Chapter 20

CHAPTER20

Ienter the kitchen just as Cassian is pouring himself a cup of coffee. He glances up at me and smiles as he adds in some blood. “Morning, zanne dolci.”

I snort a laugh and head to the cupboards, rummaging until I find a blender on a high shelf. I pull it down and give the jug a rinse. “Sleep okay?”

“Better than you, from what I heard. You always did like to meander in the night,” he says, blowing steam across his mug as he watches me set up the blender with a bemused expression. I know he can sense the subtle blush that warms my cheeks. “Davina is at the main house, she will bring Bianca back with her soon to take a look at the script you seem to have painted in the bathroom.”

I turn to the fridge to grab the butter, unwrapping the foil to plop the whole thing in a bowl. I place the dish in the microwave and hit it for two minutes. “Where are the others?”

Cassian nods toward the window that looks over the gardens. Cole sits off to the side in the shade, reading today’s copy of Corriere della Sera with a selection of other newspapers spread across the table before him. Eryx and Ediye are on the lawn in the sun, tossing a frisbee back and forth as Urtur bounds between them, his tongue lolling.

I stand and watch them for a long moment. Cassian joins by my side, and I smell the nuances in his scent, the new and the unfamiliar. The sage and anise in his cologne. The fainter, ancient smell of his skin, like quince and myrrh.

We don’t talk for a long moment. I think we’re both lost in how much there is to say, and how hard it is to say it. Maybe it will never be said. But it feels good to have this loop of time in my hands again, like I might be able to one day close the broken chain.

“It’s good to see you again,” I say, glancing at him. His kind eyes smile back at me when he nods, but I can see there’s old pain and new awkwardness and questions beneath their warm brown hue.

I take a deep breath and I want to say something about being sorry, so sorry for the hurt I caused him all those years ago. I treated him so unfairly, and I know the letters weren’t enough. Maybe it helped him to believe I’d died three hundred years ago. Maybe being back from the dead is worse than thinking I was gone forever.

Before I can turn to start to saying something, anything, Cassian smiles and moves toward the island.

“So a Reaper, hmm? You always did have an affinity for trouble.”

“Yourself included,” I say with a warm smile over my shoulder as I take the coffee pot and bring it over to the blender.

“Ediye told me some of what happened to you both in his realm. Are you okay?”

I turn and lean against the counter. We watch each other for a long moment. The smile dissolves from his eyes, replaced with worry. “No. But I will be, in time. And I will do everything I can to keep the same thing from happening to you.”

“One thing you never did run from was a fight. I believe you.”

I don’t let myself cringe at that not-so-subtle and much deserved blow that lies beneath the compliment. I just give Cassian a slight nod before I turn back to pouring coffee in the blender, leaving all but a fraction of a cup behind in the pot.

“What are you up to?” Cassian asks, his voice wary.

I toss him a smile over my shoulder as I hear the door close down the hall. “Warfare,” I say quietly as my smile turns wicked.

He laughs and rolls his eyes, bringing his mug up to his lips. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

We smile at one another as Ashen enters the kitchen. He’s in his unfailing black ensemble, down to his polished black shoes. We couldn’t look more mismatched if we tried, me in a flowy white shirt and skin-tight, uber short jean cut-offs and him looking like he’s stepped out of the pages of a mafia romance novel with his expensive clothes and fancy new knuckle tattoos.

“Good morning,” he says to Cassian, his voice low and gruff. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s a little jealous.

“Reaper. I hope my maker didn’t keep you up all night with her nocturnal meanderings,” he says, winking at me behind Ashen’s back as he heads to the bread box and pulls two slices of bread out, putting them into the toaster.

“Vampires and sleep do not mix well for various reasons, it seems,” he says, letting the innuendo hang as a heavy note in his voice as he heads to the fridge.

I drift through the scent of melting butter to slip my way past Ashen’s broad frame and grab the coffee cream and a bag of blood. “You sound as though you’re an expert. You must have spent so many nights with my kind.”

“A few,” he says. I don’t have to look up to see the cryptic smile that I hear in his voice. Cheeky fucker.

