Chapter 9
The first thing Marigold noticed when she woke up the next morning was warmth. Not the false heat of wards pressing against her skin, not the suffocating weight of magic chains. Just the natural warmth of sunlight filtering through sheer curtains.
She blinked at the golden glow in the room, momentarily disoriented.
For a few long seconds, she had no idea where she was.
Then memory returned in a rush. Gavin. The penthouse.
Dinner and a midnight talk that had ended in confessions she’d never thought she’d make aloud.
His voice promising he’d be right there if she needed him.
She sat up, scanning the room. When she padded out barefoot into the living room, she stopped short.
A mug of coffee sat waiting on the table. Steam still curled faintly from it, and beside it was a small plate with a slice of toast and a dish of jam.
Her breath caught.
She hadn’t told him how she liked her coffee, hadn’t asked for anything…but the smell was exactly right. Rich, mild, not bitter. The toast was lightly golden, not charred. The jam shimmered deep red in the morning light.
It was such a small thing, yet it rooted her in place. No one had ever prepared something so thoughtful, just for her.
“You’re up.”
She turned quickly to find Gavin standing in the doorway to the office, his hair slightly mussed, his T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, as if he’d been at work for hours already. His gaze flicked over her.
“I—” Her throat tightened. “You made this for me?”
He shrugged, but the faintest curve tugged at his mouth. “You’ve been through hell, Goldie. The least I can do is make sure you start the day with a decent cup of coffee.”
Her fingers tightened around the mug as she picked it up.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Gavin said, but there was something rough in his voice, as if the words weren’t easy for him either. “Just eat. Rest. Let me do the worrying for now.”
She sipped the coffee, and for a moment, the world felt almost normal. Almost safe.
She dared to wonder what it might feel like to stay someplace because she wanted to, not because she was being forced to.
The coffee was rich and warm, sliding down her throat like courage in liquid form.
She held the mug with both hands, letting the heat seep into her palms, when Gavin’s low voice cut across the quiet.
“Tell me about them,” he said softly.
She froze. “Them?”
“The Rollinses.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “With Jeremiah gone, someone’s going to grab for power. I need to know who’s most likely to take the throne.”
Her stomach dropped. The words alone made her skin prickle with fear.
Rollinses didn’t like being spoken about.
Secrets were their currency, and betrayal was punished without mercy.
The instinct to stay silent rose like a wall inside her.
Gavin must have seen it in her face, because he pushed off the counter and came closer, his voice lowering.
“I’m not asking to scare you, Goldie. But if I’m going to protect you, and if we’re going to stop them from trying to start this Demon War again, I need names. I need to know who we’re up against, so I can stop them.”
Her fingers tightened around the mug until she was sure it would crack.
This was it. The choice she’d been avoiding since the moment she ran.
Did she cling to the faint hope that blood meant something—even poisoned blood?
Or did she finally admit what she’d known for years—that she wasn’t one of them, not really.
She looked up into Gavin’s eyes. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t threatening. He was giving her the space to decide. For once, the choice was hers.
Her heart thudded painfully. She thought of her parents, and their blood spilling across the floor because they’d dared to say no. She thought of every bruise, every warded door, every time they’d siphoned her power until she could barely breathe.
Enough.
“I’m done being their tool,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then stronger, steadier, she went on. “I want to fight. For myself. For what’s right. And if that means turning my back on the Rollinses forever, then so be it.”
“That’s my girl.” Gavin gave a single sharp nod, the approval in his gaze like fire warming her through.
She drew a shaky breath, then set the mug down with deliberate care.
“All right. You want to know who’s most likely to step up now? I’ll tell you. But once I do, there’s no going back.”
“Good,” Gavin said simply. “No going back is exactly what I want. And it’s exactly what you need. You’re not evil, Marigold. You can choose good and stay on the side of Light. They have no more power over you.”
Her fingers worried the rim of her mug as she forced herself to speak. “If anyone’s going to claim the Patriarch’s seat, it’ll be my uncle Ash.”
“Ash Rollins.” Gavin turned to get a file off his desk, then returned his full attention to her. “I’ve got a file on him already. Mid-level mage. Ruthless reputation. Nothing conclusive, but plenty of whispers.”
