Free Shadow's Claim by Kresley Cole Page B

bad . . . ?”
    “Bettina,” he began gravely, “there’s something you should know.”

S how yourself,” Trehan demanded of his seemingly empty apartments. He sensed danger looming. A regular occurrence for him in Dacia.
    His gaze flickered over the shadowed corners of the gilded sitting area, then up to scan the vaulted ceilings. He stole a quick glance down the two adjoining corridors. One led to his bedchamber; the other opened up into a wing with unending bookshelves.
    When only silence greeted him, he returned to his task: researching.
    He’d assured his newfound Bride that he had no plans to return for her. True at the time. But now . . .
    The idea of never seeing her again made him crazed.
    She’d asked him, “What do you want from me?” He wanted to go back in time and answer: “Everything! Everything that is mine by right!”
    But he’d done the rational thing—and left her. Never had he regretted a rational decision.
    Might I now?
    He’d told himself he simply didn’t have enough information to conclude anything about her. He needed to contemplate this in a logical fashion, gathering facts.
    So he’d turned to his books, retrieving a tome on vampire physiology, the weighty Book of Lore, and a recently published history of the various demonarchies. Laying the books out on one side of his large desk, he’d set the tournament invitation on the other.
    In the physiology manual, Trehan confirmed the harsh realities of his situation. Unless a vampire claimed his Bride completely, he would be filled with aggression, irrational jealousy, and uncontrollable sexual urges.
    Perhaps Trehan should have agreed to her offer and taken her. Aggression? Check. Irrational jealousy? When he thought of Bettina responding with such abandon to Caspion, Trehan traced to his feet, wrestling with a murderous rage. Check.
    Uncontrollable sexual urges? Upon returning home to wash and change, he’d grown achingly hard just from the evidence of his release in his pants. After all, he hadn’t scented or seen it for the better part of a millennium.
    The book also said that a vampire must penetrate his mate with his fangs. As the demons and Lykae did. Which we consider barbaric.
    But this book had been written about vampires—in general. Dacians were different, superior to other factions like the Horde and the Forbearers. He assured himself of this, even as he recalled how badly he’d craved biting her.
    Dominion . . .
    With an inward shake, he turned to the demon history book, to the Abaddonae entry.
    Aptly named, the Deathly Ones derived strength from every kill they made, so historically they’d been at war more often than not. Their plane was an isolated swamp realm of no consequence, with a typical off-world time variance.
    Time, like life, moved more slowly in Abaddon. . . .
    Princess Bettina was the first daughter born in generations, described as “elfin” in appearance. Though a halfling, she’d inherited no outward demonic traits, yet she was reputed to possess a notable—but undisclosed—Sorceri power.
    Fascinating. A delicate, little sorceress born into an archaic and violent demon world.
    Her paternal ancestors had fought proudly and died in various battles, most often with other demonarchies. Just a decade earlier, her father, Mathar, had gone to the aid of one of his Pravus allies, perishing on the front line.
    Apparently his sorceress queen, Eleara, had been killed by Vrekeners just after Bettina’s birth. Those winged creatures were mortal enemies of the Sept of Sorceri, considering themselves a check on Sorceri evil.
    Trehan could find no more history on Eleara’s side, so he read in the Book of Lore about the Sorceri in general. Distantly related to witches, each was born with a root ability that they considered akin to a soul.
    Their species was one of the weakest of all immortals—at least in matters of physical strength and healing—so they adorned their bodies with protective metals,