Scorched

by Sharon Ashwood

  “Connie!”

  Astonishing. Mac’s voice was coming from the candlestick next to the hearth.

  Constance sighed. Well, all right. Everyone else in the Castle seemed to have lost their minds—Viktor and Atreus, for instance. Now it was her turn. She sat back down on the sofa.

  “Connie.”

  She gasped, shrinking back. That had come from right in front of her face!

  The light flickered, all the candles guttering. Slowly, slowly, Mac emerged into view, leaning over the sofa to stare down at her.

  “I can see right through you,” she whispered.

  “So my mother always said.”

  His voice caressed her, a wave of tiny shocks that brought her feelings back to life. After such sudden loss, her relief was beyond description.

  And then he was gone. “Mac?” She was clearly losing her mind.

  A cold breeze stirred the room, making her shiver. Then she felt his lips, soft and hard at once, familiar and warm. Not burning now, but still filled with all the heat of a man reunited with his mate.

  And he was there again, bending down to hold her, a filmy shadow of himself. Constance held very still, seeking only with her mouth, connecting again and again. She drank him in, closing her eyes, tasting his smoky, spicy flavor. Eyes shut, she could imagine him fully there, his big, hot body curling around her, cherishing her, giving her back the life she had lost. Forgetting that, no, he was only madness, or a ghost, or a memory, she reached up with one hand to cup his cheek. First her fingers touched only warmth, a tingle that somehow resolved into the rough, whiskered angle of his jaw.

  She let her eyes flicker open. “Mac?”

  His hand was on her arm, solid, warm, and heavy. His dark eyes were laughing, as if he were playing the most wonderful joke. “The Avatar said the only thing that matters is the joy that gives me life. Who knew she meant it literally?”

  Constance felt her mouth drift open. He was laughing. A sudden hot wave of emotion erupted. “What do you think you’re doing to me?” She jumped to her feet, nearly bumping his chin. “Do you think this is a jest?”

  He fell back a step, his eyes round and wide at her temper. For a moment, she saw the boy he must have been. He opened and closed his mouth, obviously groping for something to say. “I came back from the dead for you, sweetheart.”

  Constance burst into tears. “You could have told me you were going to do that!”

  “Oh, it was just a setback,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I would have called, but y’know, reception sucks in here.”

  “What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she muttered into his chest, absolutely dizzy with the wonderful, warm feel of him. He wasn’t too hot. Just toasty-right, warming her through and through.

  He hugged her. “It’s a long story, but I’ll be here to tell it.”

  She sniffed. “You died and it was my fault.”

  He chuckled, looking over the top of her head. “How do you figure that?”

  She pushed him away. “I set Atreus free. And then he killed you. And then he fell.”

  He sobered. “It wasn’t your fault that he was crazy, and letting him go might well have saved us all. I think his magic thunderbolt gave a helluva boost to the Avatar’s spell, plus it did stop the battle.”

  Constance put her hand to his cheek. “How are you here? I saw . . .”

  “I made a deal with the Castle. I’m part of it now. I gained a lot of control over my powers, and I, uh . . .” He paused. “I got a job here. I mean, I can come and go, but this is it for me. I’m home.”

  “Like the guardsmen?”

  “No, I’m better off than they are by a long shot.”

  “A job?”

  Mac shrugged. “Kind of part-cop, part-gamekeeper, part-troubleshooter. The Avatar needs a go-to guy to keep the place running. Someone to do the day-to-day work.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “Strange as this sounds, I think it might be my dream job.”

  She lowered her head, her hands still wrapped in the thick fabric of his sweater. “Was that the only reason you came back?”

  She could hear the smile in his words. “Why do you think? I love you. Besides, you brought me back to life with a kiss. After something like that, a guy’s gotta stick around.”

  Constance looked up into his face, touching his cheek, his arm, his hair, convincing herself he was there. He didn’t move, just let her reassure her senses, a trace of demon red in his dark, laughing eyes.

