Unchained

Chapter 7

Late afternoon only brought new complexities.

Ashe had spent most of the previous day—when not dealing with lawyers or children—making phone calls and lurking in her favorite hangouts swapping gossip. If there were hit vampires and slime demons afoot, surely somebody must have noticed.

Of course, the only problem with calling people and asking for favors was that they might call back. Especially when they were your sister, a new mom, part-time university student, and primary agent of the family ghostbusting business.

“Ashe, I’m begging you,” Holly said, sounding like death warmed over and spread on toast. “My magic is still all messed up from baby hormones. I’ve got a paper due. I haven’t slept for days. Alessandro’s great about doing his daddy bit, but he’s got to work, too, and he’s not much use in the daytime.”

Ashe peeked around the staff room doorway, checking the lineup at the front counter. It was getting close to closing time, and the late rush was in full swing. Gina was handling it okay, but it wasn’t a good time to be on the phone. Cloying sweetness radiated from the crumpled muffin bag on the lunch table, making her feel a little ill.

She’d expected Reynard back from Workrite long before now. Where was he?

Ashe suddenly realized her mind had wandered and Holly was waiting for a reply.

Just say no to more crises. “I’m sorry, Hol, I really am. I have to see my in- laws’ lawyer tomorrow afternoon, and it was really tough to get a Saturday appointment. Besides, I’m trying to prove I’m a fit mother, and I can’t do that covered in ectoplasm.”

“It’s only a little ghost. In and out. I promise. An hour tops. I’ll load you up with everything you need. All you have to do is check it out and set up charms if they’re needed.”

Holly and their grandmother had come up with some prefab charms that even Ashe’s limited magic could activate. Kind of like witch grenades. “Holly, I’ve got so much going on. . . .”

An honest answer, but it still swamped her with guilt.

“Ashe . . .”

She could hear the strain in Holly’s voice. She remembered that new- mom state of mind, when Nirvana was a full night’s sleep and a drool-free outfit. Oh, crap.

“Is it in town?” Ashe asked, knowing she was helplessly sliding into Holly’s clutches. Damn that guilt, anyway.

Paper rustled on the other end of the line. “On Fort and Main, a store called the Book Burrow. New owner. Says he has an attic haunting.”

Ashe glanced at her watch, at the pile of work she had left to do before she went home. Just say no. Just say no. “Okay, I’ll take a look.”

Holly let loose a gusty sigh. “Blessings on you. Gotta go: Robin’s starting to fuss.”

“ ’Kay, bye.” Ashe clicked her cell phone shut, feeling glum.

How did this get to be my life? She was a slayer— hot, blond, lean and mean. She should be traveling the world, leaving a trail of vamp-kebabs in her wake.

Ashe took a deep breath. Suck it up. Holly needed one favor. If Ashe didn’t want to be a lone wolf anymore, she could learn to juggle appointments. That was the life of a single mom, a sister, the family member. She loved her family, especially Holly. Connection meant complication, but it was worth it. I just wish I could clone myself.

Her conversation with Reynard came back in a rush. He was today’s other waif in need. Where is he? He was far too good-looking to leave unattended in a public place. The mall was packed with unscrupulous women.

What was she going to do about him? Maybe she could find someone else to help him out? But all the competent folks she knew were either monsters—who hated the guards—or slayers, who couldn’t be trusted in a monster-friendly place like Fairview. Delegating could result in a bloodbath. Gah!

She pulled her datebook out of her purse and jotted down the time of the ghostbusting appointment. Ghost at two thirty, lawyer at four. That shouldn’t be so bad.

She stuck the book in her purse. Time to get back to work. Stacks of books rose from the work counter like stalagmites, waiting to go into plastic bins marked, Hold. They would get picked up for shipment to other branches in about fifteen minutes. Ashe grabbed a fat novel, determined to finish the job on time. If the City of Fairview was paying her to sling books, sling books she would.

Crime and Punishment dropped with a thud, the empty bin echoing like a tomb. The Russian master was followed by a children’s reader, a Polynesian cookbook, and a decades-old but still popular The Apocalypse and You.

