Twenty-one years ago…

“Closed doors, I hate closed doors. Why don’t I have the power to see through them? That, at least, would be a useful ability.” Three-hundred-year-old floorboards creaked as Gregory Thanet paced the galleried landing of Wenlock House. He walked up and down past three doors, each fashioned from heavy oak and furnished with black iron hinges and handles. Two stood ajar, revealing hints of unoccupied bedrooms, but the third was firmly closed, a solid barrier to unwanted intrusion and the cause of Gregory’s current frustration.

“For goodness’ sake, Gregory, you’re wearing out the carpet. Be still.” Gregory’s companion leaned against the gallery rail and gave him an exasperated look.

Gregory paused his march briefly, shot a glare at the woman but then resumed his pacing with a grunt. “Leave me be, woman, I’ll be still when we know that everything is as it should be.”

“Nature moves at her own pace, you know that. There’s no changing it—nor should we. What will be will be.”

“Stop trying to sound like some wise and ancient soothsayer, Agatha. You’re not helping and it doesn’t suit you. The kid is a week late already—you’d think he would be keen to greet the world by now. When he’s grown I’ll remember that he kept me up half the night. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of opportunities for revenge when he’s older.” Gregory stopped and folded his arms across his chest.

“I might not be able to see the future, Gregory Thanet, but even a complete idiot could have predicted that my grandson would arrive today.”

Gregory examined his companion. Agatha looked tired. Her skin was quite smooth, marred only by a few laughter lines around her hazel eyes, eyes that still sparkled with warmth and intelligence. Her silver hair was swept smoothly back and fastened with a comb, intricately fashioned from beaten copper. She remained an attractive woman, who must have possessed great beauty in her youth, but she looked paler than usual and she rested her weight against the banister rather than standing in her usual ramrod-straight stance.

Gregory experienced a rare pang of guilt that he might be adding to his friend’s worries. “All Hallows’ Eve. There’s a lot of power in the air right now.”

Agatha cocked her head to one side and closed her eyes as if listening to sounds that only she could hear. “My grandson will be with us soon and there is little that you or I can do to change the course of his destiny.” For a moment, a worried frown creased her forehead. “It is not certain that he will inherit the gift.”

Gregory sighed. “In this, you deceive yourself, Agatha. The calling has skipped a generation. History dictates that the next born will be unusually powerful and that power will be magnified even further in a male child.”

“There has been no warlock in my family line for over five hundred years, only witches. Why are you so convinced that it will change now? We know of only three others living, Gregory. You, Symeon Malus and Constantine De Vries. It would be a chance in a billion.”

Gregory scratched the tip of his long nose. “I should have bought a lottery ticket then. All the portents point to it, the date alone… It is time. Time the triangle became a square.”

“I’m not sure Symeon Malus will ever be part of that square,” Agatha said. “I don’t see him as the cornerstone of anything with value or integrity.”

“True, and if the child is born with the power, you and I will need to ensure that Symeon’s gaze remains elsewhere.” Gregory shivered. “I swear to the goddess, this country is the dampest place on earth. It’s all right for you, Agatha, you live in the second dampest place on the planet. You’re used to groping through fog. I want to get back to Florida. I need to—before I develop trench foot.”

“Pah. What you really want is to get back to Coryn. You’re a ship without an anchor when the two of you are apart. He could have come to see the child too, you know.” Agatha grabbed a stray hair and pushed it back into a restraining grip.

“Coryn hates airplanes, you know that. I would never ask him to fly across the pond unless it was a life or death situation.”

“If it were, you wouldn’t have to ask him.”

“He reckons that if men were designed to fly through the air, then human cannonball would be a much more popular career choice.”

Agatha snorted. “I think his phobia is a myth. He just uses it as an excuse to get a few days’ break from your—” She whistled and twiddled her fingers in the air.

Gregory rolled his eyes. “Twiddling your fingers that way will get you turned into an aardvark. It takes practice to bend your digits into shapes imbued with power. After thirty-two years together, Coryn is more than capable of dealing with my—” He whistled. “As you so delicately put it.”

