by Abigail Owen
And how was a person of ten minutes’ acquaintance already distracting him.
With concentrated effort, he focused on the witch he was hunting. The Council’s directive so far was to find her and bring in for questioning. The impression that the witch had performed her magic unwillingly was the only thing keeping Greyson from immediately considering the same punishment he’d given Kaios’s warlock: death.
Greyson still wasn’t sure that end wasn’t justified.
First, he had to find her.
Greyson picked up his cell phone and searched for a number he’d already tried several times. After dialing he waited through several rings, already composing his message in his head when a woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Lyleia Nyaid?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls before now, Mr. Masters. Castor and I were on our honeymoon.”
His suspicion that all witnesses were avoiding him dulled somewhat, though he didn’t dismiss that gut instinct completely. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Rather than take up your time now, I was hoping to set up a meeting with you and your husband next week to discuss the witch involved in the attack on you.”
“Of course. Let me check our calendars, and I’ll get back to you on Monday morning.”
That’s right, she was Dioskouri’s executive assistant. Idly, Greyson wondered if that would continue now they’d married, not that it mattered to him. “Sounds good.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll include Tala and Marrok Banes? They are the alphas of the two packs of werewolves involved in the fight on our side and might be able to provide more information.”
Greyson sat up straighter. After several months of getting the runaround from all parties involved, suddenly this offer seemed too…accommodating. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I hope we can be of help.”
“I do, too.”
After hanging up with Lyleia, Greyson stared at his phone. Something about this entire situation felt off, wrong. Those involved weren’t behaving like experience had taught him to expect.
He’d get to the truth eventually.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Greyson closed the file on the witch. There was nothing he could do until he’d talked more with the demigod, nymph, and werewolves.
“Show me Rowan.” With a wave of his hand, the screen of his laptop came to life, showing his new nanny.
Time to see how she handled disaster. Greyson found a person’s true personality came out when everything went wrong. He’d put all the previous nannies to similar tests, though he had to admit, curiosity spiked inside him as he wondered how Rowan would react to the challenges he was about to put her through.
Then he’d know if he’d keep her around or not. He ignored the sickening drop to his stomach at the idea of having to turn her away. The important thing was finding the right nanny for his girls.
Would Rowan prove to be that person?
CHAPTER 4
The pungent odor of burning reached Rowan’s nose, which she wrinkled in distaste as she sniffed the air.
“What in the name of mystical—”
With a gasp she leapt up from the lounger on the back porch, where she was watching the girls practice small bits of magic as they played in the untamed woods behind the house. Silly things like turning a rock into a flower. Now, she turned her back on her charges and rushed into the house and straight for the kitchen.
“No, no, no,” she muttered under her breath. She couldn’t have got this wrong already.
Sure enough, the charred lump she pulled from the oven in no way resembled food. “My lasagna,” she wailed.
With hectic movements, she turned off the oven, turned on the overhead fan, and then opened a bunch of windows.
Teach me to try to cook without magic. She tossed a glare at the offending lasagna. What had she done wrong? Worse, any second Greyson would appear, demanding to know what had happened. No way could he miss the heavy scent of smoke pervading the house.
But after a few minutes, he didn’t show. What to do? She could use magic to clear the air and fix the dinner, but would he notice? He was, after all, a powerful mage, and an Enforcer, which meant he paid attention to details, or he’d never track down those he hunted. Technically, using magic to make dinner wasn’t a bad thing, but if she showed too many skills, he’d start to ask questions. Nannies’ skills were supposed to be domestic, though. Rowan had almost convinced herself to risk it. The alternative was admitting she’d messed up dinner.
Maybe I can start another dish instead? She moved to the pantry, which she’d already snooped around in, and came up with a few cans of tuna. She knew the fridge wasn’t much better stocked. Tuna surprise it is, then.
