Unchained

Chapter 15

Hours later, Ashe lay beside Reynard, sore and exhausted. She was on her stomach; he was on his side, one arm curved around her. A blanket covered them. The top sheet was a poly-cotton shred-fest somewhere on the floor. She thought they’d broken a lamp, but she wouldn’t be sure until she got up. It was pitch-black in the room.

She felt quiet, content. Spent. Rage—about her life, her mistakes, her destiny, and the fact she had been alone for so long—had burned away. After they had bitten and wrestled and pinned each other down, Reynard took her with all the tenderness she’d never wanted before. Incredibly, he made her feel she deserved it. Although it might be his only chance at a night of passion, he had made it about her.

Rough and gentle, he had delivered them both, delighted in them both. That was better than oblivion. That salty-sweet combination was, as he had put it, her key. He was the first lover to discover her private need for both.

Roberto hadn’t. It was something she barely understood herself.

Ashe listened to his steady breathing. He was drifting in and out of sleep, as tired as she was. Reynard had given her everything she asked without judgment, and yet she had no sense that he was in any way deprived. He had taken his fill of pleasure, too. Reynard had strength to spare. Strength enough to master her—and to care for her.

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a lover.

She rolled onto her side, her back curling into him. His breath gusted across her neck, warming her skin. A faint snore said he was lights-out. The sound of it made her smile. It was kind of cute.

It’s been too long. For the first time since Roberto had died, she was able to float in the after-bliss of lovemaking feeling whole, clean, and cherished. Worthy of love.

It wasn’t a question of falling in love. That was something softer, something that came only when this first piece had fallen into place. On some deep, biological level he had earned the right to be with her. More than that, he had taken her. Every cell. Every pulse of her heart.

Ashe felt slightly awestruck, even as her eyelids drifted closed.

Boredom was the largest difference between being held a prisoner in the Castle, and being held a prisoner in one of the Castle’s cells. Miru- kai could not complain that he was mistreated. Mac had shut down the old cells that were no more than caves with doors. By contrast, the room where he had put Miru-kai was small but clean, the stone walls whitewashed to take away some of the gloom. There was a shelf with a thin mattress and a dark blue blanket neatly folded at the foot. Not princely, but palatial compared to what it might have been.

Still, it was a lockup. A grate of iron bars striped the white stone. The door was made of iron bars. Magic would not work in a room lined with cold iron. He saw no one but the occasional guard with his jingling ring of keys. There was absolutely nothing to do.

Boredom was an ingenious form of torture. He’d begun to listen for the guards’ footsteps as a means of passing the time. Miru-kai lay on the mattress, his hands folded across his stomach, and tried to relax. He was used to the bustle of his encampment. It was literally too quiet to sleep. All part of the complimentary torture service.

Miru-kai opened his eyes and stared at the stone ceiling. He could count the blocks of stone, but he had to save some excitement for later. He slipped off the bed and stood at the barred door, careful not to touch the irritating iron. He could see out, but there was nothing there but corridors of stone, the same view as anywhere in the Castle.

I shouldn’t be here. None of the fey should be here. Fairykind knew how to repair the earth the humans plundered, but the humans knew how to make the earth yield crops. Once, the two species had worked side by side—or so Miru-kai had been told. That was before his time, before the bulk of his people had retreated to the Summerland, closing the gates behind them and leaving their brethren to struggle on alone.

I could have been dancing in dew circles if my venerated parents had gotten off their royal backsides and left with the rest. Instead, he was stuck here, dealing with the dregs of the Castle.

Footfalls echoed in the corridor. Miru- kai drew nearer the bars. The heavy silk of his clothing rustled as he moved, reminding him he was a prince and not just a prisoner.

His visitor was Mac, his large form backlit by the flickering torches.

Once he saw who it was, Miru-kai backed away, not wishing to look too eager to talk. Still, he couldn’t resist some of those Law & Order phrases. “Now that you’ve let me—what is the expression?—stew in my own juices, have you come to tune me up?”

“Maybe I just want to gloat a little bit.” Mac stopped outside the bars, folding his arms. He didn’t come too close, either. “Mostly, I’ve got questions.”

Miru-kai crossed his own arms, mirroring his jailer’s posture. “I have one or two of my own. To begin with, I wonder why I thought a civil conversation about freedom was even possible.”

“It was and always will be possible. Whether I agree to it depends entirely on your track record. You came to my office thinking you could charm your way out. I’m not that easily conned.”

“My word of honor counts for nothing?”

“I’d rather have a month’s worth of incident reports without your name all over them.”

