Sorcerer's Legacy

by Caroline Spear

  He glanced at Myron, wearing a “Trixie” nametag, who rewarded him with a bland look that revealed nothing.

  Ian arched an eyebrow at Sage. “Sage—”

  “Of course, Chairman. Myron,” she said, her voice like a chime on a breeze, “the chairman’s key, please.”

  The youngest Rowan oozed sweetness. He almost wished he were young enough to pursue her. Almost. It had been a very long time since he’d had much of a sex drive. She would be a diverting companion, not a lover. His latest clumsy attempt at acquiring an appropriate mate had proved him too old for the game. He should have known just because a woman fit the part, such as his son’s teacher who already loved his child, didn’t mean she wanted a marriage of convenience.

  His gaze flicked to the redhead from the boat with the enchanting eyes and charming blush. She stood with a staff member by the third elevator. The one reserved for humans. He shoved away the surprisingly strong urge to follow her.

  A holiday tryst wouldn’t solve issues. Even if she were the first to stir his libido—like a tornado—he didn’t need the distraction from this trip’s purpose. He’d come here for one reason only. Regain his center and life. Get his control back. He dragged his attention back to the Rowans.

  “Thank you. And please, don’t call me Chairman this week. I’m just Ian Branson.”

  Cemil, eyebrow raised, seemed to understand his request to separate from his position for his time here. “Absolutely, Mr. Branson.”

  He snorted softly as he took the offered key from “Trixie.” Grabbing his suitcase before anyone could accompany him to his room, he turned on his heel to make his escape. The sooner he started his relaxation and rehabilitation, the better.

  Ignoring the glares of the humans herded by spa personnel into a loose line by the left elevator, he pushed the button for the middle lift. Each elevator only accessed one floor, keeping the paras and humans separate, with the right shaft reserved for Rowan siblings only.

  He had the second elevator to himself. The portal for the paranormals did not open until the humans settled in for herb-induced naps. Sage prepared potpourri and candles specifically for each guest’s needs and placed them in their rooms prior to arrival. He could wander the grounds undisturbed or relax in his room.

  Alone.

  His heart ached for Allan. He missed his little boy terribly. Coming home to his six-year-old son after a frustrating day dealing with the hidden world of the paranormal kept him sane. When Allan’s arms wrapped around his neck and his head rested on his shoulder he understood why he had to serve the paranormal world. Protecting innocent lives, para and human, was his life’s work. Centuries ago his ancestor Myrddin walked the razor’s edge between the human and magical worlds. Ian must bear the same mantle of responsibility as his birthright and his curse. Until he had his steely control back, he was no good to anyone.

  He fit the old-fashioned key into the lock and let himself into his room. No magnetic locks or electronic security at Wiccan Haus. Comfortable and spacious, the accommodations suited his needs. Naturally one of the resort’s few cabins would have been preferable, but unavailable given his last-minute reservation.

  He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the fluffy down duvet. All he needed right now was a soft bed and solitude.

  The stress and strain of the last months dragged his eyelids shut. Sage’s herbs or his age catching up with him? Undeniable weariness pulled at his soul and instead of fighting the steady slumberous slide into darkness, for once he released the iron grip on his control and slept.

  ***

  “You must safeguard our legacy.”

  Ian waded through waist-deep fog to the boulder where Myrddin stood. “I am doing my best, Grandfather.”

  The old man in long black robes shrugged his shoulder and jerked his hand to the side in dismissal. “You do nothing.” Myrddin stroked his long white beard, spearing him with an intense stare. “You must find—”

  Loud pounding reverberated, jarring him awake. Jerked from the dream, he rose and ran a hand impatiently through his hair as he strode to the door. Yanking it open, he faced a stone-faced Rekkus.

  “Mr. Branson, it is time for dinner.” From the curl of the big man’s lip, apparently he didn’t relish the responsibility of retrieving him.

  Ian swallowed the frustration at the loss of Myrddin’s message in the dream so he could force a courteous response. “Thank you, Rekkus. I appreciate you taking the time to personally come to my door.”

