“Hello, Rowan,” she purred.
He dipped his head in response, almost a bow. “Hello, Kiera.”
Kiera Swiftshadow’s cool gaze slid from Rowan to her soon-to-be coworker. “Miles, a pleasure as always.” Her tone told Rowan she didn’t consider it a pleasure in the slightest.
Miles must have gauged this, but he didn’t allow Kiera’s tone to faze him. “We’re going to have a grand old time, Ki. Like we used to all those years ago.” He jostled Rowan with an elbow. “Us three always gettin’ into trouble.”
Kiera’s expression remained smooth, but her voice held ice. “Don’t call me that.”
“I won’t tolerate any trouble here,” Rowan added.
Miles waved a hand. “You two are no fun.”
Rowan weighed the interaction, wondering what had happened between the pair in the last few decades. More than twenty-five years of separation from one’s friends would seem like much to a mortal, but to these three, who had been alive for much longer than a human’s usual lifespan, it felt brief.
He wondered if it had been too brief, given the icy regard Kiera seemed to extend toward Miles. Then again, Kiera always had a cold exterior despite the fire Rowan knew burned inside her.
Miles and Kiera examined their surroundings. Miles commented that the grounds needed desperate attention and his many years of expertise. Kiera was quiet, but her gaze remained the longest on the house. The sprites that typically zipped around had vanished as if the arrival of the newcomers had made them cautious. Finally, Miles turned to the dryad. “You think the new mistress of this house will do well?”
“Yes, I believe so. Anastasia is much like her mother, though in need of guidance, which I am happy to provide.” Rowan leveled his gaze at Miles, then shifted it to Kiera, who locked eyes with him and did not look away.
He made himself breathe evenly as he continued. “I’ll admit that I’ve called on you, as my old friends, to work the estate, but also because I know you will protect the grounds and its mistress as well as anyone Stacy chooses to live here.”
An image of Amy Greentree entered his mind. Rowan nearly chuckled at the thought of the journalist interacting with these two. She and Miles would get on like a house on fire. Kiera was another matter entirely.
“Stacy?” Kiera asked. “I thought her name was Anastasia.”
At this, Rowan smiled. “She’ll bite your head off if you call her Anastasia or Miss Drakethorn.”
Kiera’s dark lips curved. “The same way I’ll bite Miles’ head off if he calls me ‘Ki’ again?”
Miles grumbled something incoherent, but Kiera cut in. “We should meet her first. I know you have high standards, Rowan. That alone should have me second-guessing this, but I promised to meet her and decide from there.”
Rowan had spent days agonizing over how to convince these two to come here. Though Miles would have said yes to anything Rowan asked him in a heartbeat, he wasn’t the sort who liked to stay anywhere too long. He needed to find a way to keep Miles here, assuming Stacy liked him enough to hire him. He doubted that would be a problem.
With Kiera, however, it was the opposite story. When she chose a person or place to become loyal to, she held fast with ferocity. She could become as permanent here as the roots of the trees.
The trick was to convince her to stay. There had to be something in this for her beyond housing and money. Rowan had worked out a deal, which he had detailed in a long letter. The look in her eyes told him she was counting on that deal working out.
We’ll discuss it later, he conveyed silently, then motioned toward the house as the sun set behind it. “I’ve prepared dinner for us all. Anastasia Drakethorn awaits.”
Stacy wished Amy was here. That way, she wouldn’t have to meet the potential new hires alone. Well, not alone, but Rowan said they were old friends. Considering Rowan was old as fuck, Stacy figured these three had known each other a long-ass time.
However, Amy was on a work trip. According to the text she’d sent that afternoon, she would not be home until late.
Stacy had begged in response.
STACY
Any way you can get here earlier?
Amy’s reply held the level of humor Stacy expected.
AMY
As much as I love the meals Rowan makes and the meal he is, I’m afraid I can’t get away until after the pitch dinner.
Stacy was still glowering at her phone when she heard the front door opening and the low voice of a man she didn’t recognize trailing through the hallway. “Food smells wonderful. Does the girl cook, too?” the unknown man asked.
A woman’s cool tone replied, “We both know it’s Rowan’s cooking.”
Stacy was thankful Rowan hadn’t asked her to cook. She could make a decent lasagna, and that was about it. Growing up at the Drakethorn estate meant Stacy always had meals cooked by a magical professional. She’d only learned to cook for herself after moving to the city.
She put her phone away and braced herself to meet the newcomers. She pasted on a smile as they strode into the kitchen. Rowan entered first, followed by the pair of potential employees.
It did not take Stacy long to size up their guests. The man did not appear much older than her, though she knew looks could be deceiving when it came to magicals. His deep brown eyes glittered. He dipped his head in greeting. “You must be Stacy.” He extended a hand and shook hers heartily. “I’m glad to meet you. Name’s Miles Ironwood.”
Stacy glanced at Rowan, wondering if he had insisted they call her by her nickname. She was glad they did. She returned the greeting, her smile widening. Her attention went to the woman next. She couldn’t quite describe the effect the woman had on her. She was ethereal, almost otherworldly. Stacy couldn’t stop looking at her.
The woman seemed to realize this and produced a slow, cunning smile that reminded Stacy of a cat. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, Stacy. My name is Kiera Swiftshadow.”
Ironwood. Swiftshadow. Stacy figured she didn’t have room to think their last names were strange, with hers being Drakethorn. This made her wonder what Rowan’s last name was. She didn’t ask because now didn’t seem like the time. She returned Kiera’s greeting, then added, “Rowan tells me you three are old friends.”
“Friends is one word,” Kiera replied, waving a perfectly manicured hand with nails painted midnight black. “Allies, acquaintances. Enemies at another point. Lovers—”
Rowan cut her off by loudly clearing his throat. Stacy’s gaze bounced between the three, wondering about Kiera’s words. Rowan’s voice was stern when he stated, “I’m sure Stacy doesn’t want to hear that right now.”
