Shadow's Claim

"Tell me who hurt you."

"You've known me for twenty-four hours. Yet you're willing to wade into danger, risking your life to avenge me?"

"Yes."

"I'm not a vampire. I can't wrap my mind around this spontaneous protectiveness."

"That part is not much different from a demon's mate."

Apparently, I don't get that either.

"Twenty-two years ago, my Bride was born. For two decades she's been without my protection. From what I can glean, that span of years has been treacherous for her. Simply put: someone hurt her-I need to make that being suffer in unspeakable ways."

Daciano's strength and will were nearly palpable, a heady combination. She finally understood why some women were hopelessly attracted to dangerous men. Not that she was. But she could see it.

"Can your power be returned to you?" he asked.

"Morgana has promised to do just that before I wed."

"A condition of this tournament? But isn't she worried about who the victor might be?"

"She doesn't see the horrific ones as . . . horrific. I just know that this tournament is very important to her." Bettina had begun to suspect that there was more to this entire event than she could fathom. Was this a Lore power play, a twist in the great Accession?

Were they all cogs in a wheel? And if so, who was turning the crank?

"Does your godmother possess your power now?"

I'm losing faith that she'll find it. Bettina shrugged.

"So she doesn't. What if I returned it to you?" he asked, his eyes flickering green to onyx once more. Apparently, he was keen on this idea. "And then I could punish those foolish enough to harm you. Give me direction, and they will die bloody."

Die bloody. How tempting. She imagined each of those four Vrekeners squirming on the ground in his own blood, voice hoarse from screams. Would they beg for mercy as she had?

But she had no names, no direction to give Daciano. Besides, she'd never tell the vampire what had happened to her. It wasn't his business-and it was humiliating. "I can't talk . . . I won't talk about it."

"Just tell me-was it a sorcerer who struck against you?"

"I'm under Morgana's protection; no Sorceri would dare. And if a sorcerer had stolen my power, then I'd be an Inferi, a slave." Because of Bettina's halfling lineage, it was possible for her to be both a demon royal-and a Sorceri slave.

"Vrekeners hunt your kind."

"They do. Have forever . . ." she murmured, her thoughts shuttling back to that night.

Early in the attack, the leader had used that scythe of black flames to siphon away her power. She recalled thinking, At least they aren't planning to kill me, wouldn't go to this trouble.

Then she'd remembered: they would steal her sorcery just to prevent it from being reincarnated into a newborn Sorceri upon Bettina's death.

Once the leader had finished stripping her of her power, he'd roared, "Your kind killed my father, crippled my brother forever!" as he'd launched his boot into her face.

She shuddered now, and Daciano noticed.

"You might as well tell me, Bettina. Eventually I will find out."

Refusing to have more of her past laid bare, she inhaled for calm, then attempted to steer the conversation back to the tournament. "You assume you'll be alive that long? You could meet up with Gourlav tomorrow. I heard his blood spawns monsters."

The vampire gave her an indulgent look. "I'll deal with Gourlav when the time comes."

"How can you be so confident? You're not invincible," she said, hoping she sounded natural. If she had to tolerate Daciano's interrogation, she might as well help Cas. "You're not without weaknesses."

"No, I'm not. Nor am I inclined to discuss any with you so you can relay them directly to Caspion."

She flushed guiltily.

"Bettina, you don't have to reveal details, just tell me where to hunt."

A place hidden in the heavens that no demon-or vampire-has ever reached! A place protected from all sorcery! Bettina stood. Enough of this. She set her glass on his desk, then headed toward the door.

"Wait, woman." He traced in front of her, blocking the exit.

"Already I don't want to be here. I don't want to be with you. And you just keep digging."

"At least tell me if you're still in danger."

"That's more digging!"

He inhaled deeply. "I find myself in a position I've never been in before. I'm besieged by . . . instinct. And you are the focus of it."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I need to kill. For unending years, I was naught but death, with no judgment, only duty. But now . . ."

"But now we're done talking about my past, or I'm leaving."

He parted his lips to say something, thought better of it, then said, "Very well." He ushered her back to the divan, handing her drink to her and reclaiming his own. "What would you like to speak of? I'll accommodate you."

"You know more about me than I'd supposed. I know very little about you and your kind."

Another slight frown. "I'm not used to explaining what I am. Unless it's to someone I'm about to kill. And what I have been for over nine hundred years has changed drastically in the last twenty-four hours."

Cas had said that Daciano was at least eight centuries old. But to hear it from the vampire's own lips . . . "You're over forty times my age?"