Ash had also recognized the woman. He’d faded back a little, his own expression shuttering down. Noticing, the former shifter disengaged from Rose, holding out her hands.
“Do not be sorry,” she said. “Some scars cannot be helped. It was the only way.”
Ash held still for a moment. Then, slowly, he clasped her hands.
“I am still sorry,” he said. “I wish…”
He trailed off, his gaze sharpening. Rose sensed a sudden, strange surge of focus from the mate bond as his eyes flicked from the woman to herself and back again. His fingers tightened.
The woman drew in a short, shocked breath. “What—?”
Rose shielded her eyes as fire flared. Ice lunged forward—but Ash was already letting go of the woman’s hands. The wendigo caught his mate as she stumbled.
“What did you do?” he snarled at Ash, teeth lengthening into fangs. If he hadn’t been busy supporting his mate, Rose was fairly certain he would have been at the Phoenix’s throat. A flurry of snow swirled across the floor.
“Perhaps nothing,” Ash said. He’d gone a little pale, looking drained. Without conscious thought, Rose found that she was at his side. He leaned gratefully against her shoulder. “I’m not sure. It seemed worth a try…”
“Marietta.” Ice brushed his mate’s hair back, anxiously studying her face. “Are you all right? Marietta!”
Marietta drew in a deep, shuddering breath, opening her eyes. Something new burned there, a fire rekindled. Her hand crept up, pressing against her heart.
“She’s back,” she whispered. “She’s back!”
Her clothes dropped empty to the floor. A sleek golden ocelot leapt into Ice’s arms. He started laughing—pure, disbelieving, joyous laughter—as her rough pink tongue licked his face.
Rose stared from the happy couple to Ash. “How did you do that?”
“What was destroyed can be made anew.” His arm wrapped around her, holding her as tightly as Ice embraced his own mate. “You taught me that.”
Rose breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction, looking round the deserted pub. “Now that’s better.”
There were fresh scuff marks on the new floorboards, some from boots, a few from claws. Someone had spilled beer over the upholstery in one of the booths. There was a dent in the polished bar, where a friendly arm-wrestling tournament between the local wolf and hellhound packs had gotten a little too competitive.
From behind her, Ash chuckled. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against his chest. “You have an interesting definition of better.”
“It was too fresh and new before. Now it feels right.” She touched his right wrist. “Sometimes a few scars are necessary.”
“Mmmm.” He rested his chin on her shoulder, his warm breath tickling her ear. “I am not entirely sure the stain on the ceiling was necessary. Or even how Chase managed to achieve it.”
She laughed. “It was certainly a memorable keg stand.” She turned in his arms, hugging him back. “And party. But it’s good to be alone again.”
“Yes.” His hands slid lower over her hips. “It has been a tiring day.”
She pressed against him, grinning at the growing evidence of his arousal. “Evidently not that tiring.”
“Nonetheless.” Ash drew her hair aside, trailing soft kisses down her neck. She sucked in her breath. “I think the tidying up can wait until tomorrow. We should go to bed.”
That seemed like an excellent idea.
He drew her with him through the rebuilt pub. It was still strange to turn right instead of left, heading up the new staircase. The Full Moon was twice as big as before, and she wasn’t yet used to the expanded layout.
Their apartment occupied two full floors above the pub itself. It was light and airy, but cavernously empty. Few of her things had survived the fire, and all of Ash’s worldly goods fit inside a single cardboard box.
But they were going to need the space…
“I was thinking,” Rose said, tugging him into one of the bare, unfurnished spare rooms. “We should do this one next. Yellow, maybe.”
“Yellow?” Ash took advantage of the pause to kiss her again.