  Finally, he reached down, scooping her up in his arms.

  “I noticed something about being dead,” he announced, striding across the room.

  “What?”

  “It made me want to make sure I’m alive. Good thing the bed’s still in one piece.”

  She grabbed his arm as he set her on the bed. “How can you? There’s a dragon. There are still hounds trying to find the door, and guardsmen and . . . nobody knows you’re here!”

  He shed his jacket, crawling onto the soft bed at the same time. “Y’know, with the new job and all, I think this might be the last peace and quiet I get for a while.”

  “Hmm.” Constance reached up, linking her arms around his neck. “And so I get a part of you before the rest of the Castle gets their chance?”

  “Sweetheart, all my parts are yours.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss that left her aching in all the right places.

  “I love you, Mac.”

  “Good.” He slid his hand under her sweater, finding the soft mound of her breast. He squeezed it gently, bringing a groan to her throat. “Because I’m going to need you with me for a long, long time.”

  She reached up, running her fingers down his strong neck, down to the hollow of his throat. “I’m here. Always.”

  “Good.” With a single, liquid movement, he pulled off his sweater, the muscles of his stomach and chest bunching as he moved.

  “Saints above,” Constance breathed.

  Mac stopped, letting the sweater fall. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He looked down, frowning. “What the hell?”

  Constance sat up, her fingers hesitating as she touched the sworls of blue that covered his skin. “The Castle has marked you.”

  His only response was a hiss of breath. “Well, it said it would find a way to deal with the heat.”

  The designs that marked his skin were different from the guardsmen’s tattoos. More elaborate, more striking. He was covered in flames, twined like the intricate designs of the Celtic heritage he shared with Constance. She touched her tongue to the knot work, tracing its line around his nipple, her fangs skimming over the tender nub. He shuddered, rising to his knees. She moved with him, undulating against his hard, broad body.

  “Too many clothes,” he rasped.

  She popped the catch of her bra, letting it slide from her shoulders with a shrug. The look on his face made her smile.

  It might have been a slightly evil smile. He hurriedly began unbuttoning his jeans.

  Mac was a masterwork. The tattoos flowed thickly over his skin, parting like waves around his manhood. Constance traced them down his arms and legs, making each one her own with tongue and teeth. She explored each complex line down to the arches of his feet, the broad bones of his wrists, where each flame finally wound back on itself, lost in its own maze.

  There were surprises in the design, touches of red and green and yellow, little treasures to discover. The pattern roamed over his strong calves, up the backs of his thighs, and over the mounds of his hard, muscular buttocks. Then it spread out, fanning from his waist over the expanse of his shoulders.

  They took their time, shedding what was left of their clothes slowly, enjoying the luxury of the soft bed admidst the chaos of the room. Constance thought of an island or a magic carpet or a ship, safe and warm and theirs.

  She mapped him utterly, finding the secrets of each knot and circle, and then he rolled her ove
r, impatient for conquest. He pinned her wrists.

  “I want it all,” he murmured. “I want all of you.”

  His mouth was on her breasts, demanding, pulling, laving her to swollen, aching peaks. She hooked her legs around him, feeling his heat against the tender skin of her thighs. She wanted that heat inside, driving her to a scorching, explosive release. Making her feel alive.

  She needed it. Now.

  But he claimed her a piece at a time, her lips, her eyes, her shoulders, her navel, ensuring each surrender before the final assault. She squirmed, breaking beneath her desire, her fangs aching for his flesh, but he wouldn’t let her bite.

  When Mac finally did take her, he filled everything, demanded everything. She could keep nothing back against the urgent, pushing thrusts. Waves of contractions gripped her, drawing him deeper, breaking her apart until she spun away into nothing.

  He finally let go with a roar.

  And then she used her teeth, mounting him and lapping up the elixir of his spicy blood like an exotic treat. When the venom hit him, the cycle began—deliciously—again.

