No Rest for the Wicked (8 page)

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.”

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“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.

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8

H
ow in the hell did he find me? She had marble under four claws from where she’d just

saved herself from a fall.

He’d first appeared in the back of the gallery, and now she watched as he traced into a

darkened corner. No one had noticed him yet—or they’d be scattering as if someone had

pulled the fire alarm—because he was able to half-trace, barely visible and unscentable to

the low creatures. She’d seen vampires who were able to do that clever trick, but they’d

been much older.

Yet she’d seen him perfectly. And, great Freya, if he’d been handsome before, now the

vampire was devastating.

Everything about him was different. He’d gained muscle in the last week, making his

shoulders broader and the muscles in his arms and legs fuller. His clothing was casual but

expensive, with a tailored fit that highlighted his powerful body. His thick, straight black

hair was still long but trimmed.

But how in the hell did he find Riora’s temple?

Her first thought was that there was a Valkyrie stoolie, feeding him information about her

movements. But no, even the rogue ones she feuded with would never betray her—

especially not to a vampire.

It must have been the villagers. Those little punks! Her eyes narrowed. Those little

condemned punks.

A young winged demon unwittingly scampered past his leg, and from Sebastian’s reaction,

Kaderin knew he’d never seen beings like these. He was hiding his surprise well, which

was a good habit to have, since the denizens here would home in on all his reactions,

seeking out a weakness.

If he limped, their claws would be drawn to his leg. If he fell to his knees, their fangs

would go for his jugular without thought. Such was the world of the Lore.

“Valkyrie,” Bowen intoned from behind her. “I’ve something for you.”

How dare he interrupt her staring? She turned and beheld... diamonds. A gorgeous

diamond necklace, offered in his palm.

One of the few Valkyrie weaknesses was the fact that glittering jewels could mesmerize

them. Valkyrie had inherited the need to acquire from their goddess mother Freya, and

stones like these held a fatal attraction of sorts. Not just any shiny bauble—cubic zirconia

wouldn’t do it—but deep, vibrant diamonds.

Valkyrie trained exhaustively to be able to resist, yet Kaderin hadn’t bothered in centuries.

Aversion training tended to be tricky when there was no inclination to possess.

Had Kaderin been a feeler, she would have been spellbound by the dazzling stones, as he

obviously intended. She might have been fascinated by the way the temple’s fires illumined

them, making them sparkle, or enthralled with the tiny pinprick spears of flame-red light.

Glint, glint, glint...

She jerked her gaze up. Odd that she wasn’t a feeler, and yet something very akin to fury

was threading through her veins right now. “Very clever, Bowen. Yet your tricks won’t

work with me.” But damn if they almost hadn’t. Shake it off. Don’t hand this weakness to

him.

When he grinned with satisfaction, she resisted the urge to glare and made her expression

blank before she turned to find the vampire again. Two of the nymphs were trailing him.

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“These tricks work with other Valkyrie,” Bowen said. “Do they no’?”

Without glancing away from Sebastian, she said, “Try it with Regin or Myst. Then let me

know how that works out for you.”

Could those nymph tramps stand any closer to Sebastian? Kaderin had never understood

Myst’s particular dislike of them. Now Kaderin knew Myst was right—they were a bunch

of little hookers.

From behind Sebastian, one said, “I’d wear his corsage to an orgy any day,” giving him

the long look.

He turned, finding the nymphs in their gauzy, transparent clothing. The two didn’t bother

hiding their lust, and to his credit, Sebastian didn’t drop his jaw the way a human male

would have.

Kaderin didn’t believe that, as a whole, the nymphs were more beautiful than the Valkyrie,

but everything about them screamed, Easy lay! When you don’t want to work for it! And

curiously, many males found that more appealing than the Valkyrie’s Do it and die, simian.

“Mmm, hmm, mmm,” said the smaller of the two nymphs. “As good from the front as he

is from the—”

“No... ” The first paled and whispered, “He’s not a demon. He’s a vampire.”

The other shook her head. “His eyes are clear. And he doesn’t smell like one.”

Kaderin saw Sebastian’s brows draw together; no doubt he was wondering, What do

vampires smell like?

The first screamed, “Vampire!”

When the two blended into the temple’s oaks, Sebastian looked as though he’d just

prevented himself from taking a step back. All around him, beings became aware of him

and scattered. Most turned humans would be delirious after this show. If anything,

Sebastian stood straighter and looked even more arrogant than when he’d first appeared.

With narrowed eyes, he scanned the area.

She could imagine his thoughts. Yes, this situation was confounding, but he was here for a

reason.

To find his Bride. Because vampires who’d found their Brides didn’t tolerate losing them.

Sebastian glanced up, and found Kaderin perched on the balcony railing above.

She was here. By Christ, he’d succeeded.

He’d traced to her.

He almost exhaled heavily in relief, but he stifled the urge, keenly aware that all around

him were beings—from nightmare and fantasy—and every eye was on him. When his relief

turned to smug satisfaction over his feat, he hid his smirk.

Then he realized what she was wearing. Clad in a sinfully short skirt, a leather jacket, and

sleek half-boots, she sat with one bared leg hanging down, the other stretched out in front

of her. Infuriated by the display, Sebastian glowered at the males in the motley assembly.

He’d never been a jealous man before. He had never found anything he wanted solely as

his own. Now jealousy ate at him, made his fangs sharpen, and made him want to bare

them. She was his. And he didn’t want to share the merest glimpse of her body.

She turned away, ignoring Sebastian, to talk to a large male with a wild cast to his eyes—

who was standing much too close to her.

Sebastian had known he would be the pursuer in this relationship, the one with the most to

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she saw him once more. Or even a reaction? Perhaps her lips had parted, and maybe a

tinge of pink flushed along her high cheekbones.

What was she doing here with all these other beings? If he even let himself think about

what he was seeing all around him, he might go mad. Again. So he tried to ignore them,

and any additional appurtenances—horns, wings, multiple arms—they might possess.

Never had he felt more unsure of himself—he felt alternately like a baffled human and like

a monster. He hadn’t missed that those females who’d disappeared into the trees believed

vampires were worse than demons in this world. Sebastian almost cursed Nikolai yet again

for forcing him to become something reviled—even to these creatures—but reminded

himself that if not for his brother, Sebastian wouldn’t have lived to find Katja.

Channeling all the aristocratic arrogance that had been instilled in him from birth, he strode

up the stairs toward her. “Katja,” he began, and just when he thought she would

completely ignore him, she finally turned. As he passed a rotting log on the stair landing,