Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

heard him forsake you. I didn’t think that was even possible.”
    “Do I look like I care?” She’d always enjoyed asking that question, since she knew the answer was invariably no—
    “Yes, Kaderin, you do.” Cindey sounded amazed by this fact.
    Kaderin casually hissed at her, hoping to cover her dismay, because it was true that she’d been vampire-free for forty-eight hours. Sebastian hadn’t called, he hadn’t traced to her, and she felt like a nailed-and-bailed idiot.
    Good money said she’d... come on too strong?
    Yes, he’d said things, expressed sentiments and promises when she’d been kissing him. But how much weight could she put on those words? He’d been out of his mind with pleasure.
    How could she not be his favorite girl at the time?
    And really, what had they settled? Other than that the interlude was most definitely, unequivocally supposed to be meaningless sex? And exactly why had she been so adamant about that?
    She had absolutely refused to call Myst to ask about Sebastian. That stance had lasted about six hours before she broke down. But Myst and Nikolai hadn’t seen him or heard from him at all in two days.
    Third major turnoff? Not calling. Especially after a gymnastic round of immortal sex.
    Giving in to her insecurities in this new situation was better than the alternative: acknowledging that he would be here—unless he was injured. Or worse.
    She figured that since her emotions were still so changeable, she might as well try them all on like new coats. And she liked the look and feel of angry and indignant so much better than worried and fearful.
    None of this mattered. Once she went back for her sisters, none of this would have been. She had to remember that.
    Since the morning she’d left him the letter—and left her prize behind—she’d competed at three tasks. At each one, she’d had the misfortune of meeting up with Lucindeya and Bowen.
    Bowen remained gruesomely injured from the minefield, showing no regeneration whatsoever. He was still missing an eye and the skin over half his forehead. Blood had been seeping from the wound at his side, soaking his cambric shirt. The young witch’s curse was not to be shaken.
    Kaderin almost felt sorry for him—the way she’d feel sorry for a mindless wolf caught in the teeth of a spring trap. She’d freed them before, and they always appeared bewildered, eyes wild, having no idea why they’d been chosen to feel such pain or how to end it.
    Bowen reminded her of exactly that. But, in the end, the wolves always snarled and snapped, and though he was cursed, Bowen was still a force to be reckoned with in the competition.
    She’d slogged through a quicksand jungle to retrieve a jade pentacle. She’d thought she was so fast and had believed she had a chance against Bowen because he was still injured. But he’d flown over the untamed terrain as if renewed. He’d dusted her to that prize, leaving her panting and robbed of points.
    He’d scrutinized her, even took a menacing step toward her. Then, as if he’d made a weighty decision, he’d turned from her.
    In Egypt, Kaderin had answered a riddle of staggering complexity that left the Sphinx—and the Lykae and the siren—wondering how she’d done it. Secretly, she’d wondered herself. She’d earned the single golden scarab for ten points and had narrowed the gap on Bowen and taken a slim lead over Cindey.
    But just last night in China, Bowen had been the first to the sole Urn of the Eight Immortals, leaving her and Cindey completely out for all the effort to get there. He’d reached his eighty-seven points, securing his spot in the finals.
    Kaderin had seventy-four points. Cindey had seventy-two.
    It hadn’t escaped Kaderin’s notice that she was thirteen points shy of the finals— the exact value of the prize she’d relinquished.
    Today, the instructions were to swim out ten miles until a whirlpool portal appeared and brought them down to the prize—Amphitrite’s tear, a bead said to heal any wound.
    As twilight crept closer, competitors continued to line the beach. These entrants would be new ones—the veterans would have taken one look at this task, an eleven-pointer, and known some catch awaited them. Kaderin’s first clue what that catch might be occurred when she’d spied cows’ heads bobbing in the water just off the shore.
    And that was before she even saw the first fin.
    With a quick jog down the beach, she found a rivulet flowing steadily into the