Chapter 7
After seeing Marigold safely back to her room, Gavin carried the empty breakfast plates to the sink and rinsed them quickly.
Marigold had barely finished half her food before her eyelids started to droop.
When he’d suggested she go lie down, she hadn’t argued.
She’d just murmured a soft “thank you” that still echoed in his chest.
Now she was resting again, behind her securely locked bedroom door, while he occupied the small home office off the living room. He’d already claimed the desk, spreading out paper files, his laptop, and a notepad for his own shorthand.
The morning light slanted across the city skyline outside the wide windows as he worked. Reports had trickled in overnight from his network of contacts that consisted of shifter operatives, human informants, and even one or two magical sources willing to trade intel for favors.
Every scrap of information on Marigold Rollins went into a growing file.
Birth records. Old school rosters from when her parents had dared send her outside the family bubble.
The sealed police file on her parents’ deaths.
Sam’s impression had been right. Circumstances screamed internal betrayal.
Then there were the gaps. The missing years when she’d been “homeschooled”, which was shorthand for imprisonment.
He still wasn’t one hundred percent certain that everything she claimed was the absolute truth, but he was getting there.
All the evidence he’d been able to gather pointed to the truth of her story, and something indefinable inside him said she wasn’t lying to him.
His inner lion scoffed at the very thought of her lying to him.
It just wasn’t possible where the big furball was concerned.
Gavin wondered idly why that was. He’d never had such a strong reaction to anyone before.
Especially not any woman. He’d always been more the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.
But there was something very different about his little runaway Rollins that made him want to discover every last one of her secrets and… stay.
The thought floored him, and he pushed it away.
He’d stay for as long as she needed him.
For as long as the Clan needed him to watch over her.
That’s all it was. He was doing his duty to the Clan and his own conscience.
He couldn’t just leave her to her own devices.
That would never do. He was a better man that that, or so he hoped.
He’d worked long and hard to live up to the ideals his parents had impressed upon him, and even when he’d let them down by becoming a soldier of fortune rather than following the rest of the Clan into the U.S.
Special Forces, he’d upheld his own code of honor.
He hadn’t just been a gun for hire. He’d picked his assignments with careful thought and never took on a job that went against his own principles.
Now, his principles demanded he protect Marigold.
Whether or not he trusted her completely, she was his responsibility.
He rubbed at his jaw, working steadily on collating details, cross-referencing names.
Every Rollins he could find went on a chart.
He made note of where they lived, what resources they had, who their allies might be.
His job was to break them down until no secrets remained.
He was in the middle of connecting a Houston address with a known Venifucus sympathizer when his phone buzzed sharply against the desk.
“Yeah,” he answered at once, his voice dropping low.
“Boss, it’s Amelia.” His young cousin’s voice carried a taut edge. “We had trouble this morning. Someone was snooping around the office.”
Gavin sat up straighter. “Define snooping.”
“They didn’t make it inside, but they were laying magical wards and some kind of spying spells. I didn’t notice, but Sam called in backup. Granny Tucker sent one of her students. Claudia. She sniffed the magic out and nullified it.”
Claudia. Gavin remembered the name from Sam’s briefing yesterday. A metal-working mage with power enough to impress Granny Tucker.
“Was it definitely Rollins work?” Gavin asked, already anticipating the answer.
“Claudia said she thought so. It had the hallmarks of the Rollins family. She said the spells were strong, but sloppily laid. Someone wanted eyes on the building, but they were in a hurry to get it done.”
Gavin swore under his breath, pacing to the window. His gaze flicked toward the bedroom hallway, instinct tightening like a fist in his gut. “They traced her.”
“That’s what Claudia thinks. She said it’s possible Marigold’s trail led straight to your office door.”
He pressed a hand against the glass, forcing himself to think past the rage filling him. “Is Claudia still there?”
“Yes. Sam’s keeping her close. She said she’s willing to help however we need.” Amelia hesitated. “Boss, if they found the office, how long before they figure out where you took her?”
Gavin’s jaw clenched. “Not long enough.”
He ended the call, staring at the skyline without really seeing it. His carefully controlled plan to get Marigold settled, dig through intel, strategize the Rollinses’ downfall had just been accelerated.
They knew she was gone. They knew she’d come to him. They’d be hunting harder than ever. His lion paced in his chest, furious and protective. He turned back toward the files scattered on the desk, then to the quiet hallway where Marigold slept.
“Looks like we’re on the clock, Goldie,” he muttered, too softly for her human ears to catch. “And I’ll be damned if I let them take you back.”
In the office most of the afternoon, Gavin worked like a machine. Reports stacked higher on the desk as he sifted through every scrap of intelligence on the Rollinses. Names, addresses, allies, financial trails. Marigold’s life story—or rather, the shadows of it—was coming together piece by piece.
The more he read, the more he bristled. Every gap in the records was another place she’d been hidden and controlled. Every unexplained bruise in a doctor’s report, and the sudden withdrawal from school, painted a picture of cruelty and exploitation. Every piece matched what she’d told him.
He was close to believing her completely. Too close. The more instinctual part of him already believed, scoffing at the idea she could lie to him, but Gavin forced himself to stay cautious. His gut clenched as he looked down the hall toward the bedroom door. One fact kept rolling over in his mind.
They know she came to us for help. They know we have her.
