Sorcerer's Legacy

by Caroline Spear

  The black semi-automatic jammed against the bodyguard’s ribs—

  The blast deafened her, freezing her in place. In an instant, in place of her hero, a huge, furry beast roared and brought the blade down, felling the evil man with one forceful stab to the heart. Both slid to the ground, mortally wounded. She blinked and the bodyguard was there, instead of the beast, crimson spurting from his thigh. From the volume pooling on the floor, he’d die in minutes.

  She pushed off the wall she’d been glued to and hurried to him, pressing hard against the red stain on his jeans.

  “Cassie. You should go.”

  She met his potent, sea-blue gaze, caught in how pale his face had turned, struggling to make the pieces of what she’d witnessed fit in her reality. They didn’t make sense. One second, he wasn’t there, the next he was. There was no way she wouldn’t have seen him round the corner.

  “No.”

  His eyes slid shut and his head rolled to the side.

  Fear balled in her throat, choking her, as she checked the wound. It still gushed, so she pressed harder.

  “Cassie, I’m sorry….” His voice, just a whisper, trailed off.

  He was gone.

  The boat rocked, knocking her against the rail and jarring her from her thoughts. Grateful for the much-needed distraction, she focused on the island ahead.

  This weather was strange. March shouldn’t be this warm, but she gratefully accepted the rays of the sun beaming like a beacon of hope to lead her out of the depths of despair. This last week seemed like scenes from a horror film.

  A lunatic had attacked her school. When questioned by the police, she’d told them the man had appeared out of thin air. She’d told them the truth, and they’d held her for psychiatric observation. A doctor determined she suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Locked up for her own safety, held for observation, her only visitor had been Ian Branson, Allan’s father.

  Her time in the psych ward gave her time to deal with the deaths of some of her friends at work, but also innocent children who’d done nothing wrong. They’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Counselors had forced her to examine not only the events, scene by horrifying scene, but also grilled her on her claim she’d seen a man appear like a wraith.

  Thank God she hadn’t told the police or doctors she’d seen the rescuer morph into a hairy creature. They’d lock her up for good and throw away the key.

  Unfortunately, she’d also had time to dwell on the passing of her father and how heartbroken she’d been. She’d always been a daddy’s girl. When her dad passed, she’d discovered how little she had in common with her mother. They’d drifted apart, living separate lives under the same roof until she’d gone to college. Other than the yearly holiday calls, her mother was a stranger.

  Mr. Branson was closer to a relative at this point than her mother. He’d brought her real food when he visited every day. He’d arranged for her release to a therapeutic retreat at Wiccan Haus.

  She’d find a better way to express her appreciation than the muttered “thank you” she gave him when he told her. She’d find a way to lock away the heartbreaking images of a solitary man with a secret who had saved her and Allan. She’d find a way to move on, with or without the mystical help on the island.

  Surviving her father’s death as a teenager and her mother’s emotional distance made her strong. She would survive this tragedy, too.

  ***

  “What do you mean I’ve been reassigned?”

  May the gods help him, he had certainly earned this break and rehabilitation at the island spa. He’d paid dearly, almost losing his life this time, which was saying a lot because he was hard to kill.

  Trevor Greene’s leg ached, even with the ointments Sage, the youngest of the four Rowan siblings who owned the island, prepared especially for him. Herbs were her specialty and she was a miracle worker, but his wounds required extensive, hands-on treatments by both Sage and Dana.

  Not that he minded having sexy women put their hands on his leg, massaging almost to his groin. Had Rekkus known he’d sported a hard-on when his mate, Dana, was working his weakened muscles, he wouldn’t have much left to rehabilitate. Rekkus wouldn’t care he was fantasizing those hands belonged to a sexy blonde teacher. The weretiger would eviscerate him without a second thought.

  And since Rekkus, the island’s head of security, now stood over him eyeing the pool longingly, he dragged his focus back to the matter at hand.

  The huge man shrugged. “I don’t know why, and I don’t care. I brought you the message from the mainland when I picked up a special guest at the dock.”

  Trevor heaved himself up from the edge, favoring his right leg, and stood. Even Rekkus, at six foot five, had to look up at Trevor. He nodded toward the envelope in the man’s hand, assuming it was the message.

  “Are those my orders?”

  Rekkus glanced down at the envelope with Sage’s name scrawled on the front.

  “No. Your message is verbal.”

  “When do I have to go back?”

  A slight smirk curled the other man’s lip. “You don’t. Your new charge is right here on the island.”

  Special guest? Shit, is it one of the Syndicate’s big wigs this time? Can’t be. I can’t even successfully protect a little boy. They wouldn’t give me one of the chairmen to guard.

