Unchained

Chapter 6

A she got out of the car too quickly, forgetting the short skirt and high heels. It took her a moment to find her balance and by that time Eden was up the front steps. Ashe followed at the slower pace demanded by the shoes.

Eden slammed the door. The loud, spiteful wham pushed Ashe from guilt toward anger. A hot flush scalded her cheeks. Slow down, deep breath. Don’t make it worse.

She went up the porch stairs and into the front hall. The first floor was divided into two suites. On the left was the English Mrs. Langford, who pronounced the existence of the supernatural “stuff and nonsense” no matter what the television and newspapers said. The tiny apartment on the right belonged to a real estate guy who was never home. Ashe and Eden had the whole upstairs.

Ashe climbed the stairs to the second floor, wishing she were back with Reynard and chasing the vampire. That was simple. Reynard was easy to work with. She knew what she was supposed to do.

Anger was swinging back to guilt and grief, getting tangled up with an urge to justify herself to someone too young to understand. Hell, Ashe didn’t understand half of why she did what she did when Roberto died. Her first instinct had been to die right along with him, but there was Eden. Kids put a whole new face on the need to survive.

So many emotions crammed her throat that Ashe couldn’t speak. Eden was sitting on the floor of the landing, her back to the suite door and a look thick with distrust in her eyes.

Ashe clenched a tight fist around her temper. It would be too easy to explode and turn a spat into a war. A war that could end up with Eden running away again. Wordlessly, she reached over her daughter and unlocked the door.

Eden stood up, grabbing her backpack, and ran to her bedroom.

Being alone for a moment was a relief. Ashe kicked off her shoes and shed the suit jacket. There was a brief span of quiet, nothing but dust motes spinning in a shaft of light.

The living room was warm because it faced west. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, but the apartment had a comfortable feel, with fir floors, built-in bookshelves, and lots of light. Ashe had done pretty well, finding this place. There was even a big park down the street with other kids to play with.

I try. I really do.

Which meant she had to put an end to the day’s skirmish. She tapped on Eden’s door. “Hey, you.”

“Go away.”

For a moment, Ashe was reminded of her little sister, Holly. Was there a bratty gene? Had Ashe had it at that age? Ashe turned the handle and invaded. Eden’s room was decorated with a mix of stuffed animals and posters of pouting pop bands barely old enough to shave. A scattering of books. No more than a day’s worth of clothes on the floor. Nothing to alarm the mother unit.

For now. She wondered how long it would be before the boy bands came down and someone less appealing appeared in poster form. It was hard to know what was a miniphase and what would stick.

Eden was facedown on the bed, picking at the strap of her backpack. Ashe perched on the edge of the bed bedside her daughter, smelling the mix of schoolroom and peppermint gum that clung to all Eden’s clothes. The storm of her emotions died as suddenly as it had blown in. She put a hand on the back of Eden’s head, caressing the soft brown curls. Goddess, I love her.

Ashe drew a long breath. “I sent you away because I couldn’t protect you, and I’m sorry for that. But if I didn’t go on with the work I was doing, a lot of people would have died. I couldn’t let that happen. That’s all I can really tell you, because that’s all I understand myself.”

Eden hunched her shoulders, inching away from her mother’s touch. “Won’t people die now that you’ve stopped being a slayer?”

Ashe removed her hand. “Maybe, but some things are different now. Vampires and the rest of the monsters have been out in the open a few years. They’ve got ways to police themselves that they didn’t have before. The good vampires don’t want bad vampires causing problems any more than we do.”

“Why not?” Eden stopped picking at the backpack, actually listening now.

“They’re trying to fit in. It’s not easy living in secret, especially when there are so many of them. If the vampires behave themselves, they get to have jobs and credit cards and all the advantages humans have. It’s to their own benefit to be good citizens.”

Eden finally turned to look at her. “Is Uncle Sandro a good vampire?”

“Yeah.” Ashe sighed, thinking of the many times she had butted heads with Alessandro Caravelli. “He’s a good guy. I didn’t like him much at first, but he proved himself to me.”

Eden nodded slowly. Ashe could see her thinking, putting pieces together. The girl rolled onto one elbow and propped her head in her hand. “So Uncle Sandro is with Aunt Holly, and she’s a superpowerful witch and she put a no-biting spell on him and stuff and they even had a baby, which vampires aren’t supposed to be able to do, right?”

