by Abigail Owen
Forcing his own gaze away, he cleared his throat. What had they just been saying? Oh, his admission. “I should’ve guessed Delilah would send me someone more than capable.”
“I don’t know about that,” she muttered under her breath. “So all of it was a test. The burnt dinner?”
Greyson grimaced. “Yes.”
“The girl’s running away?”
He nodded.
“What about their fight this morning?”
Another grimace. “That was real.”
“And your attitude?”
He frowned. “What attitude?”
She peered at him for a long moment, and Greyson got the uneasy impression she found him wanting somehow.
“Never mind,” she murmured. Placating him. “Are the schedule and the expectations of me the same?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth pursed, but she nodded. “Fine.”
“So you’ll stay?” Oddly, Greyson found himself holding his breath for her response. An hour in her company, surrounded by her wildflower and honey scent, and part of him wanted her to stay. Mind in jeopardy of being lost, he brushed that wayward feeling aside with irritation and waited for her response.
She sighed. “I don’t have a choice.”
“What does that mean?”
A strong emotion flashed in her eyes. If he had to guess, he would’ve said panic, but the expression was gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure.
“It means you clearly need help. So, yes, I’ll stay.”
Greyson levered to his feet, mildly irritated with her now. He needed help, did he? “Excellent. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Goodnight, Rowan.” Her name felt strange on his lips. Right and sinful at the same time.
“Mr. Masters—” She stopped him at the door and he swung to face her, eyebrows raised in question.
She didn’t bother to get up. “Don’t test me like that again.”
Or what?
“Remember…observations can go two ways.”
Did she just imply she was observing him? Before he could snap out a question, she stood and turned off the TV. “Goodnight.”
Greyson headed back upstairs, coming to terms with a rare experience. He’d been effectively dismissed by a woman who happened to be his girls’ nanny. Most women rushed to please him. Rowan practically sprinted in the opposite direction. Why did her contrary reaction turn him on?
CHAPTER 5
Monday morning dawned early, if, being winter, still dark outside, and Rowan learned the hard way how difficult getting three twelve-year-old girls out of bed could be. Sloths had more speed than those three in the morning. Rowan had been damned tempted to give each a little zap but restrained herself.
How had Greyson been doing this on his own the last few years? After that first one, none of the nannies had lasted long enough to be much help. Given his occupation, he had to be gone a lot. Yet while the girls might need a bit more attention, they were still good kids. She had to give the man props for that.
Somehow, without the help of magic for once, Rowan managed to feed the girls and get them out the door with Greyson on time. She peered out the window to the backyard where he teleported them to school. With a word she couldn’t hear from where she stood inside, in an instant they were gone. Snow swirled and flattened in the wake of the whirlwind caused by their departure.
Is that what I look like when I teleport? More than likely her own version came off much less graceful while in her head she was like, “Nailed it!”
Pushing aside the idle thought, Rowan grabbed a feather duster she’d found hanging in the laundry room. The obviously unused thing had ironically collected a coating dust where it hung. So, as she strode with purpose towards Greyson’s office, she whispered an incantation which cleaned it off. She needed a proper alibi.
She paused inside the doorway of his office, taking stock of the room. One of the smallest rooms in the house, she found it cozy with its rustic charm, stacks of books, and big pine desk. The desk had nicks, dings, and scratches all over it, as if it had been well loved through many generations of Masters. Closing the door behind her, she moved further inside and ran her hand over the surface of the desk, noting smooth texture of the time-worn wood. A crystal-clear image of Greyson working here came to her. An intimate image, like what a wife might walk in on, and strangely her heart stuttered.
Giving her head a shake, she pushed the seductive image away. “You’ve got a job to do, girl. Get to it,” she muttered.
A quick incantation had the duster going to work on the bookshelves without the aid of human hands. It left a faint trail of sparks as it moved, but they dissipated quickly enough that she wasn’t concerned. Meanwhile, she moved around to sit behind Greyson’s desk.
Getting into his computer took a little time, as he’d guarded it with magical wards, though not as many as she would’ve expected, given his job. Perhaps he assumed no one would contemplate getting this close to him? Still, the wards he had bothered with, in addition to regular technological security, took some unraveling.
As soon as she breached the computer’s defenses, rather than waste time searching manually, she channeled her energy, pulling from the electricity of the device itself.
“Amaru Kaios.”
The gathered force left her body with the words. Not traditional words of magic, but words the woman who’d raised her had spoken. Ancient words. Powerful words.
The language of demons and angels.
The spell was essentially a search for any files about Kaios, the werewolf who’d used her. Enslaved her, more like.
Greyson was sure to have Kaios’s name associated with her in the files, as the reason he hunted her was inextricably linked to the werewolf. If Greyson knew the name of the witch involved—her own name—she wouldn’t be his nanny right now. In an instant she had the files laid open before her on the screen. She read with hungry eyes, searching for any opportunities to plant false clues. The good news was he didn’t have much.