Apocalypse bounced on the rim of the bin, landing on the floor with a sad flop.

Ashe walked over to pick the book up. She could hear patrons shuffling at the front counter and the crinkle of laminated bindings as covers opened and closed. Bar-code readers beeped; due-date slips chugged out of the printer. Ashe glanced through the doorway. Gina’s long dark hair swung as she swiped books over the demagnetizer to disarm the security chips hidden in their bindings.

Ashe inspected Apocalypse. She’d bent the cover. Damn.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re dead,” Gina snapped at someone.

With an alarmed jerk, Ashe raised her head. And I thought I was queen of snarky customer service.

A male vampire hovered before the desk like an evil intention. He’s up early, Ashe thought. He was pulling off sunglasses and tucking them in the pocket of his hooded coat—the hood no doubt how he had made it through the fading afternoon light. It was cloudy outside, but the sun wouldn’t properly set for at least another hour. He pushed back the hood and looked around, as if he expected to see someone.

The guy was fresh from Vampire Central Casting: overlong hair brushed back from his forehead, leather coat, high cheekbones, and broody lips. Cute, but Ashe tensed. Just because there were vamps who tried to get along with the rest of the world, she wasn’t rolling out the red carpet for every bloodsucker who flapped by. Still, he was a patron.

“What’s the problem?” Ashe dropped the book in its bin and hurried to the front counter.

Gina was gearing into full snit mode. Ashe could tell by the way she was vengefully gnashing at her gum. “He wants a card.”

Not a surprise. Most vamps, stuck inside during daylight hours, were big readers. Ashe turned to the guy. “Got some ID?”

Gina turned to help Mrs. Fanhope, an elderly patron with a taste for gory murder mysteries. Wordlessly, the vampire took out his wallet, thumbing out a driver’s license and handing it over. Apparently his name was Frederick Lloyd. Ashe glanced up, noting the defensive jut of his jaw. He probably had a hassle getting help from most human institutions.

“I’m within my rights. I don’t need to be legally alive to check out books.”

“You’re right,” she said, careful to keep dislike out of her tone. “But something with a local address would be good. This is an out-of-town license.”

“I just moved here.”

Ashe took a subtle step back. Unless they were part of a visiting royal court, vamps didn’t move around. This one had come from the King of the East’s domain, a large territory that stretched from Detroit to the Atlantic and as far south as Virginia. What was going on? Did Alessandro—Mr. Vampire Law and Order—know that there was a stranger in town?

The heating system came on, blowing a gust of air against her skin. She gave an involuntary jump. Get a grip.

Frederick Lloyd was watching her with feline patience. His eyes in life had probably been brown, but had lightened to amber. Dark lashes swept over them like wings. He was staring so hard, he had forgotten to breathe. He bit his lower lip, the point of one fang protruding.

Great, a flirt. She thought about the vampire sniper. Suspicion scuttled across her thoughts like a dark, foul beetle. Were those dreams she was having just anxiety, or something more? Ashe looked around. It was close to closing time. The general public was clearing out. The last few patrons were lined up in front of Gina, oblivious to the predator mere feet away.

He leaned closer, putting his elbows on the counter. His chin lifted slightly as his nostrils flared. Only because she knew the species, Ashe could tell he was trying to catch her scent. Hunting. She reached for the shelf beneath the counter. Her fingers brushed over a tape dispenser, a stapler, then closed on the wooden ruler she’d put there the first day she started, just in case. It had a nice metal edge—not as good as a real weapon, but circulation clerks weren’t allowed to carry an Uzi on the job.

Try to get him the hell out of here. “We can give you a temporary card until you’re settled.”

“I’d rather have something permanent,” he replied, spooning on the innuendo like fudge sauce.

“That’s our policy. If you take our books, we have to be able to track you down.”

“Do you plan on paying a personal visit to collect your overdue fines?” He gave a sly grin.

Oh, lord, this guy believes his own press. “Believe me, if I decide you’re overdue, I’m checking you out once and for all.” She handed him back his license. “Your choice. Take a temporary card or come back with current ID”

“You don’t look like the type who plays by the rules.”

