Shadow's Claim

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. . . .

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 Nix 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. Nix 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.