“So you already tried to follow my magical trail,” she murmured.
He’d had no luck with it. Magic use left a trail of energy which a powerful mage like Greyson could track depending on how long ago the spells had been used. According to the files any magical trail she’d left disappeared in the woods just outside where the fight occurred. She’d had nothing to do with hiding it, which probably meant Delilah had taken care of it.
I’ll have to thank her next time I talk to her.
Greyson couldn’t scry for her until he had more information or a personal item. The more she read, the more weight the elephant who’d been sitting on her chest seemed to lose. Greyson had nothing on her.
Fabulous. Now to keep it that way.
The satisfied smile curling her lips froze as she hit his last entry of notes.
Hell and hexation. He’d been in touch with Lyleia Nyaid and was arranging to meet the nymph along with her demigod husband and the two werewolf alphas involved in the fight soon—this week. It looked as if he was waiting on Lyleia to call and arrange the logistics.
If she could get near his cell phone before that call came through, she could slow things down at the least.
A ripple of energy fluttered across her arms, like a warm spring breeze caressing her skin—her only warning Greyson had returned home. Thankful she’d set up a spell to advise her of his presence, Rowan quickly closed the files, replaced the wards on the computer and shut it down.
She couldn’t have long now, unless he didn’t come straight to his office. Rowan jumped up and grabbed the duster, removing her incantation on it with a whispered word. Just in time, the sparks of magic faded, before the click of the door had her turning, arm raised as though she’d been cleaning all along.
Greyson froze when he spotted her there, a scowl replacing his taken-aback expression. “What are you doing in here?”
He’d been checking the screen of his cell phone when he walked in. Now, as he waited for her answer, he sl
ipped it into the pocket of his black trousers.
Rowan held up the duster. “Cleaning.”
When he showed no sign of either moving or talking again, she shifted on her feet. “I was trying to finish before you needed the office. I can come back later.”
She went to scoot past where he still stood in the doorway, slowing as she neared, pretending to lower her eyes in subordination, but fixated on the cellphone in his pocket. Focusing her energy once again, she directed all her intent to the device. She’d have to limit the words to her mind, reducing the efficacy of the spell, but it would have to do.
Awatum Suqammumu Balum, Halqu Ina. Translation…words silent without, lost within.
A paper on his desk rustled as the magic left her body. Thankfully, the evidence could be attributed to her walking by. She hoped the magic worked as intended, silencing the device when calls came in and losing the voicemail if any were left. The language she used was Sumerian, a dead language only demons and angels still spoke. A language created before things like cell phones, ringtones, and voicemail existed, making the terminology she chose a challenge. Dealing with technology in the magic she’d been taught was always tricky.
Her spell cast in the few steps it took to approach Greyson, she continued on her path past him, only to jerk to a stop as he grabbed her wrist.
“Not yet,” he said.
Had he felt the ripple of energy, minute as it’d been or caught the direction of her stare?
The strange spot on her wrist where he’d shocked her the day they met had stopped tingling by that night, but now it started heating again at his touch. Holding in a gasp as warmth spread from the spot throughout her body, she tipped her chin up, looking him directly in the eyes, dark eyes, currently laser focused on her in a way she didn’t quite trust. He didn’t let her go, his large hand wrapped loosely around her now-burning wrist. Did he not feel that?
“My office is off limits. So is my room, while we’re at it.”
Relief that she’d not been caught whooshed through her even as his commanding tone put her back up. This was not the army. This was a household, mister.
But she was the nanny, the employee. And she needed to get out of here. Schooling her features into what she hoped was her meekest expression, meek not exactly coming naturally to her, she smiled. “Of course.”
She went to leave again, only to have him tug her back.
“And you don’t clean. I have a maid who comes in once a week to do that.”
Irritation shot through her, though it didn’t assuage the heat now spreading from her arm, gathering low in her belly and rippling over her skin. “Any suggestions on what I do with my time?”
Greyson’s expressive brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
Was he really that clueless? Most people didn’t enjoy hours of sitting around doing nothing. Rowan’d had enough of that over the last year of imprisonment and recent hiding to last a lifetime. No way was she sitting on her ass doing nothing all day.
Her temper, never easy, snapped. Anger overruled common sense and she stepped closer into him. Not quite touching, but the heat on her skin now came from Greyson as well as the throbbing spot on her arm, adding to her irritation. “What did the other nannies do during the day while the girls were at school?”
He gave a puzzled shrug. “How should I know?”
“So those poor women sat around idly for eight hours every day just waiting?” She made it clear with her tone what she thought of that situation and his part in it.
His jaw hardened, mouth going flat. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Rowan.”
“I don’t appreciate being stuck somewhere with only a TV for entertainment, Grey.” His shortened name slipped from her lips and felt good to say. Strangely so.
“So that’s what you think about my home? That you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere?”
