Unchained

Chapter 1

Wednesday, April 1, 10:30 p.m.

Fairview Botanical Gardens

Evil lurked in public bathrooms.

It wasn’t just the bad lights and weird green soap. Predators loved hidey-holes where folks could disappear from view and no one thought anything about it. Any slayer worth her salt—and Ashe Carver was a pro—knew to look for monsters in those boring, ordinary, deadly places.

Ashe hugged the outside wall of the brick building, her boots sinking into the carefully tended tulip beds. It was dark, damp, and cold. She could smell the green tang of the crushed plants mixing with an antiseptic stink leaking from the vents. The washroom had been recently cleaned, probably just after the Fairview Botanical Gardens had closed for the night.

Thankfully, lurking evil had waited until late to pay a visit. On any day of the week, thousands of tourists came through the Gardens’ rose-decked gates, swilled overpriced soft drinks, and headed straight to the rest-rooms. Tonight, timing alone saved them from an encounter with worse problems than an empty towel dispenser.

Around nine fifteen that night, something had eaten the concessions clerk. He’d been identifiable by the name embroidered on the pocket of his candy-striped shirt. Security guards had dialed 911. Police had called a supernatural expert—aka Ashe’s vampire brother-in-law—who had called Ashe. As he put it, carnage was her thing.

First stop, she had looked at the body. In a word, ick. She’d never seen bite marks quite like that, but bet on a werebeast of some kind.

She cursed the flowering bushes that obscured the ladies’ room entrance. The blooms were pale in the dim light, and blurred into the shadows like watercolor stars. Pretty, but a security no-no. She crept toward the entrance one step at a time, eyes and ears tuned to the slightest disturbance. The problem was that the garden clamored with bugs, birds, bats, rodents, and a dozen other noisemakers, even at night. Most predators could hide beneath that rustling chaos.

The human noises were worst. Even from a distance, voices and motor sounds carried in the dark. She’d called in her location and switched off the radio the guy at the gate had given her. If there was something lurking around the corner, a sudden spew of static could give her away. Besides, she’d been born a witch. A bad spell had broken most of her powers when she was a teenager, but she still had a sixth sense that had saved her backside time and again. Electronics messed with that.

Ashe stilled, straining to pick up the slightest whiff of Nasty Critter. A light breeze chilled the sweat along her hairline. Her heart hammered hard, but her thoughts were clinically calm. If you were going to kick the ass of anything bigger than a garden sprite, discipline was key.

Another two steps, and she was behind the door-guarding rhododendron. The petals kissed her skin, the cool, soft touch making her shiver. She shifted her grip on her Colt automatic—a custom make loaded with the best silver-coated ammo she could afford—and smacked open the bathroom door with a sideways kick.

Her foot blammed against the wall, the noise meant to shock her quarry into revealing itself. Her gaze went first to the ceiling—you just never knew—then scanned across the long rows of sinks and stalls. It looked pin-neat, gleaming, and empty. Ashe shuffled inside, crouching, gun ready, letting the door swing shut behind her.

The echo of the door slam faded to the buzz of a faulty light ballast and the drip-drip of a tap. The suggestion of water made Ashe lick her lips. Her mouth was dry because of her nerves, but that was okay. Fear made her careful.

A quick look told her no feet showed beneath the stall doors. Of course, any high schooler knew that didn’t mean a thing. Next, she would have to go banging open each door in the double row of stalls, which meant the monster in the last stall could jump her while her back was turned.

That had happened once. That was so not going to happen again.

Ashe took one long step onto the countertop, and from there cautiously pulled herself up the metal side of the first toilet stall. Yup, it was empty. With a heave, she hooked one leg over the side and used the wall for balance. In a very few seconds, she had gained a good aerial view of all the stalls. They were empty. Too bad; from up there it would have been like shooting fish in a barrel.

Werewolves in a can? She winced at her silent joke.

So the bathroom was a bust. Time to move on. Carefully, Ashe twisted to look behind her, gauging the distance to the countertop. She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror against the wall. Heavy boots, black-on-black clothes, blond hair straggling out of her ponytail. Yep, she was workin’ the black ops chic. While dangling from the side of a toilet stall.

Good to know she’d put those junior high modeling classes to good use.