Twenty minutes later, a new casserole bubbled away in the oven. So maybe she put a tiny spell on it to ensure it wouldn’t burn. Plus, she made sure to check on it often. In the meantime she found a can of aerosol scent and sprayed it liberally throughout the kitchen, leaving the windows open. At least the weather cooperated, a light breeze blowing through the house and across her skin. Surprisingly mild for January in the mountains, though she was sure, based on the piles of snow around the bases of the trees, that harsher weather would return soon.
A relieved sigh escaped her lips. Greyson Masters hadn’t discovered her mistake. Score one for the underdog. Suddenly she realized it was time to check on the girls. Darkness had fallen. She should’ve had them inside ages ago. Grabbing her thick jacket, which she’d thrown on the floor earlier, she slipped out to the back patio. All thoughts of dinner vanished as she noted the silence outside. Her steps slowed as she scanned the woods. Where were the girls?
They must’ve come back inside while I was busy with dinner. However, a quick but thorough check of the house showed her they had not. Rowan refused to allow panic into the situation. No way could she have messed up dinner and lost her charges all in the same night. Greyson would fire her on the spot, and then how would she implement her plan?
With hurried steps, she went to where she’d last seen the girls. Stopping there, she ran her gaze along the woods, which, after about fifty feet, veered steeply up the side of the mountain. No sounds of laughter or chatter reached her. Where on earth could they be?
Dinner would be ready soon, under the wire for Greyson’s seven o’clock deadline. Magic might be her only option now. Rowan bit her lip. So many spells in one day, of varying kinds, not a great start to flying under the radar. If she could keep it small, maybe they wouldn’t realize. Back turned to the house, just in case, she closed her eyes. “Nuru il immaru.”
Roughly translated, the words meant to see the light. She thought the words, not daring to say them aloud. The spell would be minimized without the spoken phrases. Exactly as she intended.
With a spell such as this one, she was never entirely sure of the results, leaving the specifics up to the magic. Slowly opening her eyes, she sucked in a breath. Before her a glittering set of golden footsteps wound around the yard. A quick glance revealed the path moving back into the house. So they were inside, in one of the few places she hadn’t checked, which meant either the attic, Greyson’s office, or his bedroom. Had they hidden from her?
Damn, and I thought I was doing so well connecting with them.
Before her spell could fade, Rowan traced their steps back inside to discover the attic had been their final destination. She doubted they’d missed the stench of the smoke from her ruined dinner as they came inside. What if a real fire had blazed and they’d been trapped? And what was their goal by hiding?
Getting her in trouble, most likely.
Greyson glanced away from his email at the clock in the bottom right corner of his computer screen. Time to go to dinner and see how Rowan had dealt with him. So far, she’d been a damn sight more enjoyable to watch than the previous nannies. Beyond a small wail of frustration, she’d handled the dinner d
isaster with compunction, though he’d been mildly surprised she couldn’t prepare dinner with magic as the other nannies had. It must not be one of her gifts, which gave him a small sting of guilt for ruining her dinner.
She moved with a lithe grace, her jeans hugging her backside in a way he couldn’t fail to acknowledge. With a grunt he pushed aside any notice of her as a woman and tried to focus on her actions. She’d frantic search for the girls, then paused in the woods. No words had been spoken, but with deliberate direction, she’d walked straight to the attic door.
Once there, she’d cocked her head and crossed her arms, frustration pinching her lips. Had she figured out where the girls were hiding? They did this to every nanny, and he allowed it as part of their family test.
“So that’s how it’s going to be,” she finally said, then spun on her heels and returned to the kitchen.
Interesting reaction. Was she going to do anything about her charges up in the attic?
The dinnertime hour had arrived, which meant he’d discover the answer to his question shortly. He flipped the lid closed on his computer and went in search of a witch. One who’d occupied more of his day than she should’ve. He entered the dining room promptly at seven to find the table laid for five. A basket of crusty bread and a leafy spinach salad sat in the middle of the table.
