Phillipa felt the heat of Maxim’s gaze on her as she waited for Peter to check the house, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, he returned, tugged her inside, and shut the door.

  “Safe,” he announced, and she moved like a zombie toward the bedroom. She needed a moment to regroup. To consider what she’d seen and done.

  Within the confines of the small room, she sat on the edge of the bed and considered the man. Maxim. He’d been cautious, as if he’d read her fears. “Am I that transparent?”

  She raised a hand to her brow. Of course I am. After all, Roger is out there, and he’ll be looking for me. For both of us. When he gets a hand on us, he’ll… She gulped, because if he found them, their end would be neither pretty nor quick.

  Chapter Five

  Roger dialled the number on the card. The phone rang once, then again. And a third time.

  When it was answered, he simply cut off the person on the other line before they could speak. “The children have run. We must find them, quickly. They had help. The boy disengaged the surveillance system and overrode the code. They know my secrets and yours. Find them. Tell me where they are, and I’ll deal with them.”

  “Of course,” the disembodied voice on the line answered. “When did they run?”

  “Yesterday morning. I was replenishing after a hunt,” Roger grunted.

  “They won’t have time to have gone far. I’ll make enquiries.”

  “Do it quickly,” Roger demanded and ended the call. He turned to look out the window, his wife cowering in the corner. “You didn’t alert me.”

  “I didn’t know,” she answered in a near whisper. “If I had, I would have informed you. You know that.” She huddled in the corner, her gaze absent, lost in the web of his thrall.

  Soraya had been human once, the same as all his previous consorts. Chosen because she was raising hybrid children. Neither human nor truly other. The weak thread of their blood making them susceptible to the magical drain he’d planned to begin soon.

  Roger needed them now, and if he couldn’t find them… He needed them. Already the weakness was seeping in, draining his hold on his shape. Soraya had seen him now. The real him. The one he hid, and that was dangerous. She may be in thrall, but it wouldn’t hold if he couldn’t find a way to maintain the magic.

  He growled and paced the length of the room. If others knew of his existence, if his presence became known and he was weakened… Too many of his kind had disappeared, losing their grip on the anonymity that allowed them to roam, to hunt, and to subjugate.

  He turned back to the woman. Her body remained perfect, but he knew the darkness inside her now would allow him free rein. He used it to find prey, and would use it again to regain control of the children, but then her usefulness would come to an end.

  He smiled and held out his hand. “Come. I need you.” The silky thread of power he employed urging her to stand and remove the garment covering her nakedness.

  Chapter Six

  Maxim strode from the building, a small smile on his face. The doctor had agreed to give him a trial of three months, and for that, Maxim was grateful. It would give them both time to ascertain if he was the best choice for the clinic, and it would give Maxim time to consider how he might find an option to re-begin medical school.

  The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he looked at the screen to see Niamh’s name. He answered with, “Niamh, you wanted to check on me?”

  “Well, your appointment should be over about now. The result?”

  For an instant he nearly said it didn’t work out, but such devilry would only cause issues. “I begin next week. A three-month trial.”

  “Yes!” She yelled so loudly, he held the phone away from his ear, but he couldn’t control the smile he knew wreathed his face.

  “And I’m pleased too. I have long held the desire to continue with my study.” The words he’d never spoken lightened the load of his banishment.

  “I know. I could see that, even though you were working as an orderly in the hospital, you wanted more. I’m pleased. Besides, I’m sure, once you have experience there may be the facility for a scholarship or some assistance that will help you achieve your goal.”

  He stilled beside the car, gripping the phone tight to his ear. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound escaped.

  “Maxim?”

  Heat flared deep inside as it hadn’t done in years.

  “Maxim, are you there?” Niamh’s voice shook.

  “I… Yes, Niamh. I… Can we talk later?” A sudden need to be alone, to think over what she’d offered, filled him.

  “Yes. If that’s what you need.”

  “I… I’ll ring you.” He lurched, opening the door of the car, and slid into the seat.

  For so long he’d refused to allow himself to be close to anyone. Families and belonging had seemed something he no longer had the right to accept. Yet, mere months ago he’d met this waif, and in that short time, she’d changed so much in his life. Offered unconditional friendship and now the chance to rebuild his life.

  He gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white, and he shuddered as emotions he’d fought to control broke through the barrier he’d built around himself. His hands shook as he shoved the key in the ignition, and thankfully, the drive to the house they’d made available to him was quick. He parked the car and headed inside the house.

  Once inside he stopped. A photo caught his eye. The photo of him and Mischa on their wedding day. He’d placed it on the small credenza against the wall, a reminder of what he’d been before that day. He stepped closer, scooped up the photo and stared. In the image they were smiling and looked so young. So hopeful. Completely in love. Neither knew the trajectory their decisions would take at that point.

  The lump in his throat grew, stopping him breathing, and the wild beat of his heart thudded hard and fast. He breathed in and out and closed his eyes. His Mischa. His love. But the photo was fading, the edges taking on a brown hue. It was aging just as his memories were. The pain he felt usually now felt dull with only intervals of deep sadness and piercing regret.