  Mac made her vampire powers absolutely worth the price.

  “We aren’t ever going to grow old,” said Mac much later, “and neither is this.”

  “Mmm,” Connie murmured, thinking he looked especially good in blue, and rolled over, indulging in a long, feline stretch.

  She caught her breath and stared from one side of the room to the other. The Summer Room was now a suite. The bed had shared space with a sitting area when she and Mac had begun their reunion. Now it was in a separate room, with two mahogany chests of drawers and a large mirrored wardrobe. She could see the sofa and chairs beyond, now sword-thrust free.

  He looked up. “Ah, I ordered a few things when I was chatting with the Avatar.”

  Constance rolled off the bed, staggering a little as her legs remembered how to walk. “How did it do this?”

  “Hey, if it can make whole caverns disappear, it can add a kitchen.”

  “Kitchen?”

  “I like to cook.” He opened the wardrobe and pulled out a fluffy white robe. “Put this on. You’ll find some other clothes, too. Just some basics, until you can go shopping.”

  Constance took the robe, her mind spinning. “You thought to ask for all this?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not a complete barbarian. I know how to pick out wall coverings.”

  The statement went oddly with the tattoos.

  Never mind. She pulled on the robe, luxuriating in its plush feel, and walked silently into the sitting room. Much was as she remembered from before. The door was fixed, of course. The books and the carpet were the same. Her piles of magazines, and the candles. Lamps now, as well.

  Mac followed her. He’d pulled on his jeans, but left his chest bare. He folded his arms, his feet planted apart, watching her admire their home.

  Constance looked again, and again, her curiosity carrying her from room to room and back again. There was too much new to see all at once. A kitchen with cupboards and dishes and knives and forks and . . .

  “That’s a fridge,” Mac said. “Apparently electricity is possible here, if you think to ask.”

  . . . and a beautiful dining area with eight chairs around a huge table and something he called a buffet but looked like a Welsh dresser to her. More dishes.

  A bathroom with a large, white tub.

  “And a Jacuzzi. I always wanted one of those. I mean, why not?”

  And more rooms running off a hallway to the left. She couldn’t even take those in yet.

  A lot of it looked modern—Mac’s idea of what a home should look like. It looked like the houses in her magazines, which made it all right with her. She was the mistress of this wonderful home. Constance Moore. The milkmaid.

  She had a sudden urge to start dancing.

  She kissed Mac until her head spun.

  “I suppose I should go talk to the others. Let them know I’m back,” he said, sounding a little regretful.

  By then her attention was captivated by a curious, flat thing dominating the sitting room wall. Was it a dark mirror? A strange painting? She understood that art was very different now—not that she knew a thing about it in the first place, but still, this was odd....

  She looked at Mac, puzzled by the amusement in his eyes.

  A quick grin. “Flat-screen TV.”

  Chapter 30

  Holly got into the T-Bird, leaning her head against the seat. “Take me home, James. I want a bath.”

  Alessandro felt the same way. He’d lost track of when he’d last slept. They’d gotten all the hounds out at last. Holly had insisted on staying until every last one was housed for at least the next few days. The Empire Hotel had taken quite a few at no charge. Of course, most of the place was badly in need of repair, so it wasn’t like they were losing income from paying guests. Good tax deduction there somewhere, he guessed.

  Holly was eating one of the pastries the waiter from the Empire’s pub had brought over, probably stale by now. “Y’know, this guy, Joe,” she said around a mouthful. “He said he was Viktor’s brother.”

  “The big weremutt?”

  “Yeah, Constance obviously knew him. I thought she’d go into hysterics, she was so happy to see him.”

  “Hmm.” Alessandro examined the parking ticket he’d just plucked out from under the windshield wiper. “Do you think city hall would take battling dragons as an excuse to waive a fine?”

  “Ha-ha.” Holly took another bite. “Joe—Josef—has quite the story. After what those two brothers have been through, I can see why the one decided to go doggie and not come back.”

