Kresley Cole - Shadow's Claim

THREE MONTHS LATER

“ Bettina, you don’t understand,” Caspion muttered as he gazed out into the night. He clutched the balcony rail with one hand and a silver mug of demon brew with the other. “I’ve done something that I can’t undo, something that even I can’t talk my way out of.”

Bettina stood beside him at the rail, drink in hand as well. “Oh, for gold’s sake, what could possibly be so bad?”

Bad was recovering for months from a savage beating, then returning to “olden ways.”

Bad was being offered up as a tournament prize by one’s godparents.

“Can you not relax, Cas? Enjoy the night and tell me what worries you.” Though her apartments in one of Castle Rune’s great spires were now a sort of jail, the view couldn’t be beaten.

Her balcony circled the entire spire and was elevated above the fog that swathed the medieval town of Rune below. From here, she and Caspion could see the tops of the giant moonraker trees that stretched from the marsh five hundred feet into the air. Bats jagged in front of the waxing moon.

The setting was as romantic as she could have hoped. Sidling closer to Cas, she basked in the warmth emanating from his big warrior’s body. But he exhaled wearily, taking a drink from his mug, his troubled gaze fixed below him.

As an adult death demon, Cas could see in the dark, could even penetrate Rune’s infamous fog bank. What was he watching for? Why was he nervous?

She hated seeing her soon-to-be lover in this condition. His eyes were bloodshot, his golden hair disheveled. Fatigue was etched into his normally flawless face.

“Surely my predicament must be worse than yours.” She was about to be married off to whichever “suitor” prevailed in the upcoming tournament for her hand. Unless I seduce Cas tonight . . . “Did you get caught bedding another nobleman’s daughter?” she asked, biting back her jealousy. Caspion was legendary for his conquests.

“If only that was all.” He downed his brew.

So Bettina drained her mug as well, coughing as she finished. She’d never had more than a few sips of this potent concoction before tonight, preferring lighter Sorceri wines. But she was on a mission, would do anything to achieve it.

“Easy, girl,” Cas said with a ghost of his usual heartbreaking grin. “That drink gains on you with each drop.”

Eyes watering, she forced a smile. “It tastes so . . . different.” Like fermented ghoul urine, I imagine.

Bettina knew that this brew left one relatively sober up to a tipping point, beyond which sudden drunkenness ensued. Then one became tore up from the floor up, as her snarky new servant would say.

Hey, as long as Cas was drunk with her. “I’d love some more, darling. Let’s go back inside.” Back to my softly lit apartments and cozy settee.

“A final cup, then,” he muttered, turning toward her sitting area.

Inside her spire, all twelve rooms were filled with imported silks and antiques, adorned with flame chandeliers of the finest crystal. Everything was luxurious, polished splendor.

Well, everything except the small, dented copper bell on her coffee table. . . .

After pouring them another round, Cas sank down on the settee, raking his fingers through his curling hair.

She joined him there, gazing at his handsome visage and muscled frame with a sigh of appreciation.

Standing more than six and a half feet tall, he towered over her five-and-a-half-foot height. His eyes were a hypnotic blue, turning stormy black with strong emotions. His proud horns were the ideal size, curving back along his fair head like a Grecian wreath. He kept them polished; they glinted like amber in the candlelight of her room.

He had sublime features—a strong chin, broad cheekbones, and full, kissable lips. She could only imagine how incredible those lips would feel against her own. They’d never kissed, had never touched beyond a hug.

She’d fallen for Caspion from the moment she’d first seen him ten years ago, when she’d been only twelve. Her beloved sire, King Mathar, had just died, and she and Raum had been presiding over Abaddon’s royal court. Or at least Raum had been presiding, reluctantly.

Just three years older than Bettina, Cas had come striding into the chamber, dashing in his armor. All conversation had stopped, the crowd parting as he’d offered a bound bounty—one of her realm’s most feared foes.

He didn’t present it to Raum. But to her.

She’d still been in the depths of grief, feeling all alone, like a hornless Sorceri imposter who would never belong among the martial Abaddonae. But then a ray of sun had caught Caspion, highlighting those blond locks, setting his eyes aglow. Like a sign.

And she’d known that her life would never be the same.

Besides the fact that they were both orphans, they’d had little in common. She’d been a wealthy royal, treated like a fragile porcelain doll; he’d been found in an alley as a downy-horned toddler and had grown up begging in the streets. She’d been filled with self-doubt, wondering how a peculiar halfling like her could ever be queen; he’d been bold and brash, determined to make his mark, to earn the respect of the Abaddonae.

And yet the unlikeliest of friendships had blossomed. After that first day, she’d followed Caspion everywhere.

In the years to come, he’d routinely sneaked her offplane, teleporting her to the world of mortals so they could discover those new lands together. He’d eventually taken her on his less dangerous bounty hunts, while she’d marveled at his talent in tracking his prey.

They’d shared each other’s secrets: his continual sexual dalliances; her modern ideals and fears about assuming the crown once she came of age and was wed.

Yet after all they’d been through together, Cas still considered her his best friend and nothing more. Perhaps this was because her looks weren’t on par with his—or demonic in the least. Her features were most often described as “elfin.” One problem: she wasn’t an elf.

Maybe her breasts were just too small. She glanced down, briefly glaring at them.

Didn’t matter. For all her physical shortcomings, tonight she would attempt to change her friendship with Cas, to elevate it.

In preparation, she’d extinguished the chandeliers and lit a few candles throughout the rooms. She’d procured several jugs of demon brew, then dismissed the guards stationed outside her door.

And she’d dressed for the occasion.

“Won’t you tell me what’s going on, my darling?” she asked, edging closer. “You always trust me with your secrets. You know I’ll keep them forever.”

“My problem doesn’t concern you,” he said, absently rubbing his throat. “It mustn’t.”

“Hmm. Very well.” She’d try another tack. “You haven’t complimented me on my outfit.” Bettina had grown accustomed to the jeans, sandals, and T-shirts she’d worn during her two-semester stint at college, but in Abaddon, she’d returned to dressing as her foremothers had.

In other words, she’d clad herself in provocative clothes, plaited her dark hair into wild, disordered braids, and donned as much gold jewelry as her body could carry.

As was the Sorceri way, she also wore a mask. The scarlet silk was a thin band around her eyes, making their color stand out—champagne-brown irises circled with a ring of black. According to her godmother, Morgana, her wide eyes were her best feature.

But now Cas barely spared a glance at her red lace-up bodice or her skimpy black skirt with slits up to her hips. The thigh-high boots encasing her legs in soft leather evoked no reaction. He said nothing about the gold armlets winding up each arm, the matching collar around her neck, or the diadem perched upon her head.