No Rest for the Wicked

7

At sunset, Sebastian took a shower the only way he could in his castle—with melted snow water caught in a cistern and piped freezing cold into a small tiled and drained room. After that he dressed in new clothes. He shined his sword, sheathed it with a belt at his hips, and sat on the edge of the bed, prepared to test his theory.

Everything depended on his success. I must find her to have her. His hand was damp around the hilt of his sword.

Then he frowned. If this could work, he didn't want to appear adversarial to her. He could just see himself materializing at a family dinner—the overgrown vampire with the very big sword. He unstrapped the belt, placed it aside, then sat once more.

This was all about sense detail. Focus. He concentrated on her for long moments. Wipe everything from your mind but her...

Nothing. He lay back.

Imagine seeing her beautiful face once more. Her elfin features, the delicate chin and high cheekbones, the way she'd gazed up at him with those smoldering hazel eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Recall how she felt beneath you. Her body was soft, giving, a perfect fit to his.

The remembered scent of her hair and skin called him as sharply as a cry for him would. He began tracing, feeling himself leaving the cold of his castle and moving toward warmth, having no idea what he would find.

Temple of the Goddess Riora, Codru Forest, Moldova

Day 1 of the Twelfth Talisman's Hie

The usual suspects, Kaderin thought with boredom. From her perch on a balcony rail, she surveyed the assembly gathered below her in the gallery of Riora's temple.

As with most temples, Riora's sported the obligatory marble Palladian style, with dishes of fire and candles to light it. Yet that's where the similarity ended. Tucked deep within the heart of the enchanted Codru Forest, it had lichen-covered oaks punching through the walls or lying fallen inside. Roots buckled the heavy floor. The dome was a skylight with glass cut into an intricate and patternless design.

"Order overcome, impossibility incarnate," that was Riora's motto. She was the goddess of impossibility and exalted proving possible the impossible. Few knew this, though, and she was coy, joking and spreading rumors. In the last fifty years, she'd come out as the goddess of bowling couture.

Kaderin waited with hundreds of other competitors, because Riora was tardy again. Nothing new there. To get her to be on time, Kaderin had been tempted at the last Hie to declare it impossible for goddesses to be punctual. But then Riora would just have declared that it was impossible for a Valkyrie to bathe in a vat of boiling oil for a decade.

To pass the time, Kaderin gazed down with disdain at the nymphs, making sure they saw her contempt. She jerked her chin up at Lucindeya, the siren who had been her closest competition at the last Hie. Lucindeya, or Cindey, was a violent, merciless rival, and so had earned Kaderin's respect. They customarily used each other to advance until it was only the two of them in the finals.

Then all bets were off.

At last count, Cindey had broken dozens of Kaderin's bones. But then, Kaderin had snapped at least twice as many of hers, cracked her brain bucket, and, rumor had it, ruptured the siren's spleen.

To the adorable-looking kobolds, a type of ground-dwelling gnome, Kaderin reached to her sword sheath at her back. She grasped the hilt, not even needing to draw it for the largest male—still standing only four feet tall—to swallow and swiftly lower his gaze. The kobolds only appeared wholesome and kindly—until they turned ravening.

Kaderin was one of the few beings alive who'd seen them as they really were, reptilian predators who sprang from the ground as they hunted in packs. She still did not find the term killer gnome hysterically funny as her sisters all did.

The crowd of entrants consisted of all makes and models in the Lore: trolls, witches, and the noble fey. Demons from many of the Demonarchies were present.

Kaderin noted the veterans who were out to win the grand prize—whatever priceless good was offered this Hie. She identified the scavengers who only wanted to snag the individual talismans allotted for each task.

And then there were the newbies. She could make them out in an instant, because they would dare to stare at her.

As a competitor—and the reigning champion for more than a millennium—Kaderin had become more high-profile in the Lore than many of her sisters. She'd garnered power and respect for her covens—and for herself. Had she been a feeler, she would have been prideful of her reputation. She couldn't believe she'd so easily risked it with her recent indiscretion.

