The Vampire & Her Witch

When Ashlynn stepped out of the small room that Rosie shared with Tonnis, she found Lennart waiting for her with a concerned expression on his bearish face.

”Lady Nyrielle is waiting for you,” the former captain of Nyrielle’s personal guard said as he knelt before Ashlynn and stretched out his muscular, furry arms. Since becoming a vampire, his hearing had grown sharper each day, and he’d heard everything that took place while Ashlynn tended to her patients, including the way she turned to Zedya for support when standing and walking.

”Let me take you to her,” Lennart offered in a voice that rumbled with genuine concern at seeing Ashlynn looking so tired.

”Thank you, Lennart,” Ashlynn said as she took his hand, relaxing into his gentle, furry embrace as he scooped her up off the ground. ”I’m going to close my eyes, just for a minute or two,” she murmured as she buried her head in the hollow of his shoulder, almost instantly falling asleep while he carried her away.

Ashlynn only meant to close her eyes until she reached Nyrielle’s chambers, but within a minute of closing her eyes, exhaustion overwhelmed her and her chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep. When she finally woke up in Nyrielle’s bed, several hours had already passed. The cozy warmth of the bed combined with the softness of the feather mattress to soothe away much of the fatigue she felt, and though she still felt tired, she no longer felt like it took an act of will just to keep her eyes from drifting closed again.

”Nyri?” Ashlynn said softly as she propped herself up on pillows, looking around the dimly lit room and frowning slightly at the scents that filled the air.

In the past, each time Ashlynn had come to Nyrielle’s chambers, soft floral scents dominated the space. Lavender was common, as was Jasmine, but there were times when her lover changed things out for scents of rose, sandalwood, or even hibiscus. But right now, as Ashlynn’s nose twitched and her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the room smelled overwhelmingly of freshly baked bread, savory herbs, an,d beneath all that, the faint aroma of cooking fruit.

”You’re awake,” Nyrielle said warmly as she stepped out of the darkness, appearing at Ashlynn’s side in the blink of an eye.

When Ashlynn saw her lover, her eyes opened wide in surprise at the way Nyrielle was dressed for the evening. Gone was the typical dress of dark silk with elegant embroidery and rich brocade that she wore on a daily basis. Also absent was the delicate and occasionally provocative nightdress that she changed into before the sun rose, with its laces left half-tied to entice Ashlynn’s eyes to feast on a view of pale, alabaster skin underneath the dark fabric.

No, tonight, when Nyrielle appeared next to Ashlynn, she was wearing a dark purple skirt cut in the same style as the one Ashlynn had worn to work with her coven, paired with a bell-sleeved peasant’s tunic that only looked exceptional because of the deep crimson color of the fabric. Most striking of all, however, was the simple linen apron tied around Nyrielle’s lithe figure, covered with a dusting of flour and stained in a few places by splatters of oil.

”You’re cooking?” Ashlynn asked with a frown as she turned to look from her domestically dressed lover to the room’s large hearth.

There, she found that the hearth itself had changed. Where before its only purpose had been to warm the room, it now sported the heavy, wrought-iron frames used for hanging pots over the coals, a number of trivets and stands for supporting pans, along with a small collection of cast iron and earthenware cooking vessels, all sitting at various places in the large hearth and emitting a collection of tantalizing aromas.

”I asked Georg to teach me,” Nyrielle said with a smile that was both proud and a little hesitant as if she wasn’t quite certain of the results. ”With the way you talk about cooking with your coven, I thought that you would enjoy something I made with my own hands.”

”Of course I will,” Ashlynn said, reaching out to capture one of Nyrielle’s hands and pulling the slender woman into a tight embrace. Her stomach grumbled at her, clearly unhappy about being ignored while food was so close at hand, but Ashlynn didn’t care as she buried her face in Nyrielle’s bosom and wrapped her arms around the woman who mattered more to her than anyone else in this world.

”You’re spoiling me,” Ashlynn said softly as she relaxed against Nyrielle, inhaling the familiar scents of lavender and jasmine soap that clung to the vampire’s body mixed with the slightly dusty scent of flour and freshly bruised herbs. It was a scent that was distinctly Nyrielle’s and also very cozy and domestic in a way that Ashlynn found to be immensely soothing.

”Come,” Nyrielle said as she pulled back from Ashlynn, tugging her hand to guide her out of bed and over to a small dining table set for two near the low-burning hearth. ”I know you need to eat, and then I have a hot bath drawn for us both. You can return to your coven in the morning, but for tonight, let me care for you.”

”All right,” Ashlynn said, smiling as she watched Nyrielle returning to the cooking vessels on the hearth, carefully checking on each one and moving them away from the fire.

Even Nyrielle, she realized, moved with a trace of hesitation as she worked to overcome an instinctual fear of fire when she moved around the hearth. Her lover was certainly powerful enough to resist the heat of ordinary coals and mundane flames, but there was something almost primal that lurked in the heart of vampires that treated intense heat and flame the same way an ordinary person might respond to the snarling jaws of a wolf or the threatening gleam of a knife.

Or perhaps it went deeper than instinct with Nyrielle, Ashlynn realized as she felt the echo of her lover’s heart grow unsteady as she bustled about the hearth, carefully checking on the contents of each vessel before removing it and setting it to the side.

Nyrielle had watched the Vale of Mists burn, and Cellach Lothian had her parents put to death as heretics, burning them at the stake while a crowd of lords and soldiers cheered for their deaths.

Now, when Ashlynn thought back to the way Nyrielle had reacted to the Holy Flame Blade when Ignatious brought it to her in High Fen City, she realized that it hadn’t just been the power of the sword that Nyrielle struggled with. It was the combination of deeply rooted, instinctual fears and lingering trauma that made the weapon so oppressive to the woman she loved more than life itself.

And yet, for the simple joy of cooking for her betrothed, Nyrielle was facing that fear, reaching into the hearth again and again, just so she could present Ashlynn with a meal cooked with her own hands.

”Nyri,” Ashlynn said softly as she watched the older woman preparing a pair of plates for them. ”I love you...”