Bait N' Witch (Legendary Consultants Book 3) Read online

  Using the same spell she’d cast on her first day to track their path, she followed the girls’ sparkling footsteps up the side of the mountain into the thick wood. About to round a large granite boulder, a masculine hand clamped around her mouth. Her assailant grabbed her from behind, his arm wrapping around her stomach. Terror slammed through her system. Heart pounding and adrenalin spiking, she dropped her flashlight and formed energy balls in her hands with a single thought.

  “It’s Greyson,” a deep male voice murmured in her ear. The warmth lighting up on her wrist had already told her that.

  Immediately the energy, which she had pulled from her own body, dissipated back into her system, leaving her both drained and charged simultaneously. In the same instant, she became horribly aware of the hard length of Grey’s body, pressed up against her back.

  “You won’t scream?” he asked.

  She shook her head, and slowly he removed his hand from her mouth and turned her to face him, though he didn’t step back. She raised her gaze to find him watching her closely, a finger held to his lips.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” she hissed quietly.

  Amusement crinkled his eyes, visible in the glow of her flashlight, which fell with the beam illuminating their feet. He leaned forward, lips at her ear. “Sorry. I didn’t want you to stop the girls.”

  Rowan gave an involuntary shudder as his breath tickled over her skin. At the same time, she took a mental step back, unable to physically do so, prevented by the boulder at her back. Attraction to Grey equaled bad fucking idea. She refused to acknowledge the growing awareness between them. Instead, she focused her mind elsewhere, on why they were both in the dark woods in the first place. Why would Grey want his daughters to sneak out?

  Praise for Abigail Owen

  “Looking for an amazing read? HER DEMIGOD COMPLEX delivers in fantasy spades as a tight story with sizzle and suspense…This is a must-have in a reader’s light but fun library!”

  In D’Tale Magazine

  “[THE WORSE FOR WERE is] yet another fabulous book by this author!…It was written so well you can tell Abigail really likes all of her characters and it shows in the writing!! Two Alpha’s getting married what could go wrong!! You must read this book!”

  Fanatical Paranormal Romantical

  “HER DEMIGOD COMPLEX is one of those reads that just hits every YES button I have! Yes, these are fabulous characters-YES this tale is filled with tempting romance-YES there are quirky humor, sexual tension, sticky situations and great characters-YES, there is an evil entity that you just want to hiss and boo at-YES, every page is magnetic and a total pleasure to read-and finally, YES, what an ending!”

  Tome Tender

  Awards

  2016 RWA West Houston Emily Award Winner – Short Contemporary Romance for SAVING THE SHERIFF

  2015 RWA FF&P Prism Award Winner – Dark Paranormal Romance for ANDROMEDA’S FALL

  2015 Coffee Time Romance Recommended (CTRR) for ANDROMEDA’S FALL

  2014 eLit Award Winner – Bronze Medalist, Best SciFi/Fantasy for BLUE VIOLET

  2013 IPPY Award Winner – Bronze Medalist, Best SciFi/Fantasy/Horror eBook for BLUE VIOLET

  Bait N’ Witch

  In Love with the Witch Hunter

  Father of Her Charges

  by

  Abigail Owen

  A Legendary Consultants Novel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Bait N’ Witch

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Abigail Owen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Authors On A Dime

  Digital ISBN 978-0-9882272-8-6

  Legendary Consultants Book 3

  Dedication

  To my children who bring magic

  into my life every single day.

  CHAPTER 1

  Rowan pulled her borrowed truck up a gravel drive and parked in front of a rustic mountain cabin. This couldn’t be right, could it?

  She checked the directions she’d been provided again, but nope. Nothing had changed. If her directions were correct, she was at the right place. Too bad she couldn’t use her teleporting skills to get here. But witches who had to get jobs as nannies weren’t supposed to possess that kind of power. If she was going to pull this off, she had to pretend she had minimal magical abilities and not show her true capabilities.

  It’d been a long time since she’d had to follow directions at all. So had she arrived? Not that any other options were around. This had been the only house for miles as far as she could tell when she drove up here, though maybe other dwellings had been blocked by all the pine trees.

  “Fantastic,” she muttered.

  The two-story cabin—a lovely and obviously old log structure built into the gentle bottom slope of a mountain—was tucked away in the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, which meant she was well and truly screwed if this plan went sideways.

  “Grow a pair and get moving,” she instructed herself.

  How had circumstance brought her to this point? The Fates must really have it in for her.

  Tally up the sum total of what brought her to this moment… Her adopted mother murdered by Kaios, the pathologically insane werewolf who then took Rowan prisoner for her unique powers. Used by Kaios against nymphs, demigods, and other werewolves for his own psychotic ends. At least that asshat was dead now. And she’d been rescued by Delilah from retribution from the people Rowan had been forced to attack, as well as from the Mage High Council—who were sure to issue a death sentence for her role in the whole mess when they found her.

  Delilah. No last name. Not a witch, but obviously powerful. Tons of connections with all things paranormal.

