Charlee took a small bite. The sauce was strawberry-based and delicious, and Pierre was right, it went with the champagne perfectly.
The sous chef, someone Charlee didn’t know, appeared with a tray bearing coffee and cups a few minutes later, then disappeared just as discreetly, but he kept looking at Charlee as he set out the tray, his gaze flickering over her. Then he would look at Asher and away quickly.
“Am I creating gossip about you, being here?” she asked Asher after he was gone.
His mouth turned up. “Probably. You know how much I give a damn about gossip, though.”
“You used to care what people thought about you—and me—very much.”
“Not for the reasons you think.”
“Ah, but you have no idea what I’m thinking.”
Asher gave a small laugh. “Not anymore, I don’t.”
* * * * *
“You don’t live in the Bronx anymore?” Charlee asked when the cab dropped them off in Soho.
“You knew I lived there?” he asked, startled.
She smiled. “I couldn’t figure out why you would be in my neighborhood, just passing by in time to rescue Chocolate, unless you lived there.”
“I bought this apartment about four years ago,” he said. “I got sick of the commute.”
That would have been around the time she moved to Ylva’s. Charlee didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she looked up at Asher’s new home as he led her inside.
The building was one of the classical New York brownstones, but from the look of the foyer and the number of mailboxes on the wall there, it was one of the ones that had been gutted to make bigger studio apartments, with only two or three apartments per floor.
After so many years, money would accumulate, she realized. That was why Ylva lived in a big house on Fifth Avenue and Asher could afford what had to be a multi-million dollar apartment in Soho.
Which must mean that Ylva had lived for a long time, too. But her age! Her age meant she couldn’t be a Valkyrie.
What if she used to be one? The question popped into her head mixed up with a “d’uh” sensation. A former Valkyrie? Could there be such a thing? Did they just give it up, somehow?
Asher’s apartment was on the third floor. There were only two doors leading off from the elevator foyer and as he unlocked the door, she braced herself for large-scale sumptuousness.
He pushed the door open. “I’ll go in first, so Torger doesn’t mow you down.”
Already, Charlee could hear the click of toenails on flooring, heading toward them. Asher stepped through, and she caught a glimpse of big sash windows and sunlight. He swung the door until it was almost shut and she heard him through the door. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Very good boy. We’ve got a guest, so put on your best manners, yes? No drooling on her pretty dress.”
Charlee held back her laughter as the door opened once more. Asher beckoned her inside.
Torger was sitting five paces inside the door, his tongue hanging out as he panted. His pushed-in nose was turned up toward her eagerly and his tail moved, brushing across the floor.
Charlee bent down toward him. “Torger, you ugly thing you. You’re as beautiful as ever.”
Thump, thump. Torger’s tail hit the floor solidly. His back hips wriggled. But he didn’t move. His eyes slid over to where Asher was standing, watching them.
“Yes, boy. You can say hello,” Asher told him.
Torger seemed to laugh. His mouth opened, revealing more of his pink tongue, as he jumped up and tried to lick Charlee’s face. She reared back, only just managing to keep her balance, and he jumped again, his paws landing just above her knees. He gave a soft bark and she scratched behind his ears. “Good dog. Good Torger. You remember me, don’t you?”
He chumped his jaws together as if he were agreeing and panted happily, his eyes rolling, as she scratched and patted.
“Of course he remembers you,” Asher said. “Who could ever forget you?”
Charlee looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “I’m lucky if Lucas remembers my birthday.”
Asher shook his head. “I guarantee he remembers. But his life isn’t….”
“Normal?” Charlee asked.
“Not normal in the sense that he gets weekends off to mow the lawn, no.”
Charlee gave Torger one last pat and stood up, looking around. She had focused on Torger as soon as she had stepped inside, and nothing had registered beyond the big windows and the warm sunlight spilling through them. Now she looked about curiously.
The first impression was that there were books everywhere. And bookshelves. The big room wasn’t quite a studio. There was a door through the wall at the other end, and she could see a bed through the doorway. It was unmade, the cover tossed back to the point where it was threatening to slide off the end of the bed. Charlee could just about see Asher throwing it aside as he rose from the bed.
Quickly she turned back to the main room, not allowing herself to follow that line of thought. The kitchen and living area were all one room. On the wall opposite the windows, bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall. There were even shelves above the apartment door. The kitchen area took up the wall to her right, with a breakfast bar separating it from the rest of the room.
Most of the bookshelves held books. There were more books on the coffee table, some of them open and resting face down. There was a French press on the kitchen counter, half-filled with cold coffee, and a mug and empty plate next to it. The remains of breakfast, she presumed. She could hear Skuld’s voice in her head, lecturing about the dirty dishes and how food scraps invited germs. She could also hear Silia, murmuring about the waste of coffee, the properties of caffeine, and how it could be used for a variety of ailments, if it was prepared properly.
There was a wine glass on the coffee table, the dregs of red wine at the bottom. The cushions scattered across the sofa were squashed and folded, from being sat upon and leaned against.
