1866

I’m happier than I have ever been.

We’ve had spent the winter in a state of bliss, waking up each morning next to the vampire I loved. Ashe Halford is the man I never dreamed of finding, but somehow, I had been lucky enough to stumble into. Quite literally, I think with a chagrin smile and take another sip of the herbal contraceptive tea. A touch of magic ensures that I won’t create a child until we’re ready.

I’m selfish enough that I want my mate all to myself for some time. And now that we’re mated, my life expectancy has extended to Ashe’s. As a witch, I already expected to live close to two hundred years. Now, though, Ashe and I have centuries to spend together. A child can wait.

The tea room of the southern mansion is redolent with New World wealth. When I first came to the mansion, the home Ambrose and the other Nightshades had claimed reminded me too much of my family’s home back east. The magnificent chandelier in the foyer with white marble floors; the sweeping staircase carpeted in brilliant red; polished mahogany furniture and Turkish rugs atop gleaming white oak floors. In my childhood home, my family’s wealth and standing in the coven was on constant display. It was never a home.

Somehow, though, Josephine and the Nightshades make the mansion feel cozy. Not as cozy as my cottage, of course. Gentle scents of jasmine blend with something sweet from the kitchens, combining to create a tempting invitation to sit in one of the overstuffed wingback chairs and stay for a while.

Laughter echoes through the rooms, growing closer, and I finish the last bit of my tea before pouring myself a fresh cup of assam tea from the delicate porcelain teapot gilded in golden filigree. I pour another two cups, placing the teapot back down on the tray just as Ezra and Ashe walk in.

My heart flies into my throat, beating against me like a hummingbird. Even after spending most of the winter tucked away in my—now our— cottage, the sight of Ashe’s crooked smile fills me with elation. I feel like a young girl with her first crush, not a married woman who’s memorized her husband’s body.

“Hello, my beautiful mate,” Ashe says just before dropping a kiss to my offered cheek. “How was your visit in town?”

My mood dips, my earlier concerns rearing up. I gesture to the two teas, inviting them to drink. Both vampires accept the offer, with Ezra sinking onto the white sofa with a happy sigh. I wrinkle my nose, holding back the urge to admonish Ezra for sitting when he and Ashe had clearly just come from the stables and their clothing had a fine layer of dust. Ezra’s gold and red eyes sparkle with charm as he met my gaze. He knows exactly what I’m thinking. My grandmother would be appalled with me as I stick my tongue out at him.

The Nightshades have become my family, my friends. I never fit with my coven, craving freedom from their strict expectations and practices of magic. Even before Ashe and I mated, the Nightshades welcomed me with warmth. Only Ambrose holds himself aloof and, at times, we exchange terse words, but Josephine and even Kasar assure me that is simply how their sire is. It’s hard not to take it personally, sometimes.

“Charity will deliver any day now.” I start with something simple. Jane was the main reason I traveled today, checking on her progression as our doctor is traveling back from the coast. “Dr. Herschel may not arrive in time to deliver. I promised her and Johnathan that I will be ready to help at a moment’s notice.”

Her baby wouldn’t be the first one I’ve helped in the small town, nor, I doubt, the last, regardless of Dr. Herschel’s clear disdain for my “pagan” practices. I chew on the inside of my lip, thinking about the group of men I’d seen in the square as I left.

“Cassandra?”

Ashe’s voice has me giving him a forced smile and I set my tea cup back on the table. A look at Ezra shows the half-demon, half-vampire mirrors my husband’s concern.

“There are more men in town,” I answer at last, my gaze darting between the two males. “Not travelers, either. Charity told me they’ve been asking questions around town. About Ambrose.”

In spite of the mass witch hunts ending centuries ago, small cells of hunters have continued what they believe is a divine calling. They’ve killed as many innocent humans as they have anyone with paranormal blood.

Ashe squeezes my shoulder, a grim look clouds his face. “Ambrose knows,” he tells me. My heart lurches. If Ambrose is looking into it, I fear the threat might be real. “He sent Rhys and Malachi to see what they can discover.”

He moves to crouch in front of me, his still full tea cup abandoned on the table beside mine. He takes my hands in his and presses a kiss to the backs of my fingers. “You’re safe, my love,” he promises, his vow adamant. “If they seek to hurt us, they will fail. They won’t be the first to try.”

Ezra snorts. “Not the last either,” he says before grinning savagely at me. “We’ll slaughter them like we always do.”

Maybe it’s because I haven’t been with the Nightshades for long enough to share their history and victories, but I’m still unsettled.

I grip Ashe’s hands, my brow furrowing. “All my childhood, I was told the stories of witch hunts as warnings. Humans, especially the overly religious ones, murdered so many of us. We were never allowed to interact with human society because of that fear.” I huff a laugh through my nose wryly. “Well, that and my coven believed humans are beneath them.”

Ezra snorts and shakes his head. I don’t blame him. My family and their coven were entrenched in disgusting beliefs and, while I haven’t sought them out in the last few decades, I doubt they’ve changed.

“We’ll get through this,” Ashe tells me again before rising. He cups my face, his thumb brushing gently over my cheek. “Together.”

“Besides,” Ezra interjects, “if all else fails, we’ll just leave. No way any human can keep up with us.”

My gut seizes at the thought of abandoning the cottage I’d inherited from Agnes, the one that Ashe and I are transforming into a home.

Someone pounds at the entrance door, hard enough for even my ears to hear. Ezra’s and Ashe’s heads snap towards the open doorway with the keen attention of a greyhound. It’s almost enough to make me laugh at them.

