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By the time everyone was seated, Vivienne was a great deal more relaxed. Conall sat opposite and Eli next to him. Raoul kept his comments light and frivolous, asking her where she worked, went to school, while Sloan said nothing. He seemed only interested in glaring at her.
They ate. Well, she ate heartily, and Conall seemed to enjoy watching her do so. When she was finished, she patted her now swollen belly and spoke honestly. “This was really good. Thank you.”
“I always strive to please beautiful wom—” Raoul grunted before he could get anything else out, and then coughed to cover it. She turned to Conall to find him glaring at Raoul. She looked between the two men. They didn’t look like brothers, but perhaps they were?
Eli’s voice interrupted the standoff. “Did you like the tea?”
She smiled and nodded. “Best tea I’ve had in years.”
He beamed. Conall relaxed. He stood, and all of the men around the table did the same. They began clearing away the dishes. Sloan approached Conall, and spoke in a low voice. Whatever he said made Conall tense. Passing her a long glance, Sloan nodded once and walked from the kitchen. Raoul was the next to leave. He was gallant as ever. This time he took her hand, bowed over it and placed a circumspect air kiss to the back. He beat a hasty retreat after that, and she looked up to find Conall standing directly before her. He’d moved so quickly she’d barely heard him.
Conall reached out a hand, and she took it. His eyes entranced her. When he leaned in, she stepped forward, meeting him for the kiss. His hands clutched at the dip in her back; her hands pushed into his hair. He backed her against the table.
A sound jarred her lips from his as she turned to see what it was. Eli stared at them, his eyes large and curious, but as soon as she turned he looked away. Conall continued to trail quick kisses by her ear, unaffected by his nephew standing mere feet from them.
Jesus, did she have no decency? Gathering her scattered wits about her, she pushed Conall back, and tried to close her legs. Thank God she wasn’t wearing a skirt. He wasn’t deterred. It was like moving a large, solid, brick house. His tongue circled her ear, and she moaned, clutching at his back briefly before scrambling around him.
“I-I should g-go now.” She cleared her throat, and took two steps back when Conall turned and looked at her with those predator-like eyes of his. She could see he wanted to chase her, knew it would excite him almost as much as it would her.
Drawing in a deep breath, he nodded and said, “I’ll take you home.”
Chapter Six
“Where is the girl?”
The quiet but deadly voice resonated around the wooden walls of the room. The witch to whom it was directed, a tracker by the name of Timothy, felt the urge to cower as he faced the powerful Grand Wizard, but resisted.
Maximilian Cronin, a tall and looming presence despite his age, had pushed himself up from the leather chair to fully glare at him. Like many of their Elders, his hair had long since grown white, and he wore it in an impeccable cut that pulled back from his forehead and barely touched the tops of his shoulders.
“We couldn’t find her—” Timothy began, hoping the tremor he’d heard in his voice was a figment of his imagination.
“You couldn’t find her?” Maximilian continued, his voice rising an octave. His thin nostrils flared as he stepped around his desk and slowly walked over to the witch. In a gray turtleneck sweater and loose pants, he wasn’t dressed to intimidate, but he did. Timothy swallowed nervously as the Grand Wizard’s eyes seemed to darken.
“No, my lord,” Timothy replied, bowing his head in submission. “We only felt her for a span of minutes and traced her. We—we couldn’t find her…after.”
Maximilian let out a grunt of impatience and waved a pale, thin hand. “Where are the others? Five were dispatched. Where are the rest? Where’s Malachi?” Malachi, as one of his captains, should be giving this debriefing, not Timothy.
Timothy tensed. “Dead—”
Maximilian’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Dead? How is it that two of my trackers are dead?”
“Your son….”
“I didn’t ask you about my son.”
Timothy nodded, and shifted uncomfortably. “My lord….” He swallowed, unsure of how to communicate what he’d seen. “Max killed them.”
The Grand Wizard’s head snapped back, and Timothy could read the surprise in his eyes before his face was rendered expressionless.
“Is that so, tracker?” he finally asked. He reached a hand up to his chin, thoughtful, as if he were contemplating that possibility.