Ashe dropped back to the counter just as the outside door swung open and someone walked in. In a flash, she aimed her gun in a two-handed grip.

Then she froze. Oh. My. Goddess. But she let her surprise last only a microsecond. Her eyes on the new-comer, she hopped to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Captain Reynard gave a slight bow. “I am looking for you.” His so-English accent sounded like something off Masterpiece Theater, but that baritone voice was pure seduction.

“Oh.” For a moment, her mind hydroplaned. Looking for me?

The last and only time she’d met Reynard, he’d taken a battle-ax to the gut. He should have died. At best, he should still be moving like a cripple.

Now Reynard looked more than fine. No, that didn’t cover it. He was Sleeping Beauty’s dreams made flesh. The gold braid of his scarlet uniform glinted in the light. He wore his dark, thick hair pulled back into a neat queue, showing the angles of his lean face. His steel gray eyes were guarded, promising a thousand secrets, and enough bad boy lurked in the set of his mouth to make any red-blooded woman lick her chops in anticipation. If she was really, really naive.

Ashe turned her mental sprinkler system onto cold-shower mode. The guy looked her age, but for all she knew, he might have been three hundred. Reynard wasn’t human anymore, but some kind of immortal. Who knew what that scrumptious packaging hid?

The muzzle of her gun was still aimed squarely between his eyes. He just stood there, ramrod straight, and made no move to draw his sword or raise the long firearm he carried. The piece looked like it belonged with the uniform—several hundred years out-of-date.

“I trust you are well?” he asked blandly.

She dragged her gaze away from the weapon and back to his face. “I didn’t think you could leave the Castle, Captain Reynard. From everything I know, you shouldn’t be here.”

Reynard gave a smile more lethal than any gun. “Do you think this is a demon wearing my appearance?”

“Can the charm. I don’t know. I don’t know what happens when you leave your prison—and something deadly is stalking these grounds. Sue me for being cautious.”

He glanced at her Colt, and a slight flicker of expression showed both amusement and annoyance. That annoyed her right back. He didn’t think, or didn’t care, that she would shoot. He didn’t go for his own weapon—gun, knife, or anything else. No one was that cool unless they were crazy or a liar.

He met her eyes. Liar. Crazy. Iceberg. She couldn’t read him. He was granite. Damn. Reynard studied her, his body nearly as still, as not there, as that of a vampire.

“I can leave my post for an hour or two. Nothing happens. I’m a guardsman, not one of the Castle’s prisoners.” With his free hand, he tapped the hilt of his sword, the gesture reminding Ashe of a detective flashing his badge.

“Why are you looking for me? How did you find me?”

“Word reached the Castle that you were on this case. I found you because, well, that is what guardsmen do. We find our quarry.” He gave a ghost of a smile that didn’t soften his face. “I take it you’re not pleased to see me. I’m devastated.”

Ashe ignored the last bit. “So you found me. Why are you looking?”

“I am here to help with your search. I suppose I should value the novelty of a trip to the world outside the Castle realm.” Reynard somehow managed to glance around without completely looking away from her trigger finger.

“Uh-huh.”

Now Reynard showed a sliver of uncertainty, a slight downturn of his mouth. “This looks very different from anything I recall.”

“It’s the women’s bathroom.”

He looked puzzled. “Bathing room? I don’t see any tubs. No lady’s boudoir ever looked like this.”

Oh, Goddess. Ashe gave up and lowered the gun. “Why did you come to help?”

Reynard gave a small shrug, barely acknowledging the end of their standoff. Ashe tried to bury her temper. She was showing the guy some trust. This was the new, improved Ashe Carver, the one who didn’t stake first and ask questions later. He should be grateful.

He leaned his old firearm against the shining tile wall. “The guardsmen know something about the creature you hunt.”

Reynard folded his hands behind his back, the gesture very old-fashioned, but somehow commanding. Masterful suited him. It occurred to Ashe the title of captain might be a leftover from his human life.

“Go on,” she said, forcing herself to concentrate past her ecstatic hormones.

“The creature escaped from the wilds deep in the Castle. I don’t know why or how. It would not normally approach an inhabited area.”

“So why did it?”