  Again, the man’s lip curled as he imagined it did in his weretiger form.

  “We go door-to-door waking the humans. I didn’t imagine we’d have to wake you, too.” Perhaps an insinuation he was old or weak like a human?

  Ian choked back his outrage and said through gritted teeth, “Thank you all the same.” He shut the door without another word.

  Questions raced through his head. What did Myrddin expect him to do? He protected the family legacy—both humans and paras—as the great wizard’s descendants had always done. What more could he do?

  After shaving as quickly as he dared with a safety razor, he changed his clothes and headed down to dinner. He hoped to avoid dining with anyone this first evening. Without absolute control, he’d never make it through a meal at a tableful of vamps.

  ***

  “Excuse me.” Becca spoke softly, hating to bother the woman at the front desk.

  The pretty gypsy woman looked up from the cards she shuffled. She laid down five cards in a row before replying.

  “Yes, Becca. How may I help you?”

  Becca blinked, surprised. Was the woman psychic? She chuckled, not bold enough to ask her burning questions. Yet. “Would you please tell me how to get to the library?”

  With an enigmatic smile that rivaled the Mona Lisa’s, the woman pointed. “Opposite the dining room; follow the hallway to the end. You should be in the dining room. Guests are expected to take evening meals there, you know.”

  “Oh, yes. I stepped out to powder my nose and thought I’d scope out the library while I was at it. I’m a librarian.” Becca squinted at her nametag then raised her eyebrow. At check-in she had been Trixie. Now her nametag read “Bryce.”

  “Oh. Sorry, Becca. I’m Myron.” The woman smiled at Becca.

  Becca grinned and relaxed. “Nice to meet you, Myron. And thanks.”

  More at ease, she followed Myron’s directions.

  On the way, she peeked into the dining room to see if the handsome gentleman from the ferry had arrived for dinner yet. At a table on the side opposite where she had been seated was the man who’d inspired her fanciful heart to wonder at the possibilities. With him sat a perfect but very pale couple.

  She cringed at the utter boredom on his face.

  He glanced up, catching her staring again.

  She quickly darted away, determined to find the library before he started to think she was stalking him, before the staff herded her back to the dining room.

  Down a pale-yellow hallway, a set of imposing double wood doors guarded a room beyond. Her pulse fluttered. Such grand doors must protect a wondrous collection.

  Like entering a sacred place, she slowly pushed one of the doors to slip inside. Libraries were her temples. Knowledge equaled power—the power to inform, inspire, persuade. Books had the ability to transport her to another place and time. Characters were as real as the people who walked the solid earth around her. In awe, she gazed at the vaulted ceilings, covered in gilded planking. She pushed the door closed, wanting to savor the moment in privacy.

  The scent of rich leather and aging parchment drew her toward the books on the shelves. Wonder mingled with awe as she craned her neck to see the upper bookshelves, giggling with anticipation at climbing to the top on the built-in sliding ladder.

  Almost giddy with excitement at the treasure of knowledge locked in the books, she traced her fingers over the bindings.

  Where to start? This library�
�s size made a quick search impossible. There were only a few minutes before the yoga class began. She quickly dismissed the classics and tomes of philosophy. Many she’d read. Wonderful first editions abounded but didn’t assist her.

  “Help me, Mother,” she whispered and rubbed the cameo at her neck gently.

  Her fingers tingled as she touched one book and she leaned closer to read the title. Black Book of Carmarthen. The cracked leather binding on the manuscript showed repeated use. This volume had been someone’s well-loved possession at some point.

  “Go ahead, take a look.”

  She jerked and squealed as she spun on her heel.

  A tall, dark man leaned in the open doorway. With a formidable presence on his expressionless face and his squinting, assessing gaze, he intimidated her. He pushed off the doorframe and strolled to her. As he walked, he slowly stripped off the glove from his right hand. His gaze kept her frozen in place. What would he do? Should she run? Would anyone hear her if she screamed?