A sliver of hurt lined the offended tone of his voice and gave Rowan a pause in her anger. Did he want her to like his home? In actual fact she adored it. If she’d created a dream home, it would’ve looked something like this cabin in its idyllic setting.
Cursing her hasty temper and provoking words, and thinking only of healing a minor hurt, she placed her hand on his chest. “No. I love your cabin.”
Beneath her palm his heart beat hard, echoing her own tripping heartrate. The spot on her wrist burned just on the edge of pain now, like holding the spot over a flame for too long. Grey said nothing, his expression inscrutable as he stared at her for an interminable moment. Rowan found herself holding her breath.
Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he reached up and brushed a finger down her jawline, leaving a trail of sensation in the wake of his touch. His head dipped lower, and Rowan leaned in toward him, eager for his kiss, only to stumble slightly as he stepped back sharply before making contact.
Feeling as though she’d been shoved under a freezing cold shower, a glance up revealed Grey’s expression to be closed off now, the desire in his eyes from only seconds before gone. Had she even seen it? Or had she been deluding herself, lured by the heat pouring through her.
Grey moved away, around to the other side of his desk, putting physical distance between them. “I’ll think about what you could do during the day while the girls are gone. For now, I suggest getting to know the area and the town close by.”
He sat down, opening his laptop in a clear dismissal, and Rowan, head held high, took the hint and left. As soon as she entered her room, she blew out a long, pent up breath and glanced down at her wrist, then peered closer. The faint line that appeared the first time he touched her had grown, extending into a swooping, curving design now. Nothing recognizable.
“What on earth?” she muttered, tracing the line with her finger. She almost expected it to sting at her touch, as it did when Grey touched her. But, beyond the tingling that remained from a moment ago, the mark did nothing.
Had he cursed her? Spelled her? She knew of no spells or curses which left a physical mark like this, not a scar, not a stamp, almost like a half-finished tattoo in white ink.
Rowan leaned her head against her bedroom door. Not for the first time, she wished she could ask Tanya about it. She missed her friend and the steadiest mother figure she’d had in her life. Right up until the day Tanya died.
Either way, the fact that her body practically super-heated at Grey’s touch was damned inconvenient, a distraction and potential embarrassment she didn’t need at best. At worst, it was a complication which could keep her from accomplishing what she’d come here for—making it impossible for the Mage High Council to track her down. She doubted they’d punish her for her part in the werewolf fight, but in investigating that, they’d discover more about her.
Witches feared demons above all other creatures. Having been raised by one was not information she wanted the council to discover. In addition, her most powerful gift with animals made her vulnerable to being controlled by werewolves, which, in turn, made her a possible weapon against others, including witches. No way would the council of the world’s covens of witches allow her to live her life in peace once they discovered her secrets—or possibly live at all.
She presented too big a danger. Her existence posed too many questions for comfort.
Hopefully, her spell on Grey’s phone would do the trick for now. Her lips hitched in a wicked smile. How long would it be before he figured out he wasn’t receiving calls or messages?
CHAPTER 6
A soft sound had Rowan opening her eyes to find her bedroom pitch black. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told her the time was three in the morning. Blearily she blinked at the glowing green numbers, even as she pricked her ears for the sound that had woken her in the first place. Two weeks with the Masters, and she hadn’t experienced any night time awakenings until now. Cleopatra, the Masters’ cat who’d taken to sleeping with Rowan, lifted her head and twitched her tail, also seeming to listen.
She didn’t have to wait long.
The padded thuds of feet, followed by the faint but distinguishable creak of a floorboard had her up and out of bed, instantly wide awake. Had the Council discovered her? Had Grey figured out her spell? Come for her?
The temptation to turn off all powers around her before she went snooping around itched at her palms, but she resisted. If it came to a fight, she’d pull out that power then, although that was a risk, as a powerful mage could likely block her spell. However, the niggling doubt this might not be about her meant she must take that risk. Besides, that spell sapped her strength more than any other, and she might need her strength to get away.
As quietly as she could without magical help, Rowan snuck up the stairs. Just as she turned to search the kitchen, she caught the beam of a flashlight in the woods out back.
Fantastic.
Just to be sure, a quick check of the girls’ rooms confirmed her suspicion. Her charges had snuck out in the middle of the night. But why?
After a trip back down to the basement for boots and a thick jacket—the Colorado mountains at night in January were freezing, especially with the fresh layer of snow that had fallen yesterday. Upstairs, she moved to the shelves by the fireplace, shivering as she passed through a cold draught, probably from when they opened the door. Grabbing the flashlight off the shelf, she headed outside.
Using the same spell she’d cast on her first day to track their path, she followed the girls’ sparkling footsteps up the side of the mountain into the thick wood. About to round a large granite boulder, a masculine hand clamped around her mouth. Her assailant grabbed her from behind, his arm wrapping around her stomach. Terror slammed through her system. Heart pounding and adrenalin spiking, she dropped her flashlight and formed energy balls in her hands with a single thought.
