Unchained tdf-3

by Sharon Ashwood

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.

  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.