Was it ego-or daring?

Two minutes left. He might have the opportunity to prepare her; he'd have to chance that.

Exhaling a breath, he traced back to the sanctum, the burlap bag slung over his shoulder. Unable to spy out what the others' gifts were, he grudgingly handed his bag to attendants, then returned to the ring.

Each contestant looked pleased about his gift, except for the dirt-coated Lykae; he just appeared rabid and half-drugged.

Morgana raised her hands over the six, commanding, "Kneel."

None of them did. Trehan even shared a look with Gourlav: the fuck? Trehan Daciano knelt before no one-

Suddenly an inconceivable pressure hit him, as if anvil blows had landed atop both his shoulders. His knees slammed against the ground, his legs nearly buckling under the force. All of the contestants had been shoved down, the fire demon suffering a dislocated shoulder. The ground shook when Gourlav was put to his knees.

The gold decorating Morgana's body vibrated, heated air diffusing around her. Trehan perceived her power surrounding them. Swift, fierce . . . dark. "Perhaps next time you'll obey promptly when a Queen orders you. Obedience-is-not-optional."

Each of the contestants had his arms jerked behind his back, his wrists fettered by her sorcery. Like a shot, six swords appeared, floating through the air to position themselves before the six males.

One sword directly against each competitor's throat.

Chapter 30

If Trehan so much as swallowed, he'd slice himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a cadre of warriors standing at the ready to fight any Child Terrors, should Gourlav's blood spill.

Everything became clear.

Instantly upon Bettina's decision, three heads would topple.

By the time the six had returned, Bettina had been close to hyperventilating. It hadn't helped that Daciano looked troubled about this round, his brows drawn.

In the past, he'd been so confident. Now he seemed to be trying to communicate something to her.

Gourlav was enraged, his yellow eyes slitted, spittle dribbling from a rotted fang down to his fossilized beard. Caspion looked cocky. The poor Lykae squirmed against Morgana's hold, chuffing with confusion.

Had his warlock handlers chosen well, or would the former human die for their mistake?

The fire and stone demons appeared stoic, but their horns were twisting with their panic.

This entire situation was killing her. Six swords at six throats? No muss, no fuss, no disputing the verdict.

This would all be over before she knew it.

Cas chanced a wink at her. Whatever he'd given her would likely be recognizable as his offering.

Thank gods for that.

But what if Daciano had stumbled with his choice? What if her choice made that sword slice through his neck-the neck she'd licked and nuzzled her face against as he'd pleasured her?

Never again to see his devilish eyes go black with emotion . . . ?

Her own eyes started to water behind her mask. Why had this decision fallen to her?

Morgana called, "And now, the gifts!"

More guards conveyed the procession of tributes toward the grandstand. One held a single envelope, one a velvety-smooth jewelry case, and another led in two stallions of a rare silver color, an exquisitely matched pair. Next came a bulging wagon full of gold. So much of it that even she raised her brows. Behind that was a rare phoenix, its feathers so brilliant she nearly had to shield her eyes.

Last: a bulky burlap sack?

Murmurs sounded, demons craning their heads to get a better look at the bag.

Already Bettina had made a decision about one of the gifts, a deadly decision. Dear gods, what if it was the vampire's? Trehan Daciano might be about to die.

And it took this realization for her to admit that there was something compelling between them. Maybe it was fate or his blooding or just unparalleled chemistry. Whatever it was, she wanted to explore it.

Would they never get the chance?

Morgana opened the envelope, announcing in a ringing voice, "For those of you in the audience, the envelope contains two tickets to deadmau5. Dead mau five?"

"Deadmouse," Bettina corrected in a whisper. A techno act she'd been wanting to see in the mortal realm. Clearly Cas's gift. No harm would come to him tonight.

Yet her sense of relief for Cas couldn't override her worry for Daciano.

Next, Morgana opened the jewelry case and announced, "The royal jewels of the long-fallen Peace Demonarchy." As she laid them on the dais table for Bettina to examine, she said, "Look at the pretties, Bettina!" She was gleeful, as if these gifts were being offered to her. "Is this not the best? You love jewelry."

True, but Bettina didn't like to be given it. The quality was always inferior to what she could create. Bettina would just wind up melting this gift down.

