Chapter Three

Greyson shut the door to his office with a sigh of relief, followed by a flash of guilt. He loved his daughters with every cell in his body, but, even after ten years without his wife, he still had no idea how to deal with three little girls. He had to admit his position as lead hunter for the Covens Syndicate had not remotely prepared him for wrangling with three tiny females. Of course, based on six previous nannies’ performances, the girls were a handful for anyone, a fact which made him feel marginally better.

A mental image of the latest in a long line of nannies popped into his mind—creamy skin, wide dove-gray eyes, red curls everywhere, the most adorable freckles. Unbidden, his body hardened. Because of freckles.

“Damn,” he muttered.

He’d raised his hands, ready to defend his daughters when Rowan had appeared as if conjured and frozen like an ice cube at the north pole. Those wide gray eyes looking at him in wary interest caught his attention first, followed by the freckles across the bridge of her nose, stark against her pale skin. Angel kisses, he remembered his mother saying about her own freckles when he was a boy. If Rowan had stood closer, he might even have reached out and brushed a fingertip against them. Lust had inconveniently roared through his veins, hitting him like a bolt of lightning on a clear day. Out of the fucking blue. He’d never responded so strongly to a woman. Ever. Not even to his sweet wife.

Guilt twisted inside him like a snake writhing in the grasp of a raptor’s talons.

Discovering Rowan was his nanny had been like being dunked in a frigid mountain stream—inappropriate. Wrong on more than one level.

Then she’d opened her mouth, and, rather than the meek and mild woman he expected—like every other nanny sent to him—sass had flowed out from between those pouty lips.

Helpful. He’d had a hard time not laughing at that one, his amusement in the midst of everything else only serving to add to growing frustration with himself. What was wrong with him?

And what was with that strange spark of electricity when he shook her hand? Living in the mountains, he could put it down to static charge, but that bolt felt stronger, sharper. A glance at his palm—which still tingled from the contact, even now—showed no mark. He closed his hand in a fist, then chided himself for being stupid to even look. Of course, that had been static electricity or residual power from the energy balls he’d formed, perhaps—simple.

Greyson reluctantly admitted he’d bolted. He’d had no intention of working today until Rowan McAuliffe had shown up.

The way she’d taken over… I shouldn’t feel so relieved.

But he had. Like suddenly he wasn’t the only one struggling on his own with a whole lot of problems.

A different pang of guilt mixed in with the other emotions like a tossed salad. His…attraction to her had to be an aberration. The girls had been fighting. Again. As usual, he had no idea how to deescalate the situation. His emotions already heightened, he doubted he’d react the same way to Rowan when in his usual controlled state.

Having satisfactorily explained away his odd behavior, Greyson decided he might as well get work done while he was in here. He’d give his nanny time to get settled before he tested her out.

He crossed the small office to sit behind the old pine desk, a wall of bookshelves at his back. Natural light poured in from a set of double doors, which led out to a small side patio. Greyson flipped open the lid of his laptop and logged in. After a couple of clicks, he brought up the file for his latest assignment.

Unfortunately, the case had come to a screeching halt before it ever got started. For the thousandth time, he reviewed the information available.

They’d had two grave abuses of magic instigated by the same creature. Kaios, an ancient werewolf, now deceased, had first employed a warlock to attack a group of nymphs not far from where Greyson lived. With the help of a demigod, the warlock had been captured and held by the nymphs.

The Covens Syndicate had dispatched a different hunter to bring the man in for questioning. But Greyson knew the warlock personally, had history with him, and knew that this wouldn’t be the last time he attacked innocents.

He’d taken it upon himself to enact a different penalty—death.

Usually, Greyson refused to mete out that kind of punishment. Banishment, removal of powers—those he could do. But death? Such an act scarred the soul. However, in this particular case, he’d disagreed strongly with the Syndicate’s decision to question first and then decide. He’d killed that warlock against their direct orders.

Nothing could have stopped him.

Not long afterward, the same werewolf had attacked Castor Dioskouri, the demigod who’d captured the warlock, as well as Lyleia Nyaid, a nymph and now Dioskouri’s wife. That time, though, Kaios had used a witch to turn off their powers. Only by luck and good planning had the Banes and Canis packs of wolf shifters been there to help. Otherwise, Greyson suspected a feud between shifters and gods would have been the result. Kaios had been killed, but his witch accomplice had survived.

Or so Greyson was led to believe.

The Covens Syndicate had dispatched him to deal with the witch in the situation, but she’d disappeared. No one was talking, including the demigod and nymph who’d been attacked, almost as though they were protecting her. Why would they do that?

At this point, all he had to go on was a physical description, a woman, long red hair, green eyes, or maybe gray, not tall but not short, either. Unfortunately, the description fit many witches. Unlike the rest of the world’s population, the red-haired gene cropped up almost 50 percent of the time in those magically inclined. Hell, the new nanny now living under his roof matched that description.

But he knew her background. After the sixth failed nanny provided by his community of mages, he’d turned to Brimstone for help. Delilah had provided a full dossier on Rowan’s background and skills. No picture, though. That might’ve been helpful to avoid his reaction today.

And how was a person of ten minutes’ acquaintance already distracting him?

With concentrated effort, he focused on the witch he was hunting. The Syndicate’s directive so far was to find her and bring her 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.

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 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.”

“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 that they’d married, not that it mattered to him. “Sounds good.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll include Tala and Marrok Canis-Banes? They are the alphas of the two packs of wolf shifters 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 wolf shifters.

“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. Her slenderness struck him as unnatural, gaunt almost. But he wasn’t in the business of saving strays. The important thing was finding the right nanny for his girls.

Would Rowan prove to be that person?