Delilah sat behind her large and elaborately carved mahogany desk—a gift from a grateful phoenix—and kicked off her sky-high stilettos, scrunching her toes into the deep-pile carpet to relieve her cramping feet. The shoes worked for the image she insisted on projecting to the world, but boy did they kill.
She reached for the mail her assistant had left neatly stacked in its tray. She opened the first envelope and smiled when she discovered a wedding invitation from Leia and Castor. About time, too. With a flick, she flipped over the envelope, scrunching her nose at the “and Guest” beside her name. Not that she’d be attending the wedding. She had a strict no weddings, matings, funerals, or ceremonies in general rule. Over the years, she’d found they weren’t particularly fun.
She hadn’t attended Tala and Marrok’s mating ceremony either, despite the fact she’d arranged that particular union—a brilliant move on her part, if she said so herself. Now the couple had to figure things out for themselves, though they weren’t impressing her thus far. Why were relationships so damn hard? She’d practically handed the werewolf pair the perfect situation on a silver platter. They’d better not screw it up. She’d give them six months before taking matters into her own hands. Couldn’t be having dissatisfied customers, now could she?
A soft knock at her door had her putting away the wedding invitation. “Come in,” she called.
Her assistant, Naiobe, entered, with her the red-headed witch Kaios had used to remove Castor’s, Leia’s, and all the nymphs’ powers.
Delilah waited until the woman sat in the chair across the desk before she learned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “I understand your name is Rowan MacAuliffe.”
Rowan glanced around the room with wary eyes, but nodded.
“I’ve heard your side of the situation with Kaios.”
Stunning grey eyes focused on her. “And?”