She shrugged; Morgana rolled her eyes, then called, "Next!" A soldier led over the horses. "Behold-the fey king's prized stallions, stolen from the legendary realm of Draiksulia." Over her shoulder, she said, "Look at the ponies!"

Sadly, Bettina wasn't fond of horses, and she was fairly positive that they hated her. She'd been thrown when little and had never climbed back in the saddle.

"Prancing, prancing ponies for Bettina?" Morgana queried. "No? Seriously?"

When Bettina gave another slight shrug, Morgana's expression turned woebegone. "But how they prance."

Bettina was seeing all new facets to the great sorceress. Before, Morgana had simply been her moderately evil godmother. Now Bettina was beginning to understand that she was a woman with her own concerns-such as the apocalypse-and her own wants and desires-such as prancing ponies and Vrekener extinction.

"Next! Ah, and here we have a phoenix, the sole male from what is thought to be the last flock."

What was Bettina supposed to do-put the bird out to stud? Advertise online? Though she adored the phoenix's vivid colors, she considered it cruel to take it away from its flock.

Not so for Morgana. "Think of the masks we could make from those feathers! No? Oh, come on! Really?" She gazed heavenward with frustration.

When the wagon of gold rolled out, its wheels groaning under the weight of all those riches, Morgana called, "This one needs no description! Behold a sorceress's fortune in gold!"

She winked at Bettina. "Looks like somebody wants to live. What's that smell? Ah, yes, it's desperation. . . ."

Then came the last gift. She and Morgana shared a look.

"What could be in that bag, Bettina?"

When she held up her palms, the sorceress waved a hand toward the sack, using her power to open the fastenings.

In a rush, the contents spilled out and bounced across the stage.

Bettina frowned when Trehan's offering lay strewn before her, as if she didn't comprehend what she was seeing.

And Trehan realized he'd erred this eve.

Despite all the wise choices he'd made over the centuries, despite all his sage counsel that had helped others . . . when it had truly counted, his logic had failed him. He'd made a colossal mistake.

One that might cost him his life-and, worse, cost him Bettina.

He didn't fear death; he'd lived long enough. No, Trehan feared never seeing her again. He dreaded what would happen to her in the coming days. Likely wed to Gourlav, if the demon advances-and if my cousins fail to protect her.

"I'll assist you with Lothaire," he'd told the three of them, "if you vow always to safeguard Bettina. . . ."

Now regret hammered at Trehan. He'd thought he could personally present the bag to her, gentling her reaction; he hadn't expected to be at sword point while Vrekener heads bounced before her eyes.

With no warning.

Realization was dawning on Bettina's pale face, and there was nothing Trehan could do to remedy this, forced to watch helplessly.

"Heads, Bettina!" Morgana cried, clasping her hands to her breast and batting her eyes. "A bag full of them! Just like you've always wanted!" Trehan could hear the sorceress adding under her breath, "Not the most original of gifts, true. But these do appear to be fresh."

Bettina looked like she was about to vomit.

Fuck.

Zeii mea, I've . . . failed. After the momentous day he'd experienced?

Before dawn, he'd shot awake, fresh from a dream. For days he'd failed to access the memory he'd sought from Bettina's drops of blood.

Finally, he'd succeeded; he'd relived her attack.

Her beating. Trehan had felt everything, every last second of the horror as a tender young girl was savaged by winged fiends in the name of "good."

My Bride savaged. Her limbs broken at angles, her skull and pelvis cracked. Two ribs rupturing her skin. Blood painting her body.

Long after she'd accepted death, when she'd ceased screaming and her pleas had fallen silent, they'd still brutalized her.

Only Raum's summoning had saved her from slowly burning to death.

Trehan had awakened to his own howl of rage, covered in shredded fur. His fangs had been sharp as razors.

Hungering to punish, he'd envisioned flesh rending beneath his fangs, arteries plucked with his claws. Dear gods, yes, to punish.

Breaths heaving, he'd collected his sword, gripping his talisman. Trehan had hoped that with her memory of those attackers, he could use their identities and the crystal to trace directly to them. Sword in hand, he'd pictured the first one's face, then begun to trace, having no idea if this would work. . . .