“I do when it suits me.”

“You don’t bend them just to be nice?”

“I’m not a nice person.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Sue me.”

Slowly, he put his wallet back into his coat pocket. Too slowly. He was stalling. “You smell like a witch.”

“All the better to hex you, bloodsucker,” she muttered under her breath.

“You must be Ashe Carver.”

“How do you know that?”

He gave a smoking look from beneath the long eyelashes. “I’m looking for you.”

Alarm hit like an electric shock, but she leaned across the desk, speaking just above a whisper. “What’s the matter? Did I stake your BFF?”

Lloyd gave a Cupid’s smirk. An evil, twisted Cupid. He dropped his voice, too, leaning in so their faces were mere inches apart. “Rumor has it a Carver witch just bore a vampire’s child. Defied nature itself. Some call it an abomination; others call it . . . interesting.”

Ashe froze, feeling his cool breath on her face. Abomination? That was what the vampire in the gardens had called her. She snatched a quick glance at Gina. She was staring openmouthed at the vampire, the book scanner in one hand. Mrs. Fanhope and a scruffy, university-aged girl were standing to one side, their expressions somewhere between scandalized and riveted. Great. They think we’re hitting it off. The Carver name makes the tabloids once again.

“That wasn’t me,” Ashe murmured. “I’m not into dead guys.”

Lloyd’s eyebrow twitched. “I wasn’t asking what you liked.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“My king wants a child of his own. Your family has the right kind of power to give him an heir. Our sources tell us you are unattached. Not that the king cares, but who likes a Jonathan Harker type getting all stakey on your ass?”

Oh, ick. Ashe jumped back from the counter, letting Lloyd see the wooden ruler clutched in her hand. “Did you also hear I’m hell on bad dates?” she said in a clear, loud voice. Public embarrassment was sometimes as good a weapon as anything else.

“Wow,” said Gina, looking like all she lacked was popcorn and a soft drink. All three, even Mrs. F., were wide-eyed with fascination.

He gave another slick smile, eyeing the ruler with disdain. Obviously, publicity didn’t faze him. “You have a reputation as a dangerous woman. That’s why my lord sent an emissary in advance.”

“Smart man.”

“I’m here to open negotiations. Will you listen to his proposal?”

“Get out of here, Lloyd. You’re not here for the books, and it’s closing time.”

“I think we should all stay and chat, don’t you?” he suggested smoothly, then flashed a full, sharp-toothed smile at the others. The university student squeaked, hugging her backpack like a teddy bear. Fear seeped into Gina’s pretty face.

Ashe glanced at the glass door to the mall. Plenty of pedestrian traffic out there.

Plenty of potential victims.

Nothing but a ruler between a vampire and her gene pool. Give me a break.

Ashe stalked around the end of the counter but left a good chunk of carpet between her and Lloyd. “Look,” she said in a constrained voice. Goddess, this is awkward. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t help your lord.”

Lloyd draped himself against the counter like an expensive fur coat. “Why ever not?”

“I don’t have the power to make a baby with a vampire. That’s extremely rare, and I barely have any magic at all. So go tell his fangship to stick it someplace else. I’m no help to him.”

The bystanders watched with open mouths. Ashe had a high embarrassment threshold, but she could feel the blood mounting to her cheeks.

Lloyd curled a lip. On his pretty face, the sneer made him look like an underwear model mugging for the camera. “And you think I’m going to go home to my king empty-handed?”

“The drugstore sells souvenirs. Get him a key chain.”

He gave a low, self-satisfied chuckle. “Try again.”

After leaving Ashe, Reynard portaled back to the Castle to update Mac, but became swept up in the interviews Mac was conducting. So far, none of the residents he had questioned about the forest gate or the burglary had produced useful information, except for one fact: A goblin’s cousin-in-law had been hired the night before to free the phouka. The other goblins, annoyed to find a traitor in their midst—though Mac had no luck establishing who the goblin was allegedly betraying—had torn off his head. So much for questioning that material witness. No one had a clue who had done the hiring.