“The fey are misunderstood. We don’t respond well to petty rules.”

“Uh-huh. And what happens when you get outside the Castle and start buying cars? Rush hour in Fairyland must be really interesting. Road rage with goblins.”

“You mock me.”

“You bet, but there’s a point to it. If you played well with others, I’d hold the door open myself.”

Miru-kai said nothing, annoyed by the demon’s confident air. He was a prince. A little groveling and trembling would have gone down well about now.

Mac gave him a sharp look. “Exactly how much did you have to do with the break-in at the guardsmen’s vault?”

Walking to the bed, Miru-kai sat down. The cell was small enough that it made no difference to the conversation, except now he was comfortable. Princes sat. Lackeys stood.

Mac’s expression didn’t change.

Miru-kai considered his options and chose a strategy. “In all honesty, I simply played the role of opportunist. Perhaps bodies do not easily break free of the Castle’s chains, but news travels by sorcery, by whispers, by means even I cannot fathom.”

“Like the bulletin board at www.SeeSparkyRun. com?”

“I may be an old soul, but I can surf the Web,” the prince replied, putting one hand to his chest. “Though I concede calling a fire demon of your stature ‘Sparky’ is a touch disrespectful. Some of the fey can be insolent wags.”

“Which is why only this part of the Castle gets wireless anymore.”

Damn it all! For the first time in hundreds of years, the prince had found a reliable link to the outside world, and now it was extinguished. Miru-kai swore silently, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“If you want out of this cell, you’re going to have to give something up,” Mac said sternly.

“I have professional standards. Confidentiality to maintain.”

“Since when have you done anything but protect your own interests?”

“You wound me.”

“No, but I can. A good friend of mine is counting on me to figure this out.”

Mac’s expression packed its bags and went to the dark side.

Miru-kai sighed. It was better to offer up information while it still had value. The whole sorry affair was going to come out soon, anyway. “I heard of an individual who wished to steal a guardsman’s urn. How he found out that they even existed is quite beyond me, but no matter. He required a thief who could, with the proper instruction, circumvent all the wards upon the door of the vault. I gave a referral.”

“And collected a finder’s fee?”

“Of course.”

“I’m guessing you let the demon through the forest gate?”

Miru-kai nodded. “Yes. There. I confess. Let me out. I found my client a certain kind of demon who is expert at acquiring valuable objects. He is your thief.”

Instead, Mac’s brows drew together. “A collector demon?”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was a collector demon, and would never, ever give up whatever he took.” He made it a statement, not a question.

“His species is extremely rare. I deserved a bonus for being able to locate such a prodigy. Even if I was hired for my quick wits and extensive knowledge of the Castle and its inhabitants and, yes, my extensive information network, this . . . this was a coup.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mac impatiently. “And then?”

“It is not my fault that my client wasn’t specific about the character of the thief. He simply wanted one who could procure what he wanted. I did what I was asked. The fey always keep their bargains.” Miru- kai gave a toothy smile. “Though we tend to give what our client deserves. He was a trifle pushy. Vampires, you know.”

Mac was unamused. “Your client was Belenos, King of the East?”

“How well-informed you are.”

“I’d heard he was hanging around Fairview. I’m not the only one working on this case. Where is Belenos?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“How did you get paid?”

“In goods. As for the demon,” Miru-kai went on, breezing past the question, “it is my understanding that the first thing he did upon double-crossing his employer and running away with the urn was to find a successful lawyer and bind him into service. So much for the good old days, when an army of rotting corpses was the best line of defense. These modern days lack a certain sense of theater.”

Mac pondered that. “You let the demon thief out of the forest. How did he get out of the Castle?”

“Two weeks ago, Lord Belenos secured one of the nine keys to the Castle at a very, very, very private auction. While it’s not as powerful as your master key, with a lot of extra sorcery he managed to get the demon past the portal barriers. That was no mean feat of magic. And the key has allowed Belenos to come and go from here ever since.”

Mac’s face froze; then his voice emerged thunderous. “What?”

Miru-kai licked his lips, savoring the moment. “That’s probably why your allies on the outside can’t find him. King Belenos has been sleeping here, right under your guardsmen’s noses.”

Ashe woke to find herself sitting on a headstone. Startled, she jumped down, her mule-slippered feet landing on the cold, crumbly loam of the grave. Claw-sharp pine needles poked at her heels.

Where the hell am I? The graveyard looked familiar, with the ocean sighing against the rocks to the south. Where’s Reynard?