“I’ll be right there.” Rowan’s voice drifted to him from the kitchen, but he couldn’t see her over the countertops.
Then she stood from where she’d been bent over to remove her casserole from the oven. Unbidden, an image of those jeans stretched tautly over her nicely rounded ass entered his mind. With effort, he pushed it away.
Hands in oven mitts to protect her skin from the piping hot casserole dish, Rowan skirted the large island and entered the room where he waited. She placed the dish on a trivet and removed her mitts, setting them on the corner of the table. Never once looking his direction, she took a seat. “Shall we?”
His best poker face firmly in place, Greyson also took a seat directly across from her at the long end of the table. Curiosity about her next actions had him firmly in thrall. He glanced behind her in the direction of the attic.
“Would you pass me your plate, please?”
He shifted his gaze to find her holding her hand out patiently. Without a word he meekly passed his plate over. She dished up a healthy portion of whatever she had decided to serve in place of her badly burnt lasagna and passed it back.
“Where are the girls?” he asked.
“Hiding.” She spoke blunt and to the point, but no censure or irritation laced her tone.
He cocked his head. “Oh?”
She gave a perfunctory smile, one which didn’t appear to reach her eyes, although it was hard to tell, as she had yet to look at him directly, a fact which, perversely, he didn’t like. “They’ll appear when they get hungry.”
“I see.” He placed his napkin in his lap and served himself salad before passing her the bowl. “I must say, I’m impressed.”
“Why?” Finally, she met his gaze. “Tuna surprise is hardly a gourmet meal.”
A chuckle threatened. He hadn’t even tasted the casserole yet. “I mean about the girls. Several of my nannies haven’t lasted the first night.” He shook his head, making his disdain for those other nannies clear. “How hard is it to cook a meal and keep track of three young witches?”
In response, Rowan set down her fork and leaned back, observing him through now narrowed eyes. Did she suspect his test? “I think I see.”
Damn. She’d figured him out.
But she didn’t say any more. He gave her top marks. None of the others had caught on. As if by mutual agreement, they both tucked in to their meals. Strangely, the silence which descended was not heavy, but comfortable. When was the last time he’d sat with a woman, without talking, and neither felt the need to fill the void with inane chatter?
Almost thirty minutes later, the girls finally put in an appearance. “We’re hungry.”
Rowan greeted them with a welcoming smile. “Have a seat. There’s not much left to eat, and it’s probably cold, but you’re welcome to eat.”
Not much left? They’d only had one helping each. Greyson glanced at the serving dishes. Sure enough, only about a quarter of the food remained.
Had Rowan just spelled the food to reduce the amount remaining and teach the girls a lesson? If she had, she’d done so in front of him without his seeing or hearing. Not even a fizzle of energy in the room or a flicker of a lightbulb. Apparently, his nanny had untapped depths.
He eyed her speculatively. Tricky.
The girls exchanged a glance, then looked toward him. While he’d allowed their hiding act in the past, he’d never condoned it. He gave them zero help, keeping his expression neutral.
“This smells good,” Atleigh, the peacemaker, tried.
Before Rowan could respond, Lachlyn spoke up. “Didn’t you notice we were gone?”
No change in Rowan’s pleasant expression. “Yes, I did.”
“And you didn’t look for us? Aren’t you supposed to be all caring and motherly?” Lachlyn scowled, but her bluster didn’t hide her true upset.
Rowan paused in spooning a miniscule amount of casserole onto a plate for Atleigh. “If you mean fluttering around like a panicked bird caught in a windstorm searching for you, you’ll find that’s not my style.”
“But you knew where they were?” Greyson asked. He needed to be sure he left his daughters with someone capable. Even if her eyes were an extraordinary shade of grey and her full lips begged to be kissed.
Get your mind off her lips, you ass.
She directed a polite gaze his way, but he caught the anger snapping in their depths all the same. “I assured myself they were safe and in the house. They are old enough to arrive at dinner on time, without prompting.”