“Whispers are all you’ll ever get with him,” Marigold said grimly.
“He doesn’t act alone. He’s always got his twin anchors.
Our Aunt Narcissus and his sister, Fern.
The three of them…” She shuddered, unable to keep the memory from flashing across her mind—cold laughter, screams muffled by wards.
“They’ve worked together before. Some of the worst things the family ever sanctioned came from their little triumvirate. ”
Gavin’s hands stilled as he went back for two more files. He came back and set them side by side, eyes scanning.
“Narcissus Rollins. Older generation. Fern is your first cousin. Both flagged for suspected acts of evil sorcery.” He glanced up at her, the gold in his eyes flaring. “You’re saying they’ll move as a unit. Ash wearing the crown, but the other two pulling strings with him.”
“Yes.” Her voice came out sharper than she expected. “Ash would have the title of Patriarch, but it would really be all three of them. Narcissus is clever and cruel, and Fern has no limits. None. Together, they’ll crush anyone who resists.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to quell the shiver that worked down her spine. “The idea of them running the family…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s worse than Jeremiah, in some ways. At least he was predictable. They—” She cut herself off, biting her lip.
“They’ll tear the rest of the family apart to consolidate power,” Gavin finished for her, his tone flat, certain. He tapped the three files with one blunt fingertip. “Ash, Narcissus, Fern. A triumvirate. That’s what we’re dealing with.”
Her gaze caught his, startled by the intensity there. “You believe me.”
“I believed you before you said their names.” His lips curved into something halfway between a smile and a growl. “But this,” he tapped the files again, “this helps me prove it to everyone else. And it gives us targets.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Targets.”
“Goldie,” Gavin said, his voice dropping to that deep, certain rumble that made her toes curl, “you’ve just given me the key to taking them apart. Piece by piece.”
She met his gaze steadily and nodded. “Then let’s do it.”
By midmorning, the office looked like a war room. Files spread across every flat surface, printouts taped along the edge of the desk, half-empty mugs of coffee left lying around.
And Marigold—his fragile runaway Rollins—sat across from him with her legs tucked under her, hair tumbling forward as she flipped through reports and added quiet, cutting observations that turned dry facts into weapons.
“This cousin, Vincent,” Gavin said, tapping a photo clipped to one dossier. “He’s flagged as a possible enforcer. He’s got a record of violence, and two sealed arrests from when he was a teenager.”
Marigold leaned in, eyes narrowing at the grainy image. “Vincent’s a thug. He doesn’t think for himself, but he’ll do anything Fern tells him. She’s always used him like a guard dog.”
They moved through folder after folder, her voice steadying as she spoke names aloud, giving life to the shadows he’d been chasing on paper.
“Aunt Narcissus never dirties her own hands,” Marigold murmured as she skimmed another file. “She convinces others to do it for her. Makes them think it was their idea all along. She’s patient, though. She’ll wait years to get the revenge she wants.”
Gavin felt his jaw tighten, his pen digging deeper into the paper. “That makes her dangerous.”
“That makes her lethal,” Marigold corrected softly. She glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Don’t underestimate her.”
He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after hearing the tremor in her voice that had nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with memory.
Hours passed as he asked questions, and she answered. His notes from before and her new additions collided into a clearer picture than he’d had before. Somewhere along the way, Gavin realized he wasn’t watching her with suspicion anymore. He was watching her come alive.
Her fear hadn’t vanished. It lingered in the set of her shoulders, the way her hands trembled when a particular name surfaced. But underneath, there was steel. The same steel that had carried her out of a locked room almost a week ago.
His inner lion approved. Oh, how it approved.
By the time the sun was almost directly overhead, they had a working chart pinned to the corkboard in his office. Ash was at the top, flanked by Narcissus and Fern, with lesser relatives branching off beneath in tangled webs of loyalty and fear.
Marigold sat back with a sigh, rubbing her temples. “That’s them. That’s how it works. Ash has the title now that Jeremiah is gone, Narcissus is the brains behind him, and Fern has bloodlust enough for all three of them. Together, they’ll be worse than Jeremiah ever was.”