5. Ashe

ASHE

The dining room is silent as we each grapple with what Cassandra has revealed. Even forewarned, I struggle not to rage against the injustice of the situation. I have my mate back, we’re closer than ever to fulfilling her demon bargain. Now we only have days to complete the task that’s been nearly impossible for a hundred and fifty years. If we don’t, my mate dies.

Ambrose, sitting at the head of the table with his chin resting on his steepled fingers, catches my eye. Silently commanding me to lock down the fury that must show on my face. It’s more than fury. It’s rage. It’s pain. It’s devastation. It’s grief. It’s terror. A gods-damned hurricane inside me, threatening to rip me a part at my very seems.

I curl my fingers into fists, my knuckles going white as my nails dig into my skin. My jaw locks and I glare down at the dark oak table and struggle to control my breathing.

Cassandra hadn’t stayed quiet during the drive back from Black Death Beanery. Instead, she told me everything she’d discussed with Darcelle. I almost wish she hadn’t, but I’m glad she didn’t try to hide it.

As soon as we’d arrived, I’d told Ambrose that we needed to speak—all of us. While he called in the inner circle, Cassandra gave him the explanation. He’d said nothing, his face cryptically still.

I’ve admired his talent to maintain composure in the worst of situations but watching him take in the fact that Cassandra will die in a matter of days without blinking has me wanting to lash out. If it were Eloise in danger, he wouldn’t be this calm.

Eloise sits to his left, and Kasar across from her. Cassandra sits beside him next to me, and Deidre and Malachi across from us. Lan and his mother, Josephine, take two of the remaining seats at the side of the table, leaving the end vacant. Wren didn’t join her savage mate, tending to their daughter, Emily, at their home.

When I’m certain the hurricane is suppressed, I scan the faces of my fellow Nightshades. Every male here has known Cassandra since we met in Willow Creek. She saved every single male here with her actions that night, even if she betrayed me.

That icy fact hardens my resolve and I plant a hand on the table, pressing down and meeting every golden gaze at the table before speaking.

“If it weren’t for Cassandra, none of you would be here today,” I intone, the silence growing more profound as their attention is riveted to me. “We owe her this help.” I meet Ambrose’s hard golden gaze, knowing my own golden eyes holds just as much of a challenge. “You owe her.”

Eloise and Deidre frown, with Kasar giving his mate a slight shake of his head. Her frown turns to a scowl. Deidre has never liked secrets, which is why she excels as an investigative journalist. Eloise opens her mouth to say something, but Ambrose cuts her off.

“I agree.”

I jerk my head back as if slapped, so shocked I am at his frank words.

Josephine reaches out, laying her hand over mine and squeezing gently, drawing my gaze. Hers are golden orbs shimmering with the threat of tears while filled with understanding and compassion. I turn my hand under hers, grasping her in a quiet display of need. Josephine may only be Landon’s blood mother and she may be the one vampire we dare not cross even more than Ambrose, but it is because she holds us all in her heart.

Her husband’s love was matched with abuse, but despite that, she has made sure to shower those in her family real love. Unconditionally and without doubt.

Ambrose and Eloise may be the king and queen of the vampires, but Josephine? Josephine is the mother of us Nightshades. There is nothing we will not do for her. And not a single time has she abused that power. Not even when we could have punished her husband, brutally and violently, for laying his hands on her.

“Of course we will help Cassandra,” Josephine says, a gentle chiding in her tone. She reaches out with her other hand, beckoning my wife to take it. When Cassandra does, she smiles at us both. “Cassandra, you are one of us. You have been from the moment you became Ashe’s mate. Eris may have her conflicts with us, but she too has become one of us. To lose either of you would be too great a loss.”

My throat thickens at her words and I have to swallow back the emotions she’s conjured. Her soothing compassion and love for us dampens the acidic rage inside me, making it easier for me to think.

As if she knows what she’s done, she draws away after one last squeeze. She stands, sweeping her hands down her black skirt to smooth out any creases. She directs her next words to Ambrose.

“I will have tea, coffee, and food brought,” she announces. “No doubt this will be a long night if you are to plan how to save our witch.”

Ambrose inclines his head, an indulgent look in his eyes. He may appear in his late thirties and Josephine in her sixth or seventh decade, but he’s always considered her his daughter.

The moment she’s swept from the dining room deeper in the house, Lan rises as well. Before anyone can speak, Lan’s calling out to Deidre. “Grab your laptop and I’ll get mine. We need more information on this archangel. He was at the Memento Mori gallery opening, so he has a social presence in Topside. By the time we’re done, we’ll know what underwear he prefers.”

Deidre scoffs, but rises. “I’ll leave you to his underwear preferences.” She follows the blond vampire, the two of them already bouncing ideas on how to track the man’s movements and locations down.

