Shadow's Claim

Chapter 45

Though Trehan sat in his favorite chair with a book in hand, he couldn’t read it.

So he stared into the flames.

Just as before, he took pleasure in nothing. A shade with a stupefying existence. Over the last several weeks, his pain had proved so unflagging and pervasive that it had grown into a raw sort of numbness. . . .

For his service in helping to save Lothaire’s life, Trehan had been allowed back into Dacia. Perhaps he oughtn’t to have bothered. Away from Bettina, his mind had only gotten worse—concentration nil, reason and logic absent.

But his body had eventually recovered, and it hungered for hers without cease.

The whispers among the Daci resumed. Everyone knew he’d left their realm, found his otherlander Bride—only to be betrayed in some way by her—then returned.

Those whispers held that he was even worse of a shade than before. And they were right. About all of it.

“Take another female,” Viktor had advised, which just confirmed that he had not been blooded. Or else he’d know how ridiculous that sounded.

Bettina had awakened Trehan to experiences he never would have known. She’d given him life.

His body was hers, his seed was hers. He could never give either to another female.

They’d already been claimed. He had already been claimed. Then discarded.

Which left him alone, with a book in his lap, staring at the flames. . . .

“Good gloaming, Uncle!” Kosmina said as she traced into his sitting room. “I bring a message from Lothaire.”

The newly crowned—and completely unhinged—king of Dacia.

Lothaire had turned out to be a ruthless dictator, prone to rages, with alternating bouts of lunacy and lucidity—more of the latter now that he’d reconciled with his Bride. Indeed she had nearly decapitated Lothaire, by accident.

It’d taken Lothaire weeks to realize that. Before that epiphany, when he’d been separated from his Bride, he’d lashed out at his cousins, Trehan included.

At one point, Lothaire had clawed his own heart out of his chest and sent it to Elizabeth in a box.

Trehan laid his book aside and rose. “What does he want now?”

Of all the cousins, Trehan understood Lothaire best—because I’m dancing at the edge of sanity myself. Kosmina, however, liked Lothaire best. She thought he was exciting and misunderstood and believed his love affair with Elizabeth was the stuff of legend. “He’s summoned you to court.”

“Has he, then?” Like some common subject. It rankled. Twice over, Trehan could have been a king. Now he regretted not seizing this throne.

Kosmina nodded brightly. “I told him I’d bring you straight away.”

Straight away? Suddenly Trehan found himself in the mood for a leisurely stroll.

“You’re walking?” she asked. “May I go with you?”

“I don’t think I’m good company, but I don’t object.”

Once they’d exited the library and started along a misty cobblestone street, Kosmina said, “Wait till you see the castle, Uncle. Queen Elizabeth has been busy!” His niece was delighted by all the changes in their realm. As she’d told Trehan, “We don’t have to hate each other anymore! I can visit you without worrying if my brother will try to kill you for it.”

For eons, the great black castle had lain empty with echoing halls. No longer. Ever since Lothaire and Elizabeth had reconciled and begun their new rule, it had been in a continual state of upheaval.

As soon as Trehan and Kosmina made their way through the castle’s towering gold doors, they were met with chaos.

Servants flitted all around them, tracing furniture and decorations. Some mongrel-looking canine chased them, baying with impatience. A vividly decorated Christmas tree stood in each alcove.

“Elizabeth said we’ll have ‘Christmas’ year-round and decorate with only the choicest adornments!” Kosmina explained. “I don’t know what Cracker Barrel is, but its wares are of great importance to our queen.”

As Trehan took in the mayhem surrounding him, he wondered how Bettina would view the scene. What would she see? What could her beautiful eyes alone descry?

There was no higher sensibility inside Trehan—he’d needed her for that.

“You grieve for her,” Kosmina said softly.

He stiffened. “I’ve told you I don’t want to discuss this with you.”

She and Elizabeth had been haranguing him to return for his Bride.

He hadn’t been able tell them that Bettina loved another, had found it impossible to utter the words: My Bride chose a demon over me. My Bride nearly broke me with her duplicity. My mind is not well, and I don’t know how to fix it.

In a wry tone, Kosmina said, “I’d tell you I won’t bring it up again, Uncle, but it would be a lie.”

“The situation’s complicated. One day I’ll explain it.” When you’re three hundred years old. Changing the subject, he said, “Any idea what Lothaire wants?”

“None. But he’s lucid today,” she said happily.

The last time Lothaire had appeared even remotely so, Trehan had attempted to give the king an overview of the family and the houses, outlining the last three millennia of their secret history.

“Five houses?” Lothaire had sneered, cutting Trehan off. “You all live under one roof now. Mine. Because I’m the king of the castle.” Then his red eyes had grown vacant, and he’d begun muttering about “Lizvetta’s lingerie.”

Trehan had been . . . underwhelmed by the Enemy of Old’s attention span.

Now Trehan said to Kosmina, “Even when he’s lucid, Lothaire doesn’t exactly personify the traits of his house.” He was descended from the king’s line, the most ancient one, known for its wisdom.

Wisdom? Lothaire couldn’t be bothered even to hear about his vaunted house.

