She stared down at him, and it was like she could suddenly see through time. She saw him twenty years younger—hair sandy-brown without a hint of gray, face unlined by grief. Still solemn, still controlled, but with his fire burning close to the surface, lighting his features with warmth and power.

She knew that face. Knew his name. Knew who he was.

“You’re Blaze,” she said, numbly.

His face reflected her own dumbstruck disbelief. For a moment, he just gaped up at her, eyes wide with shock.

Then he whispered, “You remember.” His open-mouthed astonishment transmuted into pure, shining joy. “You remember!”

He was still holding her, still inside her. She leaped off him as if he’d burned her, scrambling backward from the man who was suddenly, terribly, not her Ash.

“No, Rose, wait!” He sat bolt upright, reaching out to her. “I know this must be confusing, but—”

“Don’t touch me!”

He stopped at her shriek, hands freezing in mid-air. She scrabbled further away from him, chest heaving, until her back pressed against the wall. Her head was like a shaken snow globe, whirling with fragments of memories.

Memories that she’d forgotten.

“You made me forget you.” She clutched her head, trying to make sense of the flashing images. “You burned my memories, you burned my mind. You made me forget you!”

“It was the only way.” His hands were still outstretched, fingers open toward her, trembling. She’d never seen his face so raw and unguarded. His eyes shone with an emotion too deep to name. “I had to burn every trace of myself from your mind. It was the only way to stop Corbin from being able to find you. It was the only way to keep you safe.”

She huddled into a ball, shaking with shock. “I would rather,” she said, her voice muffled in her arms, “have died.”

“It was the only way to keep you safe,” he said again. “Rose, oh, Rose. You truly remember me?”

She scrunched her eyes shut against a barrage of impressions—a frost-covered window, a blazing inferno, walls of a building falling away from rising wings. The scent of scorched cloth, the sweet burn of his touch. Cinnamon and cream, a laugh, fire turning snow into steam. His voice in the dark. The heat of his mouth.

Blaze.

Her mate.

“My mate,” she said out loud.

“Yes,” he breathed. “My mate, my Rose, yes.”

Not our mate! Her swan’s scream split through the chaos in her mind. Its furious wings beat back the old memories, fighting them, refusing them. Our mate is gone, our mate left us, this is not him! Not our mate!

Her throat felt sliced open. She couldn’t speak, choked by pain. She remembered, remembered what he’d been to her. Remembered how bright and fierce he’d burned in her mind, how he’d lit up her entire soul.

Now…her heart was a barren, charred wasteland. And it had been for twenty years. She’d huddled over cold ashes, and thought herself content, because she’d forgotten she’d ever known fire.

She lifted her head, looking at him. The young man she’d loved so passionately, the older one she’d loved no less deeply. She saw them both at once. Blaze reignited in Ash’s careworn face, hope burning bright in those eternal eyes.

She jerked her gaze away, unable to bear the sight of him. Sliding off the bed, she snatched up their discarded clothes.

“Get dressed,” she snarled, hurling his uniform at him. “And get out.”

He caught his garments, but made no move to put them on. “Rose, you remember me. That should be impossible, I was sure it was impossible, but my fire touched you just now, and you remembered—”

He stopped abruptly, his breath catching. The joy transfiguring his stern features faded, turning into horror.

“Ten years.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, hiding his expression. “I wasted ten years.”

“Twenty.” Rose could barely do up the buttons of her blouse, her fingers were shaking so much with rage. “Twenty years, Ash—Blaze—oh, for heaven’s sake, what am I supposed to call you now?”

He dropped his hands again, emerging looking gray and weary. “Ash will do. That’s how everyone else knows me, after all. And I couldn’t have returned to you earlier. I had to hunt down the warlocks, had to make sure none of them were alive to follow me to you. It took me a decade.”

More fragments of memory flurried up in her head—cages, despair, an ocelot’s spotted fur. She remembered her own righteous fury, how she’d burned to bring the warlocks to justice. Her own raw, young passions washed over her, disconcerting in their intensity. When had she stopped feeling things so deeply?

When he burned our mate bond.

“Well, at least one good thing came of this,” she muttered. “I’m glad you destroyed all those evil monsters.”

His mouth tightened. His fingers crept up to rub the old scar around his right wrist. “I didn’t. I never found Corbin.”

She stared at him. “But you came back to me.”

“I’d made a promise,” he said, very quietly. His shoulders dropped in a long sigh. “ I shouldn’t have come back to you. We never found a trace of him, not in all those years.”