But she was alone. Overhead, the moon dodged a lacework of clouds. Not enough light to really see, but it looked like Saint Andrew’s Cemetery. Big trees, old graves, the smell of cold sea air. She hadn’t been there for a while, but she’d walked through it often enough as a kid.

I’m dreaming again. That thought made her relax a notch. She’d neglected to set Grandma’s charms in place. Well, she’d been a little distracted.

She stepped off the grave, leaving a slipper behind. Cold, damp loam touched her bare sole, giving her instant goose bumps. She stuck her slipper back on her foot, then emptied the other of crumbly dirt. One crappy detail was that the night was freezing cold and she was wearing nothing but an oversize Ghostbusters T-shirt. Better than the nothing she was wearing curled up beside Reynard, but why couldn’t she have dreamed herself in a nice, warm coat?

But part of her knew it wasn’t quite a dream. A frisson of dread crawled over her flesh like a horror cliché lurching from the grave.

Ashe whirled around, trying to see in every direction at once. It was too dark, the moon in and out of the clouds just enough to see shapes a few feet away. The clumps of cedar trees were no more than patches of rustling blackness. She could just make out the name on the tombstone where she’d been sitting: Marian Carver.

Mom. Ashe’s hand went to her mouth, a weak gesture she hated.

She’d been sitting on her mother’s grave. The mother she’d killed with her stupidity. Her sense of balance seemed to melt, leaving her weak-legged and sweating despite the cold. If this was some sort of trip through the basement of her subconscious, it was doing a good job of freaking her out. Maybe it was punishment because she had actually been happy for a moment.

She pushed her hair out of her face and took a long breath, forcing herself to stand straight. Get a grip. Figure this out.

Now she knew exactly where she was. Memory filled in the details the wavering light glossed over. They were close to the cliff edge that looked over the water, in a triangle where two walkways crossed. There was a pair of white headstones flanked by yew and rowan trees. Her dad was in the next grave over, her grandfather about fifty feet to the west.

Why am I here, of all places? The answer had better come soon. She was starting to shiver and she was way past pissed off.

A cold hand fell on her shoulder. Ashe spun, leading with her elbow to deliver a blow, but stumbled against—nothing. No one was there.

Oh, crap. She really wasn’t up to ghosts. They’re always whining about something. Like, get dead already. Ashe let her temper heat, doing her best to counter a growing sense of vulnerability.

“Ms. Carver,” said a voice behind her. Or were those low, velvety words all in her head?

Obviously, whoever or whatever this was couldn’t be smacked down like a common mugger. Ashe turned, this time moving at a normal speed. And there was nothing common about the figure standing there. Inwardly, Ashe gulped. Holy Hecate!

He was far too close, forcing her to look up. The speaker was at least six-five and built with a fighter’s physique—hard, broad, and lean—but the poor light gave away nothing of his features. Ashe opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words. It was like coming nose-to-nose with a timber wolf. There was nothing adequate to say, even if it was—almost—just a dream.

Electricity skimmed her skin in a subtle, deadly tease. One of the few scraps of magic left to her was at work, identifying and reporting what she’d already guessed. Vampire.

A very, very powerful bloodsucker to boot. She had no weapons. Beating him off with a slipper wasn’t going to work. Her mouth went dry with apprehension. If she were awake, she’d be fighting by now, or at least running. Instead, she felt stupefied.

“You brought me here,” she managed to say.

“Of course I did.” Vampires could enter a person’s dreams, but it wasn’t a beginner’s trick. Only the most powerful could pull it off.

He raised a hand, and a gauzy white light bloomed from his cupped palm as if he were cradling an infant star. Ashe’s breath caught in her chest, tangled in terrified wonder. Many vampires used sorcery, but she’d never seen a move that smooth.

Her eyes went from his hand to his face. Most vamps had eyes with a gold or silver cast. His glinted topaz, if topaz could melt and burn with the intensity of an alchemist’s forge. His face was more masculine than pretty, the strong, straight features softened only by the fact that he had been Turned young.

The vampire’s hair was russet, the red of a fox’s pelt. It fell thick and straight to his waist, woven through with bits of gold and beads. He wore other gold, too—heavy cuffs and a twisted torque that sat on his collarbone, both decorated with red stones that glinted in the weird light. Only his clothes—just a dark shirt and slacks—were everyday.

“What do you want?” Ashe asked, pleased that the words came out sounding normal. “Not to sound rude, but the whole nightie/vampire/graveyard-at-midnight thing is best when it’s kept brief. Especially since I was, y’know, busy.”

