Shadow's Claim (The Dacians, #1)

by Kresley Cole

“And you are too emotionless.” I haven’t been tonight. Gazing down at Bettina’s eyes, watching them glitter with need, Trehan had been filled with emotion. He hadn’t been emotionless when he’d come in his Bride’s soft hand. . . .

She will hate me forever if I kill him.” “You don’t have a choice.” “And why’s that?” Viktor rolled his eyes. “Because you’re a slave to your duty, to your house.” Over the last millennium, Trehan had sacrificed everything for the good of Dacia. For once in his life, would he have what he desired? “What if I . . . wasn’t?”

“She’s young. Lovely.” Talented, creative, innately sensual. With the sweetest skin I’ve ever imagined.

He took a drink, but found the blood tasteless. Again he wondered what Bettina’s would be like.

He recalled how his fangs had ached to pierce her—completely beyond his control. Like an ungovernable erection. Would he be able to stop himself from tasting her blood if given a second chance? How did other Dacian males keep themselves in check?

If I’d taken Bettina’s memories, what would I have witnessed? Probably scenes of her lusting after Caspion. Trehan just stopped himself from crushing his goblet.

“I didn’t bite her.” He glanced up. “You look disappointed. So eager to see me fall?” “But you wanted to.” Will fantasize about it for the rest of my life.

What are your options with the girl?” “Kill Caspion. Forget her and move on.” As he said the words, they burned like a lie. Forgetting her wasn’t an option. Could he possibly move on? There were so many questions surrounding her, so much to discover. He felt as if he’d read the first page of the most absorbing book he’d ever opened, only to have it slammed shut.

The fighting didn’t factor into his decision whatsoever. If he chose to enter the tournament, he would win. Period. Instead, his thoughts centered on another battle. Could I possibly win Bettina’s affections? On that score, he was much less certain.

If I decide to enter—” “You’ll enter.” “—then I will have spent my entire life in service to the kingdom, only to abandon it in a time of need, for a female who doesn’t even want me!”

Perhaps she simply hadn’t been around other males? She might have bonded with the one given most access to her. Or was this only wishful thinking? He knew his looks didn’t compare to the demon’s—admittedly Caspion was . . . without flaw—but Trehan had other laudable qualities. I’m a good killer. A talented scholar. Fuck. How could she possibly resist?

He reminded himself that she had responded to him. She’d inhaled deeply of his skin, moaning in reaction. She’d moistened her bloodred lips as she’d investigated him with her soft fingertips. She’d murmured in a throaty voice, “My gods, I love your body.” She’d delighted in touching me. If he could seduce her into a similar situation, he could make her realize who’d awakened those feelings in her.

“You’ve obviously got it bad, old man,” Viktor said. “The girl burned a hole in your brain, did she?” Trehan recalled how she’d looked in the throes of passion—her shimmering eyes pleading for more of his touch—and muttered, “A fiery arrow through the fucking temple.” She’d quivered against his hand, so close to coming for him. . . .

Tossing on a robe, she asked Salem, “Got an eyeful again, didn’t you?” Life with a sylph roomie—her resident peeping phanTom—had drilled out much of her modesty.

“I won’t be like this forever. Why, one day I’ll be a real boy! And this gives me much masturbation fodder for the future.”

The first time Bettina had sensed Salem spying, she’d figured if he wanted a peep at small breasts and zero hips . . . knock yourself out. Then she’d found out more about the “notorious” Salem from Morgana and her coterie, who’d known him before his curse. Apparently, Salem had been a ruthless warrior who “dripped sex appeal.”

“Their species is proud, powerful, but they never engage wiv the outside. If a Dacian is seen outside of the realm by an otherlander—that’s what they call us—then he’s mystically forbidden to return. Except for in your case. According to my sources, the Bride of a Dacian is a Dacian, to their way of thinking. So he could go home. But not after he comes for you tonight, before all and sundry.”

If Bettina’s first goal in life was to feel safe, her second was to walk down a busy street and see someone wearing her creations. She’d daydreamed about it, wondering how she’d react. After the incident, she’d changed her focus, designing adornments with a dual purpose—jewelry pieces that doubled as weapons.

Bettina liked to call her work “lethal luxe” or “blood bling.” Salem laughingly deemed them “slaughter chic,” avowing that “Deadly is the new black.”

The only thing greater than the pull of Trehan’s home was his curiosity about his Bride. Yes, he’d decided to return to Rune, but only to fact-find. Or so he kept telling himself. Yet I packed a bag?

he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him, misremembering how good it’d been with Bettina. Those moments of pleasure couldn’t possibly have been as sublime as he thought them. Her clever weapon and drawings couldn’t have been as fascinating.

If he chose Bettina, he’d be leaving behind a millennium’s worth of accumulation—a fortune in gold, his extensive arms collection, artwork, about two hundred thousand books. He’d be leaving behind his history, his very identity.