“Uh, right.”

“And I’m going to be a half witch someday.”

“You’re already a half witch. You’ll get your powers soon. You’re the right age.”

There was a flicker of buoyant excitement, but Eden didn’t say anything. Ashe knew there would be a million questions, but not now. Not until Eden had a chance to mull things over and plan her attack. She had a great future as a prosecutor.

Right now, she was giving Ashe the third degree about something else. “So how come you don’t do magic? I know you can feel ghosts and stuff, but how come you don’t cast spells like Aunt Holly?”

Crap. Ashe made herself smile, as if she were okay with the topic. “I told you that. When I was sixteen, I did a really stupid spell and blew up my own powers. I nearly nuked Holly’s, too. She had trouble with her magic for a long, long time.”

“What kind of spell?”

Ashe swallowed hard. The weight of the memory dragged like shackles. “It was for personal gain. They say you should never do magic for yourself, and that’s not entirely true, but you can’t mess with other people. The first rule of magic is to do no harm. I did harm, for a bad reason, and it came back on me big-time.” But not as much as it should have.

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Sure I did. I let everyone down. They thought I was a better person than I turned out to be and, to tell you the truth, that was the worst part. I had to live with what I’d done.”

“Mom, what did you do?”

Ashe felt the question like a noose, but now was not the time to lie. Not when they were finally talking. “I wanted to go out to a concert instead of babysitting Holly, but I knew I’d get in trouble if my parents got home and found me missing. I gave them car trouble so they’d come home late.”

“That’s it? That’s all? You lost your powers because of that?”

How much could you tell a ten-year-old? How much did she have the guts to say?

“The spell backfired.” Ashe looked Eden in the eye, willing herself not to flinch. “I thought that because I was pretty and popular and got good grades I couldn’t make mistakes. Remember that when you start casting your own spells. Magic doesn’t care about the surface stuff. It knows what’s in your heart. The spell knew I was being stupid and it took away my active powers.”

Eden’s face softened a bit. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, it sucked pretty bad. Really awful, and for a lot of reasons. I didn’t even start to get over it until I met your dad.” Ashe touched Eden’s cheek lightly. For once her daughter didn’t pull away. “He didn’t see a broken witch. He saw a whole person. I remembered how to be happy when I was with him.”

We called you Eden because we thought we were in paradise. Sappy, but true.

Eden squirmed into a sitting position, close enough now that Ashe felt her warmth. They weren’t touching, but the girl’s body wasn’t rigid anymore.

“I miss Dad.”

Ashe swallowed hard, and it felt like something jagged caught in her throat. If she didn’t get out of this conversation, she was going to start crying. With her world already upside down, a weeping mother was the last thing Eden needed.

Besides, real slayers didn’t cry. Yeah, right.

She slid off the bed. “I miss him, too, babe. Every day. Now I’m going to get out of this monkey suit and cook us dinner, okay?”

Ashe headed for the door. She heard Eden shift, the bedsprings squeak.

“Mom, did the spell work? Even if it blew up?”

Ashe froze and didn’t turn around. “Sure. It worked just fine.”

Better than fine. Her parents’ car had crashed, killing them both.

But how was she going to tell that to her kid?

Friday, April 3, 1:00 a.m.

Ashe Carver’s apartment

That night, Ashe went to bed counting on exhaustion to give her a solid eight hours’ sleep. No anxiety dreams. For extra insurance, she had a shot of whiskey to make sure she conked right out, but only one so she wouldn’t wake up later with postalcoholic insomnia.

It was a good plan, but it didn’t work.

This time she was aware of standing in a white room. It looked blank and a bit misty, like the backdrop of a picture no one had bothered to paint in. This is lame. I can dream better than this.

There wasn’t time to worry about the decor. Prickling danced over her skin again, kicking her survival sense into high gear. Her invisible vampire was back. She realized she was wearing her fighting gear, and whipped out her stake.

“There’s nothing you can do that will hurt me,” said a deep, soft male voice.

Startled, Ashe looked around. Son of a bitch. The bastard could see her, but she couldn’t see him. It wasn’t like there was anything to hide behind, and yet she could swear he was within arm’s reach. Ashe shifted the grip on her stake, turning in a slow circle to catch the slightest hint of where he might be.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she growled. “You’re spoiling all the fun.”

“Are you always this tense?”

