Scorched

by Sharon Ashwood

  “I’ve already thought of that,” he said. “I’ll bring you something nice.”

  “You will?” The words came out like a prayer and a confession both. She sounded like a drowning waif, clutching at the reeds of a riverbank. “But how will I get out of the Castle?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got that figured out, too.” He touched his finger to the end of her nose. “Nothing’s ever perfect, but I’ll make our night as close to absolutely wonderful as I can.”

  Lore had to be wrong. Mac wasn’t worried about what she’d do. Still . . .

  “What if I bite someone?” She had to say it. She still had a conscience.

  Mac cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to?”

  “No!” she said. “But what if I decide I do?”

  He shifted his hands, holding her as gently as he would a bird. “Why would you?”

  “What if I can’t help myself? It could happen. I’m a monster, you know.”

  He gave a sly smile. “Tell me if you feel the urge. Then we’ll decide what to do. There are people who are happy to let you bite them.”

  Constance was stunned. “Bloody hell! Why would they want that?”

  Mac looked confused, then considering. “How often were you bitten?”

  “Just the once.”

  He looked even more perplexed. “Your, um, boyfriend tried to Turn you on, like, the first time?”

  “Yes.”

  She flushed, remembering that vampire venom was supposed to possess erotic effects. She’d felt none of that. Though she did remember he slobbered. “He wasn’t much for getting a girl in the mood.”

  Chuckling, Mac pulled her close. He was warm, his laugh a pleasant rumble. “Say yes, Connie. Come out with me. I’ll show you how a girl is meant to be treated.”

  She let him wrap her in his strong, strong arms, imagining herself walking in the open air, the city folding around her like a sequined cloak. How could she deny him, after all he’d done for her? “Where will we go? What will we do? Tell me what it will be like.”

  He chuckled again, obviously enjoying himself, and it warmed her through to her spine. “What do you want to do?”

  She knew the answer to that. It was in the magazines. “What every other man and woman does. Dinner and a movie.”

  “Dinner?”

  “I’ll watch you eat.”

  He frowned. “Are you sure? That won’t be very exciting.”

  “I want to do what everyone else does. I want a proper date.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Really?”

  “This will be your night.”

  Can I take this risk? She thought of the brave woman she had met, a mere human ready to take on the whole Castle. “You’ll make sure I don’t do anything I shouldn’t? You promise?”

  Mac’s eyes were serious. “I promise, sweetheart.”

  Mac kept his promises. “Then, yes.”

  He grinned, that quick flash of mischief, and the last of her resistance melted. She wanted whatever he could show her. She leaned into him, turning on his knee so that she almost faced him.

  He reached down, his fingers brushing against her ankle as they crept up her stocking, following the curve of her calf. The fabric of her petticoats rustled, the old, soft cloth falling in languid folds over his arm. New garments would have been stiffer, but these lent themselves to furtive play.

  Constance twitched when his fingers reached her knee. The undercover touch seemed somehow more illicit than flagrant display. Mac’s hand crossed the barrier of her ribbon garter and found bare flesh to stroke. He ran his hand under her chemise, cupping her rump in a gentle squeeze.

  “You’re not wearing anything under here,” he said in a very male tone.

  “Only men wear drawers. No proper girl wears men’s underthings.”

  He chuckled. “I need to introduce you to Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Why would I need her secrets? Haven’t I got plenty?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  His caress made her restless. She braced against his shoulders and hitched herself up until she could turn completely, straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. Mac shifted, carrying her along as he found a comfortable position.

  “Now what are you going to do?” he teased.

  She noticed he’d kept a possessive grip on her hip. She wordlessly gathered her skirts up in front, working them until nothing was trapped beneath her legs. He slipped his other hand beneath the pool of cloth until both were holding her bare hips, steadying her as she hooked her fingers into his waistband and began working the buttons of his jeans.