“I suspect someone turned it loose, but that is tomorrow’s investigation. Tonight, we catch the creature, and that won’t be easy. It’s fast. It took only a moment for it to burst past our men and through the portal into your world.” He stood, if at all possible, even straighter. “It escaped on our watch. Therefore, we must help with its recapture.”

Ashe pushed her hair back. He followed the gesture with his eyes. Something dark and very male crossed his face, then was gone. The closed book of his expression had opened for just a second, but what she’d seen had made her whole body tighten. No, the guardsmen didn’t get out much. The Castle kept them immortal, but it also kept their animal appetites under iron control.

But he wasn’t in the Castle now. He’d claimed nothing would happen when he stepped outside its walls. Bullshit. That bad boy she’d glimpsed wanted out.

Caution flooded back, stiffening her shoulders. Caution and curiosity.

“What kind of creature is it?” she asked, and wondered whether she meant the man or the beast.

“A phouka.”

Ashe tried to remember exactly what that was. She’d never encountered one, but thought it was a kind of animal. That would fit with the savage attack. “Can it talk or fire a gun?”

“No. It has no offensive magic that I know of, either.”

“The best news I’ve heard all night.” There were more questions to ask, but time was short. “So what’s the plan?”

“To chase it back to the Castle. Mac doesn’t want it killed. He says it’s too rare.”

Mac was the Castle’s head honcho, Reynard’s boss, and not a bad guy for a fire demon, but still . . . “That’s it? You’re kidding. Surely you guys know what these creatures can do to a human body?”

Reynard gave a slight shrug. “He is my superior. I respect his orders. Mac does nothing lightly, and someone will pay for this breach of security. That is certain.”

The memory of the chewed-on concessions clerk oozed through Ashe’s imagination. “Okay. Fine. How do we get it to go home? Whistle? Rattle its kibble bag?”

“I’ll open a portal to the Castle.”

“Don’t you need a key for that?”

“The old guards do not need keys. We can open a portal at will.”

Ashe knew almost nothing about guardsman magic. She would have to accept that one on faith. “Okay. So, then what do I do?”

“You chase it through. Mac will have men waiting on the other side.”

She gave an inward sigh. She didn’t like working with others, much less turning control of the hunt over to someone else, but Reynard had a plan and she didn’t. No points for her. “All right. C’mon.”

Ashe pushed past him, through the door and out into the night. He followed silently, carrying his long firearm in one hand.

She turned and looked at it curiously. “That’s a musket, right?”

He glanced down, like he just remembered he was carrying it. It was a part of him. “Yes.”

“How many shots does that thing get?”

“Just one.”

Okay, he might have a plan, but his weapons sucked. Points even. “Guess you don’t get to miss.”

He made a soft sound, not quite a laugh, that raised the hairs on her arms. There was something predatory in it. “I would rather count on hitting the target than need a second shot.”

“Can’t argue with that.” But she did, and her tone said so. The thing belonged in a museum.

Reynard gave her a sharp look. He was tall but so was Ashe, and the full force of his gaze caught her straight on. His gray eyes looked darker in the uncertain light. “Do you find fault with me?”

“Not with you. That weapon is old and, forgive me, primitive.”

“You have no reason to worry.” His voice wasn’t quite so friendly now.

She let the subject drop. She’d said what she had to say.

They’d reached the sidewalk that snaked along the perimeter of the buildings. Gift shop. Coffee shop. Ice-cream stand. Art gallery. Restaurant. All the windows were dark, except for the odd security light. It made Ashe think of a movie set after the cast went home. By contrast, the workers left the gardens lit for the search. Colored lights peeked from the flower beds and dotted the paths, making a fairyland of the night garden. Floodlights of red, green, and blue washed the branches of the trees. It was beautiful, but tricked the eyes. There could be anything hiding in that fantasia of color.

The night air was cool enough for her to feel the heat from his body as they walked side by side. He smelled faintly of gun oil, as if he’d been cleaning his weapon before he came. She liked the scent. She’d been drawn to him from the moment they met last autumn—he’d been brutally wounded; she’d been one of the fighters defending the Castle. She’d guarded him until help arrived. The stuff of action-movie romance.

But I got over it. Besides being a not-quite-human guy from another century, Reynard was doomed to eternal servitude in an alternate dimension. Talk about geographically incompatible. No, drop-dead gorgeous didn’t make up for everything.

