From Jennifer Ashley, With Love: Three Paranormal Romances from Bestselling Series

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Which you just happened to cast in a warehouse in the middle of the night in a neighborhood rampant with feral vampires,” he said in a hard voice. “Not to mention rats, snakes, rabid dogs, and humans who’d roll you for a nickel.” He leaned closer. “Why aren’t you home tucked up in bed, little witch?”

  Amber hid her fear, pretending to be just as in-your-face as he was. “Why do you want to know so bad?”

  A corner of his mouth moved in impatience. “Just tell me.”

  “Tell me who you are, first.”

  He nodded once, as though her request was fair. “You can call me Adrian.”

  Amber blinked. “I can call you Adrian? Is that your name?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Close enough to what?”

  “Close enough to my original name that humans can’t pronounce.”

  She folded her arms, sitting back as though unworried. “Can you be more specific? Like what is an Immortal? Are you a vampire?”

  He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’m what vampires fear. When vamps tell each other scary stories, they’re about me.”

  “I see,” Amber said skeptically. “You’re not full of yourself or anything.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. His smile made his eyes crinkle, softening them into something almost human. “I’m not a being of death magic, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m definitely about life magic, like you. Which is why I want to know why you’re messing with death magic. This whole place reeks of it—I can’t breathe without inhaling a shitload of it. Do you have a car?”

  The incongruity of the question made Amber jump. “Yes. Why?”

  Adrian rose to his feet with lithe grace. “I say we blow this joint and get some coffee and talk. That’s what Seattle’s known for, right? Coffee?”

  “I hate coffee,” Amber said automatically. A drawback living in twenty-first century America, never mind Seattle, which pretty much had a coffeehouse on every corner. She was forever explaining she didn’t like it and earning incredulous looks from her coffee-saturated friends.

  “Then I’ll buy you tea. Come on.” Adrian reached down a broad hand to help her to her feet.

  Amber studied his hand, callused and strong with fighting, wondering whether to even consider trusting him. He was a fine specimen of a man, yes, but she’d learned the hard way that looks could disguise any amount of badness. He should not have been able to break her circle without wielding powerful magic himself, but he did not feel like a demon, and her coven would have heard about any witch that strong who’d come to town.

  His words about Seattle’s coffee signaled that he was new in town, but why he should rush to this warehouse in the nick of time to save her was beyond her understanding. Happened to be passing, my ass. She needed to find out more about him.

  “I’m a witch,” Amber said. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn you into a toad or something?”

  Another tight grin. “I’ll risk it.”

  Amber blew out her breath. “All right,” she said, taking his hand. “I think we definitely need to talk.”

  Like a gentleman, Adrian helped her gather her accoutrements into the carved sandalwood box she’d inherited from her mother, then he snatched up his torn leather coat, swirled it around his shoulders, and led her out into the night.

  * * *

  “Cobras eat toads, I bet,” the young woman said as they reached her car. The vehicle, a Honda showing the wear and tear of living in a rainy climate, waited for them in the warehouse’s gravel-strewn parking lot.

  “Don’t give him ideas.” Adrian slung her box into the backseat and held open the driver’s side door for her.

  She gave him a startled look from her incredible eyes but climbed in and started the car. Instead of speeding off and leaving him stranded, she waited for him to get himself into the passenger seat and strap on a seatbelt.

  “Does your snake understand me?” she asked as they pulled away from the warehouse.

  “Every word. At least that’s what he tells me.”

  She gave him another startled look with eyes he wanted to get to know better. “He can talk?”

  “Sometimes he never stops talking,” Adrian said. “You pick the place. Somewhere you like. You know the town better than I do, and I’ll sit here and think about sampling Seattle’s coffee.”

  Without answering, the woman pulled out onto a little-trafficked road, and Adrian leaned against the window and contemplated her. Her long, slim fingers gripped the wheel; she sat upright in the seat and focused rigidly in front of her. He could feel the intensity of her, her fear, her anger—emotions she was not comfortable with. He sensed that these emotions hadn’t plagued her much in her young life, and now she struggled to deal with them.