  “I have to move on,” Maxim said out loud. It was hard. He’d refused to allow himself to grieve in the early days, when the pain was so raw it lashed him. So why now? All these years on? He knew why but once more pushed it down. Refused to acknowledge the reality. “Real men control their emotions,” he told himself.

  Just then, a knock sounded at the door. He turned, wanting desperately to ignore it. But he couldn’t. This community had already given him something of immense value. They’d given him hope, and he wouldn’t turn his back on them.

  Phillipa hated asking, she hated intruding, but she needed to talk to someone. Peter couldn’t help her. Peter wanted a future. She wanted one too. Something to hope for. Someone who would love her. But there was more. It was like a veil was clouding the truth, and who could she ask? Niamh would likely assist but it felt…strangely wrong to ask the other woman for help. Peter would simply laugh at her. No, there was only Maxim, and that felt just as odd, but it seemed right.

  She inhaled, felt her lungs fill, and climbed the stairs.

  She raised her hand but stopped before she could knock. “What am I doing?”

  One step back, then another and she was down the steps heading away when she stilled. She shook her head, feeling like a fool. There was no way she’d be able to start her future if she shied away at the first hurdle. Sure, they’d escaped Roger and her mother, but that was running to safety.

  Safety wouldn’t answer her questions or give her a future.

  “You’re not a fragile flower, Pippa. Get up there and ask for help.” Her heart thud wildly but she turned, looked at the door, and sighed. “Go on. Do it.”

  She retraced her steps, made it to the front door, and forced herself to knock. For a moment she wondered if anyone was home; maybe she’d made a fool of herself for nothing.

  The door opened and Maxim stood there, the great bear of a man. “Phillipa?”

  “I…” She swallowed against the lump that seemed to be lodged in her throat. “I need some help.”

  Chapter Seven

  Maxim looked at the woman, her dark hair swaying slightly, her gaze wary. “Come inside. I’ll make tea…”

  She nodded and followed him into the house, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that she was uneasy.

  “You’re…” She stopped and shook her head.

  He filled the kettle and placed it on the hob of the stove, then gave her his full attention. “I’m what?”

  “Have you got magic?”

  The words hit him hard. The query was honest, and he wondered if she understood the degree of insult that the words conveyed. He sucked in a breath. “You do realise that you’re not supposed to ask what we are? Or if we’re paranormal with magic. It’s an insult of the worst kind,” he murmured while trying to sort through his scattered brain.

  She blanched. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I don’t…” Her mouth formed an ‘O’ while her eyes betrayed her horror at the unknown indiscretion.

  It pierced him just as much as the way her hands clenched together, knuckles white.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you, Maxim. I’ll leave…”

  Before she could turn away, he reached out and took her trembling hands in his own. “No. I understand you don’t know. It’s complicated, Phillipa.”

  “Pip,” she muttered. “Phillipa is my full name, but Pip is what I prefer. Or Pippa.”

  He smiled as a tiny flame flickered in his chest, warming the region of his heart. “Pip then. Yes, I am one of the paranormal society. Revealing what I am though, that’s personal.” His brain churned slowly, sorting through the information and language constraints. His grasp of English was good, but there were times it failed him.

  “I didn’t mean…” Her shoulders hunched and she glanced downward.

  He reached out on instinct and hooked a finger under her chin. Raised her face so she looked directly at him. He smiled. “I know. We’ve lived in the shadows for a long time. Telling people what we are is hard.”

  She nodded just as the whistle from the kettle proclaimed the water had boiled. He turned back, turned off the knob with a swift move. Found two matching mugs from the bench and dropped the tea bag in, then poured in the boiling water. Though the room was nearly silent, it was almost companionable.

  “Sugar? Cream?”

  “Yes, both,” she answered, and he gave her instructions to pull the carton from the small refrigerator while he snatched up sugar packets and passed her a mug. “Let’s go through to the lounge and you can explain your problem.”

  She settled opposite him once they reached the lounge, both choosing armchairs with the small coffee table between them. “How did you know I have a problem?” she asked.

  “Apart from you asking for help?” He smiled, felt the stretch of facial muscles. “It’s easy. You don’t trust many people, maybe only Peter.”

  “That’s true. I’m scared Roger will find me.”

  He sat upright. “Who is Roger?” Instinctively he understood he needed to act as if he knew nothing about the man.

  “My stepfather. He’s… He’s a monster. A dangerous one.” She sipped her tea, and he wondered if she understood just how clearly she was telegraphing her unease.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’ve seen him. He’s really a monster who parades as a human, but he isn’t. Our mother, Peter’s and mine, isn’t human either. She was, once. When I was little and before Papa died, but since Roger she’s been changing. Becoming like him.”

  His guts churned. “Tell me about Roger.”

  “He looks like a human, but he isn’t. He…” She gulped and looked up at him, terror in her gaze. Her fingers gripped the mug with white knuckles. “He lures humans back and… I think he eats them,” she finished on a whisper.

  “What?” He shot up out of his chair. “Eats them?”