Relative to her sisters, her fall from grace would be a nosedive—

Suddenly, her ears twitched. Sensing something in the shadows at the back of the balcony, she turned and spied a massive male, eyes glowing in the darkness. A Lykae? Now, that was unusual. The werewolves and the vampires never entered this contest.

The Horde vampires found it beneath them, and the mysterious Forbearers didn't know of its existence. The Lore found it both amusing and shrewd to keep those turned humans in the dark about their world.

Historically, the Lykae couldn't be troubled to care.

In the past, this set of circumstances had been fortuitous. The Lykae—for all their wild, seething good looks—were single-minded and brutal. And the vampires? With their ability to trace, they would be nigh undefeatable.

The werewolf moved from the shadows, approaching her, and she recognized him as Bowen MacRieve, best friend and cousin to Emmaline's new werewolf husband. He'd lost weight over the last millennium, but other than that, she sensed that he'd changed little—which meant he was still gorgeous.

"Kaderin." His golden eyes were vivid, his dark hair thick and long. He didn't address her as "Lady Kaderin," as the rest of the Lore did, but then, he didn't fear her.

"Bowen." She briefly inclined her head.

"I dinna see you at the wedding. Quite nice affair."

He'd been at Emma's wedding, and she'd missed it. "I'm curious about why you are here."

"I'm entering." His voice was a rumbling Scottish brogue.

Deep voices were attractive. An unbidden memory arose of the vampire's gravelly voice breaking between kisses. She shook herself. "You'll be the first Lykae to do so. Ever."

He leaned his tall frame against the wall, utterly nonchalant. He was as tall as the vampire, but rangier. Both were rugged, but Bowen probably would be considered more classically handsome.

Comparing him to the vampire? Lovely. As if Sebastian Wroth were USDA grade A?

"Are you alarmed, Valkyrie?"

"Do I look alarmed?" She always enjoyed asking that, since she knew the answer was invariably no. "Why now?" She'd seen Bowen fighting vampires on a battlefield ages ago—he'd been pitiless in the past, and she'd bet that hadn't changed, either.

He answered, "A friend told me I might have a particular interest in the prize." Yes, if possible, Bowen was more handsome, but the vampire's eyes were so very gray, so dark and compelling. If a woman got lost in eyes like Sebastian's, she'd want to please him in any way he desired. Bowen's eyes? One glimpse of them, and a woman wouldn't know whether to jump him or run from him.

Clearly, Kaderin's blessing was holding, because she didn't feel even a flutter of desire for the Lykae.

"You know what the prize is?" she asked, but Bowen wasn't listening. The witches had just arrived—one called Mariketa the Awaited and another woman Kaderin didn't know—and he was busy scowling at them. "If you're this easily distracted," Kaderin said, "I'll have no problems."

He bit out, "What are they doing here?"

Kaderin quirked a brow. "They're here to compete. As they do every Hie."

She knew the Lykae never purchased magicks from the House of Witches—the Lore's mystical mercenaries. Kaderin had heard a hundred discountable rumors why, and on occasion, she'd speculated at the truth. She couldn't imagine life without the convenience of spells—which could vampire-proof chains and trace-proof cages—any more than she could imagine life without showers. Both scenarios were barbaric to Kaderin.

Now, seeing Bowen's expression, Kaderin wondered if the Lykae eschewed buying spells simply because the witches creeped them out. "Do you know what the prize is?" she asked again.

"I doona ken exactly," he said, his attention locked on the two. "But I know enough to warn you that I'll kill for it." He finally faced her to say, "And I daresay killing you would jeopardize the Lykae's tenuous truce with the Valkyrie."

"So, because of Emma and Lachlain's marriage, I should back out? Even though this is my competition, and has been since you were a wittle puppy?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'd rather no' hurt you, all in all. I've never struck a female, much less done the damage I've heard this contest calls for. Damage like you've meted out."

"Werewolf, don't hate the player—hate the game." She turned from him, dismissing him. An early broken leg would put the dog out.

At least there wasn't a vamp—

The vampire appeared out of thin air.

Her claws scrabbled along the railing as she fought to stay upright.