After a moment, Cas nodded. "Tomorrow at sunset, I'll escort you from here and bring you back after my fight. Consider it a date," he said with an affectionate smile.
Surely he knew what effect that look had on her. "A date."
"You've been proud to call me friend, Tina. I'll make you proud to call me husband. I vow this."
And there went her heart.
"If you want to leave this spire, you must contact me first."
"You know I'm too scared to go about alone." Will I be tonight?
"True." He gave her a brief peck on her forehead, then traced away.
As she rode up the elevator, she considered what Cas had said about discovering the vampire's weaknesses. He couldn't get close enough to Daciano to learn anything meaningful.
But I can.
Inside her suites, she removed her cloak and mask, calling out, "I'm back."
In a distracted tone, Salem answered, "So you are. Big night, then? Lots of developments."
Floating closer to her, he said, "I told you the vampire would return. What was he talking to you about on the stage?"
Chapter 17
"Nothing important."
"Your little chin-wag wiv him was the subject of much discussion. He was all proprietary with you, like you'd known him a while."
"I never saw him before last night. You know that."
"You held his things for him while he fought," Salem pointed out.
"Because he foisted his coat on me!"
"Perception is reality, chit. The wily leech wants others to think you're his."
Chit? She was a princess! Why did everyone forget that?
Because you let them. . . . She remembered Morgana had once told her, "With your actions, you train others how to treat you."
"I don't want to talk about the vampire," she said. "I've got work to do." She turned toward her workshop, planting herself at her drafting table.
Again and again she attempted to sketch a new piece, but she was stumped. She needed a unique design, something Patroness had never seen.
She tapped her pencil against her bottom lip, her thoughts turning to tonight. Even if she decided to go, how was she supposed to get from point A to point B alone, without an episode?
To go undetected, she'd have to choose the most deserted route. A recipe for disaster.
Which would be stronger? A panic attack-or her vow to give the vampire what he asked for?
Bettina rose, stretched in a futile effort to relieve the tension in her shoulders, then began to wander aimlessly, still debating what to do.
She found Salem in the sitting room, unusually quiet, using telekinesis to thumb through her celebrity magazines-luxuries imported from the mortal realm.
She paced up and back; he turned a page. Repeat.
They continued like this as her grandfather clock ticked on. . . .
Toward midnight, she knew she had to get rid of him soon. But how?
"Princess." Salem suddenly occupied the door. "Going out for a spot."
"Pardon?" Yes, she wanted to get rid of him, but what if she'd actually wanted protection? "You're leaving me? What if I'm afraid the vampire might return?"
"Tonight I'm on a mission."
"What kind of mission?"
"The kind that takes precedence over protecting you from a vampire who will never hurt you."
"Tell me what you're talking about."
"I'm going to spy on Gourlav, try to puzzle out a way to kill him-without bringing ruin on the kingdom. Otherwise you just got engaged to him tonight."
She shivered at the thought. Before she could ask more, he said, "Laters."
Alone. One less obstacle to prevent her midnight meeting.
Bettina poured a glass of wine with a shaking hand. Dread over the short walk to the field of tents mingled with a different kind of anxiety. What favors would Daciano want from her? What might he demand? Maybe he'd ask for a repeat of what had happened last night.
More kissing, more touching.
She was so curious about him, about his reactions to her-about males in general.
If only she could remember her first sexual experience more clearly. Though much was foggy, three things had been etched into her mind: the pleasure of his mouth on her br**sts, the new and wondrous feel of his shaft, and the scalding heat of his seed.
Face flushing, she drank deeply. She thought about sex as much as the next twenty-something halfling, and Daciano had given Bettina her first taste of real passion.
In turn, she'd blooded him, giving him his first release since his heart had stopped beating; had it been all he'd hoped?
How could it have been? She was hardly an experienced sexpot. Add "sexually untutored" to her list of deficits.
Damn it, how could she be insecure about this-she hadn't asked for him to steal into her bed!