  She nodded and rose, sliding the drink to the coffee table. “I shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have said anything,” she muttered. “I’ll leave.”

  He grabbed her hand. “You’re in danger?” Razor blades lashed his guts.

  “I don’t know. I may be. If he finds me. Peter too. But it’s women he seeks.”

  His brain spun in dizzy circles. “Does Niamh know?”

  She nodded. “Most of it, yes. The rest…well, Peter told Simon, and he asked us not to tell Niamh.”

  Maxim’s hand moved to the top of his head. “What do you need from me?”

  She looked embarrassed, evaded his gaze. “I’ve… There’s something more. Peter and I, we have, I don’t know, something about us, but we don’t know what it is. How do we learn about our past and family? Our mother was human once, so I think it’s from Papa’s side. But Mother never let us near his family. I don’t even know his last name or… or mine. I mean, no one uses a name when they come to the house, or at least no last name. I guess others know the name, but I never have. I don’t handle mail or accounts either. And the documents we have, they have Roger’s name on them. I… I stole them some time back, and no one realised. That’s all we had.”

  “Do you know his first name?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s written on the back of a photo I have.”

  “I may be able to ask some questions…” Maxim said, his words trailing off.

  “Simon was going to, but Peter and I asked him not to. I don’t know that Roger isn’t aware and keeping an eye out for any contact. He’s clever and dangerous, Maxim. And I don’t know who to trust.”

  “You can trust me, Pip.”

  She bit her lip and glanced away. “I… I want to, Maxim. But I’m scared. Peter’s volatile. Peter isn’t… He isn’t good with people. He doesn’t always judge them and actions well. I can’t ask him to make enquiries, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t know who to ask and⁠—”

  “It’s okay,” he said and moved closer, placed his arms around her. “I’ll wait, and if and when you’re ready, we can ask.” His guts warmed slightly as her nearness, and her scent, the subtle hint of rose and geranium, filled his senses.

  She stiffened for an instant then relaxed, and the heat in his chest fanned hotter. “Thank you,” she muttered against his chest.

  “I need time to think about what you’ve asked about your skills. Is… Does anything come to mind?” he asked. She shook her head. “I know a few people and they may be able to help.” He hoped that was the case anyway.

  He released her and she stepped away. “I have a picture of Papa, like I said.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a battered snapshot. “His name was Pietro. He died when I was little. I barely remember him, just that he made me feel safe. He had an accent too.”

  Maxim glanced at the picture and felt the weight of the responsibility. “I won’t take it just yet. When you’re ready, perhaps then. But maybe I could take a photo of it?” He waited for her nod, then pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

  “I better go. I don’t want Peter to get suspicious,” she murmured.

  He smiled at her words. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I was asking you to join us for dinner,” she whispered, turning scarlet.

  “I’d love to. What time, and what should I bring?”

  Her head whipped up. “You’ll come?”

  “I’m a terrible cook. If I don’t need to cook, I won’t get poisoned.”

  She laughed out loud, her face losing the pinched appearance for a second. “Seven o’clock, and don’t bring anything. I would like you to stay alive.” She paled and quickly added, “I was joking.”

  Maxim reached for her hand. “I understand and am not offended.”

  “Okay then. I better get back to the kitchen. Uh, is there anything you don’t eat?”

  “I grew up in Russia. I eat everything I can lay my hands on that’s edible.”

  Her gaze pierced him, and for a moment he swore something, a light maybe, lit in her eyes. “Right. I’ll see you then.”

  After she’d left, he looked at the photo on his phone. Pietro.

  Once back in the kitchen, Pip glanced around. It was small but well laid out. She needed something that wasn’t too elaborate. She had three hours, and a full freezer, not to mention the contents of the fridge.

  What to make? She could go with steak and salad, maybe a few cheese sticks and a simple dip, followed by an easy dessert. In the freezer she spied a pack of chicken breasts. Onions, peppers, and mushrooms. Some potatoes and carrots. “Maybe a nice skillet chicken with vegetable. I can still make cheesy sticks and to finish…panna cotta.”

  Assembling the meal didn’t take long. She set about the panna cotta first, heating the milk and gelatine, then added the sugar. Once it was dissolved the pot was whisked off the stove top and she added the heavy cream, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. Without ramekins she used tea cups to set them in the fridge and then hurried to make the pastry for the cheese sticks, and once that was slid into the oven, she turned to the dip. Simple, she thought, as she whisked the yellow peas into a pot and set them to boil, then began the prep for the main course.

  Peter came in and watched. “That’s for tonight?”

  She nodded. “Maxim will join us, so I thought a yellow pea dip and cheese sticks.”

  “That’s all I need to know then. Enough food to feed my growing body.”

  She laughed. “It will continue to grow if you don’t get busy. Have you decided on what you want to study?”

  He nodded. “Landscaping. I prefer to be outdoors. I like plants and… I like being outside.”

  “So, what do you need to do?”

  Peter frowned. “I need to get a high school diploma.”

  “Does that mean you have to go to school?” she asked, slicing the vegetables with a well-practiced efficiency.