by Abigail Owen
Still holding her spell, she leaned against the wall. “Now. We are going to discuss this calmly and rationally. Got it?”
She glared at Castor. “These girls were born almost thirteen years ago. Whatever argument you had with the original fates, Chloe, Lachlyn, and Atleigh are not them. We don’t know what their power entails yet, but you don’t get to blame them for some kind of past life. Do you understand?”
How she managed those words with such force, given her visible exhaustion, Greyson had no idea.
But he couldn’t help her. Not until he knew his daughters were no longer in danger. He turned back to Castor. “They are my natural born children. I was there to witness their first breaths.” Even as he’d witnessed his wife’s last. “You will NOT harm them.”
Contrition and confusion warred in Castor’s eyes for a long moment as he stared at Greyson’s daughters. “I apologize,” the demigod finally said. Any remaining aggression visibly leaked out of him as his shoulders dropped. He addressed the girls directly. “Forgive me. You just…look exactly the same.”
“Even their names are similar,” Leia murmured. She snuck her hand into her husband’s.
“Everyone okay, then?” Greyson spun at the sound of Rowan’s hoarse whisper. “Good,” she slurred. Then she dropped to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Thankfully, Castor moved with the speed his father Zeus had gifted him, catching her before her head hit the ground.
“Is she okay?” Tala asked from across the room.
Greyson knelt beside her, running a hand over her clammy skin. Thankfully, her breathing was steady and even. “She’ll be fine after a few days of rest. Magic uses energy. She just used more than her abilities support.”
“Daddy?” With Rowan’s spell dissipating from the room, his daughters’ temporary calm was evaporating in the face of confusion and terror. He rose and gathered them close, heart breaking again at the trembling he could now feel in each of their slight bodies.
Greyson looked to Marrok. “Can you take Rowan downstairs to her bed?”
“I’ll take her,” Castor offered.
Greyson shook his head. “No. We need more information about the fates, and, frankly, I don’t trust you with her.”
“Marrok and I will take care of Rowan,” Tala said.
Castor grimaced, but handed Rowan’s limp form over to the alpha wolves without quibble.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Leia suggested.
“Good idea,” Greyson said. “We need to know everything.”
“There’s not much more I can share,” Castor said as he took a seat beside his wife on the couch. “The fates worked together to predict deaths. Have any of the people they’ve cast predictions about died yet?”
Greyson had kept track of all those whom he could find. “Only one. But he was in his late nineties.”
“Maybe they predict something else now?” Leia suggested.
“Like what?” Lachlyn asked.
“I’m not familiar with your predictions, but they have to have something in common.” Leia spread her hands in appeal. “Success. Partnership. A strong connection, perhaps? The need to protect something or a prediction they’ll have to.” She leaned across the space and put her hand on Lachlyn’s knee. “The point is, it doesn’t necessarily have to be scary, like death.”
****
The magical alarm Grey had put on the girls at night and grudgingly extended to include her woke Rowan from a deep sleep, and a lovely dream where she and Grey had danced under the light of a full moon. Her body still ached from the burn of desire reflected in his eyes.
With a reluctant groan, she dragged herself out of the dream, only to gasp as memory returned in a rush of images.
The girls.
Grey.
The magic she’d used way too soon after her whole ghostly thing.
The fates.
Oh-my-god. How long have I been out?
But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to follow the girls. At least they were still breathing; that much was obvious if they were doing their night walking bit. Limbs still heavy and sluggish, Rowan still managed to toss off her blankets and get out of her bed. Quickly, she stuck her feet into fuzzy slippers and pulled a ratty old sweatshirt on over her head. Cautiously, she made her way upstairs to find Grey waiting on the screened in back porch.
“I didn’t know if you’d wake up or not?” he whispered. As he spoke, he trailed his gaze over her face. The tender light in those dark eyes had to be a trick of the moonlight.
“How long have I been out?” she asked in sleep-hushed tones.
His lips quirked. “Two days.”
Well, damn.
Nothing could be done about it now. “Same place?” She waved toward the woods where the girls had gone last time.
Despite her warm sleepwear and thick sweatshirt, she shivered as his gaze licked over her. She wore layers of clothes, and suddenly she felt naked before him. Laid bare.
“Yes,” Grey finally whispered. He held out his hand. “Ready?”
Rowan hesitated only a millisecond before she placed her hand in his. Immediately, the lines on her wrist heated up at his touch, though not in an uncomfortable way, more like an electric blanket. With a tug, Grey led her down the stairs to the frost-covered grass, then into the woods and up the incline of the mountain.
Rowan tried not to soak in how right her hand felt in his, how that small contact engendered a sense of safety and protection. Grey would take care of her.
What am I thinking? Grey was the hound the council had set on her trail.
Before she knew it, they arrived at the edge of the clearing where the girls now gathered. Just like last time, the three stood in a circle, bathed in the pure light of the full moon. They’d already started their swaying. The glow wasn’t as much of a shock this time, as Rowan knew to expect it. However, their light still blinded her, painfully bright, even as silence descended.
Lachlyn’s voice sounded this time, instead of Chloe’s. “Rowan McAuliffe is bound to Greyson Masters with the strength of the Titans. Her death shall be bound to his life.”
