Page 4 of Unholy Gambit: Checkmate in Blood (A Paranormal Halloween #5)

Axel obtained permission to nudge the minds of the people assigning roles at the Haunted Swamp. A little gentle persuasion to ensure he’d be placed with his Aurélie.

Upon arrival, he dipped into the minds of the workers and volunteers, piecing together the reason this place existed, a little slice of nature. Protected. The Haunted Swamp was more than a spectacle. It was a major fundraiser.

He lingered near the wolf enclosure, appreciating the small pack. True wolves, not shifters.

At the scheduled meet-up time, Axel returned to the parking area, removed his coat to show the costume, and made his way to the group he’d been assigned.

He’d been told to dress as a zombie, but no one had mentioned makeup. He’d purchased clothing he could rip, and he thought he had the effect right, after watching some online videos.

At least one woman appreciated the way the torn fabric showcased his muscles, but Axel was only interested in making a good first impression to his Aurélie.

“Oh, wow, nice zombies,” Aurélie said, scanning the group.

Until her gaze landed on him.

She froze, and he slipped into her mind to see an instant flash of recognition: she knew him from her dreams.

Three seconds of shock, and she recovered. “I have some makeup for you,” she said evenly before breaking their gaze to look around the group. “Let’s get set up, and then we’ll run through the script and figure out what everyone’s doing.”

“Oh good,” Ruby said as she rounded a van.

“Looks like Aury’s getting ya’ll started.

She’ll be your point person since she’s done this so many times.

She recently had knee surgery, so we have a chair and footstool for her.

If someone can carry those down, you’ll recognize the zombie scene when you get there. Everyone, introduce yourselves!”

“Ya’ll go on down,” Aurélie told the group when Ruby left. “I’m going to hit the restroom one last time before I walk down. The two of us will be along shortly.”

When they were out of sight, she grasped his hand and pulled him between two tall SUVs. He’d have never let anyone else get away with touching him without permission. Dragging him like they owned him.

But her small fingers were warm, sure.

And the fact she touched him without fear endeared him all the more to her.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back all my life, and don’t you dare try to tell me it isn’t you.”

Her voice was low, urgent. “Your hair is different, but your face and body, your walk, the way you stand, it’s all the same as my dreams.”

She took a breath and barreled on. “The psychiatrists were full of shit! I knew it when I was a damned kid. My subconscious didn’t invent you! You were real .”

He was in her head, watching every flicker of memory and certainty, and she was absolutely sure. No hesitation. No gaps.

This wasn’t childhood fantasy, it was conviction.

If he denied it, even gently, he’d shatter the fragile bridge she’d dared to build. He’d destroy any hope of trust between them.

He couldn’t confirm the truth yet, but he could walk the edge of it.

“Out of curiosity,” he kept his voice soft, low. “How long was it before the dreams broke through the rewritten memories?”

She blinked. Then steadied.

His Aurélie. Brave, furious, unshakable. Not even a five-second pause.

“I’m not sure. Not right away. Maybe three to six months?” A little shrug. “Could’ve been longer. That whole stretch is a blur of surgeries, doctors, constant PT. My life was a nightmare.”

She exhaled sharply, and her scent went sour with grief. Pain. “The dream was the only thing that made sense.”

Her adorable brow furrowed. “Your accent. You just got here? And it’s not French.

Have you not been living in France this whole time?

” Before he could answer, she kept going.

“When we moved, I thought that was it. That I’d never find you, or you’d never find me, but I’ve been waiting. Knowing I’d see you again.”

Something in Axel’s gut relaxed. Decades of staying away, of waiting until she was ready for him, and now she was in front of him, still unafraid, still fierce. Still tethered to him even after all this time. Even after what he’d done.

But he needed to answer her, so he told her, “We have a job to do tonight, and I know you’ll follow through on your promise to your friend, so our talk can wait, but I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

“I’m taking you out to eat when we finish,” she said. “I don’t care if it’s IHOP, Waffle House, City Café, or another open-all-night place. If they have hot chocolate, I’ll be good.”

“Deal.” He lifted the two bags containing the chair and footstool, and fell into step beside her.

She hadn’t been wearing the brace before, and a dip inside her head told him it was precautionary for the uneven ground.

