Chapter 15

CHAPTER15

“Vampire.”

“No.”

“Wake up.”

“Go away.”

“Time…to…get…up…” Ashen says between kisses across my neck, the thump, thump, thump of Urtur’s tail adding to the persistent universe that seems determined to force me into consciousness when I’d rather be asleep.

“What is it with you and waking me up?” I grumble, pulling the pillow over my head. I let out a muffled groan. “What time is it?”

“Four A.M.”

“Four?” I parrot in an incredulous shriek as I flail to whack Ashen in the dark. “Are you fucking serious? No. Hard no. What is wrong with you?”

“It’s going to be a long day and we need to get going.” The amount of amusement in his voice is frankly obscene, and the fucker has the audacity to laugh when he whips the sheets off before I can cocoon myself in them. I curl into a mewling, naked ball as I feel his weight shift off the bed. “Let’s go, vampire. We don’t have much time.”

I draw all the pillows over me as Ashen pads away to a set of French doors that lead to a garden, opening them wide to let Urtur bound away into the underworld. There are dresser drawers that slide open and shut, the rustling of clothes shifting over skin, the near silence of buttons threading through holes. A moment later, the bed dips again and Ashen’s there with all his Reaper strength and demonic persistence, wrenching the pillows out of my grasp one by one.

“You are a sadist,” I snarl as I curl my legs around the last pillow in a futile effort to hang on.

“And you are a stubborn creature,” Ashen says as he jams his fingers into my ticklish ribs, forcing me to loosen my grip just enough that he can rip the pillow away from me. I hiss and chomp at the air with my fangs, narrowly missing his fingers. “A feisty, stubborn creature. Come on, the corridor in Bran is quite a drive from Valentina’s and it might take some time to wrangle the hybrids once we get there. Full day ahead.”

Ashen climbs off the bed as I let out a long, weary sigh of defeat. “Fine. But your chipper attitude this early in the morning is annoying as fuck.”

The Reaper tosses me a dark smile over his shoulder as he strides toward the door, a bag in hand. He’s enjoying this way too much. “I will be in the kitchen. Clothes are on the bed.”

Ashen’s footsteps drift away down the hall and I squish my sleepy, sore eyes with the heels of my palms, letting out an inelegant yawn. At the foot of the bed is a folded pair of jeans and a white button-up shirt, a set of cream lace underwear next to it. A beautiful, camel-colored cashmere coat is draped across the edge of the mattress. I slide to the end of the bed and run my fingers along the soft hem of the jacket, wondering how Ashen ever found time to get all these clothes in colors he knew I’d like, especially when I’ve only ever seen Reapers in dark shades. Chipper morning attitude aside, he’s doting and sweet and thoughtful, and I get dressed without another grumble, eager to get to the kitchen.

When I arrive, Ashen has already started brewing the coffee, pitchers of cream and blood and two black thermal mugs waiting on the counter. He finishes his butter-lathered toast as it brews, and before long we’re making our respective drinks and heading out the door toward House Ushzu, which he says is the nearest building with a portal to Bran.

“You seem nervous,” Ashen says, his voice echoing through the vaulted foyer of House Ushzu, the unfamiliar black stone shimmering with veins of a mysterious blue crystal that climb the columns lining the vestibule like vines.

“I am. I’m nervous about Imani and Cyrus looking after the place while we’re gone. I’m nervous the hybrids will try to chomp on you. I’m nervous the werewolves will want a round three throw-down, or that the Nephilim will find a way in while we’re gone,” I say as we approach the third cauldron in a row of seven, the only one not shut with a heavy lid. “And I’m still not super into these Fire Corridors of Terror either.”

Ashen squeezes my hand as he takes a torch from one of the guards and throws it into the cauldron, lighting the black stones. A shiver of dread slithers down my spine, even knowing it won’t hurt. “Imani and Cyrus will be fine. The hybrids and werewolves have been behaving themselves so far. There’s no reason to believe they’ll change course now. All the corridors are guarded. And the Fire Corridor of Terror will be worth the passage through flame.”

“I don’t know about that, Ashen. The last time we portalled together to Romania and drove through the countryside, your sister tried to kill us.”

“Actually,” he says, pulling me into an embrace as the flames start climbing our calves, “the last time we portalled to Romania was from the Realm of Light, and that same night you mated with me. So, I think it worked out well.”