The microwave dings and my glee quickly erases my own jealous thoughts that bloom like poisonous flowers. I virtually skip over to the blender, dumping in some cream and then the bag of blood. I take my time, watching as Ashen rummages through the fridge, coming up empty handed. He closes it as the toast pops and he turns, coming face-to-face with me, my arm outstretched, my hand curled around the microwave handle. His eyes narrow and I know he can smell it now, above the scent of warm toast.

Melted butter.

Oh how this man loves butter, such a simple little pleasure.

Denied.

He glares at me as I pull the handle of the microwave and retrieve my bowl with a saccharine smile. I retreat to the blender further down the counter and hold his stare as I dump the entire contents into the jug.

“What in the hell are you making?” Cassian asks. His lips curl into a grimace as he watches me place the lid on the jug and set it to pulse.

“Bulletproof bloffee,” I reply, not taking my eyes from Ashen. He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the counter, watching as I turn on the blender.

“Right.” Cassian slides off his stool, mug in hand. “That sounds truly awful. I’m going outside to wait for Bianca and Davina. Ciao.”

Neither of us moves as he leaves the room. I keep my sweet smile pinned on Ashen as I pour my concoction into a large mug, my doe eyes at their most innocent when I take my first sip. Cassian’s right, it’s a bit rank. Greasy coffee is just fucking weird and I have no idea where humans come up with these gross combinations. But there is no fucking way my face is going to say anything aside from that this is the most delightful drink I’ve ever had.

“Problem, Reaper?”

Ashen pushes away from the counter and takes a step forward, his dry toast forgotten. He levels me with a dangerous look. I have the sudden urge to hop on the counter and let him fuck me senseless. And then kill him with his unused butter knife.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.He’s supposed to be the one overcome with desire and I’m supposed to pull his little strings until he dances right into my trap. Whatever trap that is, I haven’t decided yet. Probably more stabbing, that’s pretty fun. Regardless, that murderous look he’s giving me flips the vampire switch and makes me want to start a more dangerous game much faster than I can play it.

I hop on the counter anyway. Surely there’s no harm in that. Sitting is innocent enough, even if I let my thighs drift open as my legs dangle off the edge. I can at least live this part of my sudden little fantasy.

“Something seems amiss. Can I help you find it?” I ask, taking a sip of my bloffee as he prowls closer.

Ashen halts in front of me. He pulls the mug from my hand and raises it to his lips, sniffing it before he takes a tiny sip. He makes a face of disgust before passing it back. “That is fucking atrocious.”

“Then go get your own. I saved you some,” I say, nodding to the coffee pot. There’s probably no more than two mouthfuls left.

Ashen glances at the pot and turns his molten gaze back to me, taking a step closer. His waist brushes my knees and he lays his hands on the edge of the counter, caging me in. A sinful smile tugs at his lips as he lets his eyes rest on my mouth. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you didn’t play nice?”

I take a sip of my coffee and reach out, tracing a finger across Ashen’s throat. “Don’t you?”

We stare at one another in silence, Ashen leaning a little closer as his eyes follow the curve of my lips. I feel their heat. I see the rise and fall of his chest. I smell his familiar scent, ink and unsmoked tobacco and mint drifting through the space between us.

A thread of venom lands on my tongue and I swallow it past the raspy burn in my throat. Ashen could lean a little closer, just a few more inches, and our lips would press together. The kiss would be fierce with all this longing that churns in my chest. Or I could tear his neck apart with my teeth, take all the blood I can drink and stab him right in the heart, sending him back to the Shadow Realm. I could paint the kitchen in the color of his life until his flesh turns to ash. Or I could let him rip my clothes off and spread my legs and feast on me, right here on the cold tiles of the kitchen island.

“There is a war in your eyes, vampire,” Ashen whispers, pulling the mug from my fingers and setting it down on the counter. “I wonder what is going through that terrifying mind of yours.”

“Whether or not to kill you,” I say.

Ashen laughs. That sound… I’d forgotten how warm and precious and rare it is. It transforms his face. He’s always beautiful, but when he laughs he’s radiant. Otherworldly and magnificent. All that seriousness and buried sorrow disappear, if only for a moment.

“I have no doubts that killing is on your mind. But something else is too, I think.”

“You’re right,” I say, nodding, my glare hard and serious. “How to kill you. That’s also on my mind.”

Ashen laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans a little closer. “You forget how expressive your face is, vampire.”

“Right, a major disadvantage I hear. I guess I’ll have to work on that, as someone so kindly suggested to me once.”