Rowan jolted at the impact of those words. Fear spiking through her, she jerked away from Grey, pulling her hand out of his. At the same time, the lines on her wrist flared to horrible, burning life. She dropped to her knees, cradling her arm—which she sort of expected to be wreathed in flames, but wasn’t—against her. Swallowing against the pain, which, once again oozed out of her almost as quickly as it had come, she breathed through it. Finally, she glanced up at Grey who watched, brows furrowed in concern, jaw hard.
“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered.
How could she have been such a fool? She’d let herself be lulled into a false sense of relationship with Greyson Masters and his daughters. But he didn’t know the truth about her. When he did…
Grey reached out as if to draw her back. “No! I could never kill you. That can’t be what they mean.”
Rowan shook her head, her curls flying around her face. Randomly, she wondered when her appearance had been returned to normal. And by whom? Grey probably.
Focus! “They are the fates. They predict death.”
Still cradling her arm against her, she struggled to her feet, only to have Grey grab her arm. He pulled her deeper into the woods just as the girls drifted by. Their lovely faces still reflected the trance they entered to make their predictions.
She tried to tug out of his hold, but Grey’s wrapped his fingers around both arms now. “Look at me.” He gave her a tiny shake.
Rowan glared up at him. “There’s nothing you can say.”
“They don’t predict death.”
She stopped herself mid-argument, mouth wide open. Wait. What? She narrowed her eyes, suspicion warring with ridiculous hope inside her. “What do they predict?”
He shrugged broad shoulders, almost a twitch. “I don’t know. After hearing the list of their predictions so far, Castor did
n’t have any idea either. However, none of the people they’ve talked about when in their trance have died.”
“Not yet.”
After a long moment, he inclined his head. “Not yet.”
“What has happened to those people?”
Now he hesitated. It had to be bad.
“Spit it out, Grey.”
He quirked his lips. “Did you know you’re the only woman who talks to me like that? Most fall all over themselves to agree with me.”
Rowan sniffed. “Your point?”
He grinned. “You’re not very good for my ego.”
“Maybe your ego needs it.”
Instead of answering, he shocked her by reaching for her wrist, which had at least dropped in pain levels, tingling more now than burning. “What happened to your arm?”
“Nothing.” She tried to yank out of his grasp, but he held on. She knew the second he saw the lines—which were even more visible now, though they didn’t make up an identifiable pattern—because he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Did you do this?”
She gritted her teeth against the accusation in his voice, in his shadowed eyes. “No.”
“What happened, Rowan?” Something in his voice compelled her to answer.
“Some kind of magic gone horribly wrong.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie. She just didn’t know what magic.
“Is it a burn?”
She tossed her hair back. Why not be honest. “That’s what it feels like. The marks showed up when I arrived here.”
There. You figure it out.
Grey’s eyes widened. “Does it hurt now?”
Rowan shifted on her feet. Hurt? No. But with his continued touch, the tingling was gathering, fizzing through her blood and pooling low in her belly. If held on much longer, she might throw herself at him or orgasm on the spot. She wasn’t about to share that tidbit of info. “Only when the lines brighten. They started out much fainter.”
She gently pulled out of his grasp, sucking in a silent gulp of air as he allowed her to step back, and the sensations buffeting her body dissipated. “You still haven’t answered my question. What has happened to the people in the predictions, Grey?”
His stared at her for a long moment, gaze strangely intent. “The girls always name two people or things at a time, but when we’ve looked closer, we haven’t found a connection. One is a mother and child. Another was a woman and her new business. A few couples, some married, some not. Some don’t even know each other, as far as we can tell.”
That didn’t sound too bad. Still… “Are any of them dead?”
CHAPTER 15
None of the people in the predictions are dead.
Despite being good news, Grey’s words kept swirling around in her mind. While the girls seemed to have accepted their role as the fates, they continuously debated what they were predicting. Grey had kept meticulous records through the years, and, finally, in an attempt to solve the mystery, shown them in an attempt to jog their memories. But no such luck.
However, the three discussed it endlessly, which meant the topic stayed fresh in Rowan’s mind too—for days now.
“What if we’re predicting whom the people meet?” Lachlyn wondered now.
Rowan glanced up from the green peppers she was stuffing for dinner to see all three girls seated around the heavy wood kitchen table, half-heartedly practicing their magic.
“That would be dumb.” Atleigh rolled her eyes. “I mean, what would be the point?”
Rowan silently agreed. That would be a waste of fate.
“Besides,” Chloe added. “How could a woman meet a business? Dad said she formed the business before we predicted anything.”
“Girls.” As soon as she had their attention, Rowan pointed at their plants.
“This is so boring,” Atleigh whined.
Persephone, displeased with their progress, had assigned them extra homework on top of what they had for school. More plant growing. Today the girls were making philodendrons sprout vines. Their aunt had assigned a specific length as a goal.
“This is going to take forever,” Chloe grumbled.
No argument there. Why their aunt insisted on training them like witches half their ages, she had no idea. Rowan cocked her head, eyeing the plants. Maybe she could spice things up without going against the rules. “Give me a second to finish these. Then I’ll show you a game.”
