Unchained, the Dark Forgotten (2010) (18 page)

“Damn it, Ashe, if you want things to get easier, you have to change. Learn to accept a helping hand!”

Reynard was furious.
She cannot refuse my assistance. It’s not reasonable
. Clearly she could see he was more than capable. They’d killed two vampires together. But there was nothing reasonable about Ashe Carver. She was all will and steel.

There was no possibility that she was better off without his help, and her resistance brought his own will—and, to be honest, his pride—into focus.

She could tell him he wasn’t welcome. That did not mean he would accept her refusal. Ever. He hadn’t survived centuries in the Castle by giving in. He had learned how to bide his time. If he had to, he would simply outsmart her.

The idea curled through him like a plume of incense, part inspiration and part nostalgia for the Reynard who had stalked the drawing rooms of yore. How pleasurable those days had been. Their sweet nostalgia lingered like a perfume. He had been a master with the women of his time. Surely he could handle one of their descendants in much the same way. For Ashe’s own good, of course.

At least until he fell off his perch, he thought sardonically.

His inner conversation stopped dead when he saw Eden. The child was curled into a ball on the sofa, book clutched to her chest. Her brown eyes were wide. He set the plate on the small table beside her.

She just kept looking at him, as if she were expecting something more. Reynard’s inner rake vaporized like a wisp of smoke, vanishing into the wiser, harder man.

“Is there something else you desire?” he asked gently.

Her gaze shifted toward the dining room, where Ashe and her grandmother were arguing in low, tight tones. “I thought Mom would come,” she said in a small voice.

She hadn’t wanted the cake; she’d wanted her mother.
Something is wrong.

Reynard listened for a moment, trying to hear what the girl would hear. The argument sounded different from a distance, without the gestures and faces to accompany words: the old woman’s low, husky voice; Ashe’s was lighter, clear, and aching with tension.

His ears told him things he hadn’t seen.
Anguish
.

He could tell Ashe was tearing herself to pieces, all her certainty a bluff for a terrible fear that she would fail her child. But all Eden would understand was that her mother was terrified, and a frightened mother made for a frightened daughter. Reynard was no expert with children, but he had seen soldiers’ families dragged along as camp followers during war. He recognized that panicked look. In those cases, he’d always had something practical to offer—food, water, protection. Now he was at a loss.

He sat down beside Eden. She let go of the book, and it slid to the floor. He read the title:
Prince Caspian
. Nothing he recognized.

“Easier when you’re a lone wolf,” the grandmother said from the next room.

“Lots,” Ashe replied, her voice quiet, but not quiet enough.

Eden gave Reynard a look filled with confusion. “Why does Mom want to be alone all the time?”

Bloody hell, she thinks Ashe doesn’t want her here
. Yet, just the way Ashe looked at the child made that idea impossible. Ashe wanted her daughter above everything else.

Mother and daughter were on a collision course of misunderstanding. Just like he and his brother had been. Families hadn’t changed much over the years.

Reynard swore to himself for a moment. Seduction—he understood how to play those games. He knew how to fight, gamble, and make the witty chatter expected of a gentleman at dinner. Providing emotional comfort was something quite different, and nothing he had ever been good at. He had been raised to show no weakness, and the Castle crushed sympathy before it began. But the sinking feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him back away. He still didn’t know what to say to a child, so he went with the truth.

“You realize that your mother fights monsters from time to time,” he said, hoping he wasn’t insulting the girl’s intelligence.

“Yeah,” Eden said bleakly. “She’s done that for a while now.”

“That is why we were late. We had a problem to take care of.”

She looked down, thick, dark lashes hiding her eyes. She didn’t have the doll-like prettiness of some young girls, but she would grow into a striking woman.

“I heard you guys talking. There are bad vampires around.” Her fingers plucked nervously at the fringe of a throw cushion. “She should let me go back to Saint Flo’s so I wouldn’t be in her way. I should just go.”

She’s far too young to have to worry about demons and slayers.
Reynard wished he were Mac, who would know how to give support with a touch and the right word. He took the girl’s hand in his. It was small and warm. She looked up at him, her eyes surprised and wary. He let her go, hoping she understood that he meant only kindness. “Your mother needs you here. She wishes the vampires would stay away, that’s all.”