“Until an army of werewolves and hybrids tried to kill us,” I grumble into his chest. I wrap my arms across his back and the flames rise around us. “But yeah. It did work out well.”

The pressure builds in my head as the flames lap their sulfurous caress at our faces, reaching toward the ceiling. I hold my breath. I press my eyes closed. A roaring rush fills my skull. And then the flames fall with a whoosh, smoke filling the cauldron and cascading into the unfamiliar room.

The cellar is thick with humidity that coats the stone walls in a film of moisture and musk. There are a few empty crates stacked in a corner, the iron lid of the cauldron lying next to them, covered in a film of dust. At the side of the room is a stairway, and Ashen leads us toward it.

The main floor of the house is not what I expect. There are white plaster walls and dark wood trim, Persian rugs in shades of bright red and deep blue covering one another across the floor. It’s not a very Romanian style, but it’s opulent in its simplicity in a way that only fine craftsmanship and carefully curated art can convey. But we don’t linger to take in the details, heading straight for the door that Ashen pulls open to let me pass through.

“What the fuck?”

Ashen’s amusement tickles beneath the gold on my chest as I take in the garden and green foliage. The sky is still dark, but the faintest trace of dawn is bleeding in on the horizon, coloring it in hues of rich blue. I smell carob and fig trees. Limestone dust. Olives. Baking bread. The air is crisp, but not the biting cold of the early taste of winter that we’d left in Romania only a few weeks ago.

“We’re not in Bran,” I say.

“Are we not? Hmm. My mistake.” I turn and look up at Ashen through narrowed eyes. He gives me the hint of a devious smile as he takes my arm and pulls me toward a black sedan where a driver awaits. “Come on, vampire. We’ve got places to be.”

The driver pops the trunk as we draw close, and Ashen opens my door before placing the bag inside. Once we’re settled, the car pulls away into the empty street and I look around in confusion at the houses we pass.

“Where the hell are we? Are you kidnapping me?”

“Something like that.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I did. You asked if I was kidnapping you. I said—”

“I meant the other question.”

Ashen shrugs. “I thought that was obvious. We’re in the Living Realm,” he replies, settling back in his seat as though this is all quite entertaining. I stare at him for a moment and he has the audacity to ignore me, only giving another shrug when I whack him on the arm.

I watch out the window, trying to find anything that looks familiar.

And then I see a sign.

“Pamukkale?” I say, my head swiveling between the passing sign and Ashen.

“Hmm?”

“You brought us to Pamukkale?”

“I did?”

“We’re in Turkey?”

“We are?”

“Oh my God.” I don’t know whether to be annoyed or excited or nervous or delighted. I land on everything, all at once. I give a little laugh of disbelief and watch out the window as the village slips by.

Before long, we pull into the driveway of a large hotel with sweeping, curved walls and steaming outdoor pools. A sign for the Doğa Thermal Health and Spa passes my window. I want to ask Ashen a thousand questions, but I know I’ll only get more in return, and judging by the self-satisfied look on the demon’s face, he would very much like to continue that game.

We check in at the front desk and head up to the King Suite, a sprawling chamber with an enormous bathroom and its own private sauna. There’s a bottle of wine and a bowl of strawberries waiting on a glass table. I sweep my hand along the sheets of the immaculate bed. Not as great as Ashen’s sex sheets, but still pretty awesome. I drift back into the living room toward a set of doors and open them, stepping out onto the balcony that looks toward the mountains and the brightening sky.

“Vampire. We have to go. Clothes are on the bed.”

Ashen disappears into the bathroom as I turn from the view and head back into the bedroom, staring down at a midnight blue bikini and a gauzy white shirt, flowy linen pants and a knit cardigan. “What the fuck,” I whisper to myself with a little laugh of disbelief. I strip my clothes off and change, and Ashen sweeps up my hand as he passes from the bathroom, leading us toward the door.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?” he asks as he presses the button for the elevator.

“Do you always answer my questions with questions?”

Ashen says nothing but gives a little smirk, and pulls me into the elevator without another word.

Before long we’re back in the sedan, which I now realize is driven by a Shub Lugal soldier from the Shadow Realm, who speeds us toward the Pamukkale Thermal Pools. It’s not yet the opening time when we pull up to the entrance, but a guard is waiting to let us into the hot springs nonetheless. We take off our shoes and start the climb toward the travertine springs.

