Chapter Twenty-Three

Soft sunlight filtered through Rowan’s closed eyes, but she had no desire to wake up and face the world. Not yet.

“Sorry. But you must get up. Now.”

Rowan frowned at the female voice annoyingly trying to pull her out of her slumber. She knew that voice. “Delilah?”

“I’m here. And I’ve let you sleep as long as I could. You need to get up and shower and dress. We have a meeting to attend.”

A meeting? What in the eye of newt was the woman going on about?

“With the Covens Syndicate.” Right then, the sound of a feline growl had Delilah swearing. “And get this damn cat away from me.”

Memories came flooding back, along with a slam of fear, and a lance of pain spiked through Rowan’s head. Oh, my… The wolf shifters. Grey. She’d…died.

Adrenaline spiking through her veins, Rowan peeled her eyes open to find Delilah sitting beside her bed in her room in Grey’s basement, appearing her usual elegant self in a cream-colored cashmere sweater over black slacks, her dark hair coiled at her nape, loose tendrils framing her face. “What happened?”

Delilah hitched her lips in a half smile. “Grey’s girls are ghost whisperers. They got someone named Essie to pull you out of there.”

Essie? Grey’s grandmother’s ghost? How was that possible?

“No time to explain now, I have to get you to this meeting. Your fight’s not over, Rowan. Time to confess all to your people.”

The cold claws of fear reached in and rendered her numb and terrified at the same time. Grey was going to hate her, and she was about to be imprisoned or killed.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Delilah said.

And that was the only reason Rowan allowed the other woman to tug her out of bed. In a whirlwind of movement, she was handed clothes and shoved into the bathroom.

“Wait.”

Delilah paused in the act of closing the door and raised her eyebrows.

“Where’s Grey?”

Delilah’s lips thinned, her expression grim. “Already there.”

…

Rowan clenched her hands against the shaking, which wouldn’t stop. She wasn’t entirely sure if the tremors were part of recovering from being mostly dead for a while or confronting the truth of who she was in front of the Covens Syndicate, particularly without having had a chance to talk to Grey in private first.

Couldn’t be helped now.

She’d teleported them to the location Delilah provided and now walked the halls of the ultramodern building where the Syndicate apparently held their meetings. She’d gone from mountain cabin to alien spaceship, though in the Sierra Nevadas now. Maybe she was still a ghost, and this was all a weird vision?

Delilah stopped at a mahogany door and rapped her knuckles sharply against it. Before Rowan could collect herself, a deep male voice called to come in, and Delilah dragged her inside.

A group of witches and warlocks of various ages, their faces all cast in blank judgment, sat at a long metal and glass table facing the doorway. Behind them a wall of windows showed the mountains in all their splendor. But she couldn’t appreciate the view over the treetops when her life hung in the balance. She sought and found Grey, seated off to her left beside a man with black hair and eerily piercing blue eyes so pale they appeared almost white, reminding her of dragon shifters from the White Clan. Glacial. Her heart shriveled at the hard stare Grey directed her way.

Okay. This wasn’t going to go well, then. She tried not to let the crack splitting her heart break it wide open. Not here in front of everyone.

“Ms. McAuliffe?” the man beside Grey asked, his deep tones almost bored.

Rowan nodded. His unusual gaze shifted to the woman at her side. “And you must be Ms.?”

Rowan glanced over to see Delilah give him a cool smile. “Delilah.”

“First or last?”

Delilah said nothing, merely held her polite smile and the man’s stare. There was someone in a position of power who didn’t know her? If Rowan wasn’t terrified, she’d have been more interested in that byplay.

After a long, intense moment, he let it go, turning back to Rowan. “I’m Alasdair Blakesley, current head of the Syndicate. Greyson has filled us in on the situation and”—he flicked a glance at Delilah—“supplied us information provided by various witnesses.”

Okay. She chanced a glance at Grey, who regarded her with zero expression. What had he told them?

“Now we’d like to hear from you.”

Right.

She took a big breath, ignoring the way her hands shook uncontrollably, and tipped up her chin. “My name is Rowan McAuliffe. As a child I took on the last name of Tanya McAuliffe, the woman who raised me after my parents died. My birth parents were Cormac and Evelyn Balfour.”

A ripple of movement shifted through the group before her. No surprise there. Balfour was one of the oldest names among their people.

“That’s not possible. Your file lists a low-level magical couple named the Campbells.”

Rowan turned her attention to Persephone. What was she doing here anyway? She sat there, in a deep red dress, her hair coiled in an elegant chignon, with an expression of suppressed glee.

“Then your files are wrong.” Rowan glanced at Delilah, who smiled serenely, not fooling Rowan. The woman had somehow managed to alter the files.

“Cormac and Evelyn Balfour…and their daughter…were killed in a car crash,” Persephone insisted.

Rowan shrugged a shoulder. “The woman who raised me found the wreck. She used a unique brand of magic to fake my death and took me away, passing me off as her own.”

Alasdair flicked his finger over a tablet. Looking at paperwork? “This is Tanya McAuliffe? A common witch with limited powers?”

Rowan’s mouth kicked up in a smile, despite the way cold fear spread though her. No going back after this. “Tanya McAuliffe, a demon posing as a witch.”

Even Delilah sucked in a breath, though Rowan doubted the Syndicate members caught the sound. Rowan, meanwhile, tried not to take a step back, anticipating the spell that would end her life.

But none came.

Her gaze flashed to Grey’s to find him watching her closely. Surely, he would warn her if death were imminent? Even if he hated her right now.