  “Hmm.” Alessandro shoved the ticket onto the dash, not interested in another story until he had had a good day’s sleep. They’d been about to leave about an hour ago and then—surprise—the hero of the hour had strolled out of the Castle door looking like he’d eaten a canary, Constance on his arm.

  After that, everyone wanted to call it a wrap. The adventure was over, for now. What could top Mac’s death and resurrection ? Show-off. Not that Alessandro wasn’t happy to see him alive. He was growing fond of Mac in a strange way.

  His mind jumped tracks, too tired to hold on to a thought. He glanced at Holly. “Did your sister talk to you? She was looking for you before she left for the night.”

  Holly barely managed to swallow before she yawned. “Yeah. We’re having lunch tomorrow before she goes back to Spain to see Eden. She seems really happy about that. Hey, you two seemed to be getting along all of a sudden.”

  He wasn’t going to jinx it by agreeing. “Good thing she’s leaving in time so you can write your exams in peace.”

  Holly made a strangled noise. “Exams. Hellhounds. Family stuff. Everything always happens at once.”

  “Hmm.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes.

  “Holly.” Alessandro gripped the steering wheel a little harder.

  “Yeah?” She was still leaning against the seat, just rolling her head to look at him. The napkin from the pastry was crumpled tightly in her hand, the ends tucked carefully together. She knew crumbs in the car drove him crazy.

  “Do you regret . . .” He trailed off, then made himself finish the sentence. “Ashe being here made me think—do you regret not having a family?”

  Their house—her house—was coming into view.

  “What makes you say that?”

  Why do women always answer a question with a question? He pulled into the driveway and turned off the motor.

  “Just wondered.”

  “It was something Ashe said, wasn’t it?”

  “No. We fought a dragon together. There wasn’t exactly time to chat.” He stared out the windshield, feeling caught. Why did I bring this up?

  “She said I should come clean, so I figured she’d been talking.”

  “What do you mean by ‘come clean’?”

  He gave up staring and turned to look at her. Wind rustled in the hawthorn tr
ees, the sound muffled by the car.

  “Alessandro, I’m pregnant.”

  The bottom fell out of his world, sheared off by the short statement. “Oh.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything to you until I was sure.”

  “Oh.” It seemed the only sound he was capable of making. Whose is it?

  He took a breath, feeling the slow, slow thud of his heart. Who knew words could hurt so much?

  Why am I still existing?

  She blinked. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “I know how women get pregnant, Holly.” The snarl in his voice scared him. Pure vampire. He got out of the car, his only thought to walk away.

  She scrambled out her side. “It’s yours. I know why you would wonder, but it is, I swear.”

  He froze, every muscle going still. “How?”

  “You’re my Chosen. That makes you, um, different in more ways than we expected.” She gave a faint, apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t really expecting it, either. It’s not like we were, um, taking precautions.”

  Alessandro began to walk around the car toward her, giving himself the half dozen steps to process the information. Irrelevant thoughts flew through his head. There was rain in the wind. He’d left the upstairs light on. The cat would be hungry. His brain was ducking the issue.

  I’m going to be a father?

  Six centuries of existence, and he hadn’t seen that one coming. Trust Holly to come up with the impossible. He stopped in front of her, looking down into her eyes. She looked so uncertain, it broke his heart.

  She was still only a young woman. Vulnerable. She worked so hard, and now she was adding a family to her already-full plate. I’ll be there for you.

  “That’s the best news I’ve ever had,” he said, and meant it.

  She took his hands, gripping them hard. “Thank you.”

  He raised her fingers to his lips. Grateful, but confused. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what . . .” I don’t know what to do.

  She smiled, heartbreakingly happy. “I’m just guessing, but it’s probably going to be a witch like me. I mean, your DNA is still basically human, right?”

  That made a nicer picture than a baby with fangs and a pint-sized sword. Still, that wasn’t what he’d meant to ask. What kind of a father will I make?