We fall into a comfortable silence as I take in the expanse of pools that stretch before us, the milky blue water reflecting the sky that’s beginning to lighten with shades of yellow and orange. Steam shifts in plumes over the still surface of the layered pools. They drop, one to the next, like a staircase to some ancient gods of the mountain. The limestone travertine forms curving borders around each stacked, terrace spring. The layers and layers of pools laid out before us seem to beckon me in. I want to try every one, but no sooner have we stopped in the first to roll our hems up from our ankles than Ashen is pulling us along through the warm water with some objective clearly in mind.

Just as I’m starting to think we’ll never find a pool worthy of Ashen’s discriminating demon tastes, he finally declares we have reached our destination. It’s the widest, longest of the basins we’ve encountered so far. We stop at the edge and I take off my clothes, setting them on a dry patch of stone when I’m done. Ashen places his on mine and I nearly choke on my own spit.

“What?” he asks, confusion thick in his voice as I cough. It’s impossible to look hot in a bikini when you hack up a lung, by the way, but I still make a valiant effort.

“It’s just…I mean…I’ve seen you naked—”

“Obviously—”

“And I’ve seen you with tailored suits, and armor, and then those snakeskin wings, I mean those are really fucking hot. Seriously. I like the wings. But why,” I say, my voice almost pained as I wave my hand in his direction and try not to cough. “Why is it you look even hotter in swim trunks? Your audacity knows no bounds, Ashen.”

And oh my God, no sooner do the words leave my mouth than the demon blushes. Impossibly, he’s even sexier than he was just two second ago. I cross my arms beneath my boobs and cock a hip and give him a chastising arch of my brow like this is a problem. Frankly, it is. Those low-slung black swim trunks with their subtle diamond pattern in thin lines of charcoal gray, the expanse of muscle and radiant skin and lines upon lines of black tattoos, they are a problem. A big problem. Because I’m about ready to jump him in what will shortly be a public location full of off-season human tourists looking to make the most of this instagrammable location.

To add to said problem, a sly smile spreads across Ashen’s face as he stalks closer. But despite the ravenous look on his face, the demon doesn’t eat me alive. Instead, he pries my hand away from my chest and backs into the pool, pulling me in with him. The water gets as deep as my waist and then we lower ourselves to our necks, drifting to the curling edge of travertine to look out across the hills and the valley and the brightening dawn.

“Have you been here before?” Ashen asks as his warmth wraps around me from behind. I rest my chin on my folded arms at the edge of the white limestone, watching as the sun’s first rays break the horizon.

“No,” I answer, closing my eyes for a moment as he places a kiss to my shoulder. “I was close. I was in Ankara but ended up going East instead. You?”

Ashen’s breath summons a flush of goosebumps across my neck as he nods. “Yes. A couple of decades ago. I came to reap a werewolf who was hiding north, in Kizildere. Once it was done, I walked around a little before I went back.”

“Did you go into the pools?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Ashen takes a long moment to answer. His left hand slides over my arm, climbing toward my wrist until his fingers meet mine, lacing between them. He draws our joined hands up to point toward the valley. Hot air balloons rise from the fields. They float up toward the travertine pools, roaring gusts of burning gas to keep their colors in the sky. Ashen folds our joined hands beneath the surface of the water until I’m enveloped in his strength. “I guess it just wasn’t the right time,” he whispers, and seals his words with a kiss.

We stay in the warm water, watching the hot air balloons as the sun comes up. We talk about our long histories and all the places we’ve been, all the times we nearly met but didn’t, the lives we took or saved. After a while, the tourists start filtering through the nearby pools, though no one comes too close. It’s as though they sense the darkness in Ashen, some kind of aura he naturally exudes when he’s not trying to cover it. Unlike the immortals who know why they should be wary, the humans must keep away based on instinct. But it doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s as though they could be in a different realm, just illusions of the landscape. All Ashen’s focus is on me, on the things I say or the way I laugh or the expressions I make as he shares his secrets, his fingers drawing endless, shifting patterns across my skin as we talk.

So many times I’ve tried to imagine we weren’t meant to be enemies, even when we were. I wanted to forget we were a vampire and a demon, hunter and prey. I wished we were just a man and a woman, trying to come to terms with one another. Probably ourselves too. Now, suddenly, I realize how precious this moment is. Because I’m not trying. That’s all we are.