Page 17 of The Rowan
I blink, bringing the room back into focus. He’s now standing by the door, holding it open. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late,” he says, completely ignoring the moment.
With a toss of my hair, I bend over to smooth my stockings. When I hear him mutter, I smile and stand up.
He’s not as indifferent as he likes to pretend, I think, relieved my desire is not one-sided.
As I turn towards the door, I sweep up the invitation and my clutch. “I’m sure you’ll get us there on time,” I jibe softly, knowing he would never let us be late. It goes against every fiber of his being.
* * *
A matteblack Maserati sits in the hotel carport waiting for us. I snort. The Fae love luxury and fast cars. Even in the land of the Fae, they drive cars from this dimension, although they power them with magic instead of gasoline. I sink down into the seat, and it hugs me, wrapping me in the smell of leather and…him.
As he starts the car, I turn to him. “How long does it take to get there?”
“Twenty-two minutes,” he answers, glancing down at my legs. My dress has pulled up from when I sat down, and at almost six feet tall, there’s a lot of leg on display.
“That’s precise,” I remark. Wiggling, I pull down my dress an inch or two. I don’t want him too distracted.
The car eases out of the hotel drive, making brief turns until we hit the interstate, where he floors it. I can’t even register how fast we’re going. It’s a deliberate message, and I can’t help but laugh at its delivery.
“I guess Valerian told you I was immortal?” I drawl, guessing at his anger.
“He did,” he replies curtly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask,” I state. “I’m three hundred and twenty-eight years old. How old are you? And the others?”
“You didn’t want me to ask. You wanted me to think of you as a human witch with moderate powers, who needed assistance finding your heritage,” he seethed.
Ah, he’s putting together a few pieces. No wonder he’s pissed.
“You’re right,” I concede.
He whips around to stare at me.
“Watch the road,” I yell as we veer off it. “I might not die easily, but it would sure as hell hurt. I wanted you to see me in that light, but I didn’t lie to you.”
Scoffing, he easily brings the car back in line. “You might not have lied, but you deceived me just the same.”
“Semantics. In a hurry to get rid of the life debt hanging over your shoulders, you brushed aside your instincts and leapt at the opportunity. If you had asked questions, I’d have answered.” I cross my arms and glare at him.
“Right,” he sneers.
“Solandis told me not to lie to you. I would have spoken truthfully,” I admit. She warned me it would piss him off, but too much was riding on the decision. I couldn’t take the chance he wouldn’t help me.
“I spoke to Solandis the other night,” he tells me. “She said you would give me more information when you trusted me. Is that correct?” He stares at me, searching for the truth instead of waiting for the words. “We’ll table this for now.” He points to a vast mansion on the hill. “The coven’s house is called Witchwood, and it’s served as the headquarters of the witches’ council and their ceremonial place for hundreds of years.”
Eyeing the structure, I realize the witches are quite wealthy. The mansion is hundreds of years old, maybe more. The house stretches for acres and comprises of architecture from different eras. Columns, towers, corbels, arches, and more are thrown together haphazardly but with a certain flair. The entire structure is cream, which seems to both unify the house and subdue the chaos.
Pulling up to the front door, I wait as a man in a black uniform opens my car door. “Thank you, sir,” I tell him quietly, nerves suddenly attacking me. I’ve waited for this moment for a very long time, and I don’t know what I’ll find.
“My pleasure, miss. Please, call me Henry. I’m the butler here at Witchwood,” he responds stiffly, as if unused to being thanked. He holds out his arm to escort me, but I look around for Lord Theron.
“I’m her escort,” he pronounces coolly, his arm raised for me to take, his usual stoic demeanor intact.
“My pardon, sir. I wasn’t told to expect anyone else,” he explains.
“We didn’t invite anyone else,” a striking voice rings out. “You’re dismissed, Henry.”
Henry gives me a sly wink and a slight bow. “Nice to meet you, miss. Sir.” He walks up the steps and past the woman standing there, waiting impatiently for me to acknowledge her.