“Would you like my arm, to be sure your knee’s okay?” He bent his arm and offered it so she could hold his forearm.

She hesitated, studying him, and her thoughts told him she was considering his intent — help, or pity?

And her martial brain, the one that made her a rising international chess star, decided someone who’d rip the head off the bad guys rather than killing them the normal way wasn’t likely to pity someone recovering from knee surgery.

She grasped her small, warm hand around his arm, and he should’ve gone into her head, a slight mental adjustment to keep her from noticing he was the same temperature as the air around them.

But he didn’t.

He let her feel it. Let her register the difference.

And his Aurélie held on. No pause. No shock. Acceptance .

So he took a few moments to feel her heat wrapped around his forearm.

His heart doesn’t have to beat, and yet, it skipped into action. Hard .

A slight inner adjustment, and it smoothed out.

“It feels like I’ve always known you,” she said quietly, “and yet, I don’t even know your name.”

“Axel.”

“My friends call me Aury.”

“You’ve been my Aurélie for so long in my head, it’ll take some time to get used to thinking of you as Aury.”

“How could I be yours?”

“I’m not sure it’s explainable, but I can try when we have some privacy.”

* * * *

Aury felt as if she was inside a vision, coming face to face with the man who’d appeared in her dreams a thousand times. More, probably.

Except this time, the man standing in front of her was real. Cold, but real.

Cold as in no emotions, but also physically cold. His arm was like touching granite on a cool, fall night — and this night fit the bill.

She was bundled up in flesh-colored long-johns, a fleece-lined tan unitard, and layers of zombie clothes. The ancient wool coat had been a thrift-store find after the mall’s coats were all too fashionable, and she was happy for its warmth.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with all the pipe-pieces when he took the chair from its sack, so she took it from his hands, quickly assembled it, and found a flat spot of ground.

“Sit, so I can do your makeup.”

He sat, and she went to work, brushing on the super-dark contour she’d bought just for this purpose, to make her look hollowed out and dirty.

As a test, she thought at him. It stood to reason he’d erased her memories, and that was why she dreamed him but didn’t remember him.

If the dreams were accurate, he’d known what she was thinking all those years ago, so it seemed logical he’d hear her if she aimed her thoughts to talk to him.

Her heart thudded once, hard , like it wanted out of her chest, but she kept her face neutral and her brush steady.

No point letting him see the gamble she was taking.

You haven’t aged a day in eighteen years, you can overwrite memories, and you can rip the head off super-strong monsters.

He didn’t respond, so she tried again. I don’t think you’re Thor or Loki, or anyone of that ilk. You don’t feel like an angel, and demons don’t usually rescue children from monsters.

He looked at her with interest, and she didn’t think she imagined feeling him in her head, listening, but she couldn’t be certain. She took a moment to consider whether there was an opposite to vampires. Buffy, she supposed.

The only other thing I can think of is vampire, but the thing that attacked Maman was a vampire, if my dream is correct. That would make you either Van Helsing or Buffy.

He stared at her a solid twenty seconds before finally responding with a faint wisp of amusement in his strong, mental voice. Based on popular culture, that’s a rational and intelligent conclusion. However, popular culture isn’t often entirely accurate.

“Which means I’m not right,” she said with her voice this time, a little faster than necessary because holy fuck , he’d not only heard her thoughts, he’d answered them in her fucking head.

It was like having the dream version of him step into the room and breathe down her neck. Confirmation the damned nightmares were the reality, though he’d already done that just by showing up, but fuck , this was more.

“I love the way your mind thinks,” he told her. “Here’s a promise. I will never lie to you. At the present time, I can’t share certain truths with you, but I’ll be honest when that’s the case, rather than telling an untruth.”

“I appreciate that.” She looked around and decided the rest of what she had to say shouldn’t be said out loud.

She didn’t think anyone was listening, but if they were, she didn’t want to give the impression she’d lost her mind.

It won’t do me much good to promise to be honest, since I’m assuming you can hear my thoughts, see my memories.

When he didn’t respond, she brushed some shading on his bare shoulder, and then between the muscles of his ripped abs, deepening the hollows until he looked starved and mean. He was so pale, the effect was starker than she’d intended, but she didn’t want to use her fingers to blend it.