We are caught in a moment of silence just looking at one another, our next words and our unmade moves lingering on the edge of a blade. I might be the one with the expressive face, but the hidden language within a body whispers to a vampire. I can hear the tempo of Ashen’s blood pumping faster in his veins. I see the color rise on his cheeks. I don’t miss the faintest trace of vanilla infusing his scent, or the way his pupils expand as his eyes bound between mine.

Ashen moves a little closer. His eyes stray to my lips. His fingers graze my thigh as his body pushes against mine, my legs falling open to make room for him.

“The other Reaper, I assume,” Bianca’s voice says with a hint of amusement. Ashen lets out a long breath and backs away from me, turning to face her as she approaches. My heart thuds erratically in my chest, the poor, broken thing. And there’s only more abuse to come. I can already tell by the way Bianca holds one hand behind her back.

Davina enters the kitchen behind Bianca, followed by Cassian. Davina’s gaze travels from me to Ashen, then rests on the witch as though she’s the only safe place to look. Any trace of Ashen’s former levity has definitely disappeared in what feels like the most awkward moment in history. And when you’ve been alive for five thousand years, that’s really saying something.

“Buon giorno,” Ashen says, giving Bianca a polite bow of his head. “Sono Ashen, di Casa Urbigu.”

Bianca’s smile broadens at Ashen’s Italian greeting, but there’s a tightness to it. As the leader of a powerful coven with an ancient and dangerous Reaper in her safe haven, I don’t blame her. “Welcome, Ashen. I hope you find our coven in order during your visit.”

Ashen only replies with a nod. All the light and radiance I saw in him just moments ago is shuttered away. It’s not only a little sad to see it disappear, but frightening. It leaves me feeling cold. I’m not sure which man is the true Ashen - the one who teases and laughs, or the one who is remote and full of darkness. It’s so easy to convince myself to see what I want that I don’t even know what’s real.

I’m still watching Ashen and trying to figure him out when Bianca stops at the end of the island. I feel her waiting eyes on me and I hop down from the counter with a sigh.

“Ciao, vampira. I hear you have redecorated my bathroom,” she says with her ever-present grin. She doesn’t seem troubled by the fact that I bloodied up her white plaster walls. If anything, she seems a bit apologetic. I can take a guess as to why.

“Yes, I’m sorry about that. Would you like to see it?”

Bianca’s smile widens. “That won’t be necessary.”

Fuck.

Quick as a snake, she strikes me in the chest with her needle, piercing my heart.

“Goddamn,” I wheeze, clutching a hand to the blood that stains my shirt. I lean against the counter and Ashen pulls me back, stepping between me and Bianca. Black smoke curls across the tiles.

“Explain yourself, witch,” he seethes at her, but she’s busy tasting the needle with a languid stroke of her tongue. Her eyes turn gray with diaphanous clouds.

“She’s a Seer,” I grit out as my breath comes in pants. Ashen looks at me from over his shoulder. His eyes already blaze with flame when they dart down to the blood seeping through my shirt. “It’s how she sees.”

“I am not the only one, am I, vampira?” Bianca’s eyes have cleared and she watches me over Ashen’s shoulder. Her smile is filled with secrets. “You have seen when you didn’t know you could.”

I barely have time for the question to form in my skin when she repeats the first words of my spell.

“Gasaan tiildibba me zi ab.”

Queen who gives life to the dying.

I blink and when I open my eyes, I’m no longer in the kitchen.

I’m in the blizzard.

I’m standing in a break between the trees. Maybe a crossroad of old paths, maybe a small clearing, it’s hard to tell. There’s snow flying around me in a bitter wind. It clings to the leafless tree branches and the evergreen boughs. It skitters across my exposed skin. I look down and it’s almost to my knees.

I know I’m not alone here.

I know I’ve run because I had no choice.

My lungs burn. The tip of my katana disappears into the bank of snow to my side. My grip on the handle tightens. My palm is sweaty but my face feels cold, like I’ve been out here for a while.

I smell pine needles. Woodsmoke clings to my hair as it whips across my face. I smell unsmoked tobacco and ink, the scent of Ashen. And something else. Something musky. An undertone of sulfur.

Shit.

The snow in front of me moves in a fast-approaching serpentine. I back up. I raise my sword.