Mac had put his fist through the interview room table, then accidentally set what remained of the furniture on fire.

As interesting as it all was, Reynard was wasting time watching Mac work. Yet, he allowed himself to linger. Part of him wanted to test how soon he would feel the effects of being in the Castle while his urn was in the outside world. His answer: three hours. From what he could tell, that meant he was still in relatively good shape.

By midafternoon, he made his escape back to the mall to fulfill the first part of his mission: an effective disguise. He understood the necessity, but hated abandoning his uniform. After so long, it was an integral part of him.

Reynard had no trouble finding the store or Ashe’s friend Leslie. She was more than efficient in supplying a range of clothing. He recognized a lot of it from what the younger guards wore: lace-up boots and blue jeans. Not a gentleman’s wardrobe, but sturdy, convenient, and comfortable. It would serve its purpose.

He would never have accepted the gift of clothing from anyone else. As it was, he would pay back its worth. But accepting the clothing from Ashe pleased him more than he liked to admit. It was intimate next to his skin.

Not the sort of thought he was supposed to be having. Duty, dignity, and death. That was the guardsman’s creed. If he was going to die hundreds of years and miles from home, he wanted an honorable end, sword in hand.

He must remember those three Ds the next time he looked at Ashe Carver’s lithe, sun-browned figure. He all but snorted out loud. Even if he wasn’t shriveling up and dying quite yet, a few hours out of the Castle were eroding his self-control. That didn’t mean he could escape his duty. His life, such as it was, belonged to his curse.

But, as he stood in Workrite with the fluttering sales-girls, the Castle seemed far away. They were reminding him what it felt like to be seen as a bedworthy man, and that made him dream of the blond-haired huntress.

The stretchy shirts the girls brought him seemed too tight—but every one of them insisted that was the proper fit. He wasn’t an idiot. It showed off his chest and shoulders. Who was he to argue? After so long, he was enjoying the attention. It seemed almost a shame to cover that tight shirt with the short leather jacket Leslie brought.

One more thing. He unbraided his hair from the tight queue that had been fashionable in his day. He let it fall loose in shoulder-length waves. No, that would get in the way in a fight. He tied it into a simple ponytail, like some of the modern men he’d seen. There. I am thoroughly camouflaged. Last, he put the sunglasses back on.

After leaving Workrite, he walked around the mall. It was an odd building, so dark that it might have been built under the earth. It seemed to wander forever and had no windows, much like the Castle.

The first time he had portaled in, he had arrived only moments before Ashe. Now he took the time to survey the location of the exits, hallways, and blind corners to consider if he—or they—were attacked. Habits died hard.

Reynard felt naked without his weapons, but Mac had insisted he leave them behind unless he was with someone who knew the local customs. Unnecessary. He had once had a taste for dueling—over cards, over women, over anything at all—but that was long ago. He’d had his fill of killing now. He was more interested in what the world of the living had to offer.

Fascinated by everything he saw, Reynard crossed through a noisy area filled with white tables and chairs. There were gossiping mothers and squalling children. A number of the mothers turned to stare as he walked past, running their eyes up and down him as if he were a horse they wanted to purchase. Out of sheer deviltry, he gave them the same look back, tipping up the glasses to get a better look. They didn’t seem to mind in the least.

The repressive magic was wearing off, and his senses were reeling. The atmosphere of this world was as addictive as the opium poppy. He wanted more and more: to run for the pure satisfaction of weary muscles, to stand under the rushing leaves of an aspen tree. Everywhere he could hear a strange music that seemed to come from the ceilings. Even though part of him knew it was the simplest of tunes, the lilt of it brought sweet melancholy like an unquenchable ache. He wanted to live.

You don’t deserve it. You went through women the way other men ate a bowl of fruit. Once the soft flesh was consumed, it was time to move on to the next. And that was but one of your failings. The Castle taught you duty, self-denial, and honor. Would you turn your back on that now? Would you go back on your bargain?

He could. He had the option of simply walking away. His life would be short, maybe only days, but it would be his—until separation from the urn killed him. Was that what he desired? Was he still the same man who would break an oath to feed his addiction to pleasure?