“Then why is she afraid?”

Damnation
. “If she’s a little bit afraid, then she won’t make mistakes. That’s part of why she’s good at what she does.”

“How dangerous is it? Tell me the truth,” Eden asked. Her eyes were starred with tears she seemed too stubborn to shed, but her mouth was firm and steady.

She’s already lost her father.
He swallowed hard, feeling the complexity of the child’s world unrolling around him like a giant map. Every horizon held storms and dragons.

“I won’t tell you it’s not dangerous, because that would not be true,” he said, inwardly wincing at his honesty. “But I’m going to be with her. That tips things in our favor.”

Eden’s scrutiny made him think of Anubis weighing the souls of the dead. He was being judged down to his brand-new bootlaces. “So you’ve got her back, then?”

Fortunately, that was one of Mac’s expressions. He understood what she was asking of him. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Even if Ashe doesn’t accept that yet.

Eden put her hand over his. “Good.”

Her hand was half the size of his, the nails chewed and stained with blue ink. Beneath it, his own looked large and rough from long years of handling the tools of war.

Reynard realized he’d made a huge promise. He’d damned well better live long enough to keep it. His jaw set. His stomach felt as if he were betting his inheritance on a last hand of cards. He’d never been a praying man, but this seemed like a good occasion for it.

Just then, Ashe strode into the room, wearing the look of a woman at the edge of her reserves. “Time to go, kiddo.”

She looked at the two of them, her bright green gaze darting from one face to the other, finally settling on Eden’s. Reynard saw the look of dawning horror on Ashe’s face.

“It was quite easy to hear your conversation from here,” he said, a reproachful edge creeping into his voice. He couldn’t help it, but then regretted the look of shame in her eyes.

Ashe blinked rapidly. “Eden, don’t be scared by what we were talking about. . . .”

Eden jumped off the couch. “I’m glad Captain Reynard’s helping you.”

Ashe shot him a glare that withered as fast as it bloomed. She hugged the girl to her, hiding her face in the brown curls. “We’re discussing that.”

Reynard frowned. No one was going to berate Ashe for her mistakes harder than Ashe herself. The problem was that punishing herself wasn’t the answer.

He rose, following Ashe as she herded Eden toward the door, gathering up the girl’s backpack and coat as she went. The grandmother waited to see them off, leaning on her canes.

“Be sensible,” she said.

“I’ll do what I think is right,” Ashe grumbled, but she sounded weary.

Reynard gave the old lady a respectful bow. “And I will work your granddaughter around to my way of thinking.”

Grandma Carver smiled sweetly. “And I’ll knock your heads together if you screw it up. And, Ashe,” she said, handing her a paper bag, “these charms will keep out nightmares, whether they’re your own or sent by someone else. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, G-ma.” Ashe hugged and kissed her grandmother.

They left. Outside the air was cold and clean. It had rained while they were indoors. Reynard filled his lungs, gulping down the tang of the spring night. He’d forgotten that sharp, sweet scent until that chase in the gardens. He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Don’t hyperventilate,” said Ashe, unlocking her vehicle so Eden could climb inside. “Do you have someplace to stay? I’ve got a couch.”

“I’ve made arrangements,” Reynard said, wishing he could accept her offer. He didn’t want to leave her side, but that would lead to the inevitable question of beds and pleasure and the decision of behaving like a gentleman or a desperate man with the life span of a flea. One was dull and the other lacked dignity. “What time shall we meet to go see Lore?”

“I’ll call him tomorrow morning. Eden goes to the rec center for piano and swimming. I’m going to drop her off and catch a quick workout. Meet me at nine thirty at Morgan’s Gym. The people we need will be up by then. We’ll make plans from there.” Ashe shut the passenger door with a sigh. “Of course, you don’t know where the gym is.”

“I will find you,” he said. “That’s not a problem.”

“Be careful saying stuff like that. That sounds a bit stalkerish.”

Reynard chuckled softly. “Your world is confusing.” He looked up. “Even the constellations are hard to make out.”