It was a lived-in apartment and despite its size, it felt warm and comfortable. Charlee looked around, starting to like it. “I had no idea you owned so many books.”
“I didn’t have room for them in the Bronx apartment, so I’ve had them in storage. It’s good to have them accessible again.”
“I imagine some of them are impossible to replace, too.” She moved toward the nearest shelves, to read the spines and from the corner of her eye, she saw Asher settle on the arm of the sofa, his arms crossed, watching her.
It ruined her concentration. She pretended to look at the spines, but she barely absorbed what she was reading. Finally, when her heart was hurrying along like she had sprinted a hundred yards, she straightened and turned to face him. “You’re watching me.”
“You’re the only thing moving in the room,” he said reasonably. Torger was sprawled on the floor at Asher’s feet, his eyes closed.
“That’s a neat evasion. I’ll have to remember it.”
Asher didn’t move. He was still looking at her.
“Truth for truth, Asher,” she said. “Why did you haul me here to your apartment?”
“Why did you let me bring you here?” he shot back. “Truth for truth.”
She took a deep breath, for courage. “I want to know more about you. The real you. You’ve been holding out on me for years. This seemed like a good way.”
“Didn’t Ylva teach you that stepping into a man’s apartment comes with certain implications?”
“I’ve known that for years. But you’re not just any man.”
He seemed to grow wary and still, again. “Then what am I?”
“Someone I trust absolutely.”
Asher’s mouth quirked. “Thank you.”
“And why did you bring me here?”
His little smile faded. “I want to know why you didn’t kiss me. We can’t be interrupted here. No one will overhear you. So tell me.”
She stared at him. “Your ego is not so delicate that a woman holding out on you would cru
sh it, so why do you want to know so badly?”
He stood up. “I know you wanted to. You’re one of the most stubborn people I know. If you want something, you take it, but you didn’t take your kiss. Something stopped you, and it wasn’t the moral right and wrong of the situation. Something in you made you not take what you wanted.”
“You wouldn’t have let me, anyway,” she shot back.
“No, but you didn’t try to take it. What stopped you?”
Charlee considered him curiously. He was quite serious about this. He wanted to know, and it had nothing to do with his male pride.
“Truth, Charlee,” he prompted her and she realized that he was a lot closer now. He had been taking small steps toward her while they spoke. Now she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.
“I don’t know,” she told him.
“You do. You just don’t want to think about it. Think,” he urged her. “What made you stop?”
Charlee tried. She recalled those tense, short moments in the back of the cab, after the prom. They were hazy now (liar!). But the air between them, the way it had thickened and grew warmer, the sudden heaviness of her body and sluggish thoughts, those things she remembered.
Her heart began to thud just like it had that night. “You were so much older…” she whispered.
“Were?” He shook his head, dismissing it. “Try another excuse.”
Charlee swallowed. “Why do you care, anyway? You said you would have stopped me, so what does it matter?”
“I would have stopped you for reasons that have nothing to do with you personally. But you stopped for reasons that were very personal to you.” His eyes seemed to be holding her gaze, like a magnet. “Tell me what it was. I want you to see it.”
Horror touched her. “You know why?”
Asher nodded. “It took me a long time to figure it out. But I think I know, now.”
Charlee realized her hand was cradling her cheek only when Asher’s gaze shifted to her fingers. She tried to drop her hand, but couldn’t.
He was staring at it. “And now I know for certain.” His gaze shifted back to her eyes.
“I was seventeen,” she said defensively. “Of course I thought I didn’t deserve to kiss you.”
“You still don’t, because of a little scar.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist, and lowered her hand away from her face.
“It’s not little!”
“I’ve seen far worse.”
“You see beautiful women every single day! You’re surrounded by them! I don’t think I’ve met a single ugly Amica. Not one! They’re all stunning.”
Asher froze again, staring at her. It was the same as when she had mentioned mead. She had surprised him. Shocked him to the point where he didn’t know how to respond. No, he was afraid to respond. He was controlling his reaction with the equivalent of an iron fist.
“You know what the Amica are?” he said. His tone was cautious.
“Not exactly.” The truth was a good enough answer this time. “I’m still sorting out who in Ylva’s house is Amica and who isn’t.” At the last split second, she chose the indirect reference. She had a feeling that speaking words like Valkyrie and Einherjar aloud would scare Asher even more. Perhaps scare him into a reaction that his Kine had been using to keep their secret for centuries. She didn’t know enough yet, so she said that, too. “There’s so much to learn. Each day I learn a bit more and that tells me how much more there is to learn.”
“You’re learning?” It was the same wary tone.
Afterwards, Charlee was never certain what had prompted her to say it. But she looked him in the eye. “Your secret is safe, Asher. Ylva hasn’t told me. No one has.” She had figured out much of it merely by observing, and from Darwin’s obsessive researching. But it was still true: his secret was utterly safe in her hands.
His hand around her wrist dropped. Shock, or dismay? His expression was the same neutral, assessing one. “Let’s change the subject.”
