Scent of Danger

by Autumn Dawn

  It had been years before she’d dared try another brownie.

  “Um, no thanks. I’m on a diet,” she hedged.

  Disappointed, her grandmother sat back, tucking her sweater more securely around her thin frame and propping her fuchsia-clad legs up on a hassock.

  Andrea blinked and politely averted her gaze. Her grandmother’s feet were clad in mismatched argyle socks, and her heels showed through the holes in the bottom.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted you to come here on such short notice,” her grandmother began, surprising Andrea with her directness. At Andrea’s nod, she went on, “the doctors say that I have cancer.” She swallowed. “I don’t have much time.”

  Stunned, at first Andrea could just sit there. This was nothing like what she’d expected. Grandma couldn’t have cancer. She was too...she just couldn’t!

  It hit her then—her grandma was her last living relative. If she died, that was it, no more family. She would be alone. She didn’t even have a boyfriend, wasn’t sure if she’d ever find someone to love.

  Ashamed of her selfish fears and wishing to give comfort, she jerked out of her review and knelt at her Grandmother’s feet to grasp her hand. Tears she wouldn’t have expected clouded her vision. “Are they sure? They can’t...fix it?”

  Grandma shook her head sadly, her own eyes misty. “No, sweetheart. They can’t.” She sniffed. “And I’d so looked forward to seeing great-grandbabies, too.”

  Andrea flinched. How many times had she dodged her grandmother’s questions about settling down and raising some babies? It wasn’t as if she weren’t willing, she thought defensively. Was it her fault if good men were in short supply?

  At Andrea’s guilty expression her grandma shook her head and became all business. “Now none of that,” she said briskly, patting Andrea’s hand. “You just haven’t found the right man yet, and no wonder. But we’re going to change all that.” With barely suppressed excitement, she leaned in and confided, “I’ve spoken with my employer, and he’s agreed to hire you as his new caretaker—on a trial basis, of course.”

  Andrea frowned and sat back on her heels. The idea of becoming a housekeeper for a man she knew nothing about was ludicrous, of course, but she wasn’t sure how to say so without hurting her grandmother’s feelings. After all, she was so excited, and it must be good for her to have something to concentrate on after receiving the blow of incurable disease. With that in mind, she cautiously ventured, “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a caretaker, Grandma.”

  “Of course you are!” her grandmother rushed to assure her. “And it will be such a relief to depart this world knowing that you’re in the capable hands of a man who can take care of you. Wait until I tell him!”

  “Whoa, wait minute!” Andrea protested, raising her hands to slow the flood. “I’d be working for him, not marrying him. Besides, I haven’t agreed to do this yet. I have things to do in Chicago—”

  But her grandmother was talking again, fast and furiously, and there was no getting in a word of protest. Andrea never did figure out how, but by the end of evening her grandmother had extracted a promise from her to at least stay for the summer. Of course, Andrea wanted to keep an eye on her grandmother, but she would rather make other living arrangements and find her own job. Grandma was sure to spend all her time trying to match make.

  It was late when they finished talking, so her grandmother took Andrea to one of the six guest bedrooms and wished her a goodnight.

  Vowing to find a way through this mess after she’d had a good night’s sleep, Andrea fluffed her pillow and promised herself she’d find a solution in the morning.

  The scent of roses—a fragrance she’d always hated—woke her in the morning.

  Andrea opened her eyes and groaned as perfume wafted from the lacy sheets. The sight of the hunting ducks parading across the canopy of her bed threatened to make her nauseous. Throwing back the matching comforter, she swung her feet to the shaggy duck rug beneath and tried to wake up. A glance at the bedside clock—shaped like a decoy—said it was late morning.

  Shocked that her grandmother had allowed her to sleep in so late, since she’d always been insistent on rising early—a holdover from her days on the farm—Andrea reached for her jeans and a ribbed shirt. In moments she was dressed and groomed, making fast work of refreshing the twin braids at each temple. The braids reminded her of Zoë, who’d got her in the habit of them. She grimaced, wishing she’d had the guts to do like her friend and just stay home. Unfortunately, her grandma needed her. As her only family, Andrea really needed to be here.