*
When dusk fell over the city, the penthouse lights glowed warm against the gathering dark as Marigold stirred again, blinking against the unfamiliar sense of comfort.
She woke slowly, cocooned in warmth. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was.
The bed was too soft, the air too still, and the scent lingering in the room—masculine, clean, edged with something wild—wasn’t anything she associated with fear.
Then memory rushed back. Gavin. The penthouse. The food she’d eaten until her belly ached. The bath that had left her feeling human again.
She pushed herself up on her elbows just as a knock sounded at the door. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a low, measured rap.
“Goldie.” Gavin’s voice came through, low and steady. “You awake?”
Her heart jumped at the nickname. Nobody had ever called her anything with affection before. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with sleep.
The door cracked open, and he stepped in. He filled the doorway, tall and broad, golden eyes tracking her with that same intensity that unsettled and soothed her all at once. Only this time, something harder lingered under the surface.
“What is it?” she asked, clutching the blanket tighter.
He crossed the room slowly, like the tame predator that he was, and sat on the edge of the bed, not too close. “We had a problem earlier today. Someone was snooping around the Clan offices. Laying magical wards and spy spells.”
Her blood turned cold. “My family.” It wasn’t a question.
“Most likely. We have a mage ally who sniffed out the spells and nullified them before they could take hold. But if a Rollins mage was working that close to our building, it means they’ve probably traced your path there.”
Her stomach knotted. The illusion of safety wavered, replaced by the familiar terror she’d carried her whole life. She tried to hide it, but her hands trembled against the blanket.
“They’ll come for me.”
“They’ll try. But they won’t succeed.” Gavin’s voice was a growl.
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But fear was a habit she couldn’t shake overnight. “You don’t understand what they’re capable of.”
His jaw flexed. “No, Goldie. I do. And I understand something else too.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re not going back to them. Not while I have something to say about it.”
Her chest squeezed painfully. Nobody had ever said those kind of words to her before. Not and meant them.
“I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this,” she whispered.
“You will be.” His tone brooked no argument. “We’ll get you there. But it starts with a choice.”
Her breath hitched. “A choice?”
“Do you want to keep running, hiding, waiting for them to find you?” he asked, voice low, rough with honesty. “Or do you want to take a stand and fight back?”
The room seemed to still around them. Her heart pounded, every instinct screaming at her to curl up, to hide, to disappear. But somewhere deeper, the spark that had been kindled when she saw demons struck down in lightning flared to life.
“I don’t want to run anymore,” she whispered, surprising herself with the force of it. She met his gaze and didn’t look away. “I want to fight. I want to be free.”
Something softened in his expression. He reached out, slowly, and covered her trembling hand with his much larger one. “Then we’ll fight. Together.”
That last word echoed in her chest like a vow.
“Now come on out and eat dinner. I ordered from my favorite barbeque place, and it’s getting cold the longer we sit here talking.” He smiled at her then left the room, leaving the door cracked open so the scent of barbeque wafted inside to tempt her.
With enticement like that, Marigold got out of bed for the second time that day and tidied herself up a bit before going out into the apartment.
Her mouth watered at the scent of spicy roasted meats, and she almost giggled when her stomach growled.
She’d thought she’d eaten enough for two days, at least, at breakfast, but she’d slept straight through lunch and was apparently hungry again. So be it.
With her tummy growling like a bear, she sat down at the table where Gavin had spread a mountain of take-out containers and set two places. She sat at his side, around the corner of the big table, enjoying his nearness as he opened boxes and containers of food and set them near her.
“Help yourself,” he instructed. “What do you want to drink? I’ve got cans of pop in the fridge or juice, and there’s always water.” He stood, heading for the kitchen.
“Do you have apple juice, by any chance?” she asked, raising her voice a little as she reached for the container of fried apples and took a big dollop for her plate.
“Coming right up,” he promised.
The meal was incredibly delicious. A far cry from the bland meals served at the fancy tables she was used to.
Her family might not like her much, except for her power, but her last name was Rollins, so she was expected to eat at table with the rest of the family in whatever residence she was staying at on any given day.
They’d passed her around like a toy. Whichever relative needed an extra boost of power for some spell or another made their case to the Patriarch.
If he approved of their plans and the accommodations they’d prepared for her, he would have her transported to their place for however long they needed her power.
When not actively in use, she was kept at the Patriarch’s compound, in a suite of rooms with no window and only one way in or out, which was kept locked, of course, except for when a servant came to get her for meals.
They wouldn’t serve her in her rooms, except when she was too drained or bruised from whichever relative had beat or tortured her power out of her.
When she was too hurt, they served her meals in her rooms because nobody wanted to look at her when she wasn’t presentable to their eyes.
She had hoped it was because at least a few of them felt a twinge of guilt over what they were doing to her, but over time, she’d come to realize that she was just a tool.
A pawn. Not a person to them, and definitely not family.
They didn’t care. They just didn’t want to look at anything that was imperfect in their fake little world.
Those morose thoughts stole her appetite. Gavin looked at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She stared at her plate, heat creeping into her cheeks. Her hand trembled faintly on the fork, and she forced herself to set it down before Gavin could notice. But, of course, he noticed.
“Goldie,” he said quietly.
The nickname slid over her like a caress, but she couldn’t look at him. Not when shame knotted in her chest so tight it stole her appetite. “I’m sorry. I just… Sometimes, the memories hit me.”