  When you added it all up, Rowan had basically hopped from one bad situation to another.

  And now, here I am, about to pose as a nanny for the witch hunter the Mage High Council set on me.

  Of course, Delilah’s plan—for Rowan to hide in plain sight, close enough to cause problems with the investigation—while immensely dangerous, was also undeniably brilliant—which was why Rowan had agreed. However, now that she was here, she was starting to regret that.

  With a trepidation worthy of Daniel when he entered the lions’ den, she got out of her truck and approached the front door. Of course, by entering this household, in the lions’ den was exactly where she’d be. She literally faced the jaws of death, which could snap shut at any second. Where was her whip and lion tamer’s chair when she needed them?

  She raised her shaking hand to the door and glared at the offending appendage, annoyed at her inability to control the tremor. A shrill scream pierced the air, and Rowan froze mid-knock.

  “What on earth?” Instinct had her reaching for the door knob.

  Locked.

  A quick incantation sprang to her lips, but, before she could utter it, the door unlocked and swung smoothly open on its own. Rowan didn’t question, instead rushed inside. Following the sound of a struggle, including several more screams, she hurried down a long hallway off the foyer to what appeared to be the family room.

  The scene she came upon had her hesitating in the doorway. Three identical girls, around the age of twelve or thirteen, flung spells at each other in rapid succession and with angry intent behind every blow. I
n their midst stood a tall man, his face pinched with frustration as he tried to put a stop to things.

  As far as Rowan could tell, the girls were using their magic to disfigure each other. Even as she watched from the shadow of the doorway, one wailed as her hair sprouted, lengthening until it touched the ground in a waterfall of follicles.

  “Hey,” the girl squealed.

  “Now Chloe—” the man tried in a placating voice.

  But Chloe wasn’t listening. “I’ll show you,” she shouted. With a whisper of words and a fling of her hands, one of the other girls suddenly turned bald.

  Another piercing scream of fury rent the air.

  “Lachlyn, don’t you dare—”

  Again, the man’s words went unheeded and next thing, Chloe’s long hair turned mint green.

  The third girl laughed, and both her sisters turned on her together, faces red with anger.

  “Enough!” Rowan snapped the word, voice full of authority, as she stepped into the room. With a wave of her hand, all three girls sat on the pale leather couch, mouths shut and hands in their laps, held mute and immobile by Rowan’s spell. She would not release them until they understood the consequences of their actions.

  The man whirled on her, hands raised, blue balls of energy already formed and sparking in his palms, ready to blast her. However, Rowan had expected his action, and stayed still, doing nothing to provoke him further. After all, if a total stranger showed up in her home casting spells, she’d fry them and ask questions later. In fact, she found his restraint impressive.

  “Who are you?” he demanded in a low, growl of a voice that caressed her nerves and had her body perking up. Shock stirred along with a heretofore dormant rush of desire. Perfect timing, since she hadn’t responded to a man in years.

  She resisted the urge to cast her eyes heavenward. The fates truly had it in for her. What jokester thought attraction for this man would be funny? Because Rowan damn sure wasn’t laughing.

  Now that the chaos had ceased, she had a chance to pay more attention to the male specimen before her. And what a specimen. This was Greyson Masters, the witch hunter after her?

  A widowed father to almost-thirteen-year-old-triplets, he was also a member of the Mage High Council—the body of witches and warlocks who monitored, policed, protected, and ruled the established covens throughout the world. She’d expected a man in his mid-forties at the youngest, picturing distinguished grey at his temples, wizened eyes, and the onset of wrinkles. Maybe even a gut. Not that every middle-aged man looked that way, but every middle-aged warlock she’d ever happened across did.

  Her mental image was a far cry from the warlock standing before her. She tallied up the essentials: mid-thirties, lean and muscled, jet black hair without a trace of grey in sight, and dark eyes currently sparking with anger and magic.

  A warning she took seriously, answering in a quiet, calm voice. “I’m your new nanny.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  She crossed her arms, unable to resist lifting an eyebrow in challenge. “Call Delilah if you don’t believe me.”

  She had no idea how Delilah had managed to make Greyson think it was his idea to have her firm, Legendary Consultants, hire his latest in a long line of nannies, especially given that hiding Rowan in plain sight, right under the witch hunter’s nose, had been Delilah’s idea in the first place. Rowan owed the woman big time. Delilah had concealed her, covered her tracks, and come up with a solution. An insane solution, but still…

  Now Greyson ran an assessing gaze down her from the tip of her untamed hair to her sneaker-clad toes. Rowan did her best not to shift under his scrutiny, an unaccustomed feeling of vulnerability washing over her. She wondered what he saw. Would her long red curls be the dead giveaway she feared? Would he recognize her as the witch he currently hunted? She’d considered changing the color, but that would require constant concentration to hold. Besides, more witches had red hair than any other color.

  His face remained a mask, a total blank, giving none of his opinions away. Finally, he stood from his crouch, lowering his hands. A whispered word sent the energy balls spiraling into the air, where they expended their power in a series of tornado-like moves until they dissipated. “Remove your spell from my children.” An order, not a request.

