Shadow's Claim

Chapter 46

“Two Sorceri and a sylph walk into a bar,” Bettina muttered as she peeked through a cracked window pane into Erol’s, a Lore watering hole.

Accompanying her this evening were Salem and Sabine: the Queen of Illusions, consort of the rage demon king, and Bettina’s esteemed patroness. The three of them were just outside the entrance of this Louisiana shanty, preparing to go in.

Bettina squinted to see inside, but a valance of cobwebs dangled across the dirt-caked glass. The interior was filmy; smoke from cigars, opium pipes, and intoxibongs steeped the air. No use. She turned from the window.

Sabine flipped her magnificent mane of red curls over one pale shoulder, saying, “I’ve never been the subject of a joke that doesn’t have ‘ . . . viscera!’ as the punch line. But then, the night’s still young.” She ran one of her claw-tipped gauntlets down the bar’s clapboard wall.

From Bettina’s collar, Salem said, “First of all, Salem doesn’t walk. Second? I’d like to actually get into the bar sometime tonight. Third, I’d rather be the subject of a dirty limerick, preferably with the words rising tunic, dick, and lick.”

“How do we even know we’re in the right place?” Bettina asked. The two sorceresses were on a mission to find the soothsayer Nïx the Ever-Knowing, who’d disappeared from Abaddon without a whisper. Salem was tagging along to meet with someone from his phantom network of spies—about a lead on the poisoning case.

The three had just been traced here by one of Rune’s guards, their designated demon for the night. He awaited them in the oyster-shell parking lot, smoking with other drivers.

Behind her wicked leather mask, Sabine rolled her tawny eyes. “Of course, we’re in the right place. Nïx is leading the Vertas, and this is one of their haunts.” She lifted her face and delicately sniffed. “Can you not smell the self-righteousness of all those do-gooders inside?”

Sabine had joined the Vertas because of her adoring demon husband, King Rydstrom the Good; didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

“How do I look?” Bettina asked. Knowing she might meet new allies, she’d taken care with her dress, wearing a slinky bandeau top of gold thread, a jade mask, and matching sarong. A pair of strappy gold sandals with blades in the heels—a new line!—completed the outfit.

For jewelry, she wore her crown, a collar, two armlets, a thighlet, and an anklet—all doubling as weapons.

This was her first return to the mortal realm, and she was prepared for anything, her heart-stopping power at the ready. . . .

Like a fool, Bettina also wore that necklace with Daciano’s wedding ring tucked down in her top. But, alas, her summoning medallion had gone the way of Salem’s copper bell, melted down, its control over her ending forever.

Chin raised imperiously, Sabine said, “You look passable—though not nearly as good as me.” Bettina’s great patroness wore a black miniskirt that matched her thigh-high boots and her mask. Atop her fiery red locks sat a blue-gold crown studded with gems, a present from Rydstrom. Sabine’s solid-gold bustier was engraved to look like dragon scales.

Not bad work, if I say so myself. Well, except for a minor nip slip or two. Or four.

Sabine narrowed her eyes. “Though I am the fairest, you really are wearing the better jewels. Is it wise to outshine your patroness, Queen of Hearts?” Shimmying, she tugged up her bustier. “And you two price-gouged me with this piece.”

“None doin’, Trixie.” Salem took his partnership in the biz very seriously. “We gave you a bang-up deal.”

“I suppose. If you like nip slips.” Sabine sighed, “And, let’s face it, I do.”

Salem said, “While you birds are arguing over who’s the fairest of them all, just know this: I am. Me and me swingin’ dick would put you two to shame. So if you ladies are done tarting yourselves up . . . ?”

“You’re fortunate that I like you,” Sabine began solemnly, “you price-gouging, foul-mouthed, sylphic man-slut. Ah, yes, I like these things about you indeed.” With that, she opened the door.

As they entered, all eyes turned to them: two former Pravus sympathizers in full Sorceri regalia and an invisible sylph.

Conversations halted midsentence. Even the old-fashioned jukebox ran out of quarters at that moment.

Crickets.

Haughty Sabine traipsed deeper inside; Bettina put her shoulders back and followed.

Once conversations and the music resumed, Bettina said, “Do you always get this reaction here?”

“Of course, it’s one of the reasons I continue to return,” Sabine said over one shoulder. “I think of it this way: they stare because fear; they fear because they respect.”

Bettina gazed around the place, supposing Erol’s had a certain charm. Other Loreans seemed to be enjoying themselves. In the back, a foursome of fey threw darts from a good thirty feet away, aiming for a board the diameter of a tankard.

At the bar, several twenty-something Lykae chugged whiskey. Their clothes were stained with mud and blood, and they tossed around a dirty rugby ball. A handsome, slightly older Lykae broke up any roughhousing with a threatening growl.