A crawly sensation went up her spine. She could smell that sweetish venom scent—a bit like sour Gummi bears, sweet and sharp at the same time. If she could smell him, that meant he had to be close. She lifted the stake a little higher. “Who are you?”

“Life and death.”

“No self-esteem problems on your account.”

She felt, rather than saw, his smile. It twisted through her body, as if he were somehow inside her.

He chuckled. “You have a quick wit. I like that.”

“Get out of my dream.”

She thrust outward, deciding to use her powers. Hey, if she was dreaming, she could have whatever she wanted. But they didn’t work, not even here. She’d killed her parents. Her magic had died with them. Those two facts were irrevocably linked.

Guilt filled her mouth with a taste like ashes, followed by a chaser of sour fear. Her skin crawled, as if her unseen attacker were watching her from all sides.

Go away, go away, go away.

Ashe didn’t see or hear any change, but the atmosphere shifted, as if the air had suddenly lost density. Had her prayer worked, or had her watcher simply chosen to back off?

A cry of surprise and pain sounded behind her. She wheeled around to find a corridor that hadn’t been there before. It looked like something out of the Castle, all stone and torchlight. With the certainty of dreams, she knew Reynard was down that dark passage, injured and bleeding, just like he had been last fall.

She raced into the cool shadows, terrified she wouldn’t get there before he died of his wounds. She would bind up his injuries, just like she’d done before. Give him water. Guard him. She was a hunter, so she treasured those chances she had to heal. Maybe it erased a bit of the stain on her soul left from her parents’ deaths.

There he was, curled on his side, the bright blood lost on his red coat. She raced to the still form, gently turning him over.

Oh, Goddess! Horror shrilled through her. It wasn’t Reynard. It was her husband.

Oh, Goddess! His face had the same waxy pallor as when he’d died, organs crushed. Furious, hurt, lost, she’d sat by his hospital bed and held his hand as his magnificent body failed. Her husband had conquered every mountain, snowstorm, and cave worth the challenge. They’d done most of it together.

But his work was as dangerous as his play. He’d chosen to stay in Spain because it offered the most exciting, most glamorous occupation he could find. One with enough peril even for him—he had been a matador.

He hadn’t survived his last fight. The bull had trampled him to death.

Anger and grief ripped through her, a repeat of everything she’d felt when his heart had stopped, leaving hers to beat alone.

She had loved him so much.

Ashe woke up in tears. He was gone. He would always be gone.

She hadn’t been able to save him.

Friday, April 3, 8:30 a.m.

North Central Shopping Mall

The next morning, a very tired Ashe trudged from the parking lot to the mall, stopped at the Beans! Beans!Beans! Coffee Bar, and carried on through the food court to the library. The North Central Branch was attached to a shopping mall, its entrance between the washrooms and the fast-food kiosks. The popularity of any front-rack bestseller could be determined by the number of ketchup stains and ice-cream smudges.

Sadly, slaying library patrons wasn’t allowed. Bad customer service and all.

Ashe had landed a job as circulation clerk mostly because she’d volunteered at North Central in high school. She had no other real qualifications. Fortunately, the head librarian remembered her and liked the fact that she was fluent in three languages. Plus, Ashe was great at keeping even the snarliest mall rats at bay. The pay was average, dismal compared to her contract fee as a kick-ass monster killer.

On the upside, “library worker” would go over well in family court. It sounded responsible, learned, and harmless. Obviously, no judge had ever been to the staff parties.

Ashe yawned, her body objecting to the fact that she’d fallen asleep again at three and been up at six to get Eden off to school. She’d dreamed about Roberto’s death before, but not as often now as she used to. Lately, the nightmares seemed to come up in times of stress. Or whenever another attractive man crossed her path—like Reynard. Guilt, maybe?

If so, the guilt was needless. Roberto would want her to move on. He’d lived in the moment far more than Ashe had—he’d never understood things like photographs and albums before Eden was born. He’d always said the heart was enough of a scrapbook for him, with an infinite number of pages.

Yeah, it was hard to let go of someone who could just look at you, and you knew your image was recorded in their heart forever. That was a tough act to follow.

And yet, Ashe was lonely. It had crept up on her since she moved back to Fairview. Maybe time had finally buried her grief deeply enough for her to feel again. Or maybe it was hanging around Holly and her immortal hunk o’ vampire love. They were nauseatingly pleased with each other. Watching them had revived longings Ashe had thought were over—everything from a steady supply of hot sex to the wish that someone else would pick up milk on the way home.

