Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

Besides, deep down you recognized Elizabeth as yours but refused to accept it. Which is understandable in the extreme, Lothaire. Regardless, you’ll forsake her for me, because you still want your crowns.” She’d gazed down at Elizabeth’s body with contempt. “Even though you’re obviously mating with her.”
    “I’ll find another way to get my kingdoms.”
    “If you discover a way for a vampire to break a vow to the Lore, do let me know. . . .”
    His vows bound him like shackles, forcing him onto a path from which he could not veer.
    They compelled him to search tirelessly. In order to spend time with Elizabeth, he had to resist the compulsion, but could only do so for limited amounts of time.
    She returned then, showered, dressed, carrying a loaded breakfast plate. “Will you play nice with all the other little vampires when you’re out searching tonight?”
    He ignored Hag’s inquiring look. He knew the oracle wondered what his Endgame was now.
    Lothaire only wished it were as clear as it’d been for the millennia before. “Of course.” He stood. “I leave now.”
    “At least kiss me like you’ll miss me, Leo,” Elizabeth demanded in a saucy tone that made him want to do nothing more than trace her back to their bed. “Else I won’t think you’re sweet on me.”
    The corners of his lips curled. He liked her accent now. Even if he hadn’t started to find her mountain drawl sexy, it was an asset for her—people heard her speak and saw her beauty and underestimated her.
    Just as he had. Sucker punch. But no longer. Each day with her, he was learning what a formidable female she was.
    Whenever they traveled, her keen mind soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Teaching her proved rewarding, enjoyable. And experiencing those locales with her cast them in a new light, making them exciting for him once more.
    She made him feel young and alive .
    Elizabeth Daciano was a drug to a male like Lothaire.
    So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that she was drifting away from him?
    He bent down to press his lips to hers, taking her soothing scent within him. “Will you worry for me when I’m gone?”
    She shook her head. “But I’ll pity anyone who crosses you.”
    His chest bowed. Like a drug, Elizavetta . . .
    Reluctantly he traced away. As soon as he appeared in Erol’s oyster-shell parking lot, he perceived a heavy presence. Dorada was nearby.
    Rain drizzled, thunder rumbling. Music blared from inside the dilapidated shack of a bar. The scents of so many of his enemies muddled together in one place had him wishing he’d brought a mystical bomb. To eradicate them all so easily . . .
    No. Focus.
    He crossed to the black water’s edge, spying an old duck blind far out in the middle of a cove. Tracing to the blind, he crouched atop it, listening for Dorada.
    Over the strengthening rain, he heard only expected sounds—reptiles gliding through the swamp, a stray Valkyrie shriek. He scented the wet air, perceived a faint trace of Dorada’s rotted skin, but couldn’t pinpoint its source.
    In the past, he would have waited here until dawn, stalking his enemy, envisioning their upcoming battle in gory detail.
    Now he was impatient, knowing his thoughts would grow more chaotic every moment he was away from Elizabeth.
    Lightning forked out above, momentarily setting the bayou aglow. The reflective eyes of Lore creatures flashed all around the water. None were his prey.
    Where are you, Dorada? He didn’t have time to pursue her—
    His head jerked around as he caught that scent once more. He lunged into a trace, landing at the perimeter of the bayou, spinning in place. The smell seemed to come from all around him.
    Then I’ll scour every inch of this godsforsaken mire. Half tracing, half sprinting,he began to cover ground, dematerializing through thickets of briars, then charging around trees.
    The winds began to howl, sheeting the rain sideways, dispersing the scent. Still he ran, his thoughts growing as tangled as the underbrush. Find Dorada. Slay her. Then nothing will distract me from the ring.
    He’d considered forgiving the Blademan’s debt in exchange for Webb’s location. After all, Chase surely hated Webb; the commander had gone behind his back and had Regin “studied.”
    But Lothaire knew the Blademan would tell him nothing. He despised Lothaire even more than he did the man who’d ordered his female cut open—while she was conscious.
    Navigating a dense stand of cypress, Lothaire