  Trevor grew wary as Rekkus’ smirk turned almost wickedly amused.

  Oh, shit. It must be someone really pathetic for them to entrust their care to me. Or one of the teenage kids of the councilmen. Kill me now.

  “Well, do you want to know who it is?” While they weren’t exactly friends, they were both in the protection business and had developed a mutual respect, so if the man was almost laughing outright, it must be pretty damn mortifying.

  Resigned, he hung his head and sighed. I might as well find out. “Okay, smartass. Who is it?”

  “Cassidy Sinclair.”

  Everything in him froze: respiration, heartbeat, thoughts. Everything. Except that twitch in his swim trunks.

  Rekkus’ heavy hand on his shoulder shook him back to reality. “Remember her, I guess?”

  How could I forget her? Her silky, honey-gold hair, those hazel eyes, that perfect body. He hadn’t gone an hour without thinking of her. Before and after. After the attack. After his failure….

  “I can’t guard her. She thinks I’m dead.”

  Weak, but it was one reason he shouldn’t be protecting her. Besides the staff on the island and the chairman’s own security team, nobody knew he was alive and, for now, the chairman had decided to keep it that way.

  Rekkus rocked back on his heels, his left hand jamming the envelope in the back pocket of his black jeans. “That’s not my call. There is this one thing, Trevor.” His mouth twisted as if he didn’t know how to say what needed to be said. “The problem is that she’s been in a mental ward.”

  Every muscle in Trevor’s body tightened as he processed this new information. “You met her. What do you think? Does she need a psychiatrist?”

  He waited while his companion drew out the tension. “Well, she says she saw the man who dove in front of her and the boy materialize out of thin air. Of course, neither that man—who died—nor the dead assailant is around to corroborate her story. In fact, neither body was ever found.” He shrugged with that careless air of his and stalked down the path toward the main house. “So what do you think?”

  A full minute ticked by before Trevor’s brain could engage in coherent thought. He dragged his fingers through his hair, yanking to release some of the tension in his suddenly tight muscles.

  Fuck. Me.

  Every epithet he knew flowed in a continuous stream through his mind and when he’d exhausted all of those, he created some new ones.

  One fucking moment, I’m relaxed, recuperating from almost biting the big one. The next, I’m assigned as a fucking babysitter to the goddamn gorgeous teacher who a
lmost got me killed. On top of that, she’s fucked up because she saw me appear out of nowhere to dive in front of the bullet meant for her.

  “Come now, Trevor,” the singsong voice of the waifish co-owner of Wiccan Haus said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. “It can’t be that bad.”

  Oh, Sage knew exactly how bad it was. If she hadn’t been so good to him this last week, healing him, he’d have replied with more of those creative curses.

  Instead, he bit back the nasty retort that danced like the devil at the tip of his tongue and curled his fingers painfully into his palms. The slight ache helped center him and he stared at her.

  “You knew.”

  A sly smile played at her lips. Slim and pale, she appeared fragile. He knew better; she was as strong as any of her siblings. And sneaky. She’d known for days— maybe as long as he’d been here—that Cassidy was coming. Hell, she’d probably arranged it.

  It wasn’t bad enough he was a pawn at the mercy of the fates. When paranormals started messing with the natural order of things, his life would become an unholy mess.

  ***

  “Thanks for escorting me to my room, Dana. I appreciate it, but I assure you, I won’t try to do anything stupid.”

  Dana stared at Cassidy, her mouth gaping. She snapped it shut and paused outside room 313. “Why would you say such a thing, Cassidy?”

  Everyone was on a first name basis here. Maybe it enhanced the casual atmosphere, made it seem more relaxing.

  Dana seemed determined to wait for her explanation before unlocking the door as she stood there with her hand on her hip and a cocked eyebrow.

  “In case you didn’t know, which I’m sure you do since you’re escorting me all the way to my room, I’m supposedly crazy.”

  Dana didn’t reply or even seemed surprised.

  “So, let me in my room and you can go on your way.”

  Again, Dana took a moment to respond. “Cassidy, you are not crazy, and you’re not a prisoner.” She slid the key in the lock and swept the door open.

  Cassidy moved past her into the spacious room, complete with queen-sized bed, mini fridge, and loveseat. She placed her carry-on with the few belongings she’d brought from the hospital on the floor. The blues and greens of the linens soothed her as they were meant to. The bathroom was perfectly clean and modern and comforting, too. Fresh flowers graced the dresser, while candles and potpourri scented the air.

  Wiccan Haus might be good for her. No. Wiccan Haus would be good for her.