As for the vampire dreams, she was just damned sick of those. Obviously the fight with the assassin had scared her worse than she thought.

She stopped, swallowing a slug of scalding coffee. The hot liquid burned down her throat and she blinked hard. The mall was gloomy, shutting out most of the spring daylight. At the other end of the food court, the janitor was pushing around a noisy floor polisher. The place smelled of junk food and industrial cleaner.

With a shudder, she resumed her course. She went a few steps before she saw the Battle of the Pranksters (library versus mall bookstore) was alive and well. Sort of.

Ashe shook her head sadly. Lame, guys, really lame. There was a forest of life- sized cardboard people—courtesy of various book publicity campaigns—in front of the library. Legolas, some guy in shades, a studly romance hero with no shirt, and a cartoon pirate. The pirate had an Easter basket looped over his cardboard arm. A sea of little chocolate eggs covered the floor. They must have bribed the janitor.

Someone had already stepped on a couple of the eggs. Sticky filling smeared the floor like bird droppings. Okay, gotta give ’em points for the yuck factor.

The bookstore nerds still hadn’t topped the green coffee incident on Saint Patrick’s Day, and Ashe’s team wasn’t divulging their nefarious chemical secrets. War was war, and the librarians had a reference section on their side.

Ashe shouldered her way between manly cardboard men, tiptoeing around the eggs and fishing in her coat pocket for her keys. Looked like she was the first one there.

“Good morning.”

Jeez! Ashe jumped, managing to splatter coffee despite the travel mug’s lid. She spun around, crouching, keys held like a weapon.

It was Reynard, standing so still that in her morning fog she’d mistaken him for one of the cardboard cutouts. Crap! Her heart pounded madly, partly from the fright, partly because it was him. Whatever her brain was saying, her neglected libido was very aware of his good looks.

“I’m a bad person to startle,” she said grumpily. At least she was wide-awake now.

“So it seems.” He gave her a slight bow, all grace and manners, but there was that hard edge underneath.

Oddly, he was wearing shades. That and the fact that he’d been standing behind the pirate were why she hadn’t recognized him. “What are you doing here?”

“I require your assistance.” He turned to look at Legolas, then the bare-chested stud. “What are these things?”

“Decoys. All the librarians are hoping the real thing shows up.”

Reynard looked confused, but that slowly gave way to amusement. “Is that why you scatter food on the ground? I had no idea shirtless men were in season.”

Ashe ignored that and undid the lock. Like all the storefronts in the mall, the library door folded away like an accordion, disappearing into a pocket in the wall. The clatter of it echoed over the cavernous food court. Reynard watched with interest, apparently fascinated by the track mechanism. Boys and mechanical stuff. Guess it goes way back.

“Come on in,” she said, setting her coffee on the front desk and flicking on the overhead lights.

When she turned back to her visitor, she froze, the palms of her hands suddenly tingling like she’d touched a live wire. She grabbed her mug, taking another swig just so she didn’t stand there like an idiot. It was the first time she’d seen him in decent light, and even hidden behind the sunglasses he was drop-dead gorgeous. Don’t even go there.

She wasn’t in the market for men. After the dream last night, it was obvious her emotions weren’t ready. But she couldn’t help it. There was no threat to distract her, like there had been at the gardens. She could give all that studly goodness her full attention. And that accent . . .

And she was lonely. She’d said that to herself just minutes ago.

Ashe wanted to throw Reynard down on the circulation desk and, well, circulate. Check him out. Crack spines and bend pages. Granted, she’d been alone for a long time, but a guy had to be hot to get her attention before she’d finished her first cup of coffee.

He pulled off the shades and immediately started blinking against the light. Back on went the sunglasses. “I apologize for wearing these ridiculous things, but Mac insisted I borrow them. Fortunate that he did. I’m not used to the light any longer.”

She’d never seen a guardsman in daylight. Now she knew why. They were blind as cave bats. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go back here.” She grabbed his sleeve and dragged him into the dim staff room.

The bulk of muscle under the wool of his jacket was unmistakable. Feeling even more deprived and frustrated, she pushed him into one of the plastic chairs and then took a step back, folding her arms to keep her hands to herself. What is the matter with me?