That jukebox didn’t play the music Bettina normally enjoyed, but at least she was out of the castle for a spell—away from things that reminded her of Daciano.

Such as, oh, everything.

When they passed a table full of nymphs, Salem took notice; Bettina’s collar started to thrum. “Been so long since I got laid, I’m goin’ to be revirginized,” he muttered.

She’d been trying to glean more about his predicament from the secretive sylph. From his offhanded comments, she’d begun to suspect that the phantom had either gotten caught stealing something very valuable—or that he’d scorned a very powerful female.

Still vibrating for the nymphs, he said, “If I didn’t have business to tend to, I’d just pop off for a spot of thigh diving and cleavage nesting. But then, that would be wrong. Wrong. Depraved, even. Immoral . . .”

Stifling a grin, Bettina scouted for the raven-haired Valkyrie. “I don’t see Nïx.”

“We can at least get a lead on her whereabouts,” Sabine answered, her eyes alight with purpose. She was desperate to save her sister Melanthe from the Vrekeners. To that end, the sorceress was determined to find the soothsayer, so she could find . . . Daciano.

Gossip had spread among the Sorceri about the Prince of Shadow, the “Forbearer” who hunted Vrekeners “for fun” and jaunted to Skye Hall “at his leisure.” When Sabine plotted rescue scenarios, they always included Trehan.

Bettina sought the Valkyrie for more selfish reasons. If that pointy-eared creature had already been meddling in her life, and Abaddon’s affairs, then Bettina wanted to know why she’d . . . stopped.

I’d been so close to a life with Daciano.

“Someone here must know where Nïx got to,” Sabine said. “If they’re reluctant to share, we can field-test our weapons.” She flashed the last one Bettina had made: a collapsible wand infused with a jolt of heart-stopping power.

“Oh, no, no. You need to be on your best behavior. If your husband finds out you’re here . . .” Bettina reminded her, adjusting her mask.

Sabine wasn’t listening. She’d stopped in front of a table with her brows raised, telling its demon occupants, “I’m curious as to why you’re sitting at my table.”

If Morgana was like a mesmerizing serpent, a giant king cobra of unfathomable power, then Sabine was like a sleek jungle cat, entrancing but deadly. And she’d just swished her tail.

The demons were burly, each wearing a black jacket embossed with NOLA GHOUL DISPOSAL—obviously a tough and hazardous job; still they fought each other in a beer-tossed wrangle to get away from Sabine.

As the Queen of Illusions, her power was matched only by her lethal reputation.

Salem politely used telekinesis to brush peanut shells off the table. “Ladies . . .”

As they sat, Sabine said, “Rydstrom won’t even know I’m gone. He’s shoring up a damaged dam today, selflessly rescuing demon lives.”

How wonderful that must be—to have a hot, adoring king at home who was busily involved in public works. Bettina had learned that being a single ruler was challenging; now that Abaddon was a hopping, new Lore-ist destination, life could get crazy around the kingdom in a hurry.

It’d be nice to have a partner. . . .

“And besides,” Sabine continued with a glare, “I wouldn’t have to be here if you hadn’t chased off the one mysterious vampire who knows the way to Skye Hall.”

Bettina would never live this down. When she’d told Sabine—who knew much about vampires—the overview of her relationship with Trehan, the sorceress had been incredulous. “You allowed him to claim you, but then you denied him his vampire bite?”

Daciano had been so bent on pleasuring Bettina, on soothing her fears, that he’d agreed to wait until she was ready.

Sabine had gone on to explain, “Do you remember how empty you felt without your power? Well, imagine you’d suffered that lack for lifetimes, but at last you could get it back, little by little—from your mate’s neck. Regrettably, he just didn’t feel like putting out.” Then she’d added the coup de grâce: “His denying his instinct to bite would be like you denying your need to create. No wonder he lost his mind and ditched you.”

Now that Bettina understood more about his kind, her guilt had mounted—even as she’d felt a spark of hope about their future.

Then she’d remembered that she still couldn’t find him.

A shifter waitress sauntered up to the table then. “What’ll you two have?”

“Clearly, we’re Sorceri.” Sabine gestured at her resplendent self. “Ergo, we’d enjoy some Sorceri wine.”

“Don’t got it.”

Sabine quirked a red brow. “Do you not? Check with Erol, shifter. He’ll have an emergency bottle for me—because whenever I arrive, it’s an emergency.” She rapped her claws together. As the shifter scurried off, Sabine advised her, “And never naysay me again.”

Back to business, Sabine asked Bettina, “You still have no reason to expect your vampire to return?”

“I don’t know.” No reason at all. “Maybe?” Never.

Salem snorted. “The vamp basically told her, ‘I’m in a weird place in me life right now, and I need some space.’ Of course he told her that by pointing a bloody sword at her whilst bellowing, ‘I forsake you!’ in front of the entire kingdom.”