  She had no taint of death magic on her. Some witches became seduced by it, the same way humans let demons or vampires seduce them in the back rooms of clubs in cities all across the world. It was a heady rush to command the sticky power of death magic, but it ultimately killed the witch who tried it. But this woman seemed clean and free of it, a fact which had saved her life. Adrian would have killed her if he thought the death magic in the warehouse had come from her.

  Short dark hair curled about her face and turned up naturally at the base of her neck. Her face was not beautiful, but interesting, with high cheekbones, slim nose, wide mouth. Throat lightly tanned, long neck, strong shoulders under her light windbreaker. Her scoop-neck shirt showed a tiny tattoo on her collarbone, a butterfly in tasteful colors.

  She had firm breasts inside a lace bra he glimpsed when she moved. He’d appreciated the jeans hugging her curvy hips and legs when he’d helped her gather up her things in the warehouse.

  But her eyes most of all had made him stop. They were golden brown, almost the color of whiskey—a very good malt whiskey. But there was more to her eyes besides their pretty color. She had something, some unwavering determination that had struck him hard when she’d first looked up at him.

  If Adrian made love to her, those eyes would regard him languidly, maybe lifting in the corners when she smiled. He’d enjoy making love to her, best in his decadent house in Los Angeles, with her tangled in cool sheets while soft music filled candlelit air. Fine champagne, ripe strawberries, and this woman.

  She didn’t look particularly sexually adventurous. Except for her quick once-over when he’d crouched next to her circle, she wouldn’t look at him now. No sly glances, no assessing stares, which was too bad. He would have to work on that. They had chemistry, he’d seen that when he’d knelt down and gazed at her through her magic shield. The light of the shield had shone around her, glowing out of her body with her clean, strong magic.

  Adrian was unable to shake the strange sensation that he’d seen her somewhere before. As she pulled onto a freeway, he opened the glove compartment and fished around inside.

  She shot him a glance, but didn’t stop him. “Nosy, are you?”

  He withdrew her insurance card and read the name on it. “Amber Silverthorne. That’s you?”

  “You know, an easier way to find out my name would have been to ask me.”

  But then she could have lied, and Adrian would have known it, and he didn’t want to start out with lies. “A good witch name,” he said, shutting the ill-fitting door.

  “It’s my real name. My parents were witches.”

  “Were? Meaning they’ve passed?”

  “My sister, too.” Her hands went even more rigid on the steering wheel. “She was murdered.”

  “She was murdered in the warehouse.” Adrian thought of the screams in his waking dream. He’d sprung from his bed but he’d known even then he’d be too late to save her.

  “Yes,” she answered in a dull voice. “Four weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Adrian truly was sorry. No one needed to lose everyone they loved, especially not to the darkness of violence. Amber acknowledged the deaths without breaking down in self-pity, but he felt the grie
f in her, the sense of sorrow and the knowledge that she had to face the future alone.

  He couldn’t resist reaching out and rubbing her cheek with his fingers, trying to lend comfort. Her skin grew rosy under his touch.

  “I lost my brother a long time ago,” he said. “We never did find out what happened to him. I’m still looking.”

  She shot him a glance, surprise and sympathy in her eyes. “Goddess, I’m sorry. And his name was Tain? That’s the name the demon said.”

  “Yes.”

  She returned her attention to the road. “So when you came to the warehouse, you were following the demon, not me.” When Adrian merely nodded, she asked. “How did you get here?”

  “I flew.”

  She raised her brows and looked at his back as though checking for wings. He grinned. “In a 737, from Los Angeles. I’ve been tracking our demon friend since he showed up in one of my dreams weeks ago. You need to tell me everything you know about him.”

  She looked surprised. “I don’t know anything at all.”

  “You do. Maybe you don’t know what yet, but you do.”

