Chapter Sixteen

“What the hell are you talking about?” Greyson demanded.

The chocolate Rowan had practically force-fed him had eased his shaking, but he wasn’t anywhere near full strength yet. Would he need it to face down a demigod? Given the heavy glare Castor was directing at his daughters, fear speared icy fingers through Greyson’s heart, along with a shot of adrenaline spiking his blood.

He couldn’t lose them, too.

Greyson moved to put himself bodily between the threat and his children.

“Cas, darling,” Leia placed a steady hand on the demigod’s arm. “You’re scaring the children.”

“Those aren’t children,” Castor spat. “They are the three women who set the fates of all beings—man, demigod, and god alike. They determine the lengths of our lives and the dates of our deaths. They are responsible for every shortened life, every person we loved who died early, every unjust death.”

All three girls gasped, and Rowan, standing closer, wrapped her arms around them. If glares could kill, there’d be a fried demigod on Greyson’s wood floors right now. In a show of solidarity, Nefertiti suddenly appeared from wherever she’d been hiding and also placed herself in front of the girls, tail straight as a board, hissing a warning at the demigod.

“What is he talking about, Daddy?” The waver in Atleigh’s voice broke his heart.

Leia tugged on Castor’s arm. “They obviously don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop scaring them.”

“There has to be some mistake.” Marrok stepped forward now.

“Stay out of it, old friend,” Castor snapped, not removing his eyes from the girls.

Greyson raised his hands, ready for whatever came his way. “Marrok’s right. You’ve made a mistake.”

“Do they join together in a trace?”

Holy hell. The blood shot to his feet, draining from everywhere else, leaving him lightheaded. Could my daughters be fates? Only, the things they talked about in that trance, more like they were talking to someone, not about them. It didn’t fit.

But he couldn’t focus on that now. Not with an enraged demigod standing before him.

Castor zeroed his gaze in on Greyson. “I know these women well. They killed my first wife. They’ve killed everyone I’ve ever lost.”

By now the girls had started sobbing behind him. Greyson gathered what tiny amount of strength he had inside him, preparing to fight.

“Calm!” At Rowan’s single word, a sense of serenity poured through Greyson, starting in his chest and moving out to his extremities like a river of peace and tranquility. He didn’t lose sight of the danger, but the anxiety and adrenaline pumping through him moments before dissipated in the wake of the magic swirling through the room.

Castor, too, relaxed his stance, releasing his hands, which had been fisted. Even his blue eyes dimmed slightly. Behind him, the girls quieted.

“Whoa,” Tala muttered. “That would be a handy trick with wolf shifter pups. Any time you want a job, you have a place with us.”

Slowly Greyson turned to face his nanny, whose pink-tinted skin had gone sickly gray. Her hands, which she still held up, shook horribly. Rowan tossed Tala a wan smile. “No, thanks. Takes too much energy.”

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 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.

She’d never looked more beautiful, putting her own health at risk to protect his children as though they were her own. 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, lips compressed, jaw working. “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.”

Leia 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?”

He hated not being able to do it himself, the need to protect this woman all but screaming at him, but he had no choice.

“I’ll take her,” Castor offered.

Greyson shook his head. “No. We need more information, 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.”

…

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.

Oh my gods. 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 sleepwalking bit. Limbs heavy and sluggish, Rowan managed to toss off her blankets and get out of her bed, 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 with two steaming cups of coffee.

“No tea?” she asked.

“I didn’t know if you’d wake up or not,” he whispered through a smile. As he spoke, he trailed his gaze over her face. He held out a cup for her. 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 as she accepted her cup, curling her fingers around the warmth and inhaling.

His lips flattened. “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 plugged in and turned to high. 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 Syndicate had set on her trail.

Before she knew it, they arrived at the edge of the clearing where the girls had already gathered. Just like last time, the three stood in a circle, bathed in the pure light of the 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 would never hurt us. She loves us.”

Rowan jolted at the impact of those words. Fear spiking through her, she jerked away from Grey, snatching 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 around 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 had dropped to crouch beside her, though he hadn’t touched her. Scowling, jaw like stone, and a hard light in his dark eyes.

“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered.

A cry rose up inside her that she swallowed down even as her heart shattered.

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. “Why would you say that? I could never kill you.”

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 who 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 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. They aren’t the fates.”

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. “Nothing. While you were out, we had Delilah’s people examine them. They aren’t fates.”

“Then what are they?”

Now he hesitated.

“Spit it out, Grey.” Please, nothing bad. For the girls’ sake. For his.

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 taking down a peg.”

Instead of answering, he shocked her by reaching for her wrist, which had at least dropped in pain levels, tingling now more 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 collecting heat at the juncture of her thighs. If he 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 tugged 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 are the girls, Grey?”

He stared at her for a long moment, gaze strangely intent. “We don’t know yet.”

That didn’t make her feel any better. Especially given what they’d just been saying. She took a deep breath and looked him dead in the eyes. “I would never hurt them. Ever.”

“I know.” Not even a smidge of hesitation. Grey tugged her in the direction of the house. “Come on.”

Inside the house, he left her in the kitchen with a “don’t leave” as he ran upstairs to check the girls. She stood, arms dangling at her sides, gaze focused on nothing in particular as thoughts chased themselves through her mind like hounds after a fox.

“They’re fine,” he said as he reentered the kitchen. The soft whisper still made her jump.

He sent her a smile she supposed was meant to soothe, but after tonight, and the warnings, and the way her heart was reaching for Grey and his family, it didn’t help. If anything, the way he was trying to help only made this worse.

“Tea?” he asked, reaching for the cups in the cupboard.

I can’t do this.

“Um…” She backed toward the door leading to her room. “Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

She tried not to see the surprise or acknowledge the disappointment that shadowed his face as she jerked the door open.

“Okay—”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by the sound of the door closing behind her.