seeing ’em for what they really are.”

Had she begun to? Whenever she imagined marriage, she’d begun to think only of . . . Daciano. Whenever she thought of Cas, she kept replaying all the milestones of their friendship.

“The demon’s your best mate, as in friend. Some other female out there is his other kind of mate. She ain’t you.”

Bettina was starting to believe this. If she and Cas had been fated, then why was there so much strain between them—especially when they tried to act like a couple?

Oh, what did it matter how she felt? So long as Goürlav still lived, Bettina’s two choices of men were about to become . . . none.

She snatched up her soldering torch and adjusted the flame. Work! The fire blazed in front of her watering eyes.

“You know those raves you used to attend?” Salem said in a cautious tone. “You look like you’re havin’ a bad trip. Just slow your roll, chit.”

“I’m fine.” Flame to metal. Spring mechanism. Seamless adhesion.

“Look behind you, Princess! The dummies are dancing.”

She heard them moving, but didn’t glance up.

“Oi! Those soddin’ dummies are boffin’.”

She set the flame aside, slammed her palm against her workbench. “Please, Salem!”

The dummies stilled as if affronted. “Fine, then. Should I go spy?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Go.”

“Maybe some of me sources’ll give up details about Goürlav—now that their delegates are dead and all.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said absently, lifting the torch once more. Soon she was lost in the process, working in a frenzy.

“I’m going, Princess.”

Still here? She blew on the last heated section of metal, examining the assembled piece. Pride welled in her chest as she doused her torch. It was just like Daciano’s sketch.

Yet when Salem finally left, a presence remained.





You’re early,” Bettina murmured to Trehan.

She’d sensed I’m here? He appeared fully. “And you’re extraordinary,” he bit out, marveling at her.

She’d been utilizing a soldering flame, her movements precise—and so quick that a mortal wouldn’t have been able to discern her hands.

Her gaze had been one of total focus as her nimble fingers wrought such a formidable weapon. Her eyes were still glowing, her irises sparkling.

A thing of beauty to watch.

When he’d first arrived, his lingering rage over her attack and his marked confusion had felt like two animals clashing inside him. That turmoil had faded as he’d watched her.

She was here, healthy and safe, with him now. The Vrekeners were dead. And she was so f*cking beautiful.

His lessening fury had been replaced with lust. The more he’d watched, the more aroused he’d grown, recalling how those delicate fingers had smoothed over his body just as eagerly.

Had he ever been so hard?

She set the new weapon in a special cradle, then turned to him. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He cleared his throat before saying, “Don’t let me stop you from completing it.”

She seemed at a loss. “I’ve never worked with anyone but the sylph in here.”

“That impudent being who just left?”

She gave him a look that said You have no idea.

That sylph was the one who watched her bathe? A discussion for a later time, Trehan. “Come, Bett, you look like you’re almost finished.” He traced beside her, examining the piece. “Not a single rivet?”

With an aggrieved air, she said, “I’m not a cobbler, Daciano.”

“No, you’re not.” His lips curled. “No vampire has a more talented Bride than I.”

She reached up to straighten her mask, only to realize she wasn’t wearing one. “What about your tour?”

“This workshop is the one place in Rune I longed to see. It’s impressive. Tell me what I’m looking at.”

In a begrudging tone, she said, “That bench is for fabrication, this bench is for assembly. Over there”—she pointed out a third one, topped with a wooden set of antique pocket drawers—“I do detail work: engraving, etching, poison loading.”

He reached for one of the drawers. “Your poison collection?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t touch that without a glove.”

“Ah,” he said, dropping his hand. “You must be at the detail stage.”

“My patroness likes elaborate flourishes. After you leave, I’ll etch designs along the top rings.”

“I know you want to finish the piece now.”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “You could come back in an hour.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not a chance.”

She gazed from him to her project. “There are a lot of things unsaid between us. I have . . . questions.”

“I’ll answer anything you ask me. But indulge me with this.”

Another sideways glance at the weapon.

“So close to completion,” he said in a coaxing tone. “It will be all you think of tonight. I’ll bet this final etching is your favorite part of the process.”