Shadow's Claim
Page 71
Yet again, he and Caspion would be in competition. Now that Trehan hadn't been decapitated, his confidence over his offering rose. She'll choose mine. Anyone could give her tickets or riches. But not vengeance.
"I like . . . the tickets best."
"Caspion the Tracker advances to the final round!" Morgana called with fanfare, but no real excitement.
Well-played, demon. The crowd roared, feet stomping the stands. Raum whistled shrilly, whaling his massive hands in applause.
Had Trehan actually thought Bettina would prefer any gift over Caspion's? Two f**king passes to some kind of mortal entertainment.
And now I face Gourlav tomorrow.
"Which gift is your runner-up, Princess?" Morgana asked.
Bettina sounded sick as she said, "The . . . heads."
Face Gourlav, have Bettina take me on a tour?
Any night of the week.
Trehan might die in the ring. He'd be damned if his Bride didn't send him off with a smile on his face.
Bettina's gaze kept straying to the Vrekener heads. Just looking at them provoked so many emotions inside her-fear, revulsion, yet there was also relief.
She'd reasoned, I would pay Gourlav's wagon of gold for those heads. Which means Daciano should earn the runner-up spot.
Points deducted for presentation, though. Their glassy eyes seemed to be staring at her accusingly.
She shuddered, her stomach churning even worse. Need to get off this stage. Before she humiliated herself in front of everyone. . . .
"Excellent!" Morgana called. "Gourlav the Father of Terrors will meet the Prince of Shadow in the semifinals. The winner will face Caspion the Tracker of Abaddon on the night of the full moon. This eve's festivities have ended. You may leave. Now."
At that, spectators scrambled away.
When Morgana's floating swords disappeared, the three surviving competitors stood.
Cas traced to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. She quaked beneath his grip.
Too much to process. Aside from the shocking development of the Vrekeners' deaths, Bettina was rocked by the outcome of this round. Because of her choices, three entrants were dead, the fates of three others altered irretrievably.
Some part of her truly must have thought she could take out Gourlav with her lady's choice. He remained, and he was seemingly unbeatable in the ring. Which meant . . .
The vampire will die tomorrow.
Cas will die the next night.
I will wed a monster.
Too much-
"What is this runner-up tour, Morgana?" Raum demanded, hurtling toward battle-ax mode.
Matching his tone, she said, "It's a done thing, demon. Challenge me not."
"Sending m'girl off with that strange leech. I won't have it!"
Daciano traced to the grandstand at that moment. The vampire stood silently, gazing at Bettina with concern, a question in his eyes.
All sweetness and light, Morgana said, "Ah, the gentleman vampire comes calling. Why don't you meet her in an hour or so, Prince? Give her time to decompress. In the meantime," she casually continued, "we must go sort out a petty family squabble. Never fear, I have every hope that at least two of us will survive it."
To let her go now? Trehan had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. Standing this close to his Bride after remaining away so long was punishing.
He wanted to hold her, to demand to know her thoughts.
As if Morgana could read his own, she cast him a foreboding look. "One hour, Prince."
Trehan decided he'd heed Morgana's warning, but only because he had work to do in the interim. Tonight he intended to show Bettina other benefits of a blood connection-namely that he could provide anything that she needed or desired, without her even having to ask.
Again Trehan's plan had transitioned. Capitalize on her passion; eliminate her fear.
"Back to my quarters, Caspion"-Raum reached for Bettina, then an indignant Morgana-"we're away."
"Get your paws off me, you oaf-"
The sorceress's words were left hanging as Raum traced them. Caspion scowled at Trehan, then followed them. He was considered part of the family?
She's my f**king Bride. Decreed by fate! I am her family, with a tie greater than any of those three. This would be the slowest sixty minutes of eternity.
An hour of wondering what they were telling Bettina. Probably browbeating her as he'd seen in dreams.
An hour of wondering how she felt about his gift.
She didn't like his offering best. But she hadn't liked it least either. Not a success, nor a failure. Gods, that female confused him!
Confusion? Another feeling he was unaccustomed to.
Coupled with that, he still battled rage over his dream of her attack. Backsliding.
Focus, Trehan. You've so little time.
He'd scarcely thought of his own fate tomorrow night. He was scheduled to fight an adversary stronger and faster than any he'd ever faced. One he dared not injure.
And if he lost, he'd have to depend on his cousins to get Bettina away from the primordial.
Best not lose.
Trehan traced to his tent, collecting another item he'd taken from Skye Hall today, the plain black staff. He needed assistance with it. Luckily, Trehan knew of a blind mystic of great power.
Without delay, he traced from Abaddon to a windy, lightning-lit realm, appearing in the mystic's modest shop.