  “Certainly.” As soon as she checked something first. Rowan turned to the girls. “Are you all finished?”

  Three sets of wide, Caribbean-blue eyes stared at her. Correction…two sets, and a shaggy head of mint-green hair.

  “I asked you to remove your spell,” Greyson Masters snapped.

  She flicked him a glance. “I will. As soon as I get a guarantee of good behavior.”

  Rowan ignored the tightening of his mouth. Apparently, Mr. Masters was a man who expected instant obedience. And got it too, she suspected, except from his daughters, a notion which had her lips twitching. Poor powerful warlock couldn’t handle three pint-sized witches.

  She turned to the girls with raised eyebrows and waited. After questioning glances at their dad, who said nothing, slowly, all three heads bobbed in agreement.

  “Excellent.” Rowan flapped a hand, and the girls worked their jaws and rubbed at their wrists, as though the restraints had been physical.

  Command obeyed, she turned back to the father, who eyed her narrowly. Perhaps this was not the most auspicious beginning to their relationship as boss and employee. She was supposed to be lying low, avoiding scrutiny—she might have to revisit that plan.

  Rowan gave a mental shrug. In for a penny, in for a pound. With a cheerful smile, she held out her hand to shake. “My name is Rowan McAuliffe.” Her light brogue thickened as she spoke her name. “Delilah, with Legendary Consultants, sent me to be your new nanny.”

  To give him credit, Greyson at least shook her hand, his grip firm and warm. And oddly…safe. Weird. Safe was not a common state for her.

  “Greyson Masters.”

  Rowan had to keep from yanking her hand back as an electric zing passed from Greyson’s hand and through her body, heating every part of her to life until the sensation settled in her left wrist.

  What the hell was that?

  Proud of her control, she released his hand and dropped hers to her side, resisting the urge to glance at her wrist, which still burned. Those fates had some serious ‘splainin’ to do. Had her traitorous body seriously tingled in response to that one, brief touch? Pathetic. Worse, given his job to hunt her down, that reaction landed under the title of highly inappropriate. Not to mention inopportune, insane, and all sorts of other words beginning with “in”.

  Releasing her, Greyson folded his arms over an impressive chest, biceps stretching the material of his blue button-down shirt, feet planted wide. The man looked more like an intimidating lawyer than a powerful mage. “How’d you get in the house?”

  She blinked at the unexpected question before she remembered how the door unlocked itself. “I was about to knock when I heard screaming.” She darted a glance at the girls, who watched in rapt silence. “The door was locked, and I was about to…uh…deal with that, when it unlocked and swung open on its own.”

  Thick eyebrows drew down over distrustful eyes. “That’s not possible. The wards on this house prevent anyone but family from coming inside without an express invitation from me or my blood relations.”

  “Perhaps the house sensed I was trying to help?” She wasn’t quite sure what he expected her to say. She had no idea why the darn door opened for her.

  “Perhaps.” Doubt dripped from two syllables. In other words, he suspected her of foul play.

  Another long, uncomfortable staring session commenced, one from which she refused to back down. After being raised by a demon, intimidating stares did little to sway her. When he uncrossed his arms, she silently crowned herself the winner of this round.

  “We were expecting you two days ago,” he said.

  “Teleporting is not one of my gifts.” Total lie. “I got here as quickly as the sp
eed limit allowed.” So maybe she took her time. Could anyone who knew her full situation blame her?

  “Hmmm…” Still not believing her, apparently.

  Rowan flashed another cheery smile and gave him her best impression of an oblivious dingbat with wide, guileless eyes. At least, she hoped that was the impression she’d leave him with.

  He did not smile back. “Now you are here, I’ll go over the ground rules. We can figure things out from there.”

  Damn. That friendly act usually did the trick. Greyson Masters had the makings of a total scrooge. Scrooge McMasters. “Okay.”

  He turned to his daughters. “Let’s clean you up first.” Greyson raised his hands, but before he could perform the spell, Rowan cleared her throat.

  He turned to glance over his shoulder at her, aggravation at the interruption clear in his gaze and pinched mouth.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Masters, but shouldn’t the girls clean up their own mess?”

  Greyson dropped his hands, suspicion once more narrowing his eyes. “Children under the age of sixteen aren’t allowed to practice magic beyond the most basic of spells outside of school unless it’s with a licensed instructor. As a professional nanny for witches, I would expect you already to know that rule.”

  Ding. Dang. Dong. This witch was going to be dead if she kept screwing up.

  The problem was, Rowan hadn’t been raised by witches, and, therefore, didn’t know the guidelines under which they operated. Delilah had given her a book outlining the Mage High Council laws which governed all the covens. Probably ninety-percent or more of the covens of the world knew the rules by heart.

  Delilah had advised her to memorize the book or her cover would be blown. Rowan had read the thing, trying to take it all in. She’d discovered witches raised in the covens had a shit-ton of policies to follow and wondered how they ever got anything done.