She gave Reynard the once-over as he took the glasses off again and rubbed his eyes. He was still wearing his uniform, but at least he’d left the musket and sword behind. Mac must have frisked him at the Castle door for things that would upset the natives.

The demon should have made him change clothes, too. The uniform had been on its last legs generations ago. Reynard was deathly pale, like he hadn’t seen sunlight for, gosh, centuries. The circles under his eyes said he hadn’t done much sleeping, either.

Take that, hormones. Ragged and pasty. Bad mating material.

Yeah, right.

She’d thought his eyes were icy gray. During that moment when they had been in full light, she’d seen they actually had darker streaks, giving them a changeable, stormy cast. And his hair was more brown than black. The Castle’s shadows had robbed him of color.

A memory flickered through her mind, a picture from the battle last fall, when she’d held Reynard’s head in her lap. No one was sure he’d live. She’d nursed him out of sheer perversity, willing him to beat the odds. She’d never seen a man cling to his courage like that.

Ashe gripped her elbows like she might fly apart. “So what’s up?”

He stopped rubbing his eyes and squinted at her. The watering eyes ruined his panache. “I am sorry for disturbing you.”

She grabbed another chair and sat down. “It must be important, or you wouldn’t have come.”

He was silent, head lowered, hands resting on his knees.

“More bunny problems?” she prompted.

She caught a glimpse of his wry smile, the merest twitch of lips. “A thief has escaped from my world into yours. And, though I’m not sure if or how it is related, the phouka was deliberately released.”

Her eyes lingered on his mouth. In a face made up of blade-sharp angles, it hinted at melting sensuality. Stop it! This is a serious conversation! She coughed. “Huh. I assumed the phouka was connected to our lone vampire gunman.”

“My informant”—Reynard said the word acidly—“is a prince of the dark fey. I would not be surprised if the vampire assassin was involved with the phouka or the thief as well. Dealing with Miru- kai is like seeking a door within a hall of mirrors. There is always the reflection of truth, but you find substance by pure chance.”

“So we’re dealing with a bunny- releasing, hit-man-hiring thief?”

“Perhaps. I am only guessing that there is a connection. Miru-kai hinted that there is a collector from your world involved. If there is such a collector, he hired the thief. The time line, such as I can determine, is that a thief—most likely a demon—escaped and committed his burglary several days before the incident with the phouka and the assassin.”

This was getting complicated. “What was stolen?”

Reynard’s face was carefully neutral, but panic was leaking around the edges of that perfect blankness. “It is difficult to explain, but I’ll try.”

Ashe listened, her slayer senses going on high alert as Reynard spoke. What the hell is he saying? But she could hear the strain in his voice. That more than anything told her his crazy story was real.

She sat speechless after he finished, not able to find anything helpful to say. What dumb-ass idea ever made them put their souls in jars?

So she came out with the first thing that wasn’t an outright insult. “If your soul—or whatever—is out here somewhere in my world, that means you’re not tied to the Castle anymore, right?”

“Not exactly. Ordinary prisoners can leave the Castle and carry on with their lives, free of its magic. Guardsmen cannot. First, the magic that allows our bodies to survive separated from our life essence begins to dissipate once we’ve left that dimension. Second, we cannot stray too far from the vessel that contains our life essence. If we do, we start to fade.” He said it coldly, softening nothing.

“Fade?”

“Die. The bottom line, as they say, is that I have to find my urn and return to the Castle as soon as possible.”

Die. The word clutched, cold and hard, in her gut. She forced her dismay down, covering it with gruffness. “How long have you got?”

Reynard gave a slight shrug, his face a complete mask. “I don’t know. I can feel the urn’s absence. It’s like something you’re trying to recall, but can’t. A nagging sensation. But that’s all.” He made a weary gesture. “I assume it will grow worse with time. Being outside the Castle helps. At least I’m in the same realm as my soul.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Goddess, Ashe, that was lame. “What can I do?”

“I was hoping you would offer your aid,” he said tentatively, finally letting his storm gray eyes meet hers.

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

“You helped before,” he said quietly. “When I was hurt.”

A girl could drown in those eyes.

“Yeah.” She ducked her head, not wanting to think about him dying a lingering death because some maniac had taken his urn. A man’s urn should stay in his Castle. Or whatever. A sick sensation, part anger, part helplessness, made her momentarily dizzy.