“This seemed the safest way of speaking to you. You and your guardsman friend destroyed my emissary Frederick Lloyd.” He blew on the light he held, and it floated to the ground, still glowing like pale, fey campfire.

“You’re Belenos, King of the East.”

“Correct.”

“And all this time I thought you were just a series of anxiety dreams.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

He bowed, raising his fist to his heart in a gesture she guessed was as old as the Caesars. She wasn’t reassured by the courtesy. Vampire monarchs weren’t the kind of people you wanted to notice you, no matter how nice they were pretending to be. He rose, the ornaments in his long hair making a gentle clatter that made Ashe think of bones.

“What do you want?” she asked, then added, “Your Majesty.”

He looked amused. “Good manners from Ashe Carver, the famed huntress?”

“That was a freebie. You have to earn anything more than that.”

“Very well.”

“What’s with the graveyard?”

“I thought you would be at home here.”

“In a cemetery?”

“You deal out death to my kind. I am a king of the once-dead. Your thoughts dwell with your dead more than with the living around you. It seemed appropriate.”

Ashe shuddered, partly from the cold, partly from the truth in his words. “People around me tend to die.” Like Reynard will, if I don’t get that urn back. A new and profound pain hit her in the belly. He had mattered before. Now he was vital to everything she hoped for.

Belenos tilted his head, watching her as if she were an interesting worm. “Then you understand a little of what it is like to be of my kind. The living inevitably wither away, and the only thing we can do to save them is to share our dark gift.”

The world rocked slightly, as if she’d had too much to drink. She felt the sadness in his words, as tantalizing as a delicious scent. They shared the same melancholy. Before she knew what she was doing, she took a step closer, responding to the too-human sorrow in his eyes. He put a hand on her arm, lightly touching her skin. The cold seemed to fall away, allowing her muscles to relax.

Her gaze lingered on his mouth, almost feeling the curve of his lips against hers. They covered fangs, soft sensuality over a killing hunger. Erotic.

What had she been doing before the graveyard? Her mind struggled to remember, but it was like running through an ocean of thick, golden honey.

Belenos was suddenly even closer, his fingers pulling the elastic from her hair. It tumbled from her ponytail, sweeping like pale wings against her cheeks. She wore it down like that only when she was with a man. When she was seducing or seduced.

No, not with this one. Not with a vampire.

He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek.

Reynard.

“You’re hypnotizing me.” With all her will, she managed to raise her hand, pushing his touch from her face. She stumbled back, away from him. Cold flooded in, as if she’d stepped outside of a protective bubble. Her heart hammered, pulse pounding in her throat.

“I’m just making you more comfortable.” He closed the gap between them, making all her struggles useless. She was frozen, unable to move away one more time. He cupped her face in one hand, running his thumb over her lips as gently as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “The man you’re with is all but dead. How am I any different?”

Ashe couldn’t answer. Despair seemed to seep out of the grave dirt, crawling up her limbs like a foul tide.

Brushing his lips against her forehead, Belenos breathed in her scent. “That’s why you kill us, isn’t it? I’ve shared your nightmares. I know your secrets. You’re already half in love with death. It’s a magnet to you. Safer to snuff out temptation before you join those who’ve already crossed over.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Ashe said through gritted teeth, wanting her strength back, wanting weapons to rend Belenos’s dead flesh. “Why have you been in my dreams?”

“I want your attention.”

“Well, you’ve got it. What do you want?”

“You. I can promise you freedom. No more guilt. No more shouldering the weight of a losing battle. You can’t protect everyone, Ashe. Let it go. Let yourself go.”

“And what? Die? Suck blood for a living?” She felt dizzy, as if the ground were slowly falling away under her feet. The feeling was spiked with terror that he understood her all too well.

Belenos’s lips brushed the fine hairs by her ear as he leaned close to whisper, “Think of the risks you take. Think of how you dance on the edge of death, greedy for that rush of adrenaline to make you feel alive. You’re already in the darkness, Ashe. Give in to it. Thrive on it.”

He bent down and kissed her forehead. She cringed, even though his lips were warmer than she expected, the kiss tender. He brushed her eyelids, the corner of her mouth, and then took her in a full-on embrace.

“Get off me,” she muttered. She couldn’t pull away. Her strength had fallen to dust, staked in its turn. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Not yet,” he said, the words sinking down to her bones.

And yet, there was nothing lewd in his kiss. It was careful, the merest suggestion of fang and tongue. A promise. Forgiveness. Almost a benediction.

As if he knew just how she would have wanted a first kiss from her king.