  As soon as she’d fastened the beads on the ends of each braid she left the room, electing to skip the makeup, as was her custom.

  She’d been too tired for a tour the night before, but it didn’t take much effort to find the immaculate kitchen. A wide array of shining copper pots hung from the rack above the long work island, giving a hint that the room was well stocked. A stainless steel refrigerator and a very modern stove formed an odd contrast to the crocheted blender covers and parti-colored valances. The smell of recent cooking lingered in the air but no trace remained of any breakfast dishes. How odd. Grandma never passed up a chance to force an enormous breakfast on her only grandchild. Where could she be?

  Andrea propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the sunny kitchen until her eyes drifted once again to the fridge. Tacked to the front of it with a colorful hodge-podge of magnets was a piece of paper. Was that a note?

  Andrea moved closer, leaving it tacked to the fridge as she read in her grandmother’s swirling hand, “Dear Andrea, I’m so glad you’ve agreed to take care of the place for me. I know you’ll make me proud. After all, you’re a child of your word.”

  With a scowl for that dirty tactic, Andrea read on, “Now I’m off to do something I’ve always wanted—cruise to Tahiti!” Andrea gaped and read in growing fury, “If you need anything at all, just ask Fallon. He’s been very good to me and I’m sure that you’re going to adore him. Love, Grandma.”

  A streak of blue words spilled from her lips. She’d been set up! For that matter, why couldn’t her grandma just buy her a ticket to Tahiti, too? She’d far rather spend her time in the tropical sun, comforting her grandma, than freezing her tail off in Alaska. If she really were dying, wouldn’t she want family with her?

  It must be the matchmaking. If Matilda thought there was a man there, she’d strand her in Antarctica with him. Andrea wished she could get her on the phone now and vent. She felt certain she’d feel far more romantically inclined if she were lazing half-naked on a tropical beach. Where was the logic?

  “Such harsh words from such a pretty lady,” came a man’s husky voice.

  Andrea froze in the middle of a tirade against her grandmother and a vow to hate her new employer on sight. Oh, please, no, she thought without turning around. It had to be him.

  “At least I assume the lady is exceptional; the view from behind is certainly promising,” he continued in that deeply masculine drawl.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, hardly believing her ears. Since men were not in the habit of saying those kinds of things to her, she couldn’t help feeling defensive. What kind of jerk was this Fallon? She pivoted, but the retort she’d planned died, forgotten.

  Gleaming black hair fell to his lean hips, framing a face so sensual it stole her breath. He was muscular, but not bulky, and his t-shirt did nothing to hide sculpted biceps and powerful shoulders. His long legs were clad in black denim, and he wore it well. A sudden fever made her face hot as she dragged her eyes up until she met his wicked black eyes. Eyes that snapped with knowing confidence.

  White teeth flashed in a wicked grin as he returned her inspection, very slowly. “As I thought…very promising.” He moved closer.

  Thrown off stride by her intense reaction to him, she moved back. And came up against the fridge. “I…” Get a hold of yourself, girl. She licked lips made dry by nerves. Maybe she could salvage this. “Are you Fall
on?”

  “No.” He planted his hands on either side of her. “I am Mathin. And you are mine.”

  CHAPTER 2

  He’d known who she was when he’d entered the kitchen to inspect Fallon’s new chatelaine. Seconds after he’d entered the room and her unique scent reached him, he’d also known what she was. A charmer. An unholy, irresistible temptation for a man of his race. She was a wildcard mutation among humans with a pheromone capable of inflaming the male Haunt, of beguiling his senses until his very will became her own.

  Once humans had known his kind; known and hated them. They’d hunted down the Haunt, using the charmers to seduce their warriors. Once a man was in her power, no one, father or mother or beloved child, was safe. He would betray them all at one soft word from her poisoned lips.