Besides, she’d had to change. The old Ashe Carver—aggressive, mouthy, with a free- range libido—had been forced to grow up now that her daughter was living with her. She was less eager to start a fight just to see what would happen. It mattered if she took a bullet, because she had to work a regular job. Most of all, having a kid had made her picky about whom she spent time with and utterly paranoid about whom she brought home.

So she wasn’t going to lose her cool over a little eau de gun oil. Ashe tried to shift her weight away, put a few inches between her body and Reynard’s, but he touched her shoulder and gestured silently. Across the lawn, something flickered through the darkness, barely a ripple of shadow. Their quarry had speed on its side.

She nodded. In silent agreement, they took off after it. Reynard bolted ahead of her, incredibly fast. The not-quite-human thing obviously had perks.

She cut a steeper angle across the lawn, trying to shave off distance, leaping over the beds of tulips and English daisies. Reynard held out a hand, slowing, crouching. Ashe skidded to a halt, dropping to one knee on the ground beside him. The cool air felt good in her panting lungs, chill and tangy from the nearby ocean.

“It’s up there,” he said. “It’s trapped in the dead end.”

Ashe squinted. Directly ahead there was an arbor the size of her bedroom at home. About forty hanging baskets ringed the area. Behind them was a wall of rock. The phouka was moving beneath the baskets, making them swing like silent bells.

She’d expected something with the liquid grace of a predator. She couldn’t make out much except that it seemed to be far less coordinated when it wasn’t running. The shadow bunched and shuffled as it went.

“Can we corner it?” she whispered, so softly that her lips almost touched his ear.

The shadow that was the thing stretched tall, making the baskets dance on their chains. Reynard put a finger to his lips. Whatever that creature was, it had superhearing. Crap, we’re busted.

They waited, stock-still, as the breeze fluttered the grass. Fortunately, they were upwind. The creature relaxed, seeming to snuffle at the plants around it. Ashe wished she could use her flashlight without giving them away, or that the creature would move into the beam of a floodlight. Not being able to see what she was hunting was getting on her nerves.

Reynard pointed to himself, pointed to the stone wall, and made a circling motion with his finger. He was going to move ahead and get ready to open a portal. Ashe gave a thumbs-up. He stood very slowly, silent as a ghost, the gold braid on his coat mere stripes in the darkness. She tensed her muscles, ready to sprint into action the moment she needed to surprise the beast into the Castle.

Reynard froze. “Where did it go?”

Good question. The baskets were still, the platform empty. Ashe’s hands felt suddenly cold, clammy, as if her blood were trying to flee her body. She squashed her fear down, swallowing hard. “Shit.”

She let out a long, frustrated breath and rose to her feet. In the moment it took to exchange hand signals with the captain, the creature had slipped away. Good thing there were only two directions the beast could have gone.

“Up there.” She pointed to her right. “The only other choice is the front gate. It won’t go that way if it doesn’t like lights and people.”

Reynard followed her pointing hand. “Where does that path lead?”

“There’s a sunken garden—it was a quarry once. Steep stairs. Blind corners. Tons o’ fun.”

Even in the dark, she caught the depth of his frown.

“Not ideal, I know.”

He shrugged, his face returning to its usual shuttered expression. “My father wagered I’d meet my death in a foolish hunting accident.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I dread the thought that for once he was right about me.”

Ashe wasn’t sure, but thought he might have made a joke. He was damned hard to read. “Follow me.”

Ashe started up the path at a quick, crouched run. She moved almost silently, weapon drawn and ready, two-handed grip, muzzle pointed skyward. Wouldn’t do to slip and murder the bushes in cold sap.

Reynard followed without a fuss about who took point. It was a refreshing change after some of the other slayers she’d met. Give a boy a stake and he thought he was Rambo, Doctor Doom, and Lawrence of Arabia rolled into one spray-tanned package.

“What is that stench?” Reynard said under his breath, the words faint ghosts against the whispering leaves.

Ashe stopped cold. Bad smells might mean dead bodies. Poison. The musk of unspeakable monsters. She caught a whiff of the offensive scent and relaxed. “It’s the burger stand. They need to clean the grease trap.”

“That’s food?” The whispered word dripped with doubt.