  Amber jerked her gaze back to the road, and Adrian folded his arms and resumed his contemplation of her. She wore no rings but had three earrings in her right ear and two in her left, all silver. Wires and loops, as though she liked having things dangling and swishing around her. She wore a bracelet, again of fine silver, which softly clasped her wrist.

  Your eyes are going to bug out, Ferrin’s voice came inside his head. The cobra spoke a dialect of ancient Egyptian, one that hadn’t been heard in the world for thousands of years.

  She’s worth looking at, Adrian answered in the same language.

  Heh. Knew you’d say that.

  She’s also worth questioning. I need to know what she knows. If Amber had a piece to the puzzle to lead him to Tain, Adrian would stick by her until he found out what it was.

  Sure that’s all you want from her? Ferrin asked.

  Don’t you need to sleep or something?

  Ferrin said the ancient Egyptian equivalent of Whatever, and went silent. With any luck, the snarky snake would remain dormant for a while.

  They moved through the city into quieter districts, with large houses and sloping lawns resting on dark wooded hills that wound above one another. In a neighborhood of flower-bordered walks, Amber parked the car in front of a three-story Victorian house with a tower and a wraparound porch.

  “This is a coffeehouse?” Adrian asked dubiously.

  “This is my house. Coffeehouses are closed at this hour. We’ll have a cup in the kitchen, and we’ll talk, and then you’ll leave. I want to know what you know about this demon.”

  He touched her cheek again, letting a bit of magic ripple from him to her. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She gave him a puzzled look, then they got out of the car. Adrian carried her box of gear up to the porch. Amber unlocked and opened the front door and started to step through, but Adrian held her back with a hand on her shoulder. “Wait.”

  Her golden eyes widened again as she stepped back, and he handed her the box and went inside.

  Chapter Two

  Adrian found a foyer with a coatrack of raincoats, umbrellas, and boots and a door on the other side with stained glass in its upper half. Beyond this lay a hall lit when he touched the switch behind the door.

  He saw walls painted a creamy color that complimented the hardwood floors and the green runner that lay the length of the hall. Open doors gave onto a huge, high-ceilinged living room on one side, an equally large dining room on the other, and a kitchen behind the dining room.

  Adrian felt the wards of protection that had been traced on every window and door and even along the vents in the walls. Every crevice or crack that could lead to the outside was warded, and he sensed layers and layers of marks, new over old. They had been laid to keep out beings of death magic—vampires, demons, afreets, and other nasties—who would not be able to cross into this house unless they were very powerful.

  Even so, he could not shake the feeling of being watched, of death lurking not far away.

  Adrian returned to the foyer and beckoned Amber in. “This house has been protected for generations.”

  Amber closed the door, shed her windbreaker, and hung it on a hook. The box of witch’s tools she kept under her arm. “Five generations. My grandfather’s grandfather built it.”

  “All witches?”

  “All.”

  “A hereditary witch. I’m impressed.”

  She shot him a look. “You seem to know a lot about witches.”

  “I know a lot about everything.” Adrian slid off his leather coat, frowning a little over the rip the demon had made, then hung it on the hook next to her windbreaker and followed her to the kitchen.

  Despite Amber’s claim to loathe coffee, a coffeemaker rested on the counter, which she had perking away with a packet of coffee she pulled out of a cupboard. She filled a tea kettle with water and put it on the stove and filled a mesh ball with loose-leaf tea.

  She moved with efficiency, her body lithe in jeans and her short-sleeved shirt. In addition to the butterfly on her collarbone, she had a Celtic interlaced tattoo around her upper arm.

  He saw the tightness in her shoulders, tension from her sister’s death. He wished he could have met her before the tragedy, when her mouth had turned up in ready smiles, when her laughter had echoed through this kitchen. He knew it had, because he felt it lingering. Adrian could also feel the remnants of shock and pain and imagined her down here fixing herself a cup of tea after she’d learned of the murder, trying to find calm.

  The coffeemaker finished, and Amber poured out a cup of rich-smelling brew. At about the same time the old-fashioned tea kettle whistled. Amber poured the water into a small teapot and brought it to the table with their cups.