  Women such as this had been used for generations to purge the world of his race until only a remnant remained; a remnant that had finally fled to another world to escape extinction. A woman like this could be the death of him.

  At the moment he didn’t care, wasn’t more than vaguely cognizant of those important details. Desire roared through his body, carried in by the scent of her unique pheromone.

  Proof enough of her danger.

  His blatant statement of ownership didn’t impress the girl. She ducked out of his arms and dashed behind the counter, glowering at him. “Guess again, pal,” she warned from the safety of the other side.

  He smiled. He could see the rapid pulse at her throat, the way her chest rose and fell with her breathing. His keen sense of smell told him it was more than fear she was feeling. He moved closer, drawn by her scent. It was making him weak, intoxicated. A part of him wanted to resist. He took a deep breath, but that was no help at all. “It would help if you didn’t want me, too,” he chided.

  She inched back, putting more counter between them. Her voice shook. “I’m warning you, buster! Come any closer and you’ll regret it.”

  She eyed him like cornered prey, but there was something in her posture that was a little too soft, almost inviting.

  Mathin planted one hand in the center of the island and vaulted over it, landing gracefully on the other side. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?” he asked softly. He let his eyes speak of his arousal, but made no further move toward her.

  She watched him warily, but her eyes kept skittering away. She tried an unsuccessful smile. Was she trying to defuse the situation? “Do you usually accost women before breakfast, or is this an exception?”

  Mathin leaned lazily against the counter, showing her with his body that he wasn’t about to pounce. Yet. “Normally the women accost me, and more often than not wish to become my breakfast. Or dinner, depending on the hour.” When she snorted, he added casually, “So did you, before you thought to fear me.”

  “Get over yourself!” she protested, blushing furiously. “What do you think you are—some kind of rock star? For your information, I have a boyfriend.”

  Undaunted, his dark eyes swept her body again. “And what does this boy have to do with us?” he inquired, his faint smile absolutely possessive. “Children have no place in this discussion.”

  She gave him a withering look. “What I meant was, I have a man.”

  “You do now.”

  Her fists tightened, and she looked like she wanted to hit him. Since it was not the direction he’d prefer to move this, he mellowed a little, said quietly, “You’re not used to pursuit.”

  She gripped the counter, seeking an anchor, perhaps. “I don’t flirt; that’s true. I don’t like games.”

  He studied her for a long moment. Didn’t she? Inexperienced or shy, was she? It was good to know; it would require a more subtle approach. It had been a long time since he’d had to dust off that set of skills, but he knew that hunt, too.

  Pretending courtesy, he stepped back and said, rather formally, “I apologize for distressing you.” Especially if it will get me what I want, he thought, calculating what it would take to seduce her.

  Cautiously, she ventured, “Does that mean you’ll quit flirting with me?”

  He smiled. “It means I’ll be more subtle.”

  Her expression darkened, but before she could comment, Fallon entered the kitchen. He stopped dead. His head snapped up, and his nostrils flared as if testing the air. Piercing green eyes flashed her way, dark with indefinable emotion. “Andrea, I presume.”

  Mathin felt a wave of possessiveness flare as he watched her shift uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way Fallon stared.

  “Yeah. But I think there’s been some kind of mistake.” Andrea plucked the magnets off the note, swearing when one fell and Mathin caught it. She reluctantly looked at him as he silently held it out.

  His palm was calloused and radiated heat. The instant she touched it an invisible shock of lightning traveled between them, buzzed through the bones of her arm with stunning power, trapped the air in her lungs.

  Shocked, her eyes shot to his, searched for answers. The only thing she saw was echoing electricity and a shimmering, golden heat.

  “Definitely a mistake,” Fallon muttered as he witnessed the exchange. “A moment of your time, Mathin.”

  It was difficult. Reluctantly Mathin moved toward him, loath to take his eyes from the woman. His woman. He could almost read the thoughts behind Fallon’s grim expression. Already she has him, the look seemed to say. Judging from the bewildered look on her face, she had no idea what to do with him.

  That was not a problem. He was an excellent teacher.

