Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

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    The brief sympathy she’d felt that night when she’d learned that he’d been forced to become a vampire had evaporated when he’d taken her blood. Did she think it had been by accident? Yes, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened. Did she believe she was partly responsible? Yes, she’d allowed him to kiss her neck, and castigated herself for that daily.
    Yet that didn’t mean she should continue to be around him when his mere presence made her unthinking, restless, even occasionally... wanton.
    So far her game hadn’t been too affected. They’d each already earned forty points, fairly easily, but then they had not encountered Bowen—who might frown on their growing tally.
    In fact, she’d heard from Regin that the Lykae had taken out most of the competitors who’d gone up against him. In just one task, two of the demons, the young witch, and the elven hunters had all gone missing, rumored to be imprisoned somehow.
    Bowen hadn’t been disqualified, so they couldn’t be dead, but the competition was lost for them.
    Kaderin also had heard that Mariketa had managed to fling off a curse at Bowen—one of the worst for an immortal. If true, then Bowen would cease regenerating from injuries.
    Kaderin knew she’d face Bowen soon enough, and when she did, she would strike first. For now, she needed to stay focused. She simply couldn’t get used to Sebastian’s care of her, couldn’t get used to his watching over her as she slept.
    One night, she’d awakened, blinking up at him. “Why do you keep coming back just to sit beside my bed?”
    Seeming surprised by the question, he’d answered in a gravelly voice, “This is... satisfying. To me. I find it deeply so.”
    Before she’d turned onto her other side, she’d studied his face, trying to understand him, but only became convinced she never would.
    Then, last night, she’d had yet another nightmare. She seemed to be plagued with them, as if compensating for her eternity of dreamless nights.
    She definitely could not get used to his enfolding her in his warm, strong arms to soothe her, rubbing her back, rumbling, “ Shh, Katja, ” against her hair.

    Though Kaderin didn’t yet know this, Sebastian had basically moved into her London residence, since she never traveled there, preferring to sleep on her plane or in hotels.
    Showering in her flat was more convenient and had other advantages, such as the water not being melted snow. Sebastian enjoyed sleeping in her bed, imagining her there with him.
    Not far down the street, there was a bookstore and a butcher, and both stayed open after dark. Not to mention that the flat had a refrigerator—which was convenience itself—and remote controls. Beautiful things. He was really enjoying this new time now that he was immersed in it. Even the Lore in general was growing on him—because it was her world.
    Each sunset, he traced to her. A couple of nights, he’d found her asleep with her sword. As ever, she would sleep fitfully, as though in pain. Other nights, he caught her nearing some prize. If she ran into difficulty, he would swoop one up for her, then go back and take one for himself, just so another couldn’t have it.
    He would be patient. This union was supposed to be for eternity—it followed that their courtship would be extended. He wasn’t a patient man, but he could do whatever it took to get what he wanted.
    Wondering what he would find tonight, he traced to her, arriving in yet another hotel room. But she wasn’t in the bed, nor did he hear her in the shower.
    The room’s balcony doors were opened, overlooking a valley lit by a half-moon. He crossed to them and found her unconscious. She was lying on her front, one arm stretched out for her sword, which was covered in mud and blood. He lifted her gingerly, but she moaned in pain. He realized with a surge of fury that she’d just made it inside.
    Damn it, what is it about this prize? Why would she continue to risk herself like this? He’d asked her repeatedly, sure to voice his opinion of the key. “Why do you want it so badly?” he’d asked. “The key won’t do as it’s purported. So is it just winning the competition? For ego or for posterity?”
    “Posterity?” she’d answered with a quirked brow. “Do you mean in the progeny sense or notoriety after death? Because neither is forthcoming.”
    Now he flinched, wishing he could take the pain for her. When he wet a washcloth and wiped her down, she