Unchained

Chapter 14

Ashe pulled into her driveway. The house looked quiet, as if all the neighbors were out. By the front fence, tulips shivered in the fitful wind, their pinks and yellows almost painfully bright in the gloom. As they got out of the SUV, Ashe pondered Reynard’s quest. Or really, their quest. Everything led back to the collector demon. At least she didn’t have to feel guilty anymore about taking Reynard away from his mission. Their enemies were the same.

Reynard stood contemplating the flowers as if he hadn’t seen anything blooming for centuries. Maybe he hadn’t. With his hair loose and damp, she could see a chestnut tinge in the waves. It softened his face, except for the eyes kept secret behind sunglasses, even though it had started to drizzle.

“What now?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

She kept her voice businesslike, as if she didn’t want to bury her fingers in that hair. “We need to strategize, but first I have to clean up.”

“I should do the same.”

“Do you want to come in?”

“My clean clothes are in the Castle.”

The statement was simple, but nuances lingered underneath his clipped tone, taking her back to the gym that morning. To the memory of his crushing her between his body and the mirror. She shivered, disappointed and relieved that she wouldn’t be trying to shower and change with him there. Her brain could sure do Technicolor when it needed to. Hot running water, soap suds, and Reynard was a combination akin to a tsunami. It would wipe everything else off the map.

But oh, my Goddess, talk about temptation.

“Come find me when you’re done. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” She turned and walked away, leaving him standing beside the flower bed.

If she didn’t, she was going to jump him right there.

Saturday, April 4, 6:30 p.m.

101.5 FM

“This is a CSUP news bulletin.

“There is a fire in the twelve hundred block of Fort Street. Traffic near the Fort and Main intersection has been blocked off by police. Motorists are asked to take alternate routes through the downtown.

“The Book Burrow, formerly known as Cowan’s Books, is engulfed in flames. Fire crews are concentrating on containment. Neighboring businesses are in no immediate danger, but that could change at any time. Due to the extreme nature of the blaze, which seems to have begun in the attic, firefighters have not been able to enter the building or search for survivors. However, arson is suspected.

“Cowan’s Books, a Fairview institution, had been in that location since 1965. It was recently sold to new owners after the death of the previous owner, William Cowan.

“We will provide updates as more information becomes available.”

Ashe switched off the radio, a rock in her stomach. Spilled oil. Candle. Attic. She finished toweling off from the shower, put on a robe, and then phoned Holly. More and more, she was calling her sister when she needed to talk something out.

“How’s Eden?”

“Enjoying spaghetti, meatballs, and television.”

“No wonder she loves going to your place. Thanks again for looking after her. I know you’re swamped.”

“Not a problem. She’s actually not a bad little baby-sitter.”

Ashe felt an almost irrational pride in her daughter. Way to go, Eden. Then her mind flipped into business mode. “Hey, you hear about the fire?”

“Yeah.”

Ashe hunched, feeling the loss of her childhood bookstore like a physical pain. “I think I might have started it. I spilled the extra oil you sent. I left the candle burning when I had to run.”

“I don’t know if that’s enough to make a blaze that hot.” Holly sounded doubtful. “There was a lot of magic going on. That can change things. Plus, that place is stuffed with old paper.”

“Oh, Hol, all those old books. I loved that place.”

“At least we’re sure that poor little-girl ghost is freed.”

“What if the urn was in there?”

“Did Reynard say anything about feeling it?”

“No.”

“Then probably not.”

Ashe was silent for a moment. “I burned down Mr. Cowan’s bookstore.”

Holly’s voice dropped to her special talking-Asheoff-the-ledge tone. “You don’t know that. The demon might have done something. If he tried to shut down the spell, that might have made something go wrong. Don’t jump to conclusions. You went there to cleanse the store. Maybe this is how it had to happen.”

Ashe was silent. If only demons burned as easily as vampires, but the Tony demon would still be out there, and now it would be pissed.

Before Ashe could dwell on that horrific idea, Holly brought up something else. “Alessandro’s going to meet Lore down there as soon as it’s full dark. Lore’s hounds were guarding the place when it went up, but from the sound of it, they didn’t see anything. Sandro’s going to check the place over for himself.”