“Every day he gets better, Uncle! And guess what else. Lothaire and Elizabeth want me to journey . . . outside.”

“Pardon?”

“He wants me to undertake a mission for the kingdom.”

“What kind of mission?”

“To infiltrate a covey of nymphs in a place called Louisiana!” she said in a breathless voice. “I don’t know exactly why. He just said the task would be ‘eye-opening’ for someone like me.”

Infiltrate a covey? Over my dead body. Kosmina would perish of shock before the plague ever touched her.

In addition to all his faults, their new king had a twisted sense of humor. “We’ll discuss this later.” Again, when you’re three hundred. His voice must have been harsh because she paled.

Anger always at the ready, Trehan? Striving for an even tone, he said, “There’s no need to rush into these things, Kosmina. One change at a time, then?”

“Oh. Of course, Uncle.” Wisely, she didn’t press the subject.

At the great entrance to the court, she gave him an encouraging nod, then traced away.

When Trehan entered the enormous space, Lothaire was sitting in his throne with Elizabeth upon his lap—she rarely sat in her own, a feminine version of Lothaire’s.

The new king had scrapped the ancient and revered thrones of their forebears and designed new ones. Each was decorated with gold-dipped skulls, only Elizabeth’s skulls were “daintier.”

The two regents were sickeningly in love. As usual, they were deep in conversation, taking little notice of the world around them; Lothaire stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, while she brushed his light hair from his forehead.

Can’t touch each other enough. Trehan had been that way with Bettina.

Though Lothaire had proved difficult, Elizabeth was intelligent, amusing, and friendly. She was already learning Dacian and had taken her new immortality in stride. She also kept Lothaire in check.

Just yesterday he’d announced to the court that he would like to “go kill something. Anything!”

Running her forefinger over his chest, Elizabeth had purred in her mountain accent, “Let’s go kill time, baby. In our bedroom.”

Lothaire’s eyes had flashed red, and he’d traced her away in an instant.

Now he told her, “The question remains . . . do we open the gates of Dacia?” He yearned to announce Dacia’s presence to the Lore. In one of his bouts of madness, he’d railed, “A king of a kingdom no one fucking knows about! I’m the tree in the forest that silently falls—when no one is around to be crushed!”

Lothaire looped both arms around her, tucking her even closer to him. “I want your opinion, Lizvetta.”

“You’re only askin’ ’cause you’re afraid I’ll cut off your head again.”

“Just so. But I also like how your tricky mind works.”

“I think we should have a soft opening,” she said. “You know, like they do with fancy restaurants.”

He tapped his chin with a black claw. “Soft opening. Yes.”

“We could keep folks, I don’t know, quarantined when they come in. Make sure that vampire plague doesn’t hitch a ride inside.”

In a move that would have pulverized Elizabeth as a mortal, Lothaire yanked her even tighter to his chest. “My wise little hellbilly.”

“Shut it, Leo.” She’d nicknamed him that, an acronym for his name. He was one of the most feared fiends in all the Lore—and yet she ribbed him with ease.

Lothaire, in turn, loved it.

They were about to kiss when Trehan cleared his throat.

“Ah, Cousin Trehan.” Though Lothaire’s red eyes were uncanny, today he looked rational—and very cunning.

“I’ll let you two boys chat.” Elizabeth extricated herself from his arms, earning a growl of displeasure. “And once you’re done, Leo, come on up and see me.” She winked and began sauntering toward the exit; like a male possessed, Lothaire rose to follow her.

Then, making a visible effort to restrain himself, he sat once more. “I know what you’re thinking, Cousin. Lothaire keeps a tight rein on her,” he said, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Indeed I do.”

From the anteroom: “Oh, please! I’ve got you locked down tighter than a gopher’s ass in flood season. And we both know it!”

Lothaire gazed with utter longing in Elizabeth’s direction before turning to Trehan. “She’ll pay for that comment later.”

“Brang it, Leo.”

“Let’s be quick about this, Trehan, because I’m about to—as my beloved Bride likes to put it—get laid.” Steepling his fingers, he began, “Your occupation for centuries has been to track Dacian fugitives as the official royal killer, or some such. Know that if we open the kingdom, your position will be downsized.”

As if Trehan gave a damn about that.

“It’s a new economy here in the Realm of Blood and Mist. Some fortunes will rise, some will fall. Perhaps you should reconsider your lead on that Abaddon job?”

“I have no interest in this topic,” Trehan said stonily, wondering how Lothaire had found out about Abaddon. Probably Stelian. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Yes, there’s another matter. You are related to me by blood and, like me, are a Dacian royal.”

“So?”

“So that means your ridiculous behavior reflects upon me.”

“What are you talking about? My ridiculous behavior?”

In the short time Lothaire had been king, he’d already lost a soothsayer within the realm, destroyed the council room, and lashed out against all the cousins, crushing Viktor’s skull in a vicious attack. Viktor still railed over the insult.

And earlier, one of Trehan’s assassins had brought word that Lothaire might have secretly abducted the Forbearer vampire king, to settle some age-old vendetta.