  “Sugar?” she asked. “I don’t have cream, only milk.”

  Adrian held his hand over the cup. “I like it plain.”

  “Good.” Amber thumped down in the chair, as though he’d passed some kind of test. She positioned her tea mug on the table and looked him full in the face, her dark hair in damp ringlets on her forehead. “Are you some kind of witch? Maybe a long-lived one, which is why they call you Immortal?”

  “No, not a witch.”

  “Then what?” Her tawny gaze flicked over his face. “Not a vampire, because I wouldn’t be able to look at you without becoming your drooling slave.”

  “Not a vampire,” he agreed. “I am a creature of the night, though. And of the day, too.”

  “Thank you; that’s very clear.”

  He turned the coffee mug around on the straw placemat in front of him. Time was, the very mention of the word Immortal made all magically inclined creatures stop in awe. But the world had marched on, computers took the place of arcane lore, and no one remembered.

  “Immortal means I’ve been around a very long time. I was born on the Nile during what Egyptologists call the fourth dynasty, when Khufu made the great pyramid at Giza. I was brought up by Isis and Hathor, trained to fight the forces of death magic. I can sense death magic days after the creature has been there, and I can sense when a human or life-magic being has been dabbling in death magic. I can sense all magical creatures. For instance, I know there’s a werewolf on your back porch.” He lifted the coffee to his lips and took a sip.

  Amber didn’t show any surprise. “That’s Sabina. She’s a friend, and she likes to check up on me.”

  A young woman with a thick volume of blond hair was peering in through the glass half of the kitchen door, her hands cupped to see inside. She waved when Amber looked over, and Amber rose to let her in.

  Sabina looked to be about Amber’s age, but Adrian sensed an oldness about her that came from her wolf form. Werewolves were difficult to place age-wise because their human bodies were more resilient than normal human ones. She wore bright red sweats, easy to get into and out of when she shifted. Her golden wolf’s eyes skewer
ed Adrian, narrowing a little when she couldn’t make out what he was.

  “Hey, Amber,” Sabina said, her voice light but betraying caution. “Who’s the hunk?”

  “This is Adrian. Adrian—Sabina. My friend. He knew you were a werewolf.”

  “Yeah, well, lots of people do.” Sabina fetched a cup from Amber’s cupboard, helped herself to coffee, and sat down at the table with them. “Your date?” She ran a shrewd golden gaze up and down Adrian. “He’s good looking at least.”

  “Not a date,” Amber said with emphasis. “We were just talking.”

  “About what?”

  “About the death of Amber’s sister,” Adrian said, setting down his cup. “Amber was just about to tell me everything.”

  * * *

  Amber frowned at him, but she did want to tell him. She’d kept what happened bottled up inside too long, where it pushed at her and hurt her. If Adrian could give her any information on who this demon was and why he’d killed Susan, she wasn’t going to hold back. She’d pick his brain for as long as it took.

  She took a fortifying sip of tea and told Adrian and Sabina how Detective Simon had arrived to tell her Susan had been killed, and had driven her to the morgue to show her Susan’s remains. Amber would never forget the smell of the place as long as she lived—heavy disinfectant that couldn’t quite cover the odor of death. Susan had lain on the gurney with her eyes closed peacefully, but her face had been bruised and battered, and she’d had deep cuts all over her torso, evidence of an ugly fight.

  Detective Simon had shown Amber photos of the crime scene, mercifully without Susan’s body in them, and asked Amber what she thought Susan had been doing. From the photos, Susan had gone to the warehouse to prepare a circle, complete with quarter candles and stones, herbs, salt, incense, and holy water, but what she’d meant the circle for and what magics she’d meant to perform, Amber couldn’t tell from the black-and-white pictures.

  Detective Simon had shown her Susan’s notebook with sketches of the circle and notes for the ritual. Susan’s notes looked normal enough, but two pages had been covered with the evil-looking script Amber had never seen before.