No more running.

A gaping pink maw bursts from the crystalline bank. A body of white scales trails behind.

I fall back in the snow just as Zida’s fangs aim to strike me in the chest. I press my eyes closed, preparing for the fatal hit.

When I open them again, the sky above is a brilliant, crystalline blue. I hear the sea. It laps at my bare toes. I can taste it on my lips. I press my fingers into the ground and feel warm sand, not snow.

I sit up, confused and soaking wet, a thin linen gown stuck to my skin. My hair is longer, down to my waist and encrusted in wet sand. I look down at the thin thread of the beach and the sharp rock that spears through the water. I know this island well. I know these cliffs.

Anthemoessa. The island of the sirens.

I look back out to sea. There’s a ship drifting toward the horizon. Its sail unfurls to catch the wind. Oars that have rowed it away from the island slide from the surface of the sea as the boat picks up speed. I rise to my feet, unsteady, as though the hard ground should be moving with the waves.

I take a few steps into the surf. Panic fills my chest as quickly as the water rises around my legs.

They’re leaving me here. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be, but I’m not supposed to be alone.

I see a man and woman watching me from the deck as the ship slides away into the distance. I feel my memories slipping away with them. It hurts so much in my chest that I’m sure my heart has cleaved in half.

“Ummum,” I whisper, pulling up my dress as it slows me down. I raise my knees with every step deeper into the water. “Ummum! Batiltu!”

Mother!.. Wait!..

I call to them, and call and call and call. But they don’t answer. They only watch.

I wade through the water until I’m swimming, but the waves keep dragging me back to shore. Sooner than seems possible, the ship fades into the setting sun.

Desperate tears mix with the salt water on my skin as the sea pulls me onto the beach. I cry into the sand, my throat burning. Everything I knew is pulling from me like threads unraveling from tattered cloth. I hold my head in my hands as though I can trap myself between my palms. I weep as it all disappears, even the betrayal of being left behind. The ship sails away with everything but my name.

And then I hear a voice. The sweetest, kindest voice I’ve ever heard.

“Akhatu,” the woman says. Sister. Her dry hand lands on my shoulder. I look up into Aglaope’s smiling face. “Do not fear, my love. I will look after you.”

The instant she lifts her hand from me, the vision disappears.

There’s a lot of yelling here in the kitchen. My head is swarming with those fucking hornets. I press my temples between my palms and a pained noise escapes through my lips. It goes unnoticed beneath Ashen’s furious tirade.

“I don’t know what you’ve done, witch, but you will fix her or I will strip your spine from your throat-“

“Back up, Reaper,” Cassian says. His voice is tight with urgency but I can’t see him through thick smoke and hissing sparks of Ashen’s wings.

“-I swear I will pull it from your skull with my bare hands-“

“Back the fuck up-“

“-you have exactly three seconds-“

“She is fine,” Bianca interjects, the amusement so thick in her voice that she nearly laughs. “See for yourself.”

Smoke and cinders dissipate and Ashen looks over his shoulder at me. Cassian stands between Ashen and Bianca, his gladius raised with the tip of the sword pointed at Ashen’s neck. Bianca looks thoroughly entertained.

Ashen turns to me fully and strides close enough to take my jaw in a gentle hand. His fiery gaze strikes so deep into my eyes that he might leave a piece of himself behind. His voice is low and strained when he speaks. “All right, vampire?”

I give a single nod, though my head and my chest still hum with pain.

“Not to worry, Reaper. I was just helping her to remember what she saw.” Bianca shifts her gaze to me over his shoulder. Her smile broadens. “I did not take that which you covet.”

I take a step back from Ashen’s touch. When I turn my gaze to him he looks desperate for me to stay within reach. I don’t move further away, but I don’t come closer either.

“What was that, what I saw?” I ask, turning my attention back to Bianca.

“Your words on the wall, they aren’t just spells. They aren’t just magic. They are the past and future colliding. Your history. And your destiny.”

“What does it mean?”

Bianca’s smile turns a little sorrowful as she watches me. “That the threads of fate are pulling tight, bringing the mystery into view.”

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Who I am, what this all means. The ancient past makes even less sense than the future. And the way Ashen looks at me, as though I’m both his undoing and salvation, makes me think the present might be the worst of all.