Gods help us. “I’ve done nothing to warrant this summoning, Lothaire. I keep to my library—and to myself.”

“Exactly. You sit in your room and stroke off to memories of your Bride.”

Trehan ground his teeth, unable to deny this. “And you’ve been spying on me?”

“Of course. I spy on everyone. Why would you be any different?” he asked in all seriousness. “Not that I needed to in order to know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. You’re weak in body and spirit, as if the most insidious illness festers inside you. You can’t drink, can’t sleep. Your chest aches as if it’d been gouged to the spine. And when you envision the future without your Bride, all you see is a great yawning nothingness.”

“Yes,” Trehan rasped in surprise. “Yes, that is it precisely.”

Lothaire truly was the scion of his house, the one of wisdom and history. The House of Old.

“Ah, Cousin, there was a reason I clawed out my heart and sent it to Elizabeth.” Gazing past Trehan, Lothaire said, more to himself, “It hurt less outside my chest.” He returned his attention to the conversation. “So I’ll pass on some advice I received. Perhaps it will help you as well.”

“I’m listening,” Trehan said quickly. Anything to end this anguish—

“Stop being a pussy, and go retrieve her.”

So much for wise! Trehan’s fangs sharpened. “You don’t understand the dynamics of my situation!”

“Explain them,” Lothaire demanded, beginning to lose his temper as well. “How bad can it be? As your king, I command you to answer. And you vowed an oath of fealty to me.”

Trehan had no choice but to respond. “My Bride poisoned me so that I would lose a match against the demon male she loves.”

Lothaire hiked his shoulders. “So?”

“Did you not hear me? She dumped toxins into a goblet of blood, then handed it to me, urging me to drink. Then she disqualified me from a tournament I was sure to win. She removed herself from my reach forever. To add insult to injury, she wielded her Sorceri power—against me—to protect the demon.”

And even now Trehan craved her. Comoara mea. Gone.

“Lizvetta nearly decapitated me. And look how happy we are.”

“Queen Elizabeth accidentally struck against you with her new immortal strength. My Bride deliberately tricked me.”

“Who doesn’t have petty spats during courtship? So fucking what?”

“So she doesn’t fucking want me!” There. The words said out loud.

Lothaire roared back, “She doesn’t get a godsdamned say in the matter!”

Trehan’s brows drew together. “What are you advising—that I abduct her? As you recently did the Forbearer king? And your Bride before him?”

Lothaire snapped his fingers. “Exactly!”

He doesn’t deny capturing the king? In the past, this news would have jarred Trehan. Now he could think of naught else but Bettina. “What’s your interest in my life anyway? You couldn’t care less about the rest of your family.”

“Your Bride is a princess of Dacia. Are you going to allow a demon to rut betwixt her thighs? Not to be borne! If you won’t put your house in order, I vow to you I will!”

House? Had Lothaire meant that in a general sense? Or has he actually been listening? Then his other words sunk in. “You push too far, Enemy of Old! Bloodlust has enfeebled your brain—”

“Look in the mirror, Cousin. Look at your pale face and your eyes black with wrath. What amazes me is that you actually wonder why your mind’s declining. I’ll bet you didn’t mark your Bride’s neck when you claimed her. Denied your instinct, did you? Then prepare for punishment.”

Trehan fell back on an old argument. “Dacians don’t drink from the flesh. We don’t pierce other creatures!” No matter how seductive Bettina’s flesh had been, Trehan had withstood its call.

No matter how wrong it had felt to deny himself and his Bride—as if he were letting them both down.

“You’re a blooded Dacian in his prime, but you believe yourself above the most natural drives a vampire can have?” Lothaire smirked. “Above such ‘savage’ urges? It’s laughable that you Daci shun a vampire’s most basic need.”

That need had felt basic and natural—and savage—all at the same time. “Should I become red-eyed like you?”

“As if you could! Do you know how many Loreans I had to tap to get like this? The sheer variety and quantity would astound you. Merely tippling from your toothsome Bride isn’t going to do it.” Lothaire rolled those red eyes. “Fool, you are supposed to mark her! You are supposed to drink from her!”

I know this, I felt this!

“If I have to instruct each of my cousins how to truly live as vampires, then I will.” Lothaire steepled his fingers once again, his eyes swirling with crimson. “I’m the Enemy of Old, from the House of Old,” he added with a sneer, “and my kinsmen each have lessons to learn from me.”

So much for his underwhelming attention span.

“Mark my words, Trehan. You will all learn from me—though you won’t like how I deliver my teachings. Now put your house in order!” Without a final look in Trehan’s direction, he traced away.

Breaths shallowing, mind in turmoil, Trehan returned to the library, standing before his lonely fire.

Maybe Caspion had pressured Bettina into tainting the blood. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to betray him.

Not logical. She possessed the poison, she’d handed him the goblet, she’d bidden Trehan to drink. She doesn’t want me.

Which is too bad. He withdrew his scry talisman. Since she doesn’t get a godsdamned say.

No longer would Trehan deny himself what he desired—no longer would his savage hunger go unsated. He’d rise up from the ground like a true shade and seize the female who haunted him. . . .