Ashe looked out the window at the fading light. “Alessandro’s leaving you and the kids on your own?”

“I’m not helpless, Ashe. Plus we’ve got more hellhounds digging up the flower beds outside.”

Ashe smiled at her sister’s disgusted tone. “You don’t mind keeping the kiddo a bit longer?”

“Let her stay overnight. It’s safe here. No vampires. No demons. You should come stay, too.”

“Thanks, Hol, but I’ve got to meet with Reynard. Did your esteemed vamp- in-residence find out anything about the visiting fangsters?”

“He’s got the locals out looking, but so far no joy.”

“Damn.”

“It won’t take long to find out where they’re staying. Vamps are territorial, so the natives are motivated. So, what’s with you and Reynard?”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Ashe could tell she sounded grumpy.

“Yeah, right. You like each other.”

“Sure we do. That’s it. There’s way too much going on to complicate things.”

“Too bad. I mean, the guy’ll probably get out of the Castle only this once. Someone should show him a good time.”

Ashe laughed, but it sounded forced. “He’s got no soul. I’m so over men like that.”

“Well, we’re only talking a couple of nights here at most.”

“He deserves more than a pity fuck. And don’t talk about him like that.” Ashe bit off the next thing she was going to say, bewildered by her sharp response. “Sorry. His situation’s gotten to me.”

“Sure, yeah. And I shouldn’t be joking like that, anyway. But y’know, Grandma said he was great with Eden.”

“He was pure gold.”

Holly was silent for a moment, as if not sure where to take that thread of conversation. Then she jumped tracks altogether. “How’d the meeting with the lawyer go?”

Ashe filled her in on everything that had happened that afternoon. “He’s so fired.”

“Shouldn’t he be arrested?” Holly asked. “He’s doing business deals with a demon, and not a nice one like Mac!”

“I’m pretty sure his office partners are building a big legal fortress around him as we speak. But I’ve got a better idea. I’m going to tail him. Wherever Tony goes next, now that his bookstore is gone, Bannerman is sure to be at his beck and call. We’ll find him that way.”

“There’s a spell—”

Ashe heard Robin’s cry in the background.

“You need to go,” Ashe said. “That sounded hungry.”

“Yeah, catch you later.” Holly hung up.

Ashe disconnected, setting the phone back in its cradle. She wished Holly had left Reynard out of the conversation. There were a handful of people she’d do anything for: Eden, Grandma, Holly, a few of her hunter friends, and, on a good day, Alessandro. Reynard’s name was starting to creep onto that list, fading into view like invisible ink slowly revealed by the heat of a flame.

Reynard needed far more from her than a booty call. He needed someone willing to fight for him, to break the chains that bound him in darkness.

And when she was done fighting? That happy-ever-after thing always slipped through her grasp. She wasn’t Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella. She was one of the knights, slapping the prince on the back and buying him a round after they ganked the dragon.

Awkward.

An interval of quiet followed, but it was short-lived. Ashe had barely pulled on fresh jeans and a tank top and started to make herself a sandwich when the burned-toast smell of a portal came drifting from the living room.

“Hello?” she called, holding the butter knife in one hand. She set it down and shoved open the window to clear the air before the fire alarm went off.

Reynard sauntered into the kitchen, clean, tidy, and looking around with a speculative air. He set the sunglasses on the pale yellow counter. Ashe looked at them, then at him.

“You can see okay?”

“I’m getting used to the light.” He looked around, still squinting a little. “You have a comfortable home.”

Ashe buttered bread. “It’s small, but it’s all right.”

“Where is Eden?”

“Still at Holly’s. She’s safest there, protected by the magic of the house. Caravelli should be up soon. And the hounds are still camped out in the yard, making like super-ugly garden gnomes. I phoned to check in.”

“Garden gnomes? I thought they lived farther south.”

Ashe put the lid back on the butter dish. “Imports.” He watched her open the fridge and bring out containers of leftover chicken, mayo, and salad. He pulled up one of the café stools and sat on it as she worked. It was all weirdly domestic, and it made her twitchy.