Malachi coughs, a bad attempt at covering up a laugh. He shoots Kasar an amused look. “If he wasn’t mated, I’d warn you that Lan might steal your girl.”

Rather than react as explosively as he may have in the past, Kasar leans the dining chair onto its back legs, crossing his arms over his chest with a devilish smirk. The man’s jacket is a credit to his tailor with how the fabric strains against his muscles but doesn’t burst at the seams. “Even if he was, the way she rode my cock this morning?—”

“Gah!” Eloise interrupts him, her face turning beet red. Kasar’s smirk grows. “Shush. I don’t need to hear about my best friend’s sex life from you.”

The table snickers and not even I can suppress a slight smile. Eloise is no prude; no woman could be when mated to Ambrose d’Vil. It makes it all the more amusing to scandalize her. Malachi, especially, enjoys teasing her — so long as Ambrose isn’t around. Unfortunately for Malachi, Eloise makes him her primary target when trying to antagonize her mate. More than once, I’ve seen him hightailing it from the clan house to avoid the ire of a mated male. Malachi might lean towards good-natured teasing, but when it comes to getting a rise out of the king of vampires, he’s not stupid.

Personally, I’m convinced Eloise thinks it’s hilarious to see the general of the Nightshades’ force speed walk away. Speed walk, since of course no vampire male as old as Malachi would admit to running.

“Besides, we need to start planning how to save Cassandra and Eris,” Eloise continues, pushing past her embarrassment. She looks at Ambrose. “We won’t be able to actually plan something until Lan and Deidre get back, but there’s got to be something we can do in the meantime.”

Ambrose inclines his head towards her. “Indeed.” He studies us all, the calculations he’s running clear in his eyes. After a long moment, his attention snaps to Kasar as he stands. “We’ll need to get Aeternaphiel in a known location, which, if he is maintaining some sort of position in Topside’s social circles, shouldn’t be too difficult. Call in Rhys. We’ll need him.”

Malachi and I share stunned looks, and Ambrose doesn’t miss them. “He will come.” His tone is hard as steel.

“Yes, sire,” Malachi and I both murmur.

Rhys hasn’t been in the Barrows since Ambrose cast Ezra out during the difficulties with demons. They’d both been orphans in their own way, forming a tight bond of brotherhood that went beyond sharing the same vampire clan. I doubt Rhys has forgiven Ambrose for what he sees as a betrayal of both Ezra and himself.

“Malachi,” Ambrose carries on as Kasar removes himself from the room. Even if Rhys will come, I don’t envy Kasar’s job to getting in contact with him. The vampire is constantly on the move, having adopted the persona of a rock star of all fucking things. Ambrose allowed it, using it as an opportunity to use Rhys as a sort of paranormal diplomat. “I want you to have our people on the streets keeping their ears out for any word of this man and his movements. Whatever Lan and Deidre can’t find, I expect you to know.”

“Sire,” Malachi says with a nod, pushing back from the table. He gives me a nod then Cassandra a small smile. “We’ll get the bastard. Eris never let us help before. Now it’s not just her looking. We protect our own.” Then he’s out the door in Kasar’s wake, leaving Cassandra, myself, Eloise, and Ambrose at the table.

“What can I do?” Eloise asks, eager to help.

Ambrose hesitates and I can sympathize. The planning won’t be dangerous, but whatever we decide to do—there will be danger. Eloise still hasn’t given in to being turned, though I think she’s getting more used to the idea. I also know that Eloise will refuse to be left out. She might not go behind Ambrose’s back right into danger, but she refuses to be kept safe at home like Ambrose would prefer. She gives him a hard look, clearly reminding him of her stubborn nature.

“Get ahold of Tara, mon lion,” he says at last. “She has taken over Mr. Tailor’s, and we will need to be ready for a social event. Her skills will be key to our success.”

“On it.” She’s already pulling out her cellphone, fingers flying across the screen as she texts.

Ambrose directs his attention to us. “Cassandra, ready yourself however you think is necessary. We’ll need your skills as a witch, I’m sure. Ashe, make sure our cars are in top form. Meet back here in two hours, no later. Otherwise, we will be in my office.”

With the final command given, Ambrose takes Eloise’s hand and sweeps her from the room.

Cassandra stifles a yawn. I get up and offer a hand to her. She quickly hides the flash of her surprise but it still churns the ire bubbling inside. She takes it and I help pull the chair back as she stands. I let go of her but don’t increase the space between us.

“You don’t need to act surprised every time I touch you,” I mutter. I can’t fully hide the bitterness escaping.

Cassandra stills, clearly taken aback, and my jaw clenches. I incline my head towards the open doorway. “You should rest.”

Cassandra’s eyes fill with a familiar stubborn glint. She meets my gaze, her lips pressed into a firm line before speaking. “We have things to discuss first, Ashe.”