“Sort of.”

“It seems I have not tasted it for too long. It did not seem familiar.”

Sarcasm dipped in sugary innocence. Not hard to read that time. “I thought Mac changed all that. I thought you guys could eat and drink these days.”

“That applies only to the new guards.”

“Not you?”

Ashe forgot her caution for a split second and glanced behind her. Reynard stood beneath a Garry oak just coming into leaf. A red spotlight illuminated the twisting branches like gnarled, bloody fingers. The strange light made the path seem even darker. She could barely make the captain out, just a faint red sheen reflecting from the buttons of his uniform. It looked like a row of glowing eyes.

“Our terms of service have not changed.”

The words were more of a rebuff than an explanation. The old guards didn’t need pansy-assed creature comforts like food. His tone made her suddenly cold, like an unexpected breath against her neck. Unsettled, she turned and started moving forward again.

“Yeah, well, my daughter loves those burgers,” she said, a little gruffly.

For a split second, she imagined Eden’s ten- year-old face, the child’s animal delight in ravaging the oh- so-unhealthy treat. She switched off the image, ducking the emotions it brought. Doubt. Anger. Fear of loss. Custody issues were a bitch.

If Ashe didn’t concentrate, she’d put herself and Reynard in danger.

To their left was a high wall of rock. To their right was a swath of flowers that rolled away into an expanse of lawn. The wind in the spring grass was a ruffling swish. The beast, if it was nearby, was utterly silent. Ashe searched everywhere, her eyes aching with the strain of looking so hard. A minute or two passed.

“You have a child?” Now Reynard’s voice was careful, as if he’d been mulling over that idea and couldn’t quite believe it. She could almost hear his good manners choking him.

“Yeah. So I don’t fit the maternal profile. Live with it.”

She heard him draw breath, but he didn’t reply. Smart guy.

The path wound around a sharp bend, turning away from the lawn. Now both sides were hemmed in by steep rising slopes, trees and bushes obstructing their lines of sight. This was the stretch that most worried her. An attacker would have the advantage of surprise and higher ground.

Reynard caught up until he was more beside than behind her. They stopped talking, all their attention fixed on the night around them. They’d instinctively divided the compass. Reynard watched to the right and behind them, Ashe to the left and in front. Ashe could anticipate his moves and mirrored him, weapons sweeping in deadly symmetry. In other circumstances, they would have danced well together.

The thought almost made her smile—a deadly, cold smile suitable for a hunt, but a good one nonetheless. It barely made it to her lips before they were leaving the blind passage and relief pushed out every other emotion. And then the moon-washed vista below gave her something new to worry about.

“There it is,” breathed Reynard, the words hot against her ear.

Oh! She cringed at what she saw, every muscle screaming to turn away.

The beast crouched on the top landing of the concrete stairway that led down into the sunken garden. What the moon didn’t show, the safety lights along the steps did. Crouched on all fours, it looked bulky and round and at least as tall as Ashe’s ribs. It had a pretty, soft brown and white coat.

“Oh, now, that’s just wrong,” she murmured, her words barely audible.

The twitch-twitch of its nose made Ashe queasy. Or maybe it was the clots of blood around the whiskery muzzle, or the glittering black eyes.

“It’s a hell bunny,” she croaked. “A bunny ate the concessions clerk.”

“Indeed,” Reynard replied.

Monsters were supposed to look like monsters, or tried to fake being human. This was just confusing.

“I wish you’d warned me. Those floppy ears are awfully cute.” Ashe tilted her head, as if the angle could somehow make the view better. She really hoped it didn’t have a cotton-puff tail. That would just make it harder to blow its head off, if push came to hop.

“Don’t underestimate it. We tried offering it a carrot,” Reynard whispered, his tone dry as grave dust. “It prefers something less crispy.”

With that phrase, he warped all her happy Easter memories. She used to love those marshmallow- filled bunnies wrapped in pink foil. She never would again. “Next time, I am so going to bite the head off first.”

Reynard gave her a puzzled look. “I wouldn’t do that. It has a deadly kick.”

Ashe closed her eyes, opened them again, forced her thoughts into neat rows. “Okay. We are bunny doom. How do you want to play this?”

The rabbit suddenly started and bounded down the stairs. The stealth portion of the evening was decidedly over.