“So tell me something about yourself I don’t know,” she said.

“Such as?”

“We’re usually trying to kill something when we’re together. Or on the move. I’m not sure what to expect now that we’re just sitting in a kitchen.”

He gave a slight smile. “Once upon a time I was considered a skillful conversationalist. I used to have more talents than fighting.”

Ashe pulled the lid off the salad container and started searching for bits of lettuce that still looked more green than brown. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“I was an excellent sportsman. I rode almost before I could walk. I have a keen interest in astronomy and navigation. Handy when you’ve traveled as much as I did.”

He leaned against the counter, the posture casual but the muscles in his body still coiled. A man doing an imitation of somebody relaxing. “It was part of a young man’s education to tour Europe. Then, when I took up my career with the military, I went to India with the Royal Regiments.”

“That must have been a culture shock.”

He tilted his head, his look far away. “It was an experience. Many of the officers weren’t interested in anything outside their own gentlemanly circle, but I wanted to learn whatever I could. The language. The life in the villages. How the common soldiers lived. That’s where I got the Brown Bess you so adore.”

Ashe returned his smirk. “That wasn’t your usual weapon?”

“Not exactly.” He warmed to the subject a little. “Officers didn’t do the actual shooting in battle, but I liked knowing how to use it. By understanding the arms, I had a better idea of what the men who used them were faced with.”

Ashe thought about that for a moment, and the sound of his voice. She had always become lost in the refined English accent, but she could hear the nuances of emotion now. Rough sadness, layers of irony, respect for the men under him. He wasn’t a stranger anymore. She liked that.

“How long were you there?”

“Four years. Then I was wounded and sent back to England to recover.”

“And then?”

Reynard looked down at the countertop. “My next trip led me to the Castle. There was no more traveling after that.”

Ashe waited for more, closing up the chicken sandwich and cutting it in two. She wanted details about the guardsmen and about how he ended up in an interdimensional prison. No more words came, however.

Would pushing be a mistake? The wrong question at the wrong time might make him clam up, and she was tired of that closed-off look of his. It was like talking to the cardboard Legolas the bookstore guys had left outside the library. She wasn’t going to risk losing the rapport they had going.

The downstairs neighbor pulled up in front of the house, slamming the car door. Ashe closed the window, starting to feel cold.

“Well,” she said quietly, sitting on the other café stool. “What do we do next?” She bit into the sandwich, all the salt, pepper, and mayo doing a happy dance on her tongue. She was so hungry, it hurt.

Reynard picked up a stray twist tie, looking at it with furrowed concentration. He had apparently lost none of his taste for discovering new cultures. “The urn wasn’t in the bookshop. I would have felt it if it were.”

He said it casually, but she heard uneasiness buried under the sangfroid.

“Then we have to find the demon’s other hangouts,” she said after swallowing. “The bookstore burned down, anyway.”

He gave her a sharp look. “Pardon?”

“It was on the news. It might have been the spell I was doing, or something the demon did afterward.” She looked down, mourning again the loss of all those books. “It won’t kill the demon, just make it run someplace else. We find it, we find the next possible urn location.”

“The person you called before was able to find out that Bannerman sold the bookshop. Could he discover what other sales that firm handled recently?”

“Good idea.” She took another bite.

He was watching her eat, his eyelids half-closed. He reached out, stealing a cherry tomato from her plate, and put it in his mouth.

He was eating something.

Ashe stared, forgetting to chew. Reynard bit down, eyes closed in concentration. His eyelids fluttered, then opened, a look of shock tensing the muscles around his nose and mouth.

“You okay?” she asked around the bite of sandwich.

He gulped. “That tasted . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Like a tomato?”

“Yes.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “I’d forgotten what they were like.”

His gaze traveled back to her plate.

“Are you hungry?”

He shot her a wild look that he shuttered almost before she truly saw it. Something beastlike, driven by deprivation. She felt her heart stutter, filled with fear and pity, then shoved her plate across the counter toward him. “Go ahead. I’ll make myself another.”