“We can’t play a game.” Atleigh waved at her plant. “We have to grow plants.”
Rowan allowed herself a delicate snort. “I’m well aware you can all grow those plants without a second thought.”
The three froze and exchanged a glance. Rowan hid her small smile as she continued to prepare dinner.
“Aunt Persephone says we’re not ready.”
And who was Rowan, a lowly magic-lacking nanny, to say otherwise? “Have you told her you can do more? Or tried to show her?” She still hadn’t figured out why the girls held back during lessons.
“Yes.” Chloe scowled. “We got in trouble for trying to do too much, too soon and not following her instructions.”
Not for the first time, Rowan wondered what the other woman’s play was. No way could she be a licensed instructor and have missed the girls’ natural talents. Best guess, Persephone was slowing them down in order to ensure extra time with Grey, which would explain the vague stare of suspicion aimed Rowan’s way every time she met the women.
“What about your dad? Have you told him you can handle more?”
Again, exchanged glances told her they hadn’t shared this with Greyson.
“He’ll listen to Aunt Persephone. Not us,” Atleigh said. Yup. Remembering this age, she probably wouldn’t have told her dad either. Or Tanya, as the case may be. Grey’s job also kept him away. Not that he’d been away much since she’d arrived, but the girls alluded to it enough. Maybe a deeper level of trust needed to be established?
“I think you’d be surprised.” Rowan chewed at her lower lip. How could she help them with that?
At their skeptical looks, she shrugged. “It’s up to you, but you won’t know for sure unless you try.” She turned back to her dinner preparations and let them stew on that a moment. “Back to the plants. Since you’re required to practice, maybe we can make it fun.”
She topped the peppers off with fresh grated cheese, popped them in the oven, and set the timer before turning to face the girls. “Are you interested?”
“I guess,” Lachlyn muttered, flicking the leaf of her plant with a finger.
“Right. Outside then. Bring your plants.”
They followed her to the flat space of land behind the house before the tree line where the mountain inclined. Rowan inhaled appreciatively. Having grown up most of her life on the coast of Scotland, she was used to the bracing scent of sea air. Here the air was fresher in an odd way, with the zesty scent of pine subtly wafting on the breeze. With spring in the air, the weather was also warmer here, as Scotland sat further north on the globe.
“Now, put your plants down in a line here.” She drew a line in a patch of dirt with her foot.
Another round of pouting glances, but they did as she asked. Then, making a big thing of the act, Rowan paced from the line to a point farther away and drew another line with her foot.
“When I say go, shoot your growing vines this way. The first to the finish line wins a skip day.”
The girls perked up, eyes brighter, backs straighter. “What’s a skip day?” Chloe asked.
“A day when you don’t have to go to magic practice after school. It’ll have to be a day your dad can stay with you, or he can take the losers to practice and I stay with you.”
Lachlyn slumped, arms crossed. “Dad will never allow it.”
“Let me deal with your dad. I’m sure I can fix it.” She wasn’t all that sure, but she’d address the issue later.
Chloe suddenly grinned and rubbed her hands together. “You are going down.”
“Don’t you bet on it.”
Lachlyn switched from scowling to determined so quickly Rowan had to hold in a giggle. “I’m going to win,” the almost teenager declared.
“No way,” Atleigh added, stepping up to her own plant.
Rowan laughed, pleased to see them lose those morose expressions. “On three… One. Two. Three!”
With amazing speed, the vines for all three plants leapt forward. She’d known they could do it. Amazing what a little competition could do.
Rowan squealed with as much delight as the girls as their vines crept along the ground.
“Oh, no,” Chloe wailed. “Mine’s stuck on a weed and now it’s growing up instead of out.”
“Turn it around,” Rowan yelled.
Meanwhile Atleigh and Lachlyn were neck and neck. Lachlyn’s glower of concentration was fierce as she scolded her plant, while Atleigh’s approach was more encouraging.
Slowly, Atleigh’s pulled ahead, until, finally her vine crossed the finish line first.
“Yes!” Atleigh jumped up and down.
“Dang,” Lachlyn mumbled.
Chloe, however, ran over to give her sister a hug. Then she turned to Rowan and flung her arms around her middle, squeezing her with an exuberant embrace. “That was fun, Rowan. Can we do it again?”
Rowan laughed. “If we grow those plants any longer, your aunt will think you cheated.”
“What is going on here?” Grey’s voice boomed over them, interrupting their fun. They all jerked their gazes to find him standing by the door with a glower.
The girls, though, didn’t seem to catch his mood.
“Rowan was helping us practice our magic by making it a race.”
“I won, Dad!” Atleigh bounced over to him, tugging on his hand to pull him over to see.
After inspecting the results, Grey hugged Atleigh. “Good work. To all of you! Persephone will be pleased, I’m sure.”
Gathering their plants, looping the tendrils of green-leafed vines over their arms, the girls giggled and chatted all the way back into the house.
“What did she win?” Grey asked.
Rowan pasted on her most innocent expression. She hoped it came across innocently at least. “A skip day from magic practice.”
