Page 28 of Fateful Reunion

“He’s there, to the left. Looking for you.”

She spotted him and practically hurtled down the hill, flying into his arms. “Don’t ever do that again. That was suicide!”

He caught her and pressed her to him. “I’m still alive.” He kissed her hard, then looked over his shoulder to where quiet had suddenly descended. “I have the feeling that Scanguards’ final invoice is going to be much higher than anticipated.”

She pulled his face back to her. “I might be able to negotiate a discount for you.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that gonna cost me?”

“I’m not cheap.”

“Never thought you were.” He kissed her again. Then he took her hand and they walked down the remainder of the hill to where her colleagues were dealing with the bodies of the witches.

She spotted Samson and walked up to him. “How did you manage to get here so fast?”

“We put a team together the moment Haven got off the phone with you,” Samson said. “When he told us the mark on Ilaria was indeed the Mark of Cain, we figured you might need backup.”

Roxanne looked over her shoulder, explaining to Charles, “This is Samson, my boss.”

Charles offered his hand to Samson. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Samson shook Charles’s hand. “Don’t make me regret it.” He glanced around, nodding to Zane, who was joining them now. “You alright?”

“Course,” Zane replied.

Samson craned his neck, peering past Zane. “And Grayson? I don’t see him.” Concern crept into his voice.

“He’s in the house, protecting Ilaria,” Charles said.

“Ilaria? Ahh, shit!” Samson cursed, glaring at Roxanne. “After what Haven told you, you had my son protecting the most dangerous witch in San Francisco? Damn it, Roxanne!”

But Roxanne had no chance to reply, because Samson was already charging into the house. Roxanne ran after him. She caught up with him just as he reached the top of the stairs. Inhaling deeply, he followed his son’s scent and ripped the door to Ilaria’s bedroom open.

“Samson, please, don’t do anything rash!” Roxanne called after him.

Samson froze in the door frame.

Roxanne was there a split second later, peering past his shoulder.

There, in the room lit only by a bedside lamp, Grayson sat in the overstuffed armchair, his gun clutched in one hand, and Ilaria curled up on his lap. Their lips were fused in a passionate kiss, Grayson’s free hand caressing her nape, while Ilaria writhed on his lap, her hands exploring his torso. The mark on her back was at peace.

“Ahem,” Samson finally said.

Ilaria ripped her lips from Grayson’s and shrieked. Grayson instantly raised his gun, but just as quickly, lowered it again.

“It’s just my dad, babe,” he murmured to Ilaria, calmly stroking her back.

“What the—” Charles barreled into the room. “Didn’t I warn you not to—”

Grayson cut him off. “You said to keep her calm.” He exchanged a smirk with Ilaria. “And I think I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

Ilaria’s face turned bright red.

Grayson grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I rest my case.”

Roxanne couldn’t suppress a smile. It appeared that Grayson was just as much of a charmer as his father when he wanted to be.

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