The knowledge of what his hunger meant passed between them. He looked away, almost shamefaced, then picked up the sandwich and bit into it. She heard his sigh and wondered how long he had been denying the urge to eat. Her own appetite vanished at the thought.

What the hell can I do for him? All he wants is to live a little.

And we’re not going to find that vessel in time.

She picked up the phone and walked into the living room to call her hacker contact. She stood in the semidarkness, glaring at the glowing screen of her cell phone.

Goddess!

She needed her vision to stop blurring so she could read the list of contacts.

The complex textures of the sandwich filled Reynard’s mind, blotting out everything else. Soft bread, the crunch of greens, the rich tearing of meat. He tasted butter. Holy God, he’d forgotten how good that was. Some things didn’t quite line up with memory. The bread was different, but that didn’t matter. It was food, that basic connective tissue that bound man to man, regardless of race or creed or culture. Hunger was their shared inheritance, relieving it a universal rite. After so long, he was part of that brotherhood again.

And it tasted so good.

He could feel his body seizing on the food, realizing he must have needed to eat long before he knew it. Dizziness swept over him as he crammed the last bite of chicken into his mouth. He wanted more, but he’d seen prisoners of war make that mistake when they were finally liberated and fed. Too much at once ended in sickness. He couldn’t risk that.

He slid off the stool, washed his hands, and filled a glass with water. He gulped it down, feeling the coolness slip over his throat. Even water suddenly tasted like heaven.

Ashe came into the kitchen behind him. “My contact’s going to call me back.”

Reynard set the glass in the sink. “Then we wait.”

He turned to face her. Her expression was horrified and dazed, much like he had felt when a piece of artillery had blown up too close for comfort, taking the gunner with it. He wanted to wipe that look from her eyes, but what could he say? Yes, my dear, I’m perishing faster than a beached fish, but I feel marvelous.

And he did. There was the hollowness where his soul should be, but there was so much emotion. Bit by bit, his heart was unfreezing. Joy, liberty, and affection were his again. Instead of groping for memories, he was experiencing life. He pushed away from the sink and crossed over to her, his boots a slow tattoo on the tile floor.

She set the phone on the counter, finding the right place by touch. Her emerald gaze was glued to his face, filled with a mix of concern and something a lot less maternal. That look was worth everything. He’d walked out of the Castle into freedom, and a beautiful, fierce woman cared what became of him. As victories went, it was magnificent.

I wish I could make you understand. He put his hands on her bare arms, feeling the soft skin and hard muscle beneath. She was exactly his height and every bit as talented a fighter as he was, but also oddly delicate. There was nothing heavy-boned about her. She was all speed and grace.

In a just world, he could have promised her everything. All he had was his body, but he could use that to take the sadness from Ashe’s eyes. She knew what was happening to him, but she couldn’t see the joy he felt. Where words failed, there were other means to make himself understood.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“About this,” he said, and brushed her lips with his, once, twice, and then took her mouth without holding back. She retreated a fraction, but then gave in to her response, as if coming to a decision. Her lips parted under his, letting him in.

She wound her fingers though his hair, pulling out the tie that held it back. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip, not breaking skin but marking possession.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Then I shall be your sinful pleasure.”

Reynard pulled Ashe into him, holding her hard against his chest. She felt so warm, so soft and strong at once. He grasped her shoulders, feeling the bones and muscles move as she wrapped her arms around his neck, then slipped her fingers down his shoulders. His own hands cupped her cheeks, running his thumbs along the fine ridge of her jaw. The pulse in her neck fluttered against his fingers, as if reaching for his caress.

Ashe was mortal, her life spent in an instant. Like him, she was more than human but she had none of the guardsmen’s indestructible power. The magic she had was all but destroyed. Or so she said. He could feel the remnants of it clinging to her, as ephemeral as cobwebs and yet curiously strong.

Her mouth found his neck, leaving nips as she tasted his flesh. Clean, silky hair brushed his cheek as she caressed him. The sunny softness of it reminded him of home—of meadow flowers and random feathers found by the banks of a wild creek. Ashe belonged there, in that land of freedom and instinct. The land where sensation weighed heavier than thought.