No, that wild young officer had burned down to dead ash during his first few months in the Castle. After that, horror had become commonplace. He had done terrible things in the name of duty. He’d had to bargain with villains like Miru- kai, trading for the welfare of the weaker inmates the warlords took as slaves. He’d had to wage war against gangs of inmates, and sometimes against his own men. But it was the small things that cut deepest. Constance, Mac’s woman, had adopted a son, and for a time Reynard had been forced to take the youth prisoner. It had been necessary to maintain order in the Castle, but that didn’t make the wrench of separation any easier for mother or son.

Though the Captain of the guardsmen could not show one scrap of what he felt, that episode had nearly broken what was left of Reynard’s heart, and he’d regretted it ever after.

So many, many times, it would have been easy to give in to despair. Discipline was the best shield he had against complete moral collapse. Honor. Duty. Dignity. Death. His father would have been pleased at the change a few centuries of servitude had wrought in his troublesome son.

Reynard walked past a shop filled with televisions and electronics—a land of incomprehensible wonders. Then a tobacco shop that informed him that snuff had fallen out of fashion in the last centuries. Then a bookseller’s—finally, someplace he understood the merchandise—and then he lingered a long time in front of a toy store.

They had tiny, brightly colored knights on chargers, all ringed around a paper castle. A little green dragon grinned down from the parapets.

They’ve obviously never seen a real dragon.

“Are you looking for your own boy?” asked the shop girl.

“No,” said Reynard, realizing he was just another man to her. Someone with an ordinary story, children of his own, nothing grim, nothing bizarre.

He surprised himself by smiling. “I’m really looking for myself.”

She laughed, and it was wonderful. She had a simple, merry, human laugh. A sudden joy overtook him, the sheer seduction of being nonsensical. He laughed with her until he felt his cheeks flushing, suddenly self-conscious.

Rattled, he thanked the shop girl and left the store. He had no money, or he might have bought something to prolong the charade. It was too easy to let himself pretend, to turn his back on the reason he was there. That kind of distraction could be deadly.

Reynard’s steps slowed as he neared the doors that looked out onto the street. Great God.

Most of the creatures he guarded were night dwellers. When they escaped, they fled into the darkness. He chased them in darkness. What he saw outside was something he had not seen in many, many years.

Sunshine.

It slanted through a slim break in the late-afternoon clouds, angling across a roadway and some spindly trees bright with the first flush of spring growth. Long shadows followed the people crossing the street. He blinked, aching to feel the sun on his skin.

He reached the doors, pushed one open, and stepped outside. Still in shadows, he paused under the overhang of the roof. Sunlight splashed the pavement six feet ahead.

If I go any farther, I will never come back.

People passed him, coming and going. They might have been ghosts. He was staring at the rushing cars, deafened by the noise. Like London from his day, the place teemed with a thousand ever-changing lives. Excitement was a scent. It tantalized him, begging him to step forward, to feel the balm of sun and heat and toss himself into that whirling current.

Is my existence so meaningless that I could throw it away so easily?

Perhaps.

His whole body ached with loss, each throb counting again all he had sacrificed—family, friends, love, career, every last simple act of being a free human. His hands shook, a sudden fever creeping over him, along with the urge to vomit—but there had been nothing in his stomach for two and a half centuries. Nausea lurched past with nothing to latch onto. He closed his eyes, shutting out the spears of cruel, seductive light.

I will not run mad.

The sun had always been unattainable. He remembered the tall bookshelves in his family’s leather-and-port-scented library. He’d been all of ten when he’d found his father’s great black book with a six-pointed sun embossed on its cover. The sun was painted in gold leaf. He’d caressed the cover, tracing the bright design with his finger.

“Don’t touch that!” snapped his father, swatting his hand away.

“What does the sun mean?”

“It means we were born to serve. The book isn’t a plaything for little boys. It belongs to the Order.”

His father had put the sun away on a high shelf, and Reynard had seen it no more. The next time he’d seen the symbol, it had been above the door of the vault where the urns were stored. By then, he knew what it was that the Order did.