  He was wearing nothing beneath, either. Sliding away, she let him free himself of the thick denim, find a better angle on the heavy sofa. Settling again, she sketched the hard, sharp tip of her nail—one of the more dangerous attributes of the female vampire—around the base of him, then gently dragged it up the shaft, watching it quiver and blossom under her touch. Another stroke, and another, and she had him, plump and full, between her hands.

  Constance felt wanton, an explorer in an exotic land. She was starting to ache in all the right places, her breasts feeling tight in the confines of her stays. She rose up, balancing like an equestrian for the best angle to kiss. Their lips met, her hands gripping his shoulders, tongues teasing each other. He was demon-hot, his skin warm as that of someone who had been standing before a fire. She luxuriated in it, pressing herself against him, drinking in that heat with every pore.

  And then she let her tongue slide down his strong, long neck, torturing herself with the spicy taste of him. Her jaws throbbed with the urge to bite, but she held back. If she was going to walk in the outside world, she had to prove she had self-control. Tears started to course down her cheeks, the effort almost too much to bear.

  And then she moaned as his clever fingers found the private territory between her thighs. He stroked her in small, tight circles, filling her and then making her cry out as he withdrew, exploring until he found the perfect nub that made her gasp her surprise. She rocked against him, quivering as he wound her tighter and tighter. She dug her nails into his shirt, crushing the cloth in her grip as he finally brought her with a last skillful touch. She bucked against him in frantic, pulsing waves, her mind white as a snowstorm, free of anything but blind sensation.

  She was there, floating free, when she felt the press of him. She opened, her body generous now, taking him in a bit at a time, stroke after stroke, mourning a little every time she had to let that fullness go. Mac had her by the hips again, guiding them both, his teeth gritted. His hardness stretched her—uncomfortable, exquisite pleasure. Her immortal body could take it, glorying in his size and strength, gorging on him. Every angle, every glide unfolded new sensations. New pleasures. New gratification.

  Blood hunger raged through her, growing ever sharper as she denied it, becoming part of the exquisite torture. The pain of it was almost erotic in its own right.

  Mac’s eyes glittered red, his skin gone from warm to burning with demon heat. Their surging rhythm quickened. Tension was building, layering, growing like something crystalline and bright. Then it shattered, a thousand shards of pleasure slicing at her flesh, drawing a piercing cry from her lips. She heard Mac roar and felt his rush of heat inside her.

  Oh yes, wherever he led, she would follow.

  Ashe woke. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, but it was light now, sun peeping through the hospital room’s curtains. She looked around, moving only her eyes because her head felt like a balloon. Drugs.

  A page turned to the right of her. She jerked toward the sound, feeling her medicated senses swirl with the sudden motion. Holly was slumped in a chair, her stockinged feet propped on the edge of the metal bed frame. She was reading a textbook—the same one Ashe had shoved at Caravelli, tricking him into revealing his vampire speed.

  Now Ashe regretted the act, sort of. It had been a cheap shot. “Hey.”

  Holly looked up. “Y
ou’re awake.”

  “Yup.” Ashe took in the monitors, the ugly fluorescent lights, the other two patients in the room. Both looked asleep or unconscious, but it was hard to tell. All she could see from this angle was lumps under thin hospital blankets.

  The place smelled of disinfectant and death.

  Holly closed the text, setting it on the floor beside her. “How are you feeling?”

  They put me in a pink hospital gown! Pink? Do they think I’m twelve? “Like I’ve been in a garbage compactor.”

  “You need more painkillers?”

  Ashe tried to sit up but abandoned the plan. “Nah, I’m woozy enough as it is.”

  Holly fussed with the covers, doing the pillow-plumping thing. Ashe swatted her away.

  Holly sat down again, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry Alessandro put you in the Castle. He’s sorry, too.”

  Yeah, right. Ashe rubbed her eyes. They felt gummy. A wave of fatigue swamped her, followed by a mood the same color as the sickly green bed curtains. “I didn’t give him much choice.”

  Holly looked puzzled. “Are you saying you’re going to back off about him?”

