Page 41 of Battle for the Shadow Prince (A Bargain with the Shadow Prince #2)

41

The Third Trial

ELOISE

M arabella is true to her word. I train in a converted room in the infirmary, practicing both my magic and fighting skills until exhaustion each day. The protein shakes keep coming. By the end of the second week, my endurance is noticeably improved in both departments. Everald supplies me with another set of new gear but doesn’t ask me for blood. In fact, I’m not required to donate to anyone.

Until George.

The night before the full moon, the master of the Liberty coven appears in my room, escorted in by Marabella’s guards. Then I remember I promised to feed him one more time before my trial.

“Marabella didn’t tell me you were coming tonight.” I gesture toward the yoga pants and T-shirt I’ve been practicing in. “I’m supposed to wear the robe.”

“Never mind the robe. This won’t take long, and I won’t take much. You’ll barely notice.”

The guards leave us.

I step forward, offering my wrist.

He holds up a hand. “We’ll get to that.” He waddles over to the window and looks out on the garden. “Some view you got here. Fancy. Bright as fuck, but nice to see flowers down here.” He backs away from the glass, stepping out of the rectangle of light and blinking his eyes.

“I’m looking forward to going home. My grandmother has a garden where I live. Not like this. I mean, not a Japanese garden. Roses and rhododendrons mostly. She had a green thumb.”

“She’s not around anymore?”

My gaze drifts to where I last saw Phantom. “She’s always with me in one way or another.”

He slumps against the wall. “You gotta win tomorrow, Eloise.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say. “I’ve been practicing. I’m better than before.”

He rubs his sagging jowls. “The woman who sired me, she was like Valeska in many ways. Centuries old. Vicious. They say we’re immortal, but I don’t think that’s the right word for it. We do age in a way. The bodies we inhabit become worn over centuries. And although we won’t ever meet a natural death, we can be killed. The oldest ones spend their years sleeping, bored of this world, desperate to preserve what’s left of their bodies and always looking over their shoulder, paranoid that a younger vampire wants what’s theirs.”

“That doesn’t sound like an enviable position,” I say softly.

“It ain’t. Life, whether it lasts fifty years or one thousand and fifty, is only good so long as you have purpose. That’s what my maker never understood. She turned me because she needed someone. I thought she did it for someone to maintain her house, but what she really wanted was love and friendship. And I wasn’t the person to love her. I resented her for keeping me there like some kind of pet.”

“You couldn’t leave?”

“When a vampire sires you, they have a strong influence over you. They can compel you to do things. Victoria compelled me to stay with her because her sire bond made me the only one she could trust in the Liberty coven. Everyone else wanted her dead. I did too, but it’s a complex relationship a new vampire has with their sire. I couldn’t do it. Anyway, I hated her for turning me. Hated her so much that I made her life hell for years. She released me from our sire bond just before she took her own life.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds horrible, George. But why are you telling me this?”

“Let’s just say I wanted to give you something to focus on. Whatever comes tomorrow, you’re mated. You’ve got love. And that’s worth living and dying for. So just know you have something that Valeska has never had. She tried to steal Damien because she has no one to love her like he loves you. She hates you for it because she’s jealous, but even if she wins, she’ll never have him like you have him.”

Wow. Who knew that George the vampire plumber could be so deep?

“Now feed me some blood and I’ll see you after you kick her ass in trial number three.”

I laugh and hold out my wrist. I feel the now-familiar rush of vampire venom when he strikes, and all my insides go bubbly. He only takes a few sips, and then he seals the wound.

“Good luck tomorrow, sweetheart,” he says, turning for the door.

“George, did you ever find a mate?”

He grins. “Maybe she’s runnin’ this place. How about that?”

“I can see it.” I smile as he leaves without another word.

The following night I’m escorted to the silo like every time before, only there’s something different in the air. As I walk through the marketplace, people have T-shirts with my face on them. They have signs wishing me well. Someone even has a giant foam finger. I see Everald and know who’s responsible. It definitely lifts my spirits.

The silo is packed, and Valeska is already there, surrounded by her admirers, that same smug smile on her face. She’s confident she’s going to win. But I hear the sounds of people betting on our lives behind me. One of the bookies tells a vampire that the odds are slightly in Valeska’s favor. Slightly. People believe in me. People want me to win.