Bettina glared down at her collar. But then she admitted, “I think I kind of . . . broke him.” Reflecting over that week, she’d begun to compare Daciano to metal under strain. Lack of blood and sleep had been applied pressure and heat. Apparently, denying his instinct to bite her had been corrosion.

Her plea of mercy? The blow of a smith’s hammer. Broken.

At Bettina’s stricken look, Sabine said, “Listen, Rydstrom and I had a few bumps in the road. Our initial romance consisted of me chaining him in a dungeon and sexually tormenting him. And yet we worked past it.”

“Don’t they make cards for that?” Salem chuckled.

“But Rydstrom wouldn’t let you out of his sight until you were bonded,” Bettina pointed out. “I can’t even locate my male to work things out.”

The waitress returned then with a bottle of wine and fine crystal glasses. Her hand shook as she poured. “Erol s-says this is on the house.”

Sabine blinked at her. “Any reason it wouldn’t be?” Before fleeing headlong, the female backed away three steps, as one would to royalty—which Sabine was.

“And speaking of on the house,” Sabine said, raising her glass, “all my jewels are going to be free until my sister is free.”

“Do you want our fledgling enterprise to go tits-up?” Salem sputtered. “It’s called cost, sorceress. . . .” He trailed off. “Oi! I see my contact. I’ll just go have a quick chin-wag, then.”

Before Bettina could ask more, he’d ghosted away.

“I do like your phantom’s greedy bent,” Sabine said without a thread of sarcasm. “Such a pleasantly mercenary fellow.” She scanned the room once again, meeting eyes with that older wolf at the bar.

The Lykae cast his boisterous companions a warning look, then started wending through the crowd toward her.

Not surprising. Sabine was magnetic.

But a couple of those younger Lykae even raised their glasses to Bettina. She waved and smiled, musing, Why couldn’t I have fallen for a hot young Scot?

An uncomplicated pup who liked to fetch rugby balls?

When the Lykae reached their table and sank his towering frame into a chair beside Sabine, the sorceress barely quirked an eyebrow. “Munro MacRieve, as I live and breathe.”

She knew this gorgeous wolf? He was darkly attractive, with overtly masculine features and molten amber eyes. But his expression was severe. He looked as troubled as Cas had the day he’d left Rune.

Munro inclined his head to Sabine. “Sorceress.” Then he indicated Bettina with a sexy lift of his chin. “And you are?”

“Queen Bettina of the Deathly Ones.” That would never get old.

Munro gave her a nod, then turned to Sabine. “You’ve still no’ found your sister?” he asked with a marked Scottish accent.

Yes, Bettina needed a hot young Scot with a brogue. And soon. The unfortunate part about discovering sex?

Craving it constantly, even when there was no chance of having any.

She decided that if she ever got over Daciano, she was going to put some feelers out.

Sabine gave a curt shake of her head. “My sister’s still missing,” she said with a pointed glare at Bettina. “We’re hoping for an assist from Nïx.”

“All the best with that. I’ve been hunting her up and down this realm. Heard there’s a bluidy mile-long sign-up sheet for her. No, really, it’s supposed to be over five thousand feet long.”

“You seek help with your twin?” Sabine asked. A male that handsome has a twin? “From what I heard, Uilleam’s not exactly rebounding from his torture.”

An expression of pain flashed over the Lykae’s face, his amber eyes flickering the lightest blue. “No, Will has no’ yet recovered.”

Bettina knew that an order of evil humans had abducted and experimented on hundreds of immortals before all their prisoners had escaped. Had Sabine’s sister Melanthe been tortured as well?

Sabine and Munro began speaking in more hushed tones about their siblings. Feeling like an eavesdropper, Bettina turned her chair to survey the denizens of the bar, members of the great Vertas army. There were so many interesting species inside, so much color and spectacle.

But her attention was unerringly drawn to the back, where couples necked on myriad couches. A demon and a nymph were getting particularly busy with wandering hands and long, wet kisses.

Daciano had been an incredible kisser, those firm lips of his so talented. She sighed. Who was she kidding? She was never getting over him.

She’d cleaved.

As ever, she wondered what he was doing. Would he have tried to return to his homeland? Or would he strike out and start a new life altogether?

Nothing was stopping him from finding another female, from wedding another. If she’d thought she’d been jealous over Caspion, the idea of Daciano making love to some gorgeous vampiress made her power flare uncontrollably.

Before Bettina could rein it in, her hands lit up. Her own rattle rattle. Great. Unintentional sorcery use on the mortal plane. “Sabine, we need to start wrapping up here.” Bettina might be prepared to face down Vrekeners if push came to shove, but she’d rather avoid it. “I’ve got to get back to Abaddon.”

Even Sabine, who’d warred with the Vrekeners for centuries, gave them a wide berth. Or at least she had, before Lanthe had been taken.