  Ashe heard the hope in her voice. It cut her quick-deep. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I don’t.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m an incredibly powerful witch?”

  “I know. That doesn’t make me worry about you any less.”

  Holly folded her arms. “Why not worry about Eden instead? It’s not that I don’t want you around, but she needs you more.”

  Eden was a tender place she’d rather leave alone. “She’s fine. I’ve already made sure of that. I wasn’t sure about you.”

  “I have Alessandro. Whether you believe it or not, he does a good job of looking after me.”

  Ashe could tell Holly believed it. She sighed as much as her sore ribs allowed.

  A doctor came by, but went to the patient across the room. A cart clattered along the hall. Ashe wondered whether they were going to feed her. She was starving. Not that hospital food was anything to look forward to.

  Holly leaned in closer. “How did you meet your husband? You never told me.”

  Oh, Goddess. Sharing time. “In a bar. He picked me up. It worked out.”

  “That’s it?”

  Not by a long shot. “We both loved action—mountain climbing, dirt bikes. He taught me a lot of fighting moves. He didn’t care where I’d been or what I’d done. He was a here-and-now kind of guy. Brilliant. Energetic.” Dead.

  Ashe felt her throat closing up with unshed tears. Damned medication is making me weepy. “We called our daughter Eden because we were in Paradise when we had her.”

  “That’s sweet,” said Holly.

  More like ironic. A hot tear escaped, sliding over her temple into the pillow. Damned, damned medication. “Roberto died when she was six. Then I was on my own. I didn’t have any job skills. I couldn’t afford to give her a good life. The couple of years after that were a huge struggle.”

  “So you went into—your current job?”

  “Uh-huh.” Ashe heard the quaver in her voice, hated it, but kept talking. For some reason, Holly needed to hear this. Best to get it over with. “I started out finding missing children. The cases just got stranger, more dangerous, and paid better. Now Eden is in the best, most secure school I could find. She lost her father. It was the least I could do for her. She has a future. I’m not saying I’m a great mother, but she’s got absolutely everything I can give her.”

  Holly looked stunned. A silence fell between them, fading into the constant clatter and hum of the hospital. Ashe put her arm over her eyes, blocking out the light. Raising her arm pulled at her ribs, but she gripped the pain to her like a shield. “And now you know everything there is to know about me.”

  “Sure I do,” said Holly, her voice denying it. “Ashe, you’re incredible. In a good way. Mostly.”

  Ashe allowed herself a half smile. “That’s me.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Time to update the data, sis. I think I’m looking after you right now.”

  Ashe lowered her arm. “We’re still sisters, aren’t we? Looking after each other is what they do.”

  They stared at each other a long moment.

  “Will you leave Alessandro alone?”

  “Okay. Unless he screws up. Then I’ll kill him twice over.”

  “Okay.” Holly laced her fingers together, almost like she was praying. “Y’know, I want to meet Eden and she’d love Grandma. You should bring her here for a visit.”

  Ashe stared at the grimy acoustic tiles on the ceiling. They seemed to press down, pinning her to the lumpy bed. “That would be nice. But, y’know, Eden’s going to ask questions.”

  “About her witch heritage?”

  “About where Mom and Dad are.”

  Holly sank back into her chair, deflating. “Ashe . . .”

  Ashe sighed. She was broken, inside and out, and she so wanted to hand the jagged bits of herself to some other responsible party to figure out. Sadly, it wasn’t anyone’s job but hers. “I know. I’ll bring her around. Someday.”

  Ashe turned her head, studying Holly’s face. There was still the echo of that sweet—though sometimes bratty—kid inside the woman. Not everything was lost in the passage of time. Ashe relaxed a tiny degree. “I love you, Holly. I hope you get that.”

  “Yeah.” A slow, sly smile stole over Holly’s face. “And you always kept a secret better than anyone. I remember that about you.”

  Ashe narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  October 8, 1:00 p.m.