Reynard bounded after it, vaulting over the guardrail and dropping to the stairs. A dangerous move, but it put him yards ahead of Ashe.

“Cut it off at the water up ahead!” he bellowed.

Ashe scrambled, leaped off the last few stairs, and sprinted over the lawn, angling to the right of the path. The garden was shaped like a doughnut, a spire of rock forming a lookout in the center. On the far side of the doughnut glittered a water garden. Ashe could hear a waterfall muttering like a distant conversation.

Her boots thumped on the grass, skidding as she leaped over a flower bed. Reynard had gone to the left, circling the other way. No blind corners here, but there were too many bushes for her liking. She made it past the lookout and headed for the pond, the colored lights in the flower beds splashing her legs green, then blue.

She sensed the hell bunny almost as she reached it. A thrill of energy down her skin told her she was far too close. A creature of the dark fey. A day late and a dollar short, everything she’d read about phoukas was coming back to her.

It reared up from the hydrangeas like a Beatrix Potter nightmare, front paws tucked against its fuzzy chest, nose working. A glob of flesh clung to one whisker, weighting it down.

Ashe stumbled back three steps, weapon already aimed at Vlad Cottontail. “Where’s that portal?”

“Nearly ready,” Reynard shouted back.

She felt a second thrust of energy from his direction, ants skittering over her flesh, biting, stabbing. The power rushed to her head like a slug of whiskey. Ashe gripped the Colt, using her own shredded magic to shove the high out of her brain.

An orange disk of light began to flare, hanging in space just above the lily pond. The portal spiraled from a bright pinpoint to the size of a hubcap in seconds. She prayed Reynard could get it open fast.

A charred smell filled the air, as if the wall between Earth and the Castle’s dimension were burning away. Ashe could see the portal growing behind the rabbit, outlining its floppy ears like a bright harvest moon. The beast was shifting its backside the way a cat does before a pounce.

“Hurry it up!” she yelled.

“Drive the beast this way!” Reynard answered.

“Haul ass, Cottontail,” she snarled, sighting down the gun.

The rabbit bared choppers and snarled right back.

Crap.

The demon rabbit seemed to sense the portal, because it hunkered in on itself, glancing from the gun to the ballooning orange glow. It looked angry and miserable. Ashe felt a moment of pity, and then thought of all the tender, juicy kiddies coming all too soon for the Easter egg hunt. Yum, yum.

“Okay, bud, do it the hard way.” Ashe shot the dirt at its feet.

It launched straight for her throat. Scary fast.

Shit! Ashe dropped to the ground, rolling out of its way and back to her knees in time to fire three shots at its head. They went wide. The rabbit flew over her, unable to stop its momentum. She heard Reynard shout, then a shot that wasn’t hers. She rolled for the flower bed. Two more shots bit the earth behind her.

Ashe panted, hot confusion sparking over her nerves like live voltage. Those shots weren’t from Reynard’s musket. His gun would fire only once, and it wouldn’t sound anything like a high-powered automatic rifle. Neither would anything the local security carried. What the hell?

She tucked her feet under her, coming out of her crouch an inch at a time. The bushes, so dense when she was hunting, now seemed woefully sparse. Her knees were steady, but she could feel a fine trembling in her muscles from the cocktail of adrenaline and hard running. The night was full of edges, sharp, clear, honed by danger.

A bullet sang by her ear, another spray of splintered bark. She did a face-plant in the dirt—pure reflex.

More shots came. The rabbit thundered by, claws barely missing the flesh of her arm. Ashe tracked it with her eyes, her cheek pressed into the soft, damp soil. The beast headed straight for the portal, leaping through the orange whorl. As it arched through the vortex, she saw the powder-puff tail on its vanishing backside.

She thought she heard someone shout on the other side of the orange glow—maybe Mac and his men playing zookeepers on the other side. Like a spiraling lens, the portal closed, the orange glow shrinking to nothing.

Then Reynard was in the dirt beside Ashe. The charcoal scent of the portal’s magic clung to him like cologne. He put a hand on her shoulder, a hot, firm touch. “Are you hurt?”

“Get down!” she barked, dragging him by the collar of his fancy coat.

The next shot missed his head by a whisker.