Okay, say I go . . . Yes, she'd promised to give him boons. But she hadn't vowed to perform them blindly. She needed to set parameters tonight. Then she'd proceed to learn everything she could about him to help Cas.
Salem will figure out Gourlav; I'll handle the vamp.
This worry might be all for naught. Most likely she'd freeze at the castle entrance, unable to venture forth. Or would her vow compel her to skulk down darkened lanes-alone, powerless-exactly the sort of place where enemies were wont to hide?
She inhaled deeply, struggling to block her mind off from those memories. To no avail.
We've been watching you, Princess. Those fiends still lived, could very well be watching her right now.
A mouse might escape from a hawk, but never for long.
She flung her glass against the wall, hating her fear. Hating herself.
Trehan often awaited his targets. He had crouched upon roofs in the night, leaning against chimneys. He had hovered above them as light as mist. Always, he studied them before he struck.
Now he stood in the foggy drizzle upon a rooftop outside Castle Rune, awaiting Bettina-to watch over her. After the way those drunken entrants had spoken about her, he would never allow her to walk through the encampment alone.
Earlier, he'd collected his bag of clothing and weapons from beneath the bridge-he supposed some part of him had always known he'd enter the tournament-then traced to the fallen vampire's tent.
Inside, he'd found an ornate desk and chair, a divan, golden goblets, carafes of blood, and a bed of furs on the ground, as was the vampire way. Amenities and luxury for the taking. The Horde had always been wealthy.
So he'd unpacked his few belongings. In his haste, he'd been forced to leave behind so much. But he had the two items he truly treasured: his father's sword and the scry crystal. The former was sentimental; the latter was priceless.
After hanging his standard outside the tent, he'd made himself at home-because that was the closest thing he had to one now.
A short conversation with the dead contestant's vampire squire had gained Trehan a new servant as well.
Now in the streets below him, the mad scramble of delegates and contestants spying on each other had begun. Soon he'd have to undertake a fact-finding mission of his own. But for now, his focus was on Bettina.
Through the fog, he spied movement at the base of the castle. A concealed door was opening, revealing her at the threshold. She wore a cloak that covered her hair and most of her body, as well as a mask. But he could still see she was panting, her gloved fingers digging into the doorjamb.
She looked as if she were a vampire about to check the time-with a sundial.
Eyes darting behind her mask, she took one halting step out, then another. By the time she reached the closest building, she had to stop and lean her slender frame against a wall for balance as she nearly hyperventilated.
She dreads meeting me this much?
And why wouldn't she? He'd forced an overprotected, virginal-and very young-female to sneak to his tent for an assignation. In her mind, he was almost a stranger, and she would have no idea what he might demand.
No doubt she imagined the worst, and now her nerves were frayed. Guilt scored him.
But then a scavenging kobold, a sort of reptilian gnome, knocked over a basket near her, scuttling away. She jerked away from the clatter with a cry and flattened herself against the wall. Chanting something between breaths, she pressed one hand to her forehead as she swayed.
Surely this was more than nerves, more than virginal misgivings. She was utterly terrified.
Her trembling brought to mind the moments from last night when he'd been struggling not to bite her. Though he'd been nigh mindless in the grip of his blooding, he now recalled two words she'd whispered, "Not again."
She'd thought he was about to hurt her; clearly someone already had. Another vampire? Trehan didn't think so-she'd shown no more reaction to that Horde vampire at the tournament than to any other contestant. Then who?
She was like the most absorbing book he'd ever encountered. How to turn the page?
Suddenly that strange and inexplicable frustration from months before returned, the dread that had woken him. He rubbed his chest. What had called to him so sharply then? It must have been related to her.
Protect.
Trehan traced behind her, secretly wrapping her within the mist. As his blood female, she was of his kind-even if she didn't accept that yet-and the mist was a part of them all.
She soon calmed, not completely, but enough to steady her breaths and continue on to the tent.
He had to uncover what his little Bride feared. So he could destroy it.
Of course, he was the last person she'd confide in. But there were other ways to learn about her. His gaze fell to her neck, to her wildly beating pulse.