There was something oddly innocent about that, and it charmed him.

She leaned her weight against his chest, forcing him to fall back a step. Retreat signaled a change of tactics. She swerved, pushing him against the wall. His shoulders thumped against the hard surface.

“Take off your shirt,” she said, her words half whisper, half growl.

“La, madam,” he murmured into her ear. “Do you mean to strip me of my virtue?”

She looked up through her lashes, her eyes sharp and hungry. “First things first, boy. Shirt. Off.”

The challenge was too much. “The devil I will. You’ll have to work for it.”

“You’ll pay for that.” Grasping the hem of his T-shirt, she started to pull it up his stomach.

“Not so fast.”

He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her feet from the floor as if she were no more than a naughty child. In response, she wrapped her legs around his middle, holding on with the strength in her thighs. The motion turned them in a half circle, knocking over a floor lamp that fell with a clatter. Neither of them stopped to assess the damage.

Ashe pulled the shirt off over his head. By that point, he had to cooperate and raise his arms or she’d tear the shirt. Possibly with her teeth. Besides, the feel of her against his bare skin was too enticing to resist. She waved the garment for a moment like a victory flag, then let it arc to the floor.

“I always get my way eventually.” Releasing her grip on his waist, she braced herself on his shoulders and slithered down his front until her feet touched the floor. The movement made him wish for that wall to brace himself against. Friction was exquisite torture. All of a sudden, his knees were not at their most reliable.

Her hand cupped the front of his jeans just for a moment, a quick, possessive gesture. Reynard caught his breath. Blood and thunder, if I don’t hurry this along, I won’t last beyond the opening pleasantries.

Roaming up her ribs, his hands could find only flesh beneath the top she wore. He felt a brief pang of disappointment—he had fancied an encounter with one of those frilly bras he’d seen in modern magazines—but warm female breast quickly occupied his attention. He circled her nipples with his thumbs, bringing a groan from her throat. Her hands raked through his hair, then fell to his shoulders, then slowly ran down his arms, caressing him until she cupped his own hands where he touched her.

She turned, pulling him down and falling onto the couch in one graceful motion. The fabric that covered it was a deep green, her bare arms ivory against it. Reynard knelt, straddling her legs, knocking throw cushions to the floor as he settled. Ashe was on her back, underneath him, as he’d fantasized so many times.

Only this time, there was no Castle to throttle that desire. The pounding in his loins was as raw and real as it had been in his youth. The scent of her skin filled his nose, his lungs, seeping into his blood like a drug. A flush of desire was creeping over her, turning the ivory to rose. He could feel the warmth of it, and he heated in turn.

Her eyes widened with appreciation of the tattoos that crawled over his chest.

“These are so funky,” she said, tracing them lightly with her nails. The butterfly touch made him shiver, hardening his own nipples into pale peaks. Her hand moved to a scar that curled from his shoulder down to his chest. “What’s this?”

The impulse to talk was fading fast. “The sword thrust that sent me home to England.”

“And here.” She ran her fingers over his abdomen. “There should be a scar here, from last fall, but there’s no mark. That ax wound was deep.”

Reynard began to play with the waistband of her pants, hoping to lure her back to the task at hand. “I have scars only from before I became a guardsman. The rest heal completely, given time.”

“That’s right. You’ve got superpowers of recovery. That should come in handy tonight.”

Tonight. It might be all they had, but he would make her remember it. Reynard pulled up the hem of her shirt and pressed his lips to the soft flesh just above her navel, tasting it, nuzzling his way upward between the arcs of her rib cage.

Seeming suddenly impatient, she peeled the peach-colored tank top over her head, revealing small, firm breasts. Her nipples were the delicate pink of seashells. He took one greedily, using his tongue to bring it to a peak. She arched into him.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, kissing the hollow of her collarbone, the soft spot just below her ear. He used his hands and his mouth to make her breath come quickly, short gasps of need that made the back of his own neck prickle.

