Mac knelt beside her one last time. “Ashe. Behave yourself. Don’t come back here.”
The paramedic gave him a curious look. Ashe took in a couple of short breaths, saving up enough air to speak. She grabbed Mac’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “I won’t forget it.”
Mac got out of the way while they loaded Ashe onto the stretcher. He watched them go as he took out his phone to call Holly. All he could see of Ashe now were the soles of her boots.
She was brave. He had to give her that.
Unfortunately, now his slim hope of learning anything from Atreus was lost.
Chapter 19
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Constance sat in the hall with the black lake, curled up on one of the hard stone benches with her arms wrapped around her knees.
But why not indulge? She was imagining herself opening the door of her dream house, wearing one of the el egant dresses from her magazines—the later ones, when skirts shamefully revealed the knees. She imagined the shoes, too. They had beautiful thin, tall heels that proved the woman who wore them never worked a day in her life. Truly, no one wearing those blade-thin stilts could lift a pail or scrub a floor.
She would be opening the door to well-dressed guests, who would all tell her she was beautiful. Mac would be at her side, looking on, proud of her and the way she kept their home.
If she walked into the world of beautiful houses and pretty shoes, she would become a killing nightmare. Nothing was worth that—not unless it was a crisis of life and death.
And Sylvius was safe now. She had no moral right to hunt. Even if the guardsmen stole her child away again, Mac was ready to help her. Why would she need full vampire powers? Now she could remain as she was with no blood on her conscience.
She’d faced that truth when she’d let the female warrior go—and, as if to prove that the decision had been right, that strange woman had stood guard as Constance led her family out of harm’s way.
No, Constance did not need to change.
Ever.
She could stay as she was, eternally.
She was beginning to feel like a jar of preserves slowly going off. She wanted to taste the magazine world—Mac’s world—with him. Maybe standing at night in some city scene, the artificial lights winking like earthbound stars, and she would be wearing pretty shoes.
That had to be wrong. She was tired of living like a ghost, of relying on other people to order her life for her—be it the lord of her childhood home, or Atreus, or even Mac.
Even if he wanted the best for her, it seemed unwise to rely on him completely for the safety of herself and her son. Shouldn’t a vampire, even half a vampire, have some power of her own?
Those were rebellious thoughts for a peasant girl who had started out milking cows and then spent centuries as Atreus’s servant, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. She could feel her life changing, and her courage waxed and waned like the moon—now strong and bright, now all but disappearing. That change felt out of control, like a horse gone wild. There was no telling what path it would take.
Wishing had to count for something, and Constance wished with all her might for that moment with Mac, the romance of the city streets all around her. Romance in their hearts. That beautiful scene. If she could will her life one way, that was it.
Sylvius sat down on the bench beside her, quiet as falling snow. “You’re thinking of him,” he said.
“What makes you say that?”
With one finger, he touched the pendant she wore, and which he had made. “Macmillan makes you happy. That’s good.”
She looked into Sylvius’s face. The time he had spent in the demon box had left its mark. His black eyes, so startling against his pale complexion, seemed older in ways she couldn’t name.
“Should I worry that Mac is a demon now?”
“So am I,” Sylvius said calmly. His smile was teasing.
“Your Macmillan is a protector. The world needs both. And besides, you like him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m not blind.”
“Children shouldn’t think of their mothers that way.”
“I’m not stupid, either. And besides, I’m old enough now to find my own way. You’ll need a new project.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m a young incubus about town.”
He’d been reading her magazines. “So your mother is that easy to shrug off?”
He laughed. “Never. You’ll always be my mother, but I can’t always be a boy.”
Sylvius folded his wings tight against his back, making them all but invisible. He nonetheless looked no more human. Though strong and lean as any handsome youth, there was no mistaking him for one of the farm lads back home. It would be like comparing a fledgling eagle to a flock of geese.
“You would have come for me.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re as much a warrior as your man.”
She looked away. “I’m not Turned.”
“You could be.”
“Lore says if I leave the Castle, I will turn into some savage beast.”
Sylvius laughed. “I can’t see that.”
She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Lore’s people have the gift of prophecy.”
“And sometimes Lore lives like he is holding a broken cup in his two hands, afraid to let go in case the pieces fall.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe the pieces need to fall, so that our hands can be free.”
Constance leaned against him. “It’s not that simple, and you just like to argue.”
He squeezed her. “Leap toward happiness.”
“I gave you this to open your heart.” He touched the pendant again. “It worked. Don’t undo the good it’s brought you. You can live in fear or be the person you dream yourself to be.”