They snatched the sun away from boys who grew into men.

At last, Reynard walked back inside, putting his back to the fading spring day. Duty, dignity, and death. There was work to be done. It was past time to get back to Ashe and see if she had any ideas where to begin his quest.

He turned, knowing where she was the way a compass knew north. Ever since that day when she’d wiped the blood from his face and urged him to live, he’d known where to find her, even from the other side of the Castle wall. To use the modern phrase, they had a connection.

Reynard crossed the library threshold and his blood ran cold.

Ashe stood in front of the desk, facing a vampire in a long, hooded coat. Two women, one old, one young, stood nearby like gaping sheep. The other clerk, Gina, clung to the counter as if it were the only thing holding her up.

Reynard dropped the paper bag he was carrying. It landed with a rattle, the extra socks and his threadbare, faded uniform spilling onto the carpet.

Heads turned his way, including the vampire’s. In less than a second, the creature realized he was between two enemies.

Using the distraction, Ashe lunged with a ruler she held like a rapier. The vampire spun, snarling. The ruler caught him in the side, poking the heavy cloth of the coat but little else. Reynard heard splintering wood.

Reynard leaped forward, vaulting over a table full of books.

The vamp snarled, grabbing the young woman around the neck and dragging her to his side. She squealed like a trapped rabbit, high and desperate, curling in on herself as much as she could. She wasn’t a fighter. The perfect human shield.

Reynard was just steps away. How could he get his own body between the human and the vampire? A guardsman could survive a lot.

He never had a chance to figure it out.

Grim-faced, the old lady hoisted a heavy book in both hands. “This is a library, you oaf!” she snapped, and thumped the vampire on the back of the head.

Ashe yelled, “Mrs. F., no!”

The vampire flung out a clawed hand, grabbing the thick purple fuzz of the old woman’s coat. Ashe spun on her heel, slamming her other foot into the vamp’s forehead in a sideways kick.

He let go of his hostages and recoiled, his attention now on Ashe. “Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to force you?”

The girl sprawled on her stomach, too frightened to move. Reynard hauled her up by the armpits and shoved her toward the door. “Go! Go!”

He pushed the old woman and Gina after her. “Now!”

Civilians. He’d forgotten how helpless ordinary humans could be. In the Castle, everyone knew enough to run at the first whiff of danger.

The vampire sprang. Ashe sidestepped, but the vampire dragged her down, pinning her beneath him.

The old woman had the right idea. Reynard grabbed a square metal object off the counter and used the heavy block to club the vampire over the head.

The vamp twisted, grabbed Reynard’s left wrist, and sank in his teeth. Fang scraped bone and tendon, shearing away flesh. Reynard still had the heavy block in his right hand. The pain brought a flood of rage. He smashed the block down again.

“Reynard!” Ashe gasped from beneath the vamp. “Get this thing off me!”

The vampire’s scalp was bleeding, but he clung on, teeth sunk in Reynard’s flesh.

Furious, Reynard smashed again and again, a haze of anger clouding his vision. The fangs loosened. Reynard ripped his arm away, leaving skin behind. He grabbed the vamp by his bloody hair and levered him off Ashe.

Arms now free, Ashe reared up and drove the broken ruler into his heart, then slammed it home with the palm of her hand.

The vampire went limp. Reynard shoved the body aside. Suddenly, the object he was holding seemed enormously heavy. He dumped it back onto the counter.

Ashe was still on the floor, leaning on her elbows. She started to laugh.

“What?”

“You checked him out, all right. That’s the demagnetizer.”

“The what?”

She shook her head. “Not important. Shit, I thought you were going to bash him to pulp. Did he bite you?”

Reynard held up his torn arm. He could feel the venom, cold as ice, speeding through his veins. In ordinary humans, it produced an addictive, orgasmic state of bliss. He just felt pain. It hardly seemed fair. “I’m immune to their bite. One of the benefits of my occupation.”

Ashe raised her eyebrows. “Lucky, I guess.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine. He wanted me for a present to his king.”