“Truth for truth,” she said flatly. “You don’t mind keeping secrets, but acknowledging you even have one is out of bounds?”
“Truth, Charlee?” He had crossed his arms again, but this time she knew it was because she was pushing him, stirring things. He was in defensive mode, perhaps the first time she had ever seen him that way with her. “Even acknowledging that there are things that must stay unspoken—that’s how talking begins. That’s how truth is revealed, a small slip at a time.”
“You risked that much when you saved Chocolate. You spoke about your secret then.”
“Yes, and look where we are now. Look at your life. Look where it took you.” His gaze fell upon her cheek.
“I wouldn’t change any of it. Not a moment.”
His eyes met hers. “Really? You prefer being a woman who thinks she’s not worth a single kiss that she wants?”
She swallowed. Now she was on the defensive. She could feel the empty denials rising up. She wanted to say he was wrong, but she couldn’t.
Asher stepped back. Away from her. He reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Don’t get the wrong idea, alright?”
She laughed. It was supposed to be a dry, sophisticated sound, but it did come out sounding nervous. “You’re unbuttoning your shirt. What am I supposed to think?”
He pulled the tails of his shirt out of his pants. “I want you to see something.”
“Well, that’s a twist on asking me to see your etchings.”
He rolled his eyes. “No, I want you to see this.” He pulled the shirt open.
She looked. Of course she had to look. He was naked beneath the shirt, but she had always known he never wore a T-shirt or undershirt. His flesh was quite pale, but the scars were not. They slashed and writhed, at least four of them, across the flat plane of his stomach and over his chest. Charlee couldn’t tear her gaze away from them. She held back the question she most wanted to ask.
Which of these was the one that killed you?
There was a rounded scar, just under his pectoral muscle, on the left side, and suddenly she knew that was the one. That was what had killed him. Sword, or spear—or a tree stump, it didn’t matter.
She didn’t realize that she was staring at them until Asher spoke once more. “You’re not the only one with scars, Charlee. Yours is visible to the world when you step out your front door, but that’s the only difference.” He closed his shirt again, and buttoned it.
Charlee blinked. “Do the Amica have scars like that?”
“No.”
“Do other women you know?” It was a roundabout way of asking if the Valkyrie had scars like her.
Asher tilted his head to study her. “You’re the only woman I know who is marked just like a lot of men I know.”
Her heart lurched. Startled, she stared at him. All the Einherjar had scars? Well, of course they would. They were all warriors. They had all died in battle. But she hadn’t.
“Scars like yours are honorable war wounds,” Asher added.
This time her laugh was genuine. “I wasn’t in a battle.”
“You clashed with an enemy.” Asher wasn’t laughing.
“I didn’t have a weapon.”
“Warriors fight without weapons at times.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You survived.”
Asher hadn’t survived. Well, not in human terms. “Is that what defines a warrior? Survival?” she asked curiously.
“Warriors are those caught up in wars, whether they are soldiers or just survivors. You were not a soldier, you were a survivor. You did the job you were supposed to do.”
“I lived?”
“Exactly.” It was odd the way his blue eyes were drilling in to her, holding her gaze.
She spoke the very first thing that came to her. “I want my kiss, now.”
The moment before he responded seemed to last forever. His gaze didn’t let her go. “The reasons for saying no still stand.” But his voice was deeper. Rougher. And
she knew that he wanted her to kiss him. He wouldn’t take one for himself, but he would let her have her kiss, if she insisted.
It gave Charlee the courage to step close to him and rest her hand on his chest, over the scar there, that she could feel under her fingers through the fine cotton of his shirt. “I want my warrior’s reward,” she told him.
He drew in a breath. “Charlee….” It was a warning.
She kissed him.
She was wearing stilettos that made her four inches taller, but she still had to lift herself up onto her toes to reach his mouth. His lips were unexpectedly soft. His scent enveloped her and made something in her belly roll over. Her body felt heavy and drugged, but where it pressed against Asher, her flesh seemed scalded.
But he was not responding. Disappointment touched her. Of course he wouldn’t respond. It was just her. Not a magnificent Valkyrie, or one of the models he sometimes dated. She was human. Just Charlee.
She let him go, but before their lips barely separated, his hand caught the back of her head, holding her there, and his lips pressed against hers.
Heat consumed her, racing along her limbs, throwing her heart into a stuttering, racing confusion. He was kissing her. It was a sweet victory and a sultry reward, all at once. And it was good. So good.
Asher pulled away from her, almost tearing himself away. He drew in a deep breath, his eyes closing and grew still, half turned away from her so that she could see the thickness of his shoulder.
Finally he breathed again. “That was not a good idea,” he said very quietly.
Charlee agreed. Her heart was hurting and her legs were shaky. She felt a bit sick with the tidal forces of physical need surging through her. “It won’t happen again,” she said flatly.
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Never promise absolutes,” he said bleakly.
She picked up her clutch purse from the back of the sofa where she had rested it. “Like promising to never speak a secret?” she asked. She didn’t wait for his answer. His eyes widening were answer enough.
The Branded Rose Prophecy Page 34