  Dana explained the rules set forth by the resort. All guests must take dinner in the downstairs dining room. No wandering the grounds alone at night. Daily scheduled activities prescribed by the staff were strongly recommended.

  Cassidy huffed out a breath and raised her brows. These rules weren’t all that different from the hospital psych ward.

  “What?”

  Cassidy eyed her. “What did you say you do here?”

  Dana’s smile was too genuine to be forced. “I teach some yoga classes, I assist Sage with treatments and the greenhouse, and I manage my mate, Rekkus.” She lovingly rubbed her swollen belly when she said his name and had the whole glassy eyed, I’m-so-in-love vibe going on.

  “Did you say Rekkus? That huge enforcer guy who met me at the dock? You’re his wife?”

  The other woman’s laughter filled the room. “That’s what I thought of him when I first met him. I was a little intimidated. But he’s really a pussycat when you get to know him.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t tell him I said that about him. He hates that.” Her belly jerked just at that moment, and she splayed a hand over it. “Shh, little ones. Calm down.” She fixed Cassidy with a serious look. “You are our guest here. You are not a prisoner, and no one here thinks you are crazy. And Rekkus was escorting you more as a protective gesture on behalf of the chairman.”

  “Chairman?” What chairman?

  “Mr. Branson.”

  Oh! Allan’s father must have requested someone accompany her on the island. It made sense. This was Mr. Branson’s way of expressing his gratitude for saving his son. He’d told her many times on the days he’d visited her in the hospital.

  Dana opened a few dresser drawers, displaying neatly folded clothing. “He also arranged for these to be delivered on the ferry.”

  Tears swam in her eyes but she managed to keep them from falling. No one had cared for her enough to provide for her in a long time. She cleared her throat to help cover her reaction.

  “Thank you, Dana.”

  Her simple statement was insufficient for how rude she’d been, but it would have to do. She couldn’t manage any more right now.

  Dana squeezed her elbow, dropped the key on the table by the door, suggested she’d feel better after a nap, and left.

  Cassidy opened the drawers and inspected the clothing. Mr. Branson had thought of everything; she hadn’t brought much since she’d left directly from the hospital. Restless, she wandered the room and discovered a couple of dresses hanging in the closet before she pulled back the drapes blocking out the sun.

  Why would they draw the curtains in the middle of the day? To reflect the heat? Keep the sun’s rays from fading the furniture and carpet? You’d think they’d want to showcase that view of the magnificent gardens and the natural pool beyond.

  And what was that cloying smell? Potpourri on steroids. Panic set in as the walls closed in around her, taking her to a place she did not want to go. The room suffocated her like the hospital room where she’d been imprisoned for a week. She had to get outside now!

  ***

  “So, your appointment tomorrow—” Sage suddenly broke off mid-sentence.

  Trevor knew something was up when the three siblings in the lobby reacted simultaneously, glancing toward the elevator. Cemil, the tall, male version of Sage with his blonde hair and calm disposition, strode purposefully toward the third elevator, the one that shouldn’t be in use right now. Cyrus, the dark-haired brother of the family, raised his brow. All the humans should be napping due to the relaxing herbs purposely placed in their rooms.

  Cassidy.

  Sage turned Trevor so Cassidy wouldn’t see him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cemil gliding up to her and tucking her arm in his, like they were lovers.

  A jolt of jealously speared through his body.

  Sage whispered, “Be calm, my friend. Cemil is only taking her to the garden where Dana will shortly join her.” With a quirk of her mouth, she added, “She’s still yours.”

  He couldn’t contain the growl that escaped him. “She’s my new charge. That is all.”

  “Sure she is, Trevor.”

  With a quick pat to his cheek that left him grumbling under his breath, Sage breezed away in her gauzy skirt. He wished she wasn’t right. Why couldn’t he want Sage instead of Cassidy? He couldn’t forget the sexy blonde who’d occupied his dreams as well as his waking thoughts since the shooting.

  Her hazel eyes had shimmered green, like holly leaves in a forest clearing. Their gazes had remained locked as she’d crawled to his side to tend his wound. He’d have died happily then, connected to her, her tears splashing on his face. Instead, he’d been rushed away from her by the backup team. That memory of her had haunted him: Cassie crying for him, kneeling next to his pool of blood.

  Now he knew she’d been punished by her kind for telling the truth. Worse, his kind, paranormals, had put her in that position and she’d been alone to deal with both the confinement and the grief.

  Guilt, hot and bitter, flowed through him, clogging his throat. Damn it, emotion had caused him to miss the signals of an imminent attack and had put her and his charge in danger; he would not allow those feelings to hinder his assignment again. Especially with Cassidy.

  As her assigned protector, he had to keep it professional. Starting now.

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