"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.