She sent the girls a sweet smile. “After all…you don’t need a nanny. Right?”
Lachlyn, whom he’d mentally dubbed the ringleader almost since birth, tipped up her chin. “Exactly.”
“Excellent.” Rowan divvied out the remaining food.
“Is this all?” Chloe asked, a mournful droop to her mouth.
“I’m afraid so.” Rowan showed zero remorse. In fact…was that a twitch to her mouth?
“Can you at least heat it up?” Lachlyn demanded.
Greyson opened his mouth to rebuke her rude tone, but Rowan beat him to it.
“Arrive to dinner late, eat cold food. You chose to be late. Next time, maybe you’ll arrive on time.” Rowan nodded as though that closed the discussion, and all three girls, in various stages of anger and shock, shut their mouths and accepted their plates without further debate. Greyson had never seen them so subdued. Then, again, no other nanny had handled today quite as Rowan had either.
After a quiet, and rather strained, rest of dinner, Rowan wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood. “Girls, you may clear the table and clean up the kitchen before you go to bed.”
“What?—” Chloe screeched. She turned to him. “Dad, we never clean the kitchen.”
“Then it’s about time you start.” Rowan’s quiet words held steel, and he found himself hoping he never landed on her bad side. Of course, if she used that husky voice in that bossy way with him, he might have to do something about it. Something which involved—
Greyson gave himself a mental shake as his thoughts, once again, turned down an inappropriate path. Instead, he tried to focus on the scene before him and had to hold in a laugh at the three identical expressions of disgruntled acceptance. He should’ve called Delilah sooner, because Rowan McAuliffe was exactly whom his family needed.
“I’ll check on you in about an hour.” Rowan turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. “I wanted to thank all of you.”
Greyson sat back and waited.
Rowan smiled warmly. “Each household takes time to settle into and become part of the routine. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your efforts to make my day
so warm and welcoming and…special.”
Guilt settled like a granite boulder in his gut. Based on their wide-eyed exchange of glances, the girls felt the same.
Rowan’s smile didn’t alter exactly, but suddenly a mischievous glint sparkled from those amazing eyes. “I look forward to repaying your kindness.”
With those parting words, she turned and quietly left the room. A whisper would’ve sounded like a shout in the silence she left in her wake.
“Do you think she meant she’d get even?” Lachlyn asked, breaking the hush which had fallen over them.
He dropped his napkin onto his plate. “I suspect so.”
“Is she mad?” Atleigh asked.
“Hard to tell. I’ll go talk to her.”
He left the girls clearing up, and made his way to the basement. He fully expected to find Rowan packing her things. Instead, he discovered her on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, watching a rerun of a nineties sitcom.
She flicked him a glance as he entered. “Well?” she asked. “Did I pass your little test?”
Yeah. She’d figured it out.
“When did you know?” he asked.
“When you didn’t comment on the burnt smell or the fact that I’d left the girls in the attic. Do you do this to all your nannies?”
He flopped onto the couch beside her and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. Atleigh, Lachlyn, and Chloe are quite…unusual.”
He caught her curious glance and held up both hands. “I’m not permitted to share more than that. But even if they weren’t special, they’re still three girls on the cusp of teenage-hood, and need the right person minding them.”
“And Delilah sent you duds?” Her doubt about that came through loud and clear.
“No. I didn’t ask Delilah until now. I thought we could handle this through the witching community. I was wrong.”
Surprise-widened eyes told him he’d caught her off-guard with the admission.
Greyson grinned. “Yes, I can be wrong.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and instant tension filled the space between them like a curtain of electricity. Awareness, pure and simple. Rowan broke the trance as she snatched her gaze away, and his head cleared a bit, enough for the realization that he hadn’t smiled, truly smiled, since his wife’s death, to strike hard. He rubbed at a spot on his chest as his mind transitioned from turned on to shock to aggravated at himself in the space of seconds.