And she'd dressed for the occasion.

"Won't you tell me what's going on, my darling?" she asked, edging closer. "You always trust me with your secrets. You know I'll keep them forever."

"My problem doesn't concern you," he said, absently rubbing his throat. "It mustn't."

"Hmm. Very well." She'd try another tack. "You haven't complimented me on my outfit." Bettina had grown accustomed to the jeans, sandals, and T-shirts she'd worn during her two-semester stint at college, but in Abaddon, she'd returned to dressing as her foremothers had.

In other words, she'd clad herself in provocative clothes, plaited her dark hair into wild, disordered braids, and donned as much gold jewelry as her body could carry.

As was the Sorceri way, she also wore a mask. The scarlet silk was a thin band around her eyes, making their color stand out-champagne-brown irises circled with a ring of black. According to her godmother, Morgana, her wide eyes were her best feature.

But now Cas barely spared a glance at her red lace-up bodice or her skimpy black skirt with slits up to her hips. The thigh-high boots encasing her legs in soft leather evoked no reaction. He said nothing about the gold armlets winding up each arm, the matching collar around her neck, or the diadem perched upon her head.

A master goldsmith, Bettina had created each of the pieces in her workshop-adding a surprise design modification. She was secretly proud of her skill.

"Very pretty," he said in a distracted tone, glancing in her direction. "You grow prettier with each year."

She'd read in a women's magazine that a male who liked you wanted to watch you all the time. You'd catch his eyes on you constantly.

Sometimes Cas didn't look at her at all. When he did, sometimes he didn't seem to see her.

No, I must snare his attention! One of two fates awaited her, depending on the outcome of her mission tonight.

If she succeeded in seducing Cas, she would wed her heart's desire and be forever protected by the only male she'd ever loved. They would become king and queen of the Deathly Ones and live out their eternal lives together.

If she failed with her demon, a tournament would begin for her hand-and for the crown of Abaddon. Bettina had seen the caliber of contestants beginning to file into Rune.

Swilling demon lords who already had dozens of brutalized wives.

Snakelike Cerunnos who would expect her to feed their spawn-with her flesh.

A troll that wasn't an anatomical match for her.

She knew none of them desired her; they only wanted the throne. Reminded of her prospects, she laid her hand on Cas's thigh, saying in a breathy murmur, "It's been so lonely without you here these past few weeks." She edged even closer. "You still won't confess where in the Lore you went off to?"

"Doesn't concern you," he said, but she'd known him long enough to know she was wearing him down.

"Please talk to me, Cas." She twirled the ends of her bodice laces, trying to draw his attention to her diminutive-but expertly displayed-breasts. "Take my mind off my fate."

"And that is another worry I contend with." He clenched his mug until the handle bent. "How could your godparents do this to you?"

Though Raum and Morgana, the Queen of Sorceri, were lifelong foes of each other, they agreed on one thing: Bettina's need for a husband/protector/king. But since they couldn't agree on a particular male-or even a particular species-they'd decided to host this tournament.

Searching only for the strongest champion in the Lore, they'd opened it to all creatures.

Olden ways. Abaddon had once been known for blood sport within its notorious Iron Ring-and for virgins offered up as prizes.

Bettina knew her two guardians loved her; they meant well. She also knew how fortunate she was to have them in her life. Halflings born of two hostile species were often shunned by both.

"I agreed to all their terms, Cas." She remembered that fateful conversation. She'd been sobbing, telling them, "Yes, yes, I'll do anything. Just get me my power back!" Sinister and destructive as it might be.

Cas scoffed. "Agreed? You mean they manipulated you."

If Bettina ever got famous enough in the Lore to earn a trailing name-like Maksimillia the Butcher or Lothaire the Enemy of Old-it would probably be Bettina the Pushover. Maybe Bettina the Easy Mark.

"Always, they get their way with you!"

Not always. Last year, she'd stunned everyone-including herself-and defied her guardians in order to attend a mortal design college. Ever since she was young, she'd been obsessed with fashion and jewelry creation, the Sorceri love of gold and garb running deep in her. She'd consumed every book on the subject and had been hungry to learn more and hone her craft.

Far from the prying eyes of Castle Rune, Bettina had been a carefree Lorean, blending with humans, enjoying freedom, new friends, and even her own flat with electricity and modern amenities! No longer had she been a halfling freak among hardy demons-she'd been a design geek, immersed in a tribe of them.

One night had changed her entire life. She swallowed, tamping down that memory. "I wasn't exactly in a position to resist my guardians again."

The first-and last-time she'd defied them, she'd been punished to within an inch of her life.

It'd taken her two months to convalesce; being part Sorceri and on the cusp of immortality meant she had healed fully-but slowly. The only thing that had gotten her through it?