“Since I found out about the theft, I checked the vault where the guardsmen’s souls are kept. I examined every vessel. Mine is not there. Mac is questioning the Castle residents thoroughly.”

Ashe swallowed hard. “So now you have to comb through the whole of my world looking for your thief?”

He spread his hands. “I don’t know this world anymore. I’m not helpless, but I don’t know where to start. I am hoping you can guide me.”

“Why not Mac?”

“Besides being an overlarge fire demon with a full-body tattoo and therefore highly conspicuous, he has a prison dimension to run. His contacts in the human police department are checking their contacts, but this is really a supernatural crime. I would benefit more from the advice of someone familiar with the nonhuman world.”

“Plus,” added Ashe, “this sounds like there was someone on the inside. Mac needs to find out who in the Castle set this up.”

“And what they hoped to gain.” His eyes went hard with anger, giving them a gunmetal cast.

Just then Gina Chen, the other clerk on shift, stuck her head in the door. “Hey, Ashe, you here? What’s with the cardboard people?”

The young woman, all sleek black hair and almond eyes, caught sight of Reynard. “Oh, hi.” She smiled slowly, like a toddler spying a ginormous ice-cream cone. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

Ashe nearly growled. All of a sudden Gina was far too young and exotically pretty. Reynard was out of his element and vulnerable to the wiles of clever circulation clerks.

“I’ll be right out,” she said. At least the spike of hostility had put her back in charge of her emotions.

“Neat outfit,” Gina persisted.

“He’s in a play,” Ashe snapped. “Early rehearsals.”

“An actor. Cool.”

Reynard was watching the two women cautiously, looking from one to the other as if he were following a tennis match—or perhaps he was a cat choosing between two birds. His expression wasn’t entirely innocent.

“I’ll be out to help with the returns in a minute,” Ashe grumped.

Finally taking the hint, Gina huffed and went back to the desk.

Ashe turned to Reynard. “I have to work. I have to think about what you’ve said.”

Images flitted through her head. Eden. The vampire in the gardens turning to dust. The piles of books waiting to be checked in. Eden. Bannerman’s waterfall of slime. Kneeling beside Reynard in the Castle, watching him bleed. Eden. There was too much crowding in on her.

Reynard frowned, seeming to sense her tension. He took her hand lightly, just holding it. Drawing her in with the touch of his warm fingers. “Please take the time you need.”

“I’ve got a lot going on right now.” She should send Reynard packing. She didn’t need his problems on top of her own—too many demands made it easy to drop the ball. She couldn’t afford that. Not with assassins and lawyers on her case.

Just standing in Reynard’s presence, she felt as if she’d run a marathon. There was a sudden frisson of fear, desire, and schoolgirl nerves.

He let her go, the tips of his fingers sliding along her palm. “I’ll take whatever advice you can offer.”

Her mouth went dry. Well, at least she wasn’t salivating. Just pick a problem, Ashe; pick something and fix it. “You need new clothes. You stand out too much dressed like that.”

He looked affronted. “As I told Mac, this is my uniform.”

So Mac had already lost this argument. Too bad. “You’re going to attract attention. You came to me for advice; I’m giving it to you.”

He frowned, looking very Mr. Darcy.

“Don’t be stubborn.” Ashe used her mom voice.

She watched him back down. That was a lot of pride to swallow, but he did it. Good for him.

Grabbing control made her feel better. “Look. There’s a store in the mall called Workrite. Ask for Leslie and say I sent you for some casual clothes. Enough for a couple of days. Tell her I’ll come by later and take care of the bill.”

He shied from that. “I can’t . . .”

“You can, and Leslie will be discreet.” She was also very gay, which kept things simple in Ashe’s mind. Plus, she’d give Ashe a discount. “It’s the least I can do.”

It was a tiny thing to do. Not enough by any standard, but at least it was concrete and immediate. Best of all, sending him on an errand bought her time to think.

Reynard met her gaze, appeared to consider a moment, and nodded his agreement. “I shall repay you. My word of honor.”

All very proper, gentlemanly. But with a shock that hit low in her body, she saw her own mix of eagerness and reluctance in those storm-cloud eyes. A faint upturn to the killer lips. There was that bad boy again, wondering if he was welcome.

Ashe stood, needing distance. “Let me know how it goes. Stop back here later.”

He rose, standing so close in the tiny staff room, she could feel the male warmth of him. “I am at your disposal,” he said mildly.

In my dreams.