“Light pollution.”

“Unfortunate.” There were no stars in the Castle. That blankness had cut his spirit down like scythed wheat. Without even the sky above, he’d truly been shut off from everything he’d known. That loss still chilled him.

A man could go mad counting so many losses. Perhaps that was what drove guardsmen like Killion to murderous sprees.

Her eyes found his, their emerald brightness smothered by the darkness. “One thing I’ve gotta say. After last fall, y’know, when you were so hurt, I kept wondering if you were all right. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Or write. Or whatever.”

“I didn’t know you remembered,” he said.

Her brows drew together. “Of course I did! It was just that I—”

He held up a hand to stop her, regretting his words. “I was trapped in the Castle. You had to bring your daughter home. There is nothing to apologize for.”

She shrugged. “I just want you to know that I didn’t forget about you.”

“Thank you,” he said. He felt like he should say more, but he wasn’t sure what she would have welcomed.

“Okay,” said Ashe, rubbing her eyes. “Tomorrow morning at the gym. Do you need a ride anywhere?”

“No, thank you.” Reynard folded his arms before he could reach out to her. “Good night.”

She rummaged inside the back of the vehicle and handed him the string- handled bag with his uniform and spare clothes. As he took it, she hesitated. “We’re going to make some serious headway on this urn thing tomorrow. I promise. We’ll go see Lore, if he’s around. Then I’ve got a ghost to take care of for my sister.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy that.”

Her mouth worked a moment. “I didn’t say you were coming along.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.” He met her gaze, standing his ground.

She huffed and turned away. “Bloody English bastard.”

Reynard smiled to himself. He had won the skirmish. It was a start.

Ashe and her girl drove off into the night, taillights glowing like eerie eyes. He stood in the dark for a long time, watching the night. The lights went off in Grandma Carver’s windows. A cat trotted by, intent on patrolling its territory.

It was pleasant to stand there in the outside world, enjoying the illusion of freedom. Perhaps that was why he wanted to help Ashe and Eden so desperately. It was a choice he made freely and had nothing to do with the duty that was his prison even more than the stone walls.

He had wrestled with that duty even before he knew it existed.

A few years after he found the black book with the sun, he’d been playing pirates with his brother. At the moment, he was a runaway slave and hiding underneath the curve of the stairway right outside the drawing room door. His parents were entertaining a few close friends inside the beautifully appointed room—Reynard and his brother were rarely permitted inside it—so Reynard was quiet as the proverbial mouse. That was why, despite the excitement of his game, he had heard them talking.

“The Order’s lottery has always demanded the heirs.” That was his father’s voice. “Why can’t they take the younger sons? The warlock families are weak enough without scything down the flower of our manhood.”

Another voice answered. It was a dry, dusty, cruel voice that made Reynard squirm even farther into the protective shadows of the stairs. “Without sacrifice, where is the service to duty?”

That one sentence, delivered in the voice of a nightmare, had stayed with him, haunting his child’s imagination. At the time, he had wondered what sort of games the adults played. He didn’t know he and his brother were already pieces on the board.

Pieces about to find their checkmate.

It was only years later—many, many years—that he understood his father was just as much of a victim. Heirs were taken to keep the families weak, so that none could challenge the Order’s ruling elite. His father had spoken out of a generations-old frustration.

Eventually, he had managed to forgive the fact his father had hoped Reynard would play the sacrificial lamb—even if his father’s wish had come true.

The memory darkened his mood too much for him to enjoy the night any longer. Reynard reached out with his mind and pulled the power from the atmosphere around him. Wind and rain surrendered their energy, letting him gather it inside his body. It spun inside him, churning, building until he lifted his hand, spreading his fingers. Then he released it as easily as he would a sigh.

The charred scent of magic filled the night. A bright dot hung just beyond the tips of his fingers. It whirred madly, spinning outward until it seemed to burn a hole in the air. The dot grew to a ragged orange disk. Reynard stretched it with his mind, pulling and tearing at the fabric between this world and the Castle. As the magic built, it crawled along his skin with prickling claws, filling his nose and mouth, coursing down his limbs like water sprayed in icy needles.