  “She goes,” Fallon told Mathin the moment they stood in the hall, out of earshot. “Had I known what she was I never would have agreed to this.”

  Mathin crossed his arms casually, as if unconcerned. “Is that wise? There are several Haunt due to arrive very soon for the summit. Should they meet her away from our protection…” he trailed off meaningfully. “You know how much some of us still hate charmers.” If their people should see one of the hated mutants used to track and destroy their families, they would kill her. It didn’t matter if she was innocent or not.

  It wasn’t only the Haunt who were a danger, either. There were still humans out there who knew about the Haunt and thrived on hunting them, and they didn’t balk at kidnapping women to do it.

  Appealing to Fallon’s gallantry never hurt.

  Fallon blew out a breath of exasperation and sent a peeved look toward the kitchen.

  Seeing that his logic was taking affect, Mathin pressed his advantage. “You know what the Black Charmers would do with her. And if she refused to become a huntress…” They both glanced toward the kitchen. “At least being murdered by vengeful Haunt would be quick.”

  Fallon folded his arms and stared at Mathin. He might not like it, but he was a practical man. “Very well. I suppose you’re volunteering to guard her?”

  White teeth flashed in a wolfish smile. “Night and day. After all, who knows more about guarding charmers?” He’d spent weeks rescuing his friend Keilor’s wife from scheming Haunt and hauling her out of the swamps. Compared to that, guarding this little charmer would be child’s play.

  Fallon snorted and rocked back on his heels. “Jasmine was mated—to your friend no less. Besides, she would never have allowed you to touch her. Aside from that, you and Raziel wore nose filters for the entire journey. We have none here.”

  “Would it matter?” Mathin’s gaze was speculative as he looked toward the doorway. “She is an attractive woman. I would have noticed regardless.”

  “Do you think so?” Fallon said repressively. “I hardly noticed. But I did notice her scent. What man wouldn’t?”

  Fallon became silent with remembered sensation, then shook his head as if throwing off an unwanted thought. Impatiently, he continued, “If she’s to be here then she will remain in your company, not mine. I can’t afford to be distracted just now; the applicants for Dark Land crossovers will be arriving very soon.”

  He began to pace, his boot heels clicking over the parquet floor.
“For that matter, I can’t have her here with a houseful of unattached males. The elders here are disapproving enough already. They still feel that leaving Earth was the same thing as running from our troubles. Having a charmer here will only light the fire at the stake.”

  “You worry too much,” Mathin said mildly. “None of the males here are a match for either of us; certainly not these young stags. She couldn’t be safer. Besides,” his eyes gleamed, “I don’t intend to leave her unattached for long.”

  That would certainly solve Fallon’s problems, since once focused on a single man as a sexual outlet the charmer’s production of pheromones dropped sharply. Mathin’s headaches, however, would be just beginning.

  “Think it over carefully first,” Fallon urged. “The pheromone can be addictive. You might be tempted to make the union permanent.”

  Mathin raised a brow. “Some things are foreordained, my friend. Now stand aside before you’re trampled.” Before Fallon could object further, he led the way into the kitchen.

  A current of warm air brought her musky spice to him, rousing instant desire. It was the stuff of silken sheets and moonlight, naked skin and a lover’s cries. The scent of legend.

  Completely unaware of her allure, Andrea watched them warily from her perch on a barstool.

  “Forgive me for neglecting you earlier,” Fallon said politely, coming no farther than the doorway. “I was...distracted, but it was very rude. You had some problem you wished to discuss with me?”

  Her face set in determined lines, she slid off the stool and handed him the note. “Yes, definitely. I think my grandma’s up to some sort of trickery. Last night she made me promise to stay for the summer, telling me she was dying of cancer; she practically begged me to take over for her. Today I find this.”

  He took it with two fingers, almost visibly holding his breath. “Hmm,” he said after a quick scan, during which he moved toward the counter and placed it on the top. “I knew of no illness. It was my understanding that she was calling you in as a temporary replacement while she went on vacation.”