  The stranger stopped a few feet from her and his mouth lifted at one corner in a slight lopsided smile.

  She released the breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding.

  “I hope I didn’t scare you.” He offered his right hand. “I’m Cyrus Rowan. One of the owners.”

  She clasped his hand, shaking it with false confidence and smiling back at him. “I’m Becca Jones. Librarian.”

  He held her hand for a moment longer, staring at her. He cocked his head as if she were a puzzle then released her.

  “Becca Jones,” he repeated, one dark eyebrow raised. “Much more than a librarian, Becca.” He reached past her to retrieve the book that had caught her interest. “Here. May you find the answers you seek.” He handed her the book and walked out.

  What the hell?

  Why had Cyrus Rowan, owner of Wiccan Haus, lent her a priceless text without blinking an eye?

  After glancing at her watch, she hurried out of the library with the ancient book pressed to her chest like the treasure it was.

  ***

  Kill me now.

  Ian stretched his arms over his head while gauging the yoga instructor, Trixie. Young, buff, and sexy, she exuded a serenity gained from years of yoga. She smiled at him. He smiled in response, irritated the tall, ethereal beauty didn’t inspire the same instant lust the redhead did.

  Becca had stopped by the dining room archway to see him. Not to talk to him, just to see him. She’d blushed when he caught her staring, and he’d smiled the rest of the meal despite being stuck with the self-absorbed vamps.

  He scowled now.

  There could be nothing between them. His responsibilities to humans and paras to maintain a delicate balance through a strict code of ethics and behavior rose above his baser needs. Hell, he couldn’t even control his own abilities right now.

  Soft music drifted on the air, rich with birdsong and Celtic fiddle. Once he’d practiced yoga daily to compensate for the constant onslaught of others’ feelings. Already, his mind released, his muscles relaxed. He’d avoided the mental quiet of yoga; he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Meditation made it too easy to lose himself in anger, anxiety, and grief.

  He settled on his mat, adjusting his shorts for propriety. Trixie eased down on her mat, facing him, and folded herself into the traditional lotus pose.

  What was she waiting for?

  Being irritated certainly wasn’t the right frame of mind to practice yoga so he closed his eyes, inhaled, and counted to ten. He’d avoided yoga since his wife’s death, preferring the pure mind-numbing physical exhaustion running and kickboxing afforded to drain his tension. Yoga allowed too much time in his own head, but he came here for healing so he had to trust the Rowans and their staff knew what they were doing.

  He exhaled slowly, determined to make the best of this experience, and opened his eyes.

  Legs. And pretty coral-painted toes.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Was it really so much to hope for a private session? When he inhaled, the scent of vanilla and lavender filled his head.

  Her.

  He ground his teeth to keep the curses swirling in his brain from escaping out his mouth.

  Is nothing sacred? he silently asked the gods, casting his gaze skyward.

  “Namaste. Welcome. I’m Trixie.”

  He averted his eyes as the copper-haired woman sank to her mat and crossed her legs in lotus, mirroring the instructor. By the gods, how could he endure an entire session looking at her and maintain his sanity?

  She stuttered a bit, revealing her nervousness. “I’m Becca.”

  “Nice to meet you, Becca.”

  Two sets of eyes stared at him expectantly.

  “I’m Ian.”

  Wow, socialize much, idiot?

  Trixie wrinkled her brow for a moment. She must have expected more from him as well.

  “Okay. This first evening we’re only working on breathing and stilling our minds. Just a short session. Tomorrow we move up in intensity in body and mind. There are towels and water in the corner. Take what you need.” She pointed to the mini-fridge at the far end of the room next to the table laden with perfectly rolled towels. “And if you need a block to aid in some positions, we have those, too.”

  He glanced at Becca who filled out a pair of black yoga pants and tight emerald-green tank top to perfection.

  Damn.