Munro turned to Bettina with a narrowed gaze and a flash of recognition. “Did you say Abaddon?”

Oh, boy, I can guess where this is going. It seemed like everyone in the Lore had heard about the tournament. “I did.”

At once, his irises glowed that eerie blue. “My clan’s heard tales of what goes on in your demonarchy,” he grated. “One of our own was beheaded there, no? One newly turned?”

“Yes,” Bettina said simply, a habit learned by a vampire.

“Turned human or no, he possessed the Instinct. That made him our brother.”

With a pang, Bettina recalled that Lykae’s last word: Brother.

Munro bit out, “Any reason we shouldn’t retaliate against Abaddon?”

“That male was entered into an irrevocable blood contract,” Bettina said in a steady tone, her palms beginning to glow under the table, power at the ready; Munro dashed a hand over his chest, no doubt wondering why his heart had stuttered. “After that, there was nothing we could do.”

Sabine was watching this exchange like a demon at a kobold toss.

“Who entered him?” Munro demanded.

“A sect of warlocks called Those Best Forgotten. I couldn’t get them out of my kingdom fast enough.”

“Warlocks.” His lips curled in disgust, revealing lengthening fangs. It was no secret that the Lykae distrusted all things magical.

“As a show of goodwill between my kingdom and yours,” Bettina said, “I will give you information we gathered on them. Seems they’re making many more of your kind, turning humans, then using them as slaves. We’ve also got their location.”

“Slaves?” Munro’s dark claws punctured the table. “My clan knows how to find the Forgotten.”

“Good. Then you can ‘retaliate’ against those that deserve it. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter,” she added, just because she could.

“Happy hunting,” Sabine said as Munro levered himself to his feet, his chair clattering behind him as he charged off.

To his crew at the bar, he snapped rough words in Gaelic. They sounded like marching orders.

Each of the young Lykae reacted with aggression, his eyes turning, an image of a wolven creature flashing over him.

When the pack plowed out of the bar, Bettina thought, I could almost feel sorry for Those Best Forgotten. . . .

Sabine faced her with a raised brow. “Oh, Munro just called from the parking lot, mentioned something about wanting his testicles back. What’s gotten into you?”

Bettina shrugged.

“You have all this new confidence, and you don’t fear me anymore. Which begs the question”—Sabine peered intently at her—“am I losing my touch? Or are you finally finding yours?”

“Maybe I am.” I totally am. She felt more comfortable in her own skin, more confident with her rule.

But the aching emptiness she’d felt after losing her power had only been replaced by losing the vampire.

He was her first real love. He would be her last.

Why couldn’t Trehan Daciano be her devotedly hot king, involving himself with public works and demon lifesaving—

Right before her eyes, the bar’s haze of smoke seemed to transform, changing consistency all around them. Loreans grew uneasy. More than one group shuffled, flew, or scampered toward the exit.

“What’s happening?” Sabine demanded.

Bettina could no longer see the sorceress through the haze. She glanced down at her now glittering skin. Speak of the vampire. “He’s . . . here.” She shot to her feet, whirling around.

Daciano!

His skin was even paler now, his build rangier than the last time she’d seen him. He was dressed all in black, like a reaper in a long leather coat. His lips were thinned, his eyes black with emotion.

Rage? Vampiric hunger? Lust?

All she knew was that he was absolutely about to seize her. A male vampire in his prime had come for his Bride.

He disappeared. No, wait—

His strong arms wrapped around her from behind, enveloping her with his scent and heat. At her ear, he rasped, “Miss me, Bride?”

Through the mist, Trehan had gazed at her, a vision in her bold silks and jewels. A demonic-looking crown perched atop shining braids. A dark green mask highlighted her eyes.

He grudgingly admitted that she was even more beautiful than when he’d last seen her.

Life with Caspion must be agreeing with her.

At the thought, Trehan squeezed her tighter. Now she is warm and trembling in my arms. Where she will remain.

Just before he traced her back to Dacia, he glanced over his shoulder at her Sorceri companion. The female darted her eyes blindly, unable to see through the mist, but she looked delighted. “Have fun, Bettina! You two meet me back here in an hour. . . .”

Trehan frowned, then forced his Bride back to his home.

Inside his suite, Bettina staggered back from him. By the way she was staring at his eyes, he knew they were still black.

“Where have you taken me?” She peered around his home with an expression of dawning horror, then rushed to the opened balcony. As she gazed out over the city, she rocked on her feet. “I-I’m in Dacia.”

“Yes.”

Without turning back, she cried, “Why?”

“I’ve been accepted back in. My Bride as well.”

“H-how dare you take me to this place!”

For the thousandth time, he pictured the look on her face as she’d handed him that goblet. “I dare easily.” He traced behind her, inhaling her scent. “You belong to me. And it was time to collect my belongings.”