Of one thing he was certain. I’d kill for another feel of her in my arms.

Kosmina was such a contradiction. She was completely innocent in matters of love and painfully bashful. Her clothing was always demure—today she wore a traditional gown, floor-length with the collar nearly reaching her chin. Yet at the same time she was a mistress of arms—and a merciless killer.

whereas the male cousins traveled outside Dacia, Kosmina had never been beyond its stone borders.

When he’d been younger, he’d longed for his Bride, for a family of his own. As ages whispered past, he’d lost hope. Now he could mate another female and beget young. But children with Bettina . . . Would never see Dacia. Would never grow the House of Shadow.

He still couldn’t believe that his Bride and his niece were about the same age. If some lecherous, centuries-old male lusted for Kosmina, Trehan would gut him so slowly. And still I go to Rune?

Those vendettas defined him. His duty defined him. Without those things . . . I will not be who I was.

Have I been “in stasis”? If so, nothing could upend his entire existence quite like this tournament. A marriage ceremony. Death matches in a stadium. The crown of the Abaddonae. Me, a demon king?

Strangely, the Dacian had gazed at Bettina as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world. Of all the females the vampire had ever met, she had been the only one who could bring him back to life.

And the things he’d told her! For him, Bettina’s eyes hadn’t been promising good things, or even seductive things, but irresistible ones. He hadn’t merely found pleasure with her, he’d savored her “treats” because she’d “delivered.” He hadn’t simply enjoyed her taste; it had maddened him.

Raum had once asked Bettina, “How can you even tell your godmother loves you?” “One, because Morgana keeps visiting me in a realm she hates. Two, because I keep surviving the visits. . . .”

Last night in the dark, her smile had made the vampire’s breath hitch. Why do I keep thinking about him? He’s not returning.

“I’ll feel safer once I get my power back.” Bettina had once been a Queen—not yet a royal one—but a mystical one. A Queen was someone who had better mastery over an element or force than anyone else. She’d been the Queen of Hearts—

“If you don’t approve of your new husband—and really, Bettina, when did you get so persnickety?—make yourself a widow. Bettina the Black Widow! Then you’ll rule all by yourself with no irksome male to influence you. Just as I do.”

But he feared that once he saw her, the need he’d felt last night would redouble, his control faltering. Over and over, he thought, Your Bride or your house? Your female or your kingdom?

There she was. Under the bright arena flames, his dark-eyed halfling looked like his most fevered dream in her jewels and revealing silks. Her dark hair was plaited into shining braids all around her face. Her jade-green mask highlighted her brilliant eyes. First thought: Fuck the kingdom.

Though Bettina seemed oblivious to all the gawking eyes on her, he did not like that most of her body was displayed to a multitude of covetous male gazes. That’s my Bride they lust after.

The last two comments made Trehan’s vision blur with rage, his fangs sharpening uncontrollably. No, be reasonable. This isn’t you— Reasonable? When all he wanted to do was rip out their arteries with his teeth?

Trehan might have resisted his mounting need to claim her, might have resisted the call of her blood. Yet her fear was intolerable to him.

The instinctive need to crush whatever threatened her hammered at him. The need to make her foes die bloody . . .

Gods, he liked the way she walked, liked the way the ends of her hair swayed back and forth just above her taut ass. With each step, a pale, gartered thigh flashed out from underneath her slinky skirt. His swift erection didn’t even surprise him. Nor did his lustful thoughts.

Gods, female, the things I would do to you. . . . I’d rip those garters away with my fangs, your panties too. Then I’d spread your long, svelte legs wide and bury my tongue between them. To claim the kiss he’d hungered for last night . . . Everything about this woman aroused Trehan literally beyond reason.

“Actually, one of them plans to remove all your teeth, so that you can handle his ‘penile girth.’ His words, not mine.” Who the hell had made that remark? Someone soon to die. Entering the tournament would afford Trehan the opportunity.

Trehan wanted to end that mouthy plant. Then I’d enfold her in my arms and tell her that all will be well. He found himself easing closer to her.

It isn’t his right to embrace her. She is mine! Only centuries of honed self-discipline kept Trehan from ripping them apart.

She gave him a wobbly smile, gazing up at the demon with open adoration. Hearing of her affection for Caspion was one thing, seeing it another. Kill him. Trehan’s hand fell to his sword, but before he could act, Caspion traced away with Bettina in tow.

“Yes, the stakes are high, but the rewards are commensurate. The victor will win dominion over the fair princess herself!” Dominion. Trehan nearly growled.

Your female or your kingdom? Trehan stared hard at his Bride, compelled to be near her, to be touching her this very instant.

When she looked up again, her eyes were watering, her little mask askew. Should I protect her, even if she doesn’t want my protection?