  He folded his legs into what his son called “crisscross apple sauce” and pulled images of anything cold into his mind. Icebergs, igloos, Popsicles. Why, oh why, did his libido have to come roaring back to life on this trip? Becca, his inner voice said, taunting him. He’d get through this session and make sure they didn’t have a lesson together again.

  The fates have a plan. Forget their plan. He had free will and he would not get involved with this woman.

  “Ian?”

  He shook his head. Ah, hell. How long had she been talking to him? “Um. Yes?”

  “Is everything all right?” Trixie asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

  “Fine. Just fine. Let’s breathe, shall we?”

  He didn’t dare glance at Becca, whose worry washed over him in inescapable, warm waves. Sweet, really, that she would worry about a complete stranger. He tried to close himself to her but couldn’t. Concern mixed with an intense sexual awareness, an attraction. He shouldn’t let her in but his balance was so off, he couldn’t fend off her emotions, so he consciously opened himself.

  God, such potent emotions. Exhilarating and intoxicating, those emotions poured into him. He savored the power.

  So much anxiety, fear of anything new, her empathy for others she didn’t know or understand. He recognized a potential as an empath from the deep well of compassion she hadn’t tapped. Maybe didn’t know how to access.

  He shook his head clear. Such an anxious woman did not need a new problem. Nor did he.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat from the door interrupted his thoughts. “Excuse me, Trixie. We need you in the lobby.” The employee hesitated as he glanced at Becca for a second before turning his attention back to the instructor. “There’s a problem with the feeding schedule.”

  Ian read between the coded lines.

  Vamps. Damn blood suckers refuse to follow rules and everyone suffers.

  Trixie rose effortlessly from the floor and turned to Ian. “Would you lead the meditation, Chair—I mean, Ian? I’ll be right back.” She followed the other staff member out the door without waiting for his answer.

  With no other choice, he moved his mat to face Becca. He could do this. He inhaled deeply before raising his gaze to look at her.

  “We can cancel.” She sensed his hesitation. A dead man could sense his hesitation.

  Pride forced him to straighten his spine. He folded his legs into lotus pose and glared at her. “No, we’ll do this.”

  She rewarded him with a cocky smile, revealing a dimple. Determined not to be
charmed by her, he deviated from Trixie’s prescribed easy breathing lesson and led her in asanas more challenging to the mind and body. At least to his less limber body.

  During the cool down, he realized Becca’s anxiety had vanished during the session. Her emotions calmed, and he didn’t need to erect a wall against her to function. Perhaps she would be a good yoga buddy.

  The yoga was good for him, too, simultaneously energizing and relaxing his body and soothing his mind. If only her rear wasn’t so perfect or her breasts so alluring. Her cleavage had enticed him every time she leaned toward him. He couldn’t ignore the full bounty right in front of him.

  She popped up, demonstrating his workout hadn’t overly strained her, and sauntered to the fridge. As she returned, she tossed a bottle of water to him, along with a towel.

  “Thanks, Ian. That was fun.”

  Fun? Damn. His body already ached in places he’d long forgotten existed, and she thought it was fun?

  Running and kickboxing got him through his stressful days. His flexibility suffered as he would surely suffer tomorrow.

  Unable to think of anything witty, he said, “Any time.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “Uh. Okay. Good night.”

  She swept out of the room, taking with her his peace of mind.

  Chapter Three

  Bleary eyed from a restless night of tossing and turning, Ian woke with an aching head and sore body. A glance out the window confirmed the weather reflected his mood. Huge drops pounded against the glass and dark clouds made the morning like night.

  The whole bloody night thoughts of her—Becca—crowded his mind, blocking all his efforts to escape her spell. Damned attractive with her pinup body and shy glances, his body throbbed with undeniable need. He hadn’t been this randy since he’d first been with Georgia Blankenship at the tender age of fifteen.

  As he stripped off his pajama pants and pulled on a rugby shirt and khakis for the day, he glared at the ceiling and, in effect, the fates themselves.

  You listen to me. I don’t want her. I don’t need her. I’ll pick my own damn woman.