Trusting another with this piece would be a risk. With no other choice, Trehan held out the staff for the mystic to feel.
The male glided his fingertips over the wood, raising his brows in shock.
"I like . . . the tickets best."
"Caspion the Tracker advances to the final round!" Morgana called with fanfare, but no real excitement.
Well-played, demon. The crowd roared, feet stomping the stands. Raum whistled shrilly, whaling his massive hands in applause.
Had Trehan actually thought Bettina would prefer any gift over Caspion's? Two f**king passes to some kind of mortal entertainment.
And now I face Gourlav tomorrow.
"Which gift is your runner-up, Princess?" Morgana asked.
Bettina sounded sick as she said, "The . . . heads."
Face Gourlav, have Bettina take me on a tour?
Any night of the week.
Trehan might die in the ring. He'd be damned if his Bride didn't send him off with a smile on his face.
Bettina's gaze kept straying to the Vrekener heads. Just looking at them provoked so many emotions inside her-fear, revulsion, yet there was also relief.
She'd reasoned, I would pay Gourlav's wagon of gold for those heads. Which means Daciano should earn the runner-up spot.
Points deducted for presentation, though. Their glassy eyes seemed to be staring at her accusingly.
She shuddered, her stomach churning even worse. Need to get off this stage. Before she humiliated herself in front of everyone. . . .
"Excellent!" Morgana called. "Gourlav the Father of Terrors will meet the Prince of Shadow in the semifinals. The winner will face Caspion the Tracker of Abaddon on the night of the full moon. This eve's festivities have ended. You may leave. Now."
At that, spectators scrambled away.
When Morgana's floating swords disappeared, the three surviving competitors stood.
Cas traced to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. She quaked beneath his grip.
Too much to process. Aside from the shocking development of the Vrekeners' deaths, Bettina was rocked by the outcome of this round. Because of her choices, three entrants were dead, the fates of three others altered irretrievably.
Some part of her truly must have thought she could take out Gourlav with her lady's choice. He remained, and he was seemingly unbeatable in the ring. Which meant . . .
The vampire will die tomorrow.
Cas will die the next night.
I will wed a monster.
Too much-
"What is this runner-up tour, Morgana?" Raum demanded, hurtling toward battle-ax mode.
Matching his tone, she said, "It's a done thing, demon. Challenge me not."
"Sending m'girl off with that strange leech. I won't have it!"
Daciano traced to the grandstand at that moment. The vampire stood silently, gazing at Bettina with concern, a question in his eyes.
All sweetness and light, Morgana said, "Ah, the gentleman vampire comes calling. Why don't you meet her in an hour or so, Prince? Give her time to decompress. In the meantime," she casually continued, "we must go sort out a petty family squabble. Never fear, I have every hope that at least two of us will survive it."
To let her go now? Trehan had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. Standing this close to his Bride after remaining away so long was punishing.
He wanted to hold her, to demand to know her thoughts.
As if Morgana could read his own, she cast him a foreboding look. "One hour, Prince."
Trehan decided he'd heed Morgana's warning, but only because he had work to do in the interim. Tonight he intended to show Bettina other benefits of a blood connection-namely that he could provide anything that she needed or desired, without her even having to ask.
Again Trehan's plan had transitioned. Capitalize on her passion; eliminate her fear.
"Back to my quarters, Caspion"-Raum reached for Bettina, then an indignant Morgana-"we're away."
"Get your paws off me, you oaf-"
The sorceress's words were left hanging as Raum traced them. Caspion scowled at Trehan, then followed them. He was considered part of the family?
She's my f**king Bride. Decreed by fate! I am her family, with a tie greater than any of those three. This would be the slowest sixty minutes of eternity.
An hour of wondering what they were telling Bettina. Probably browbeating her as he'd seen in dreams.
An hour of wondering how she felt about his gift.
She didn't like his offering best. But she hadn't liked it least either. Not a success, nor a failure. Gods, that female confused him!
Confusion? Another feeling he was unaccustomed to.
Coupled with that, he still battled rage over his dream of her attack. Backsliding.
Focus, Trehan. You've so little time.
He'd scarcely thought of his own fate tomorrow night. He was scheduled to fight an adversary stronger and faster than any he'd ever faced. One he dared not injure.
And if he lost, he'd have to depend on his cousins to get Bettina away from the primordial.
Best not lose.
Trehan traced to his tent, collecting another item he'd taken from Skye Hall today, the plain black staff. He needed assistance with it. Luckily, Trehan knew of a blind mystic of great power.
Without delay, he traced from Abaddon to a windy, lightning-lit realm, appearing in the mystic's modest shop.
Trusting another with this piece would be a risk. With no other choice, Trehan held out the staff for the mystic to feel.
The male glided his fingertips over the wood, raising his brows in shock.