Her eyes were a pure green, so bright they reminded him of sun through a cathedral window. Staring into them, he had the same sense of awe.

He held out his good hand, remembering his manners. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Through their clasped palms, he could feel her strength, her elasticity of muscle and joint as she moved. The venom from the bite was turning from ice to heat, spreading a glow like good brandy.

She was looking at his tight shirt.

He wanted to kiss her. He felt a little foxed, like he had been drinking too much of that brandy. Oh, well, so he wasn’t completely immune to venom. Or maybe being outside the Castle weakened his resistance. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be oblivious to the venom’s pleasure anymore. He’d had enough of playing the saint.

“You know,” he said with what he hoped was a charming smile, “while we’ve already agreed that I need your help, you seem to be having a few difficulties here.”

He pulled off the sunglasses, trying to ignore the stabbing pain of the light.

Ashe looked suspicious, giving a feline cast to those remarkable eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I think you need my help as much as I need yours. I should be your partner while I’m here. We work very well together.”

Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into him. A risky move, if she objected. Instead, she went perfectly still. Her body leaned into his, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. Her breath was on his face, coming in short, shallow gusts. She was startled, but not fighting back.

“There’s a vampire rotting on the floor,” she said with disgust.

“They always do that when we’re around, don’t they?” He grasped a wisp of her hair and let it slither between his fingers. It fell like straight, smooth silk. It was the color of ripe birch leaves when they fell, as gold as if it were made of distilled autumn light.

Oh, God, she’s so enticing.

Then, remarkably, he felt her lips on his, soft but demanding. Ashe kissed with frank hunger, hiding nothing. Because she didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t. The instinct to match her, to best her, strength for strength, was too powerful.

He teased one lip, then the other, searching out her tongue with his. She tasted of woman, warm and earthy.

Reynard felt as if he were crumbling from the inside out, as if soon he would turn to dust, just like the vampire. It had been so hard to hold himself together over the centuries, the notion of sensual surrender felt like suicide. Like flying. Like peace.

No discipline could possibly survive this. This is heaven. No wonder vampire venom is addictive.

Ashe clasped his face, holding him as if she were afraid to miss a single drop as she drank at his mouth. His hands were on her ribs, working their way down her lean waist to the female flare of her hips. He brushed the bare skin peeking out below her shirt. It was hot, velvety, yielding. He slid his palm onto that satin skin. He caressed her, spanning the small of her back with his hand. She gave a moan that vibrated through him like a cat’s purr.

A sensation grew low in his belly, a glorious, aching heat that he had long forgotten. Too bad he couldn’t resurrect the vampire just long enough to say thank-you. This is what I felt like before all the misery, the darkness, the damned curse took my life.

I must possess her.

She smelled of soap, her warmth the only perfume. He breathed in the scent, vowing never to forget it. Ashe broke away, licking her lips, tasting him. Reynard ached to grab her again. Her lips were wet, bruised from their kiss. He was fascinated by the bow of her mouth.

More.

“You are one helluva kisser.” She said it like an accusation.

“It is a mighty talent, I confess.” He grinned.

Expressions passed over her face, one after another: suspicion, admiration, outrage, bald curiosity. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He stared, felt his jaw actually drop.

Not the reaction he expected. Once, women had wept with joy if he so much as kissed their fingertips. You’re not that man anymore. You sacrificed all that.

He folded his arms, suddenly on the defensive. “Why not? You seemed to enjoy it.”

She pressed her lips together. “Because I’d want to go further. You’re not a one- kiss guy.”

And what the bleeding hell is wrong with that?

He didn’t get to ask. Mrs. F. was back with the security guards, hurtling forward like a fuzzy purple cannonball. “Where is it? Where is that monster?”

Ashe waved a hand at the vampire. “There.”

It was starting to dissolve. The exposed flesh was starting to sink in on itself.

Mrs. F. fell back with a grunt of horror. The short, round security guard didn’t look happy, either. He glared at Reynard and Ashe. “What happened here?”

Ashe shrugged, exchanged a glance with Reynard. “He dog-eared the pages.”