It had been night in the air territories, the shadows plentiful. He'd smiled, baring his fangs, knowing he was a chilling sight.

One by one he'd meted out retribution for his Bride; one by one he'd gathered their heads.

Trehan and Bettina were indeed connected. Her attack had happened the day he'd had that ominous sense. Had his Bride been calling out through the ether, calling for her male?

I answered today.

He'd returned to Rune still filled with rage, but knowing he had to win this round tonight.

Yes, an eventful day to die. Momentous.

Disastrous.

Strange-he'd never truly failed before. Figured his first time would result in his death.

Can't stop shaking. With unsteady steps, Bettina sank down in her seat.

The contents of that bag had shocked her, then dredged up horrors she'd desperately tried to bury.

She knew it was Daciano's offering to her. He was the only one who could've accomplished this feat.

Just as Bettina had feared, he'd read her memories. He'd seen her most private moments like a voyeur in her mind.

Morgana turned to her with a slow grin spreading across her face. "Are they who I think they are?"

Bettina started to speak, had to cough before she could utter: "Vrekeners."

Somehow the vampire had traveled to the air territories and wrought vengeance.

Their grimaces of pain in the torchlight were so very reminiscent of their masks of rage, lit by a pale yellow moon. The scent of crushed poppies . . .

She furtively pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, fearing she'd throw up. Judging from the disfiguring marks across their faces, they'd died bloody. Just as Daciano had promised.

She gazed over at him. His mien was as stoic as ever, but deep down he had to fear he'd made a mistake.

With sheer glee, Morgana announced to all, "And lastly, we have the most wanted foes of Abaddon, executed and delivered."

Surprised murmurs sounded throughout the stands, so few understanding the meaning of those trophies.

Raum hoisted his tankard above his head, not bothering to disguise his delight. The pressure to find her attackers had just been lifted.

Bettina glanced at Cas. He looked infuriated that Daciano had done what he'd been unable to.

Back to the vampire. Finally she discerned a hint of emotion on his face, his eyes flickering.

She thought that he was . . . sorry-not about the ultimate outcome of this round, but that he'd upset her. Why present them like this, vampire? Yes, she'd wanted them dead. But why like this?

"Time for the results!" Morgana said.

Bettina dutifully rose, pressing her hands against the table to steady herself.

"Which three gifts do you like least? Princess?" Morgana prompted more forcefully.

In a deadened tone, she answered, "The horses."

The fire demon directly beside Daciano cried, "Wait-"

But Morgana had already waved her hand to wield the mystical sword. His head bounced to the ground. "And next?" she asked in a breezy tone.

Bettina grew even more nauseated.

When the Lykae saw the first head topple, he began grappling against Morgana's hold with all the brutal force in his body, his ice-blue eyes wide. Whimpers broke from his chest.

"Princess?"

Did the Lykae believe they were all being summarily executed? Did he understand anything that was happening?

Does he believe he's . . . next?

"Princess! Which gift?" Morgana's expression turned sinister. Under her breath, she said, "Each second you dally, the wolf's ungodsly strength tests my powers. Take care that I don't accidentally swing for Caspion's head."

Chapter 31

Bettina gave a wary nod. Just as she murmured, "The jewels," she spied a flicker of clarity in the Lykae's eyes. The ice-blue color faded as his gaze darted around him with . . . comprehension.

The former human had surfaced from the wolf's grip-to find himself bound in an iron cage, surrounded by blood-thirsty demons. A frantic bellow erupted from his chest.

Have I just killed him? Were the jewels from the Warlocks? Bettina twisted toward the sorceress. "Please, Morgana-"

Morgana had already waved her hand; the Lykae yelled one word: "Brother!"

His call still echoed, even after his head rested next to his limp body.

Bettina swayed, her jaw slackening. But Morgana simply tossed a temporary glamour over her, erasing any expression.

Inside, she was sick-about this tournament, about her existence, about her very world. How long can I be powerless like this?

How long till she became as hard-bitten as Morgana hoped-or as weak as Raum expected?

Trehan swallowed, feeling cold steel against his throat, yet unable to trace away, unable to fight.

Such a gamble. Such a fool. You gave her fucking heads, Trehan?

"Lastly, Princess?"

The crowd was silent as a grave.