basement of her subconscious, it was doing a good job of freaking her out. Maybe it was punishment because she had actually been happy for a moment.
She pushed her hair out of her face and took a long breath, forcing herself to stand straight. Get a grip. Figure this out.
Now she knew exactly where she was. Memory filled in the details the wavering light glossed over. They were close to the cliff edge that looked over the water, in a triangle where two walkways crossed. There was a pair of white headstones flanked by yew and rowan trees. Her dad was in the next grave over, her grandfather about fifty feet to the west.
Why am I here, of all places? The answer had better come soon. She was starting to shiver and she was way past pissed off.
A cold hand fell on her shoulder. Ashe spun, leading with her elbow to deliver a blow, but stumbled against—nothing. No one was there.
Oh, crap. She really wasn’t up to ghosts. They’re always whining about something. Like, get dead already. Ashe let her temper heat, doing her best to counter a growing sense of vulnerability.
“Ms. Carver,” said a voice behind her. Or were those low, velvety words all in her head?
Obviously, whoever or whatever this was couldn’t be smacked down like a common mugger. Ashe turned, this time moving at a normal speed. And there was nothing common about the figure standing there. Inwardly, Ashe gulped. Holy Hecate!
He was far too close, forcing her to look up. The speaker was at least six-five and built with a fighter’s physique—hard, broad, and lean—but the poor light gave away nothing of his features. Ashe opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words. It was like coming nose-to-nose with a timber wolf. There was nothing adequate to say, even if it was—almost—just a dream.
Electricity skimmed her skin in a subtle, deadly tease. One of the few scraps of magic left to her was at work, identifying and reporting what she’d already guessed. Vampire.
A very, very powerful bloodsucker to boot. She had no weapons. Beating him off with a slipper wasn’t going to work. Her mouth went dry with apprehension. If she were awake, she’d be fighting by now, or at least running. Instead, she felt stupefied.
“You brought me here,” she managed to say.
“Of course I did.” Vampires could enter a person’s dreams, but it wasn’t a beginner’s trick. Only the most powerful could pull it off.
He raised a hand, and a gauzy white light bloomed from his cupped palm as if he were cradling an infant star. Ashe’s breath caught in her chest, tangled in terrified wonder. Many vampires used sorcery, but she’d never seen a move that smooth.
Her eyes went from his hand to his face. Most vamps had eyes with a gold or silver cast. His glinted topaz, if topaz could melt and burn with the intensity of an alchemist’s forge. His face was more masculine than pretty, the strong, straight features softened only by the fact that he had been Turned young.
The vampire’s hair was russet, the red of a fox’s pelt. It fell thick and straight to his waist, woven through with bits of gold and beads. He wore other gold, too—heavy cuffs and a twisted torque that sat on his collarbone, both decorated with red stones that glinted in the weird light. Only his clothes—just a dark shirt and slacks—were everyday.
“What do you want?” Ashe asked, pleased that the words came out sounding normal. “Not to sound rude, but the whole nightie/vampire/graveyard-at-midnight thing is best when it’s kept brief. Especially since I was, y’know, busy.”
“This seemed the safest way of speaking to you. You and your guardsman friend destroyed my emissary Frederick Lloyd.” He blew on the light he held, and it floated to the ground, still glowing like pale, fey campfire.
“You’re Belenos, King of the East.”
“Correct.”
“And all this time I thought you were just a series of anxiety dreams.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
He bowed, raising his fist to his heart in a gesture she guessed was as old as the Caesars. She wasn’t reassured by the courtesy. Vampire monarchs weren’t the kind of people you wanted to notice you, no matter how nice they were pretending to be. He rose, the ornaments in his long hair making a gentle clatter that made Ashe think of bones.
“What do you want?” she asked, then added, “Your Majesty.”
He looked amused. “Good manners from Ashe Carver, the famed huntress?”
“That was a freebie. You have to earn anything more than that.”
“Very well.”
“What’s with the graveyard?”
“I thought you would be at home here.”
“In a cemetery?”
“You deal out death to my kind. I am a king of the once-dead. Your thoughts dwell with your dead more than with the living around you. It seemed appropriate.”
Ashe shuddered, partly from the cold, partly from the truth in his words. “People around me tend to die.” Like Reynard will, if I don’t get that urn back. A new and profound pain hit her in the belly. He had mattered before. Now he was vital to everything she hoped for.
Belenos tilted his head, watching her as if she were an interesting worm. “Then you understand a little of what it is like to be of my kind. The living inevitably wither away, and the only thing we can do to save them is to share our dark gift.”
The world rocked slightly, as if she’d had too much to drink. She felt the sadness in his words, as tantalizing as a delicious scent. They shared the same melancholy. Before she knew what she was doing, she took a step closer, responding to the too-human sorrow in his eyes. He put a hand on her arm, lightly touching her skin. The cold seemed to fall away, allowing her muscles to relax.
Her gaze lingered on his mouth, almost feeling the curve of his lips against hers. They covered fangs, soft sensuality over a killing hunger. Erotic.
What had she been doing before the graveyard? Her mind struggled to remember, but it was like running through an ocean of thick, golden honey.
Belenos was suddenly even closer, his fingers pulling the elastic from her hair. It tumbled from her ponytail, sweeping like pale wings against her cheeks. She wore it down like that only when she was with a man. When she was seducing or seduced.
No, not with this one. Not with a vampire.
He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek.
Reynard.
“You’re hypnotizing me.” With all her will, she managed to raise her hand, pushing his touch from her face. She stumbled back, away from him. Cold flooded in, as if she’d stepped outside of a protective bubble. Her heart hammered, pulse pounding in her throat.
“I’m just making you more comfortable.” He closed the gap between them, making all her struggles useless. She was frozen, unable to move away one more time. He cupped her face in one hand, running his thumb over her lips as gently as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “The man you’re with is all but dead. How am I any different?”
Ashe couldn’t answer. Despair seemed to seep out of the grave dirt, crawling up her limbs like a foul tide.
Brushing his lips against her forehead, Belenos breathed in her scent. “That’s why you kill us, isn’t it? I’ve shared your nightmares. I know your secrets. You’re already half in love with death. It’s a magnet to you. Safer to snuff out temptation before you join those who’ve already crossed over.”
“Why did you bring me here?” Ashe said through gritted teeth, wanting her strength back, wanting weapons to rend Belenos’s dead flesh. “Why have you been in my dreams?”
“I want your attention.”
“Well, you’ve got it. What do you want?”