My heart swells as I acknowledge that the most important people want me to win. Damien, for one. I spot him behind the box, next to Lazarus, who gives me a reassuring nod. As I turn slowly, scanning the crowd, I spot Marcel strategically at the very center. He bows his head to me when our eyes meet. George and Marabella are directly behind me and also smile encouragingly. Everald salutes me from his place near the wall.

When I turn back toward my mate, Damien’s eyes are only on me. Valeska and I are about sixteen feet apart, each standing in front of one of the archways. There’s no disguising the way Damien’s head is turned to face me. Our connection is a palpable thing. It must infuriate Valeska. That vain, narcissistic psychopath wants to believe that somewhere, deep down, Damien is attracted to her. That some part of him wants her to win. Anyone with half a brain knows the idea is ludicrous. She tortured him and assaulted him. He can’t wait to see her dead.

I imagine it driving her insane inside that pretty, dark head of hers, and the thought makes me happier than it should.

“Eloise, it’s your turn to roll,” Lazarus says as the moon reaches its peak.

I take a second to appreciate how beautiful the moon is, how much I want to have a life under it with Damien. A rush of adrenaline makes my hand tremble as I pick up the dice and throw them into the box.

I’ve become so much stronger these past four weeks that they ricochet around several times before coming to rest on a carving of a diamond and a swirling blue symbol. White fog bleeds into the mirror at the back of the box, clouding out the silver. I stare intently, waiting for our mission.

A single word fades into the center of the mirror. Choose .

Choose? Choose what? I step back, and the portals within the archways go wavy, and then I see something that makes my heart leap. Under the moon arch is the crown of black diamonds that Damien showed me when he told me he would one day make me his princess. Under the star arch is the casual tiara his mother wore during the first trial.

I already know I’m going to choose the crown that represents the promise Damien made to me. But the mirror smokes over again. Another word. Win .

We wait, but there are no further messages.

Lazarus prompts me to choose first. It’s my turn.

I race for the black diamond crown and leap over the threshold. My right hand palms the hilt of my dagger. All is dark. The sensation of falling goes on and on, and I brace myself for impact. Have I unwittingly launched myself off the side of the castle? Am I being dropped into a lion’s cage at the center of a deadly labyrinth? It doesn’t matter. I’m ready for anything. I will do anything to be with Damien.

My feet hit stone, and it doesn’t feel like I’m landing at all, only like I’ve taken one giant step. But what’s in front of me makes no sense. I’m back in the silo. The two crowns are suspended in the air above my head. I glance toward Damien. He and Lazarus look completely befuddled.

I look back at the crown. Clearly my challenge is to jump for it. It’s high but not impossibly so. But before I have a chance, the crowd rumbles and I look to my side. Valeska steps out of her archway. She’s as bewildered as I was until she sees that there’s no barrier between us.

Damien moves for me and slaps an invisible wall. The impact ignites a honeycomb of purple cells that stretch in a dome over me and the queen, a force field between us and everyone else in this silo. It’s just us in here. Me and her. No one can interfere.

And then I understand.

The goal is the crown of our choosing.

I’ll have to go through her to get it.

And she’ll have to go through me.

Win , the mirror had said.

For a split second, I’m terrified. This was never supposed to happen. Sabrina swore to me that the magic of the box kept the challenges even and fair. I was never supposed to have to face her directly.

It’s so unfair.

How am I supposed to?—

I stop my thoughts right there and unsheathe my second dagger, raising both of them between us. This bitch does not get to win. She does not get Damien. The bond between Phantom and me wrenches taut as I sink low into a fighting stance, echoing the chilling smile she sends me. Magic buzzes in my torso.

Valeska’s pretty face morphs into a sardonic grin, her eyes going full black as her fangs extend. She eyes my fighting stance and laughs, hers remaining upright and casual. She’s confident that she can beat me in a one-on-one fight. “No separate challenge to save you. No help from your blood-whore friends. I’m going to enjoy killing you, human filth. Slowly and with pain.”

A chant rises in the crowd. “Va-les-ka. Va-les-ka.” No one here thinks I can win this trial.

I lift my chin. No one but me.

Without breaking eye contact, I extend my upward-facing palm, open and curl my fingers around the hilt of my dagger, beckoning her to me. Once. Twice.

She attacks.

Six months ago, this fight would be over in seconds. Valeska is the strongest and fastest opponent I have ever faced, and that includes Damien and Cassius. But I’m different now. I’m stronger. Months of practicing my magic and ingesting the healing herbs from Marabella pay off.