“It’s all good,” she whispered.

“But all women have a key,” he murmured into her ear. “A secret wish that unlocks them every time.”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s not pretty.”

Ashe writhed as he pulled down her stretchy slacks, tossing them to the floor. He nearly fell to the floor right along with them.

“Bloody hell.”

She was wearing nothing underneath, not even the usual triangle of hair. His imagination hadn’t predicted that one, but it was sure to be included in any future scripts.

“That would be your key, would it?” she said slyly. “Or perhaps calling it the lock would be more anatomically correct.”

Reynard cleared his throat, but there would be no more talking as her fingers found his zipper and slid it carefully open, giving him blessed relief. Her breasts rose in a quick inhale as he shed the rest of his clothes.

“Sweet Hecate, no wonder they locked you up.”

“You have no idea,” he said, keeping the irony out of his tone.

She shifted, welcoming him into her arms. The sensation of touching skin to skin, the complete freedom of nakedness, filled every sense. She was smooth and lean, long legs wrapping around his waist. It had been so long since he had felt anything like this, the physical world began to blur. Nothing was left but the painful, throbbing need to possess.

“I can’t wait,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then don’t.”

“It will be rough.”

“Perfect.” Her gaze was unfocused. “Completely perfect. Don’t hold back.”

She shifted again, her hand guiding him as he pushed inside. The hot tightness of her made him cry out. A growl came from her throat. Sharp nails dug into his shoulders, the pain only increasing his desire. He moved inside her carefully, biting his lip, doing everything he could to slow down and give her some chance at pleasure. Her muscles clenched around him, the delicious agony of it turning his vision to starbursts.

Then rhythm took over, each thrust making her gasp and the couch moan. He heard the sounds, but they had no meaning. All he could feel was the gathering storm, and the hot wetness surrounding him. Quickening pulses spasmed deep inside her as his rhythm broke and he began to pound, taking her too hard and too soon.

But he could tell she needed the raw frenzy of their joining as much as he did.

“Oh, Goddess!” Ashe cried.

He felt the release like a bolt of lightning, blanking every nerve in exquisite torment. It felt like it went on and on, making up for an eternity of denial.

Ending too soon.

He gripped the couch, arm muscles quivering. There was no room to collapse, not without smothering Ashe or tumbling to the floor. They were both breathing hard, sticky with sweat. She looked startled, like he’d done something remarkable. Maybe not all my skills are lost?

“Do you sleep on this couch?” he demanded, his voice hoarse with panting.

Her hair had come loose, scattering around her in a ragged, tawny sun. She shook her head mutely.

Carefully, he found his feet, making sure his legs could still support him. “Show me your bed and I’ll do that properly.”

Ashe frowned. “But you did it just right.”

“Of course I did. And now I know what you like. A tiger to your tigress.”

“Hot damn,” she muttered.

Taking her had only kindled his need. Her flushed cheeks and swollen lips turned the flame into a blaze. He pulled her up and into a deep, hungry kiss.

This time, she melted in his arms like sorbet left in the sun. Ah, yes. He cupped the cheeks of her firm bottom, the feel of the warm flesh starting the heaviness in his belly all over again. He felt himself hardening already.

Immortality had its advantages.

She broke away, catching his hand. “This way.”

He registered nothing of how they got there. It was growing dark, lights glowing here and there on clocks and appliances. There were noises in other parts of the house—voices, doors closing—but it only served to enhance a sense of stolen privacy.

Halfway down the hall, Ashe stopped, her grip on his biceps rough. He let her shove him into the cold, rough plaster of the wall.

“How hard are you willing to play?” she demanded.

“How hard do you need it?”

She took his mouth, then the flesh of his shoulder in her teeth, biting down. Pain and pleasure shot through him like shards of light. Unbearable, and yet the throbbing in his groin flared into an ache. He grabbed her around the ribs, picking her up. Her tongue traced the side of his neck, her hair falling around them in a silky curtain.

“Take me,” she whispered. “Let me fight you.”

“I’ll win.”

“Make me forget everything but you.”

“With pleasure.”