Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

He curled his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “We’re quite the pair.”

She was quiet a moment before she murmured, “It’s easier to think about it when I’m not alone.”

The words tugged at his heart. He knew just what she meant. They lay like that for several minutes, Reynard drowsing in the combined warmth of the bed and her body.

Finally, she rolled over, resting on his chest and cushioning her chin on her hands. “I’ve never met a warlock before. As I said, I don’t think there are any warlock families left.”

Maybe that means the Order is dead and gone. “We are just like witches, but the magic goes through the father’s side rather than the mother’s.”

“But you didn’t know you were a warlock? I mean, witches come into their magic when they’re about Eden’s age. There’s no mistaking what’s going on.”

Reynard pondered that. “It must be different for us. Now that I think back, there were signs—I’ve always had unusually good hearing, for instance—but nothing that couldn’t be explained away. Warlock magic has to be awakened. I only ever learned what was necessary to perform my duties as a guardsman.”

“Like making that rifle shoot straight?” Ashe gave him a teasing look through her lashes.

“Just so.”

He felt the words drift away into the soft twilight of the room. He wasn’t thinking about Bartholomew anymore. He was remembering the last time he lay wounded in Ashe’s arms as the battle for the Castle raged around them. She had looked after him then, too, at once gentle and fierce. Such comfort never came to the guardsmen, and yet here he was, basking in it a second time.

He might be cursed, but he was also blessed.

Ashe stroked his forehead as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

“You saved my little girl,” she whispered. “I will never, ever forget that.”

Monday, April 6, 8:00 a.m.

Carver House

Early the next morning, Ashe sat across from Eden on the floor of her old bedroom in the Carver house, listening to her daughter tell the story of her kidnapping again, from start to finish. Eden had gone through it the night before in front of everyone—Mac, Alessandro, and Holly included—and then again with just Ashe holding Eden in the narrow, pink-quilted bed. Ashe was relieved that Eden was physically unhurt, but couldn’t bear to think what might have happened if Reynard hadn’t thought to look in the Castle.

This was the room where Eden slept when she visited her aunt. It was mostly emptied of Ashe’s old things now, all the teenage paraphernalia packed away, but the yellow curtains were familiar, as was the angle of the sun on the floor. It brought back memories both sweet and painful.

Every so often, she reached across, brushing the dark curls of hair from Eden’s face, unable to stop touching her. Some part of Ashe needed that physical contact to reassure herself that Eden was really safe.

“I was just scared,” Eden said. “No one actually hurt me, and Miru-kai was really nice. I mean, I was so glad to see Captain Reynard, but I was okay.”

Eden had told the story several times already, but each time something new emerged. Today, it was the fact that the fairy prince knew exactly how Ashe’s parents had died. That wasn’t impossible—a very few in the magical community had that information—but it showed how thorough the prince’s network of informants was.

More important was the fact that he’d told Eden. In Ashe’s book, that was a crime in itself, whether or not he’d meant to do it. It wasn’t his secret to share. Still, it seemed he really had saved Eden from the vampires. The jury was still out on what he had meant to do with her himself. At the moment, according to Mac, Miru- kai was swearing up and down that he’d meant to return her to Ashe.

They’d probably never know the truth, but dark fey kidnapped children. Mac had no plans to let the prince go anytime soon.

“Do you need me to forgive you for casting that spell way back when?” Eden asked, looking up through her lashes. “Because I do, y’know. Everyone makes mistakes, sometimes bad ones. Look at Uncle Mac. He got himself turned into a demon, but we still like him, right?”

Ashe was stunned, her stomach doing a strange flip. Where had that come from? “What I did isn’t something that can be forgiven. Not really.”

“But I forgive you. So it happens.” Eden gave her a crooked smile. “And I need you at the top of your game for when I get my powers. You’re going to make sure I don’t make any big mistakes.”

For a moment, Ashe couldn’t meet Eden’s eyes. “I don’t have any game anymore. I lost my powers.”

Eden’s smile got bigger. “That doesn’t mean you’re not my mom. Moms always have game.”

Ashe snorted. “Tell me that after six loads of laundry. By then I’m all game-over.”

“Look.” Eden closed her eyes, holding out her hand, palm up. Ashe watched her with a mix of curiosity and maternal alarm, wondering what was coming. For a moment, there was only sunlight, the curve of Eden’s cheek, the peaceful feeling of the house. And then it happened—a cluster of bright blue sparkles hovering over Eden’s hand. Tears blurred Ashe’s eyes. She recognized the conjuring spell at once. It was one of Grandma’s first magical exercises.

“You’re growing up,” she said huskily, picking up the ball of blue sparkles and rolling it along her fingers. “Far too fast.”

“Hey,” said Eden, watching her mother play with the light. “I thought you said you couldn’t do magic.”

“I’m not a complete null,” Ashe retorted. “I’m still a witch.”

There were some things she would never tell Eden. Foremost among them, Ashe had never looked for a cure after the spell had taken her magic. She might have found one. After all, Holly had eventually healed.

No, Ashe didn’t know whether or not her powers could be revived, and that was the way she wanted it. When her parents had died, there had been no law on the books for manslaughter by magic, so Ashe had made her own sentence. She lived deaf and blind to everything but the most basic energy fields. There were senses she used to have but didn’t anymore. That was her punishment.

Witches could be immortal if they were powerful enough, but, without using a lot of powerful magic, Ashe would age and die like a human. Some witches made that choice. Grandma, for one, had chosen to join her human husband by letting time have its way. In the meantime, Ashe was going to live her mortal life well. That way, there would be opportunities to make what amends she could for her mistakes.

But there was one exception to her self- imposed sentence that she was prepared to make. Ashe blew on the blue sparkles, snuffing them out. “Give me your hand,” she said to Eden.

Eden complied. Her hand was warm and soft, just starting to hint at the fine-boned elegance of a woman’s. “Is this going to be slimy and disgusting?”

“Would I do something like that?” Ashe said brightly.

“I’m just saying. . . .”

Ashe closed her eyes and reached into herself, finding the emotion that bound her to Eden. She pictured it in her mind’s eye, running like a constant golden flow from her heart, down her arm, and through her hand to Eden’s. She focused on that flow, seeing it like a stream of living blood, cell by cell, giving health and life just as when Eden had been in her womb. Then, without willing it, she could see the flow in reverse, a paler gold but just as strong, bringing love from Eden’s heart to hers.

Was it her daughter’s newfound magic that let her see that second stream? Or was it a remnant of her own? At that moment, it didn’t matter. It was what she needed. Despite everything, she loves me.