“We?”

“I didn’t hunt alone.” He hesitated. “Do you remember the wendigo?”

A blizzard in July. Icicles and antlers. She flinched. “You teamed up with that thing?”

“He…wasn’t what he seemed.” He shook his head. “In any case, we killed every warlock from the base, tracking them down one by one. Except for Corbin. Ice—the wendigo—was certain he had to be dead. He wanted to give up the hunt. And I…I’d reached a point where I couldn’t bear another day without you.”

He looked away, down at the clothes still draped across his lap. He absently smoothed a thumb over the fire service crest embroidered on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to stay. I just wanted to know that you were well. That you’d made a life for yourself, like you’d dreamed. So I came to England. I found your pub.”

His voice went soft. “And when I walked through the door, you smiled at me, whole-heartedly, as though you’d been waiting for me all that time. Even though you didn’t know me.”

She remembered the first time she’d seen him—no, not the first time, oh, this was far too confusing—she remembered when she’d first laid eyes on Ash. How she’d looked up at the door just before he opened it, though she hadn’t sensed anyone approaching. How her stomach had given an odd little flip at the sight of his tall, quiet form, even before she’d seen his face. How her swan had said not our mate, the way it always did…but how her heart had said otherwise.

That wasn’t a new memory. She’d worn that one smooth, reliving it night after night. Trying to decide if she was just being fanciful, or if she really had felt that strange, bright spark when their eyes met.

Now she knew that she had.

Even now, his broad shoulders and defined arms lit an undeniable heat low in her belly. She tried to look at his hands instead, but that was even worse. She couldn’t help remembering how those strong, callused fingers had caressed her inner thigh…

She swiveled on her heel, clearing her throat. “Will you please put some damn pants on?”

To her relief, she heard a rustle of cloth. She pretended an intense interest in smoothing out creases in her skirt, determinedly not looking.

When she risked a peek, Ash was sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt. And he was Ash now. It was like he’d put on that still, silent persona along with the uniform. She couldn’t see Blaze anymore in his shuttered, frozen face.

Somehow, it was even more difficult to talk to him now that he was fully dressed. Sitting next to him on the bed would have been far too intimate, so she leaned awkwardly on her dresser instead. She folded her arms.

“If Corbin was still out there, why did you stay?” It came out aggressive, accusing. She didn’t care. “After going through all this to keep me safe, I’m surprised you risked hanging around.”

“I shouldn’t have.” Ash didn’t look at her, still concentrating—or, she suspected, pretending to concentrate—on doing up his cuffs. “But I found I couldn’t leave. Not again. I told myself that I wasn’t endangering you, not as long as I was careful not to get too close to you. None of the warlocks knew your name or appearance, after all. I tried to keep my distance from you so that even if I was being watched, the warlocks would have no reason to suspect anything.”

That’s why he’d kept his distance from everyone, Rose realized. Why he’d maintained a level of reserve even from Alpha Team. If he showed that he cared for anyone, the warlocks could have used them as a hostage.

“Do you think you are being watched?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Otherwise I wouldn’t have…” He made a vague gesture, indicating both himself and her. Then he let out a short, ironic laugh, rubbing his forehead. “And quite likely would have gone another twenty years certain that I’d destroyed our bond past repair. I truly am an idiot.”

“We agree on one thing, at least,” Rose muttered.

“Rose.” He dropped his hands again, fists clenching. He looked at her at last, eyes burning with intensity. “What I did was unforgivable. I know that. But if there’s a chance, no matter how small, that it can be undone—”

His cellphone went off.

Rose had never heard Ash swear before. Even Chase would have been impressed by the way he blistered the air now. His hand automatically flew to his cellphone, but he checked himself before drawing it out of its holster.

“No, go ahead,” Rose said as he hesitated. She sighed. “I know that’s your work ringtone.”

He snarled out a last bitter profanity, but answered the call. “Fire Commander Ash.”

The words This had better been an emergency hung unspoken in the air. From the way Ash’s face went utterly expressionless, it was.

“Understood,” he bit off curtly. “On my way.”

“I take it something’s burning,” Rose said as he slid his phone back into his belt.

He nodded, standing up. “Apartment block. It’s giving even Alpha Team trouble.” He hesitated. “Rose—”

“Of course you have to go,” she interrupted him. She grimaced, pinching the bridge of her nose. She still had a literal headache from the new memories jostling for her attention. “And to be honest, I really need some space from you right now. You’ve had twenty years to come to terms with this. I haven’t.”