There’s no use in arguing with Cassandra when she gets like this. Easier to hear her out or let her do whatever it is she’s set on. I consider arguing anyways; this isn’t a topic I’m sure I’m ready for. Then, as if a phantom hourglass haunts me just out of the corner of my eye, I hear the sands of time passing. A stark reminder that we may only have a few days left.

“Upstairs, then.”

She follows at my side as we head to my—our suite. How many times since we’ve claimed this residence have I walked beside Eris. Always on edge, never fully trusting her. Now I’m on edge for an entirely different reason. It’s as if I’m bracing myself, expecting an explosion or a gunshot, anything that will have me ducking for cover. Except I’d be protecting the dark, withered organ of my heart.

Shit, Malachi’s addiction to Married at First Sight is getting to me if I’m psychoanalyzing my feelings.

“This is certainly different than our cottage back in Willow Creek.” Her voice is soft, a soothing siren’s call I’ve never been able to resist for long. I’d never wanted to before. She pauses before the stairs that lead to the higher levels, taking in the built-in shelves filled with a combination of books and antiques or trinkets from the Nightshades’ past. They tend to be items we’ve set down carelessly and Josephine has saved, displaying them just so in the clan home.

A brass astrolabe Malachi used for years, both during his travels at sea and his own casual study in astronomy. A curved dagger, with a pure silver hilt embossed with geometric patterns and a large ruby set as the pommel, Kasar was gifted by a grateful Allamah after saving her family after a ghul took on the guise of her husband. A framed, intricately embroidered linen handkerchief depicting a bouquet of wildflowers a young woman infatuated with Ezra had gifted him. There’s even Rhy’s almost ancient, at this point, fiddle; a Chinese jade teapot of Lan’s; and gilded music box, long silenced, purchased by Ambrose when he lived in Naples.

The dark stained shelves polished until they reflect the warm light from sleek, modern table lamps make this room look more like a home than a museum of curios.

Cassandra slowly walks along the cases, a fond expression on her face as she occasionally touches items she’s seen before. When she’s completed the room, her brows are pinched together.

“I don’t see anything of yours here,” she says, but the look in her eyes makes it a question. “Even Ezra’s life is on display.”

I shrug a shoulder, sliding my hands into my pants pockets. “I just don’t leave my shit around for Josephine to pick up and put on display.” I turn and head up the stairs, escaping the conversation before I tell her the entire truth. “Didn’t you want to talk?”

I can never hide anything from Cassandra for long. I’ve never been able to; especially if she turns her innocent, soft-looking eyes at me and asks me in a voice as warm as a summer’s day.

Cassandra has always been the siren to my lonely sailor. Except now I’m clinging to the safety rope, terrified that if I embrace her only to lose her again, I won’t ever recover.

The truth is, I’ve saved more than a few items from our shared past. I simply hoard them away from the clan house. I’ve created a private sanctuary that I can retreat to when Eris gets too much. Only Ambrose knows about it, though I’m sure the rest suspect. They’re respectful enough not to pry.

Cassandra says nothing until the bedroom door is closed behind us. I shouldn’t be surprised when she speaks a lyrical phrase, one I dredge the purpose of from my memory. Warding and silencing the rooms from any listeners. A bomb could go off now in this room, and it wouldn’t be heard outside of the wards.

Nervousness, anxiety, irritation, anticipation—whatever emotion is buzzing under my skin makes it impossible to sit down. I stalk to the windows, the curtains secured back, and stare vacantly out onto the street in front of the house. The sun is sinking, traffic increases as people head home from work. An entire world that moves on without a care that I might lose my mate forever in a matter of days.

The silence draws out, strangling my nerves along with it. Her heart races, the rapid thump-thump clear to my vampire hearing.

“I’m sorry, Ashe.”

Fury at Cassandra’s words floods me, so swiftly I can’t contain it. It’s all-consuming, breaking free after festering over a fucking century. I whirl on her, snarling, my fangs long and bared.

“I’m so fucking sick of you telling me you’re gods-damned sorry, Cassandra.”

In an instant, I’m in front of her. I grip her throat with one hand, forcing her to look up at me, while I pin her wrists to the small of her back with the other. My nails threaten to turn sharp and press into the soft, thin skin, on the verge of drawing blood. Her pulse flutters against my palm like a caged bird, but I’d moved too fast for her to react.

Her nostrils flare and her pupils widen. The scent of her fills me but does nothing to quell the beast I’ve become.

I crush my mouth to hers, biting sharply at her lower lip until she gasps. I consume her, pressing my tongue into her, tasting her with a frenzy of a starved man. Just as quickly, I pull back. My chest heaves as my gaze clouds red, reveling in Cassandra’s dazed expression.

I force her head to the side. Then I’m burying my fangs in her neck. Right on top of her siren song of her pulse, ready to drown.