“Ah, yes. You’ve hired a groundskeeper and a housekeeper and cook, Anastasia tells me.”
“Old friends of mine,” Rowan confirmed. “They’re also talented with magic and can help protect Stacy. I trust them with my life.”
The golem arched a brow. “Do you trust them with Anastasia’s, though?”
Rowan didn’t hesitate. “There’s no one other than Stacy’s own father I’d trust more.” He produced a slight smile. “And you, of course.”
Flattered, Reginald’s eyes gleamed. A pause of silence followed, and Khan’s butler observed the surroundings more closely. “Catherine always had secret rooms wherever she lived. That’s one thing where I’m glad Anastasia doesn’t take after her mother. It is nice to know where one can find her.”
“She is like Catherine in other ways,” Rowan mused.
Reginald nodded. “Though her temperament is much like Khan’s.” He chuckled. “You and I both have our challenges with those two.”
Rowan shared Reginald’s smile. “We are dealing with dragons being…well, dragons.” He paused. “And a witch.”
“People like Khan and Stacy are drawn into the troubles that surround them, and though they fear for the safety of others, they care much less about their own well-being.” Reginald shook his head. “Neither would ever lead a boring life.”
Rowan laughed. “You can say that again.”
“I’ll be going now. I only wanted to check on things.” Reginald turned to leave, then glanced back at the dryad. “I know you’re taking the attack hard. I would be too if I was in your position.” Rowan bristled, but Reginald was quick to add, “Don’t. If you go through life beating yourself up for things beyond your control, you won’t ever be the protector you need to be.”
“Thank you for that,” Rowan managed at last, his voice thick.
Reginald gave him a small nod, then went on his way. Rowan followed him into the main part of the library, where the afternoon sun glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dark wood floors and plush furniture. “I know you’re there,” he drawled when Reginald was gone.
From a corner of the library where shadows gathered, Kiera unfolded herself. She shed her glamor and stood with arms folded. “Don’t give me that look, Rowan.”
His green eyes glittered. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“I didn’t know who he was or why he wanted to see you.”
“You don’t have to worry about the golem.” Rowan observed the way her eyes shifted colors. Something about her being in this library made sense, as if she belonged here. “I know you have a tendency to distrust people you don’t know, Kiera. And some people you do know. You come by it honestly, though.”
Kiera glanced at the floor, then back at him, her eyes full of emotions that weren’t there a moment ago. Rowan’s old friend had grown up in a court of people who were skilled manipulators. Kiera herself was one. He knew the reasons she hadn’t been there in several centuries. The wounds of her departure still ran deep and raw.
He stepped toward her until only a few feet lay between them. The library was quiet except for their soft breathing. “Somehow, you learned to trust me.” Rowan didn’t know why he dared say any of this. Perhaps it was the tension that had been building between them since her arrival. Maybe before that, when he sent the letter asking her to come to the Thorn estate.
“I did,” she replied quietly, still holding his stare.
“I know how you feel about making a home for yourself, but this place…” Rowan trailed off, his gaze flitting around the library.
“It’s good here,” Kiera replied. “I can feel it. Stacy is good, too.”
Rowan smiled. “She is. She’s hoping to open a legal practice so she can help others.”
Kiera’s brows knitted in surprise. Rowan knew why. Kiera had known few people in Stacy’s position who hadn’t used their power to exploit others. “She isn’t like that,” Rowan stated as if he’d read her mind. “Neither was Catherine.”
Kiera smiled coyly. “Careful there, Rowan. The more you talk about the witch you once served, the more I might think you liked her better than me.”
Rowan did not share her smile. His expression remained serious, his voice low as he responded. “I’ve never liked anyone better than you, Kiera.”
Emotion shuttered in her eyes, turning the light violet shade darker. Kiera seemed like she was about to say something, but then she cleared her throat. Her face became unreadable again. “We should find the others and help them. We have a lot of work to finish today.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The man sitting across from Victor smirked. “I’m surprised at you, Vic. I thought you would have this problem dealt with by now.”
Victor bristled at the use of the nickname. Only those who’d known him since his youth called him that, and not because he wanted them to. He could almost hear his father’s deep voice in that one word, Vic. In his mind, it was accompanied by darkening eyes and a shaking head. Victor banished the image to focus on the person before him.
The man in the luxurious booth of the Corbinelli private lounge fluttered a hand, his rings glinting in the low light. One in particular showed the Corbinelli signet. This also made Victor bristle because the man wasn’t technically a Corbinelli, yet he’d been given a ring. In the man’s other hand, he held a half-empty glass of whiskey.
His voice was high and nasally. There had been times when Victor had seen the man’s name flash on his phone and chosen to ignore the call simply because he didn’t want to hear his voice. Few things grated his nerves more.
Victor didn’t let the man’s words affect him. He smiled slowly. “Turns out, this problem is bigger than we first realized. The witch is competent. We’re certain she did not come into her power until recently, but she has done so with a boom. This points to her having a considerable amount of power.”
“So eliminate it,” the man across from him snapped.
“Why not use it instead? I have a plan to meet her face-to-face and a deal she can’t say no to.” Victor’s smile spread, revealing teeth and a glimmer in his eyes that made other men in the room want to scramble away.
“Then what?” the other man asked in a casual tone as if he didn’t want to take Victor’s vague words as bait.
Victor tipped the glass of whiskey to his lips, then scowled. They hadn’t brought him his favorite. “Jemison, you are too impatient. Why don’t you wait and let it be a surprise?”
“Because your father doesn’t want to wait,” Jemison growled. “He sent me here to find out everything I could.” He sighed. “Of course, your father and I know how difficult and secretive you can be.”
Again, Victor could almost hear his father’s voice. He saw a glint of fear in Jemison’s eye. The lanky, angular man was only another lackey, bowing and scraping and kissing the elder Corbinelli’s ass. Victor was struck with a sudden sensation of grief, disgust, and fondness. The odd combination stilled him because Jemison reminded him of Lenny.
“Then perhaps he should have come to meet me himself instead of sending you,” Victor replied at last, his mind struggling to remember that he’d killed Dolos for a reason.