He let out his breath as if he’d been punched in the gut. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself pressed back against the wall by his hard, scorching body. His hand cupped the side of her face—infinitely gently, but with a leashed strength that took her breath away.

“I will never walk away from you again,” he whispered, lips brushing against hers. “Never.”

Then he was gone.

Our mate is gone. Her swan keened in grief. Not our mate, not anymore. Our mate is gone.

The room seemed suddenly cold and barren. She couldn’t bear to even look at the rumpled bed, let alone make it.

She fled to her living room, but that was just as bad. The two chairs opposite each other, the two empty glasses on the table, even the pictures on the walls…everywhere she turned, she was reminded of him.

Memories glittered in her mind, sharp and jagged, threatening.

“Tea,” she said out loud, to fight back the rising whispers. “That’s what I need. A nice cup of tea.”

That was what you did when the world was falling apart around you. You made tea.

The first step down the darkened staircase nearly undid her—she stumbled, suddenly seeing another staircase, a descent into the unknown. She caught herself on the banister, clenching her fingers around smooth, worn wood.

Not cold metal. She wasn’t back there. Wasn’t searching through that terrible prison, feeling the pull of the mate bond with every beat of her heart…

“Tea,” she said again, her voice thin and panicky in the dark.

Her swan wrapped comforting wings around her. Holding onto her animal like a child clutching a teddy bear, Rose staggered to the kitchen.

Mug, kettle, teapot. The familiar ritual was soothing. This was something she could do without thought.

She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to.

She wrapped her hands around the hot mug—

His heated palm pressing against her own, fingers intertwining—

—and dropped it.

China smashed on the tiled floor. Scalding liquid splashed, only just missing her bare feet.

Her swan hissed at the crowding memories, driving them back. Rose drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Then she knelt to pick up the shattered pieces.

She was just wiping up the last of the spill when she heard the front door creak open. Her heart lurched—but then she caught a swirl of jumbled emotions from whoever had entered the pub. It couldn’t be Ash. She’d never been able to sense him.

Except, of course, she had. Twenty years ago, he’d been the only person she could sense. He’d changed that, changed everything. She’d gained her strange empathic power at the exact moment he’d scorched her soul. Ever since she’d lost the mate bond, her flailing mind had been desperately trying to connect with someone, anyone, everyone…

She shuddered away from the realization. She could have reached out with her empathic sense to identify her visitor, but she abruptly never wanted to use her twisted ability ever again. Hastily scrubbing her hands across her face to dash away the betraying tears, she rose.

“I’m sorry,” she began as she went into the main room of her pub. “But I’m closed tonight—Wayne?”

She wasn’t entirely sure for a second it was him. His back was curled in a painful-looking hunch, his stiff hands nearly at the same level as his knees. His shabby hat hid his eyes, but couldn’t conceal the distorted line of his jaw. Jagged, protruding teeth forced his mouth into a permanent, half-open snarl. Drool trickled down his matted, graying beard.

“Wayne, what’s happened?” Rose hurried round the bar, reaching out to him as he swayed. “Sit down. You need a doctor, a shifter doctor, right now. I’ll call Hugh.“

“No!” It came out as more like a bark than a human voice. “Rose…I’m sorry.”

He raised his head, and Rose gasped, recoiling. Wolf eyes shone yellow in his half-shifted face, filled with shame and agony.

“Run,” Wayne gritted out, his fangs cutting his lips. “Run!”

Too late, she saw his bared right arm…and the intricate tattoo twining around it.

Bristling black runes, edged with crimson where they cut into his skin…

She knew those marks. Now she knew them.

She tried to turn, to flee, but her feet were stuck to the floor. Scarlet ropes of light twisted around her ankles, holding her fast. Wayne moaned in pain as the glowing coils rapidly spread to bind her whole body.

Her swan beat inside her heart, but the magical cage held her trapped in her own skin. She couldn’t shift, couldn’t move so much as a muscle.

The front door of her pub creaked again.

A man stepped through. He was tall and lean and old, with thin white hair brushed back from a high forehead. Behind his scholarly spectacles, his gray eyes were cold as a winter sky. Blood-red light wove around his left hand, the runes running up his arm glowing with power.

She’d never seen him before…but she knew who he was.

“The Phoenix’s mate,” Corbin said. “We meet at last.”