Her claws come at me at superspeed, and I weave and dodge with perfect clarity, my daggers sweeping ever closer to her face, her limbs, her gut. Her foot kicks toward my middle, but I turn to the side, sweeping my dagger up as I whirl around her back. I nick her cheekbone.

The crowd goes wild.

She pauses to wipe the blood, surprise ricocheting through her expression. She sucks the bead of red off her thumb.

The next time she attacks, she’s nothing but a blur. Only my hold on Phantom keeps my head attached to my shoulders. Bending backward until I’m parallel to the floor, I narrowly avoid Valeska’s clawed fingers as they pass right over my nose. I flop on my back, shoot my legs out between hers, and roll, taking her down to the floor with me. It’s an ugly, unrefined move, but it catches her off guard. She doesn’t expect me to be this fast.

That’s when I understand. The magic of the box ensures that these trials are fair. Sabrina said I’d never have to face Valeska because she was so much stronger than I was, thus the previous parallel challenges. But as Valeska’s fist narrowly misses my head and connects with the stone beside my ear, I sink my dagger into her kidney and realize why this is happening.

I am stronger now.

I am as strong as Valeska.

And I can win this thing.

I roll out from under her, tearing my blade from her side. It spurts maroon blood across the floor but heals quickly. Back on my feet, I go on the offensive. Closing the distance between us, I move inside her next blow and sweep my blade up. I aim for her throat, but she moves toward me so fast my blade lands under her bottom rib. I hear her flesh sizzle and know the Stygian blades are doing their dirty work. The angle of my blade means I must be close to her black heart. She catches my wrist, tries to pull it out, but I hold firm. I’m so close I imagine the tip scraping the useless organ.

She shifts and a vise closes around my throat—her opposite hand. I stab my other dagger through her wrist and try to use the blade as a lever to pry the hand off my throat.

Neither of us yields.

“Have you learned nothing about vampires, you human cunt?” Valeska spits in my face. “Our hearts don’t beat.” She releases my wrist. My dagger slices through her bones and lands in her heart. Gritting her teeth, she grabs my neck with both hands. Using all my strength, I drag the dagger up through her ribs, her lungs, her heart, splitting open her chest before tearing it sideways from her torso.

It’s a move that would be impossible with human weapons, but my blades are not of this planet.

Blood spurts from Valeska’s lips, and her grip on my throat eases just long enough for me to pull free.

“Your heart may not beat, but you do bleed,” I rasp through my recovering airway.

“Fucking cunt!” she gurgles. She shoves me with a strength I don’t see coming. I fly across the dome, my back slamming into the barrier with enough force I almost black out. I hear Phantom whimper inside my head. Our connection goes slack. My daggers clatter to the stone. My body crumples between them.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Black dots circle in my vision. I’ve never been hit by a car, but I have to believe this is what it feels like. Not a car, a truck. Not just a truck, a semi.

Precious minutes pass before I manage to draw a tiny sip of air into my lungs, and it burns.

Above me, Damien is in his monster form. and he’s slamming the heels of his paws against the dome, yelling for me to get up. I try. My arm bends. One knee. I spot a dagger and reach for it.

A chant grows in the silo. “EL-O-ISE, EL-O-ISE.” They’re chanting my name now. The corner of my mouth twitches.

I’m on my side. My searching hand finds the dagger, and I dare a glance toward Valeska. Inside a puddle of her own blood, she’s closed the wound I opened in her torso and is tucking all her parts inside. She’s managed to tear her shirt off and tie it around her chest like a tourniquet.

She’s hurt but she’s standing.

And she’s fucking angry.

Cassius taught me the only way to kill a vampire, short of direct sun, is to cut off their head.

I make it to my hands and knees.

I crawl for my second dagger.

Air finally fills my lungs. It’s a small mercy.

Everything hurts.

Somehow, drawing on every ounce of magic I can pull from Phantom, I stumble to my feet. I am a tower of torn and broken things, but I face the monster I came to slay. Can she see it in my eyes? That I have become an even darker monster? Can she see the promise I have for her in the glint of my blades? Can she see how love has made me hard as stone and sharp as broken glass?

I bare my teeth.

I taste blood.

She comes for me.

I let her.

She reaches for my head.

I sweep the dagger between our bodies, aiming for her throat.

A loud snap rings through my ears.