Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

of the enchanted CodruForest, 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 im possible. 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