Kresley Cole - Shadow's Claim

Staring past her, he muttered, “The Prince of Shadow. The most soulless bastard I’ve ever met. He comes in the mist, an assassin without equal. To be targeted by him is to be as good as dead.”

“No! We’ll fight this male. I’ll sic the entire army on him, place a bounty on his head! What type of Lorean is he?”

“The kind our army can’t fight. Ah, Tina, I shouldn’t have left here, should never have gone there to begin with! I was just so godsdamned frustrated, after failing over and over. . . . Now the last thing I’ll see is a crescent moon.”

“My darling, you’re not making any sense,” she said, desperate to stop this assassin. She would gut any foe of his with her new blade—the secret one she’d designed to slip into her gold collar. “Let me repay all your kindness to me, Cas. I can help you now.”

“Without your power?”

How matter-of-factly he spoke about that, while she suffered chills. “Then Salem can help.” Salem, her new “servant.”

Once a phantom warrior, able to solidify his body at will, he’d been cursed to be a sylph—an invisible spirit, an air elemental. He could possess just about anything—a raven, a pillow, a clock. She would order him to keep an eye out for this mysterious assassin.

Instead of always spying on me. Did Morgana and Raum actually expect her to believe that Salem was a mere domestic? She’d barely shooed the sylph out of her rooms before Cas had arrived tonight. “Salem’s telekinesis is surprisingly powerful—”

“No one can help me.” Cas stood unsteadily, unfolding his tall form. “I must go, meet with some friends. Settle my accounts. Tell no one of this, Tina, or you betray my trust.”

Shooting to her feet, she cried, “ Please don’t leave.” He could be going to his death!

“My cards have been dealt. At least no one can say I didn’t pay what I owed.” He gave a bitter laugh, as if at an inside joke.

She grabbed his brawny arm. “Then return here tonight.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“No, not maybe .” Recalling his many conquests and his love of females, she glanced up at him from under her lashes, licking her lips. “Come back to me, and I’ll welcome you with open arms, Caspion.”

He groaned. “You’re still a virgin, and the future queen of Abaddon. I’d have to wed you to bed you.”

“Okay! You’d make an incredible king.”

“Really? The Abaddonae welcoming the guttersnipe orphan as ruler?”

Some of the old guard Deathly Ones held him in low esteem because he’d been a foundling with no land or family name, but . . . “You’ve been making such strides, Cas.”

She alone knew how much he yearned for acceptance. Though he reveled hard—he worked harder, accumulating wealth with each bounty.

He gave her a sad smile. “You know I can’t have you.”

For half a decade, she’d assured herself that he hesitated because of the difference in their stations. All she had to do was help him see his own worth.

Or maybe he simply needed to sow his wild oats before settling down.

After all, who could possibly adore him more than she did? Though he must have guessed her feelings long before now, she finally confessed to his face, “But I . . . I love you, Cas.”

He chucked her under her chin. “I love you too.”

“Don’t be obtuse.” She laid one hand on his muscular chest. “I am in love with you. I want you above all others.” She’d tried to forget him—her stint offplane hadn’t been only for school—but Caspion remained firmly in her heart.

“You only feel this way because of what awaits you tomorrow,” he said. “You’re desperate for an escape. I understand why you’re doing this, but you aren’t my mate.”

“You can’t know that for certain, not until you ‘attempt’ me. In the throes, you know ; isn’t that what you demon males say?”

He gripped her hand, pulling it off his chest. “You shouldn’t be musing about such things, Bettina!”

Sometimes Cas could be as medieval in his thinking as the rest of the denizens of this plane. He might admit his conquests to her—but he withheld all details. “I’m not a child. I know simple biology.”

A male death demon—like the males of many demon species—couldn’t produce semen unless he was with his mate. He could enjoy sex up until then, could attempt a bevy of females and take release in a way, but the pleasure paled in comparison to what could be found with his fated one.

“Take me, Cas, and let’s find out once and for all.”

“If you’re not mine, I’d still be honor-bound to wed you. Would you deprive me of my future mate? I’d grow to hate you.” He pinched his forehead. “Ah, none of this matters anyway! I am done. I brought their killer down on my head.”

“ Whose killer? If you tell me, we can figure out a way to defeat him, or hide you. Just talk to me. Please. ”

Cas faced her, cupping her cheek with a callused palm. “Goodbye, Tina.”

“Wait!”

He’d already traced away, teleporting from her apartments. But she couldn’t follow, or search for him. Even if she were demon enough to trace, Bettina was unable to leave this cursed spire alone.

Her . . . condition made it impossible. Sure enough, her body had healed.

But not the rest of me.

She rushed to her circular balcony. During the day she could see the central market, but at night that fog rolled in. She squinted, straining to spy Cas; no use. She had the sight of the Sorceri, nearly as bad as a human’s!

Can’t go to him, can’t watch over him.

Hastening inside, she called out, “Salem! Come here!” Nothing.

With great reluctance, she grabbed that copper bell—one that would summon Salem to her. A medallion controls me; a bell controls him.

She was well aware of how demeaning this could be, but seeing no other choice, she rang it.

A moment later, the grandfather clock spoke in a deep baritone voice: “You booted me out, and now you’re ringing me back in? Somebody needs to make up her bloody mind!”

“Salem, I want you to guard Caspion tonight.”

“What’s doing wiv the demon?” he asked with his thick accent—exactly how a grown-up Oliver Twist would sound, Bettina often thought.

“Will you just follow my order for once?”

“Let me guess,” Salem began in a surly tone, “he’s hacked off the wrong sort yet again. Went cherry-picking wiv a lord’s daughter? Played slip the pickle wiv a warrior’s wife?”

“Aren’t you supposed to follow my every command?” Salem’s services had been a get-well-soon gift from Raum after the incident. Clearly, Raum had no idea that Salem was a rogue whose hobbies included spying on her bathing.

“Fiiine,” Salem said begrudgingly. “Caspion’ll be at his usual haunts?”

“Yes. Meeting with friends.”

“Then by all means, I go to the closest cat-house forthwith,” he said, the last word sounding like forfwif . The air around the clock seemed to ripple, and then Salem was gone.

Alone, she paced. If anything happened to Caspion . . . No, no, Salem would watch over him. Not that Caspion even needed watching over, she reminded herself.

And what foreign assassin would dare target a Deathly One in Abaddon?

Thirty minutes passed.

An hour.

She gnawed her fingernails, but they kept growing back, her immortal regeneration finally at its peak. The grandfather clock ticked ominously.

Oh, why wouldn’t Cas return? To remind him that she awaited, she hung a lantern in her window. No, she couldn’t see the town, but Cas could see her spire. A lingering light might beckon him.