Into the void of silence, Rowan continued hesitantly. “Tanya believed the crash that killed my parents wasn’t an accident. She claimed someone was after me and thought maybe someone in the Syndicate. She hid me in plain sight as a”—she glanced at Persephone, chin going up—“common witch with limited powers. In secret, she taught me magic. A different kind from what you know. More powerful, using ancient words to power the spells.”

“Impossible,” an older gentleman hissed from the other end of the table.

Rowan ignored him. “It’s only since living with…Mr. Masters that I’ve started to question Tanya’s assumption. My guess now is that Kaios, the ancient werewolf who took me, was the one after me all along.”

It made sense, once she’d been able to see past that lifelong fear of the people in this room. Tanya’s fear. Grey had shown her that. With who he was and what he stood for. Even killing that warlock had been an act of honor. For his wife.

She tried to let him see that now, in her eyes. Only he looked away.

Still, she had to believe in him. He wouldn’t let her die here today.

“Where is this Tanya now?” Alasdair asked.

“Dead.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She could still hear Tanya’s screams as that warlock kept her locked down and Kaios ripped her to shreds, followed by a silence which hurt even worse.

“Why would a werewolf want you?” Persephone sneered.

“Because I’m an Aneval.”

Grey jerked his head to the side, looking away from her, and she knew he was remembering the animals in the forest that had saved their lives.

“And why would they care about that?” Persephone demanded. No doubt the poor woman wasn’t too happy to discover Grey’s powerless little nanny was actually something rather special.

“All animals have a certain draw for me. Shifters, to a certain extent, can dictate what I do. But, werewolves, because of their own brand of magic and the way it’s tied to their animal form, can…call to me. The more powerful, ancient ones—” She shook her head and had to consciously force her jaw to unclench. “They can control me or any other Aneval. It’s how Kaios got me to work against the demigod and witch I attacked, but my powers didn’t work against the wolf shifters. I think to his surprise.”

“Why did you not come to us in the first place? When Kaios was killed and you were released from his control?” Alasdair asked.

She grimaced. “I’d been raised to question if the Syndicate killed my parents. Then you killed the other warlock Kaios used without any understanding of why he did what he did, or that’s how it appeared at the time.”

Alasdair glanced at Grey, whose face seemed to have turned to granite, then sat forward. “Are you saying we killed an innocent man?”

“I know better now,” she said softly. “I learned the truth, and it made me start to question my beliefs. But the kind of trust you’re asking for takes…a lot.”

Again, he slid his gaze to Grey, who didn’t move.

Alasdair turned back to her. “Does that alleviate your concern about us?”

She blinked, pulling her focus back to the leader of all mages. “It…helps.” Given her upbringing, full trust would take time. “I’d rather not be locked up or killed because werewolves can control me.”

Persephone jumped to her feet. “Of course you should be execu—”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” Grey snapped the words so loud they seemed to bounce off the windows.

Persephone whipped a glare his direction. “But her kind are dangerous.”

He still wasn’t looking at Rowan. “No more than you or I. Sit down.”

After her mouth opening and closing a few times, Persephone did as he said. Then Grey nodded at Alasdair.

And Rowan had no idea what to do with any of that. Was he defending her? Did he hate her, but not enough to kill her? Look at me, she urged.

Alasdair, meanwhile, regarded her with a long, intent look before relaxing back in his seat. “So…why the deception, posing as Greyson’s nanny?”

Delilah put a hand on Rowan’s arm. “I’m afraid that was my idea. Rowan didn’t trust you, but I knew she needed the protection only her own people could offer. I know Greyson. I trust him. I sent her with the idea that she would hide in plain sight and try to thwart his investigation, but my hope was that they would earn each other’s trust. A Seer confirmed this to be the best course of action. Unfortunately, Kaios’s lover forced our hand.”

The trust thing was all news to Rowan. “I should’ve known you had a bigger plan,” she muttered under her breath.

Delilah squeezed her arm before releasing her, her only acknowledgment.

“I see,” Alasdair said. “Just so we’re clear…you descend from one of our most ancient families. You’re an Aneval, and werewolves can control you. You were raised by a demon. Anything else?”

Persephone’s expression reminded Rowan of an old woman in her village in Ireland whose face had drawn in on itself, giving her the constant expression of having sucked on a lemon. But Rowan could find no joy in the moment, because Persephone wasn’t important. Grey was, and he wouldn’t look at her anymore. Like he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

Rowan considered telling them about the sigil on her wrist, but that was between her and Grey. And, should the Syndicate decide to execute her, she didn’t want him to know. She couldn’t bear it if she hurt him that way. “No.” Was it possible to die from a shattered heart? “Nothing else.”

Alasdair swiveled to Grey. “Anything to add?”

Rowan locked eyes with the man she loved, trying to plead with him, to communicate the truth—that she’d never hurt him or the girls. I’m sorry, she mouthed.

He glanced away, moving his gaze to Alasdair. “You have all the information you need.”

Rowan looked down and bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay. She wouldn’t forgive her, either, if she were in his position. But she’d hoped.

Silly, really. To believe he could.

Alasdair turned back to them. “Wait in one of our smaller conference rooms. Michael, who’s waiting outside the door, will show you where. One of us will meet you there with our decision.”

Grey still wouldn’t look at her. Persephone’s sour lemon expression turned into the smirk of a cat who’d guzzled a gallon of cream, and Rowan’s feet refused to move. Delilah had to tug at her arm, practically pulling her out of the room.