Using one of Lothaire's tactics had brought about this meeting. Perhaps if this bargaining with Bettina proved successful, Trehan would employ another of the Enemy of Old's tricks. . . .
I made it! Somehow Bettina had walked-alone at night-all the way to the vampire's tent.
She glanced around the empty space. So where was he?
"Bettina," he intoned from behind her.
She whirled around with a cry. "Y-you startled me."
The vampire was studying her with a quizzical glance. Right now, his eyes were a steady, dark green. They were handsome.
He was handsome?
He wore black leather pants, the cut more old-fashioned, but they looked good on his muscular legs. His tailored white shirt was made from a light material that did nothing to disguise the latent strength of his chest, those corded biceps and broad shoulders.
The sight made her frown. She'd had the run of his body last night-but she'd wasted her chance to satisfy her curiosity. Great. She dragged her gaze up to his.
When not wearing a scowl, his face was . . . pleasing. He'd certainly cleaned up well after the melee.
She felt safer with him than out on the street, even found the tension leaving her shoulders, her temples and jaw. In its place, that heated awareness returned, bringing with it irritation. Was she actually attracted to this vampire?
Every time he was near her, those molten feelings returned-she seethed inside, not with anger, but with something.
"Please sit," he said, ushering her to a divan. "Shall I take your cloak?"
Parameters, Bettina. "Look, Daciano, I came here to pay off boons, but I didn't agree to open-ended favors. I want to set a time limit for this meeting. I suggest twenty min-"
"You'll stay till dawn." His tone brooked no argument. "Your cloak?" he asked again, as if she hadn't spoken.
There went that plan. With an aggrieved air, she removed it, handing it to him. Or trying to.
For a long laden moment, he just stood there staring at her body, his eyes smoldering.
She'd deliberately worn a more modest outfit, one her godmother would consider "frumpy." Bettina's top of braided gold strands barely molded to her br**sts; her jade silk sarong was split high, but only on one thigh. Accessories: a jet black mask, small diadem, and black full-length fingerless gloves. No flirty garters or thigh-highs.
All in all, this was demure by Sorceri standards. She'd seen Morgana attend a state dinner in nothing more than a micromini and glorified pasties.
She delicately cleared her throat; he exhaled a gust of breath, finally meeting her gaze and reaching out to take her cloak.
"Arresting, Bettina," he said in a roughened voice. "Quite literally."
Bettina was a design geek, a virgin who'd failed to seduce the male she was closest to. Now this vampire was looking at her as if she were a femme fatale. And for a crazy moment, he'd kind of made her feel like one.
"Would you like a drink?"
"I guess." Desperately. "Sweet wine if you have it."
"No demon brew?"
"Never again. The one time I tried it, a vampire appeared in my bed."
With raised brows, he traced to pour her a glass. She thought she heard another exhalation. Had she rattled the centuries-old vamp?
Taking a seat, she surveyed his appropriated tent. A fire burned in a copper pit, the smoke venting out through a shielded opening in the canvas. Though a light rain had started outside, the interior was snug and warm.
The floor was a platform of wood, covered by luxurious rugs. A desk and chair occupied one side of the tent, that log-like scroll of rules on the floor beside it.
A deep bathtub stood in one corner, while a sprawling pallet of furs lay directly atop the platform in another. No raised bed for him-because vampires slept as close to the ground as possible.
As he poured himself a goblet of blood from a warmed carafe, she said, "I can see why you wanted this tent. It screams vampire."
A slight frown. "You and I are not so different, Bettina."
Chapter 18
"We are wildly different."
"Not so much that we can't find common ground."
"Oh? Is that why I'm here?" she asked, adding dryly, "To look for 'common ground'?"
He simply said, "Yes." Offering her the wine, he asked, "Were you worried about someone seeing you on the way here?"
She accepted it. "I wanted to avoid that, yes."
"You seemed . . . on edge walking here alone."
"You spied on me?"
"I watched over you," he corrected, sitting beside her. "I would never let you walk alone this late at night."