she had her cell in hand. Geoffrey was buried deep in her contacts, but she found him without trouble and placed the call.
Three rings. Four. Then a breathless, “Ashley.”
“Tell me you’re free, Geoffrey.” The slightly manic edge to her voice irritated her. She wasn’t that person, wasn’t the woman to panic in a crisis, and she’d be damned if she’d start now.
“I’m not on your rotation for five more weeks.” He groaned and, in the background, a woman gasped.
Ashley shoved a hand through her hair, little static pops pricking her skin. Oh, yeah. It was time. “Things seem to be a bit early this cycle.” And there it was again—the wobble in her voice that brought her fear into the open.
“How soon?”
She bit her bottom lip and let herself simply be aware of her body. The vibration in her blood became a steady hum, the need a constant presence, and she knew it was as bad as she feared. Worse, her subconscious whispered. She swallowed and pinched the bridge of her nose with trembling fingers. “I’m guessing, since this is the first time this has happened, but based on the way things have happened in the past? I’m thinking I have two, maybe three days at best. Tomorrow at worst. Then it’s here.”
“I can’t get there, my love. It’s simply not possible. Prior commitments and all that.” He paused. “You could join us here.”
“I’m not one of the merry harem,” she said quietly. “You know the only reason I do this at all is necessity.”
“Sure. Admit it, though. It’s been good for both of us.”
True, damn him. But she wasn’t feeding his ego. “If things change, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll manage.”
“Be safe, Ashley.”
Hanging up, she assessed the bar again. She had to do something. If it meant finding a lover among the locals, she would. But he’d have to be strong—strong enough to ensure neither of them would be at risk if one of her clan or kind came after her. Sex would diffuse the call of her epithicas to the men of her kind, but they could still find her if she didn’t handle this right.
That could never happen.
Never.
The vehemence of her denial echoed through her so loudly she instinctively shook her head in response.
“Problem, Red?” The question was delivered with quiet indifference.
Her gaze shot across the bar where the largest man from the corner table now stood. The blond Adonis with the air of wicked sin made her heart race, but his aura winked around him for a split second, an aura so dark it shrouded him like a fathomless black hole. Worrisome, but not so much as the fact she hadn’t seen him cross the room.
“Oy! Guinness down the way!”
“On the way,” she called back without looking at the patron. She couldn’t take her gaze off the man across from her. She blindly retrieved a pint glass and began to expertly build the requested stout, managing the building head without trouble.
At her silence, the stranger’s eyes darkened, and he slipped onto the only vacant barstool.
Instinct had her backing up a step at his predatory, assessing look. She reclaimed her ground, but with caution, and fumbled with the Guinness tap. At more than four centuries old, she’d spent three and a half of those defending herself from men she’d never loved and never would. Over three centuries she’d been pursued, her freedom dependent on evading her clansmen with every epithicas. All of the time factors and stresses added up to harden her heart where men were concerned, no matter how pretty the man in question might be.
Like this one.
“Problem?” she asked, repeating his question as she slid the Guinness down the slick bar top. Without taking her eyes off the man across from her, she grabbed a cherry from the setup tray and popped the little fruit in her mouth. “The problem is that you’re far too pretty for my tastes yet you keep popping up in my line of sight.”
He grinned, slow and wicked. “And here I thought a woman like you would have refined ‘tastes.’ While it’s good to know, I’m not a menu item. Play with the boys in the corner if you’re looking for some flirtation.”
The hairs on her arms stood up. “I don’t play with boys, darling. And ‘flirtation’ is the last thing I’m about.” She pulled the cherry stem out of her mouth and held it up for him to witness the double knot she’d tied it into with just her tongue. “I’m very selective when it comes to choosing the man I take to my bed.”
“In the interest of seriousness, I’ll ask you for your name and a promise.”
“Ashley. No promises. Now run along before I change my mind and decide you’re my type.”
“Good enough. For now.” He nodded and moved away from her before she realized she hadn’t obtained his name in kind.
Foolish woman.
She watched as he settled into his seat at the table amid the jests and teasing from the younger men. They ended up huddled close together over the table, each of them pretending to watch the game on the screen.
Ashley knew better.
The problem she now faced was greater than the enigma of the man, though. She had limited time to find a bed partner. Having engaged the blond, she couldn’t seem to dredge up interest in anyone else. But she’d have to. Her mouth tightened and turned down at the corners in a righteous scowl.
Good luck with that, Ashley.
Gareth sat quietly, the young assassins teasing him mercilessly over their perception he’d failed to convince the bartender to play bedroom Twister with him despite his assertions he wasn’t interested in the bet. He even tossed another fifty euro into the kitty and bought a round of drinks in an attempt to get one of them to make a move on the woman. He wanted to see her reaction, take her measure and determine exactly what he was dealing with. Moreover, he wanted to take the focus off him and the change in his behaviors. Time passed and the woman, Ashley, avoided the table, leaving glasses empty as she kept well away from Gareth.
Deep in their cups and wrapped up in questionable boasts and a few outright lies regarding their virility, his men hardly paid him any mind as he gathered his belongings. Nothing could have changed his sudden intent to return to the keep. The interaction with the woman had left Gareth off-center and slightly nauseous, like something moved inside him without his permission. As he worked his way to the front door, he asked familiar faces about her and was surprised to find no one knew much beyond her name with any certainty. Several had crude nicknames for her based on some of the same physical attributes he’d admired, but he wouldn’t ever address her by such. Then, on the literal threshold of leaving the pub, he ran into a bit of luck. The young barmaid, a lass who had a bit of a thing for him, pushed on the vestibule door at the same time he pulled it open. She stumbled inside leaving Gareth the choice to let her fall or catch her. Grabbing her by the shirt-clad arms, he set her on her feet and smiled with as much charm as he could muster.
She