He released her, holding her face in his hands. The topaz eyes trapped hers. “If you accept my dark gift, I’d be happy to keep you by my side. Or I could offer you ultimate peace.” His gaze traveled to her parents’ graves. “Or I could simply let you go. Any of these outcomes are acceptable, as long as you give me what I want.”

Ah, here comes the punch line. Cynicism sliced through whatever mojo held her still. She shook him off, and he let her go. He had already made the point that she could wander only as far as he allowed.

“Your minion said you wanted an heir.” She said it bluntly, maybe to shock herself awake. It didn’t work. “Save your efforts; I’m on the pill. Oh, wait—vampires can’t have babies. Looks like there are some logistics to work out.”

He looked away, laughing almost shyly. “Perhaps, but the birth of your sister’s child opened a realm of possibility none of the Undead had ever dreamed of. The Carver witches are indeed remarkable.”

Ashe folded her arms. “Fuck you. Holly is taken.”

Belenos gave a slight shake of his head. The gold ornaments clattered softly. “Of course. Caravelli is a formidable warrior and a favorite of Queen Omara, for all that he is a headstrong subject. Even I hesitate before taking his woman, which is why I have come to you. You have no one.”

I have someone. I’m sleeping beside him right now. But how long would that last? Never mind that. Five minutes with Reynard is worth eternity with this loser. “You’re out of luck. My powers were destroyed years ago. I can’t do what she did.”

His eyes flared a moment. Was that news to him? If so, he shifted gears like a pro. “And yet you are still of the Carver bloodline. Genetics count, and what magic you lack, I can provide. I planned for contingencies.”

Ashe scoffed. “How? Sure, you’re a vampire king and all, but you’re not a witch. In fact, you’re dead.”

“There are ways.” Belenos gave a derisive smile, a dangerous look on that warrior face.

Ashe didn’t understand, but she summoned enough will to fall back another step. “Can’t you just adopt?”

“Most vampires were born into a feudal world. They understand dynasty, clan, and rule through the right of blood. I can give them a prince. I can give them new hope and a future.”

“Just by having a kid of your own?”

“I can give them a living heir. A prince who is theirs but who can still walk in the sun. A blood ruler who will ultimately sacrifice himself to take his place as my equal and their lord. Such a triumph has never been dreamed of. The vampire species will recognize our right to rule all.”

“All?”

Belenos smiled, and for the first time she saw the long, strong eyeteeth of a male vampire. She felt a tightening in her gut, fascination and terror. This guy would Turn his own kid.

“You know yourself the cruelties of the humans,” he said. “They execute us for the slightest cause; they deny us the vote; in many places they still dictate where we can live. We are stronger, faster, better. Why should we not be at least equal? Why not more than equal?”

“You get all this from having a kid?”

Ashe didn’t understand. Maybe she couldn’t. She was modern and mortal. All she knew was that he scared her down to her bones.

He cupped her cheek again. “My son will grow to be as great a warrior as me. No one will stand in our way.”

“Well, someone wants to! There was an assassin. . . .”

“Yes. There are those that oppose my plan. The demon, for one, double-crossed me and kept the urn. He thinks he is clever enough to escape my wrath.”

Thunderstruck, Ashe stared. “You hired the thief? Why?”

“The urn holds life. I can use that to live, for a time. Long enough to sire a child.”

For a moment, Ashe relived thrusting the stake into the assassin’s soft heart, only this time it was Belenos she exterminated. “You sick bastard!”

“I would have called it inventive, but there you are.”

“That’s someone else’s life. That’s Reynard’s life!”

He opened his hands in a shrug. “Was he putting it to good use?”

Ashe lunged forward, forgetting everything in a need to rip and tear his flesh.

Belenos caught her by both wrists, holding her in a grip like granite. “Let me protect you. Let me seduce you. I want you to come to me of your free will, just as your sister came to love Caravelli.”

“I hate you!”

“Hate is love’s cousin. You’re mourning Reynard. So be it. He will be gone soon enough.”

Hot rage dried the tears in Ashe’s eyes. “You can’t force me to want you.”

He laughed, a deep, confidential sound that resonated deep in her flesh. “I can strip you of your pride, imprison you, even torture you to do my will, but what sort of legacy is that for my child? You would be no better than a venom slave. My son’s mother must be a warrior, like you. I won’t harm you, Ashe.”

He kept holding her, his grip bruising as she struggled. “I don’t expect you to desire me simply because I ask. Persuasion is a complex art. Conquest is the interesting part of the game. And it’s a game I play very, very well.”

“I’m shaking in my slippers.”

“So you should be. Death always wins.”

“Screw you.”