  Tiger Lily Vintage Clothes

  “I thought for sure your sister’d punctured a lung,” Mac said.

  “She didn’t, but that was sheer luck. You saved her life.”

  Holly flipped through the rack of dresses at Tiger Lily Vintage, Fairview’s raging-hot boutique for recycled fashion.

  “But Ashe is doing okay, right?” Mac asked.

  The sun fell through the dirty window like weak tea. The place was decorated in basic Victorian Bordello, with a lot of worn velvet and faded purple fringes.

  “Sure. Witches heal fast. Even if Ashe doesn’t have active magic, she’s still one of us. Lucky for her.” There was a frustrated edge in Holly’s voice. “I think she’s coming around about Alessandro—I mean not killing him—but I don’t think they’ll ever be BFFs, y’know?”

  “Uh, no,” he said. “She’s trying to protect you.”

  Holly flipped another hanger. “So why am I the one doing bedside duty?”

  “When are visiting hours?”

  “I was up there this morning. I’ll drop by again later. They’ve got her so doped up she sleeps most of the time. It’s great for hitting the books.” Holly sighed. “Poor Ashe.”

  “Hmm, yeah, aren’t you supposed to be studying and not shopping?”

  “I’m in denial. Aren’t you supposed to be figuring out why you’re a demon again?”

  “My best source of information tried to turn your sister and me into liverwurst.” Bored with watching her flip through the procession of garments, Mac started to look for himself. He wasn’t one of those antishopping guys, but this was moving too slowly.

  “Aren’t you chock-a-block with demon strength?”

  “That guy, Atreus, is packing a whole lot more. How about this?” He held up a red dress with a poofy skirt that rustled. Mac liked it, but he wasn’t sure whether that shade of red was the thing.

  “Hmm, no,” she said. “That looks like Shirley Temple meets Saw.”

  He put it back with an exasperated grunt. He never had this much trouble buying clothes for himself. “Okay, I admit defeat. What does every girl want for her first date?”

  Holly gave him one of her squinty looks that said he was being an idiot. It was kind of comforting, because it meant nothing between them had changed. He was a normal-sized human idiot
. He was an extra-large demon idiot. It was all the same to Holly.

  “Little black dress,” she said. “Every woman needs one.”

  “Okay,” said Mac. A plan. We have a plan. “Do they have those in vintage shops?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Audrey Hepburn? Look, this is perfect” Holly pulled out another dress. This one was black and so plain, it looked almost severe.

  Boring. “Isn’t that kind of basic?”

  “That’s the point. It’s all about the accessories. Strappy shoes. Evening bag. I bet you haven’t even thought about lingerie.”

  “Ha-ha. Not touching that one.”

  “Beast.”

  “You bet.”

  “But a sweetie.” She held up another dress, plain black with a neckline that plunged almost to the waist. “Whoa, that one makes a statement.”

  His inner caveman went on alert, definitely feeling more beastly than sweet. “We’ll take it.”

  Chapter 20

  October 8, 7:55 p.m.

  101.5 F.M.

  “Baba Yaga’s Restaurant offers fine dining in the old world tradition in the heart of historic Fairview. With a wide and varied menu, we guarantee an unforgettable dining experience. Although we specialize in poultry, all dietary requirements are discreetly supplied. Please reserve in advance.”

  Constance clung to Mac’s arm, unsteady on her beautiful, damnably dangerous shoes. Everything about the clothes he had given her made her feel exposed, from her ankles all the way up to her neck. Her upswept hair left her nape bared to chance breezes, shivering not from cold but from the sensuality of the promiscuous air.

  She might as well have gone walking abroad in her shift. Except her shift wasn’t silky and black as sin. This was a woman’s dress. Not a girl’s. His eyes had told her so.

  He’d brought her flowers. Red and white roses. She hadn’t seen, or smelled, or touched the velvet petals of real flowers for hundreds of years. They still ravished her senses, the scent of them clinging to her hands.