Someone, like Josephine, must open the door because then a frantic voice grows louder as they approach.

A wild-eyed Johnathan charges into the room with Josephine on his heels. He’s got his flat cap crushed in his hands as he stumbles to a halt. I’m already on my feet, all concerns forgotten.

“Johnathan?” I ask, striding towards him. “What’s wrong? Is it Charity?”

He dips his head in answer. “Yes, misses. She says the babe is coming but she thinks something’s wrong. Said to get you fast as I could.”

I grasp the man’s arms, locking my eyes on his. Johnathan doesn’t need my magic to calm down, just good old-fashioned confidence from a midwife.

“It’s going to be fine,” I assure him. “My husband will take you and a carriage back home. I’ll head to my cottage and get what I need before heading over. Charity needs you to be strong now. Keep her comfortable until I’m there.”

Johnathan sputters his thanks as I step aside. Ashe is already moving towards us, and he drops another kiss to my forehead. “Ezra will escort you home,” he murmurs and I nod in agreement. By escort, Ashe truly means Ezra will carry me and use his supernatural speed to get me to the cottage. If Charity’s instincts are saying something is wrong, then I need to be prepared. I’ve never assisted in a birth where the mother’s instincts were incorrect.

Ashe claps Johnathan on the shoulder and guides the man out of the room. Ezra’s up and collecting the tea tray for Josephine.

The gray-haired vampire tilts her head in question. “Do you need help, dear?”

Instinctively, I almost decline but I make myself take a moment and consider. I give a single decisive nod. “Can you catch up with Ashe and return with them to their home? As good of a man as Johnathan is, this is their first time. He’s likely to stress the poor girl out more than help. Do what you can until I can get there.”

“Of course,” Josephine answers and waves Ezra away from the tea tray. “Leave it. We’ll deal with it later. We’ve got a baby to help bring into the world!”

Charity’s room is quiet,the young woman too exhausted to even whimper. Josephine is a godsend, having kept Charity wiped down with a cool cloth the entire time, relaying requests to Ashe and Johnathan, and seeming to predict my or Charity’s needs.

Charity’s sweaty hair clings to her forehead, her eyes squeezed tight as another contraction rips through her.

Josephine’s soothing murmurs wash over me, her words a constant presence in the room.

Ashe paces the hall, his footsteps heavy.

Johnathan’s frantic prayers float up the stairs.

Sharing a concerned look with Josephine, we both know the truth. If something doesn’t change quickly, we’ll lose both the mother and the babe. Charity has lost so much blood.

I close my eyes, laying my hands over Charity’s womb, my magic wrapping around the babe. The little one’s heartbeat is slowing.

“Cassandra,” Josephine’s voice is a warning. “We can’t lose them both.”

“I know,” I answer, my magic sinking deeper, caressing the babe’s tiny body. The babe is stuck, its head turned the wrong way, and Charity’s blood loss weakens her body. Opening my eyes, I look to the young woman who’s become close since she started coming to me for her pregnancy ailments. She’s pale, her eyes glazed and wild.

“Save my baby,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “Whatever you have to do. Save my baby.”

I curl my lips, thinking. I’ve avoided using magic directly with those who’ve come to me for aid, but no spelled tincture or medicine will help at this point. When Charity’s belly contracts again, the scent of fresh blood filling my nostrils, I make my decision.

Unlike my family’s magic, which requires strict structures and specific language to cast the spells, my magic is fluid. It comes from within me, keeping a balance between the natural world and the spiritual world. My magic guides me, and once more I cup Charity’s swollen belly in my hands. I fall into myself, seeking the center of my core where I’m most connected to my magic.

Ancient words in a dead language spill from my lips. I cannot say what was spoken, not understanding the language of earth and magic. My heart guides my intention, the intention creating the words. Magic thrums to life in my veins, a buzzing static building underneath my palms. The world around me disappears until all that remains is myself, Charity’s dimming soul, and the new soul of her babe.

The smell of blood intensifies, and I chant harder, more desperate. Someone cries out, and the magic pulsates between us in a spiritual trinity. Pressure builds and builds and builds, my head threatening to explode but still, I push on. I refuse to let this new family be torn apart by death.

My head snaps back, my eyes unseeing as I stare up heavenward. My throat is raw as the words are drawn from me in a shout.

Then, the building lightning storm between my palms is sucked away. The magic is gone, leaving a staggering vacuum in its place. I look down, in time to see the babe’s head. My hands are there, then, catching the babe as it slides without friction from Charity. The babe breaks the strained silence with a loud scream and there are no words for the joy and relief I feel. I bring the babe to Charity’s chest, the young woman watching in wonder. She’s crying now, cradling the little boy to her breast. Josephine, ever stalwart, is there, helping the new baby latch.

I step away, overcome with exhaustion. I lean against the bedroom wall, sliding down to the floor when my legs refuse to hold me.

The door bursts in. Johnathan is even more frantic than earlier, but when his eyes land on his wife and new baby, he’s transformed.

I blink, and when I open my eyes, I’m in Ashe’s arms as he carries me from the room.

Another blink and he’s setting me on the seat of the carriage, brushing the damp hair from my forehead.

Another blink and a snarl. It’s startling enough that I cling to consciousness. Ashe is staring down four men. They’re making holy symbols and shouting. My blood turns cold as I meet one of their gazes. There is death promised in those eyes.

“Witch,” he says and spits at the wagon.

Ashe says something, the coach launching into motion. Those damning gazes follow me into the dark of unconsciousness.