Bettina glanced over her shoulder. Vampire still nearing. She peered around for anyone to talk to, but suspected Daciano wouldn't be stopped anyway.
When he traced in front of her, she drew up short. Snared.
"We've ten favors between us," he grated, taking back the coat she'd forgotten she still held. "Are you prepared to pay what you owe?"
She parted her lips to answer, only to fall silent as she peered up at him. "Your eyes were green the entire time."
"Why is this noteworthy?"
"All that killing and blood, all those screams and flames, and you're unaffected." In a way, he reminded her of . . . of gold-a noble metal that didn't react to most other elements.
"I'm accustomed to death and all its faces. But when I think about last night, I'm utterly affected." At once, his eyes flooded black.
In turn, she grew breathless, flushed, that awareness redoubling. The more she tried not to think about last night, the more images arose in her mind . . . his big hand between her legs, his hot mouth on her ni**les.
Voice gone husky, he murmured, "Your irises grow lighter, female. I'm not the only one who enjoyed what happened between us."
She swallowed. "Because I thought you were another." She glanced over at Cas. A horde of females cooed over his slight injuries, jockeying to fondle his muscles. Bettina wondered if she had any place at all in his thoughts.
Daciano gripped her upper arm, drawing her attention back. "I ask you again, will you pay what you owe?"
She raised her chin. "Up to a point."
"To a point? That wasn't one of the terms of the deal."
"I'm still a lady-a princess! I expect to be treated as such. And I'm still embroiled in this tournament. As soon as this farce began, I knew I'd be held to certain . . . standards." By ancient law, Bettina could be stoned to death for breaking the terms of the contract. "I won't jeopardize my life by sleeping with you."
"Meet me in my tent at midnight, and I promise you," he said, his voice dropping even lower, "that I will treat you like a lady." Such innocuous words, but the way he said them . . .
"What if I can't sneak away tonight? I won't be alone." Salem would surely tell Raum if he learned of this. And her godfather would shift to second gear-battle-ax to the brain.
Which would probably only get Raum killed by the menacing vampire.
"Then I'll come to you."
"That's not possible," she snapped. "I'll figure something out." She thought she could get the guards outside her doors to take the night off, but would Salem balk? "This will count as . . . five boons."
"One."
"Three," she countered. When he inclined his head in agreement, she asked, "Which tent is yours?"
"The quarters of the slain vampire. Look for my standard."
Then he disappeared.
She sagged, yearning for the privacy of her rooms. Now that her royal responsibilities were over, nothing was stopping her from returning. Nothing except for herself.
The winding, foggy lane to the castle was a short stroll filled with beings, but to her, it rolled on . . . and on . . . and on. . . .
She could call guards to escort her, but her kingdom was a safe place. It would send the wrong message. Plus, she didn't want others to know of her fear. In the Lore, fear equaled weakness. Weakness eventually equaled death, even for an immortal.
There are crowds all around, she told herself, nothing can get me. But then, she had been within earshot of crowds when the four had attacked her.
Bettina remembered getting dressed with friends before going out that night. She'd thought, A rave out in a poppy field-what could possibly go wrong . . . ?
Though her bones had healed seamlessly, at times like this she could swear she still felt the fractures aching.
Rubbing her arms, she took a few tentative steps, breaths shallowing, anxiety constricting her chest. Anxiety and anger-at the Vrekeners who'd twisted her. At herself for becoming a shell of the old Bettina.