Agatha snorted. “Men with magic! Whoever the hell thought that would be a good idea was seriously damaged.” She shook her head slowly.

Gregory grinned and waggled a silver eyebrow.

The mewling cry of a newborn sounded from behind the closed bedroom door, and Agatha allowed her lips to curve into a smile.

“Well, it seems the waiting is over. I have a grandchild—and, from the sound of that bellowing, he’s a fine, healthy boy.”

“About damned time.” Gregory grouched. He still smiled right along with Agatha.

Agatha crossed the landing and knocked softly on the door, which soon swung open to admit her. Gregory followed her inside, pushing down his excitement.

The bedroom was bathed in the cool light of a new dawn. The soft green of the walls seemed to shimmer and the wooden floor was burnished with gold. Gregory looked around in wonder, then dragged his gaze back to the bed.

“Lyssa, James—congratulations, my dears!” Agatha clapped her hands together in delight as she walked over to the bed.

Gregory hung back a little, giving her the privilege of first viewing.

Agatha’s daughter, Lyssa, sat up in bed propped against a mound of pillows. She was pale, her eyes shadowed in the purple of exhaustion, but still she glowed with radiant happiness. A small bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket rested in her arms. Her husband, James, sat nervously on the edge of the mattress, looking utterly shell-shocked but delighted as the midwife fussed around them.

Lyssa held the baby out to her mother with a smile. “His name is Evrain. Evrain James Brookes. Hold him, Mum, isn’t he beautiful?”

Gregory held his breath as Agatha reached for the small bundle and cradled the child in her arms. She pushed the blanket back from the baby’s head, and a mop of thick black hair was revealed, sticking out in all directions.

“He is absolutely gorgeous, darling. Didn’t you both do well!” Agatha stroked the child’s hair.

Gregory moved in closer. Tiny fists punched at the air, so Gregory offered the boy his own hand. Immediately, the baby grabbed hold, wrapping his fingers around Gregory’s offering with surprising strength. Gregory grinned at Agatha in delight, then looked back to the baby. His eyes were the dark blue of every newborn but, as Gregory focused his senses on the child, he could see that they would become dark green. Just a shade deeper than his own.

Nathaniel Alberich adjusted his position to get more comfortable on the rocky ground. There was a particularly sharp stone that seemed to have a magnetic attraction to his ass and no matter which way he shuffled, the damn thing followed right along. He allowed himself a self-indulgent moment to recall the comfortable leather chair in his office—well-cushioned and rock-free. The wild outdoors was not his preferred environment but on this occasion his location—on a mountaintop—was necessary. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the stormy vista. Dark gray clouds edged with purple scudded past. Someone, somewhere, was going to be treated to a nice deluge. Nathaniel shrugged, winced then rolled some of the stiffness from his shoulders. It was about time he booked an appointment with his masseur. The man was a sadist, something Nathaniel could appreciate, but the pain he inflicted always resulted in looser limbs and unknotted muscles.

“All this stress is not good for me,” Nathaniel muttered, aiming his complaint at a passing buzzard. The bird drifted lazily on currents of air Nathaniel fought hard to provide. He stood, flexing his fingers. He widened his stance and locked his knees in place. He didn’t need the indignity of falling on his already bruised rear even if there was no one to witness his humiliation. He held his arms out then twisted his fingers into shapes that should have been impossible. Muttering incantations beneath his breath, he focused his will before expelling his power with a mental push. Around him the wind screamed in protest but the currents changed direction as he commanded. On the plains below, row after row of megalithic turbines started to rotate.

“Better. Much better.” Nathaniel’s thigh muscles trembled and pain stabbed behind his eyes. Using his power without a partner to channel through was uncomfortable. He’d learned to live with it over the years, channeling a fraction of the energy through anyone in the area. People nearby might experience a shiver, a mild headache or slight nausea. Nothing to attract undue attention. It wasn’t enough, though, and without being able to dissipate the backlash of the forces he unleashed, Nathaniel suffered a great deal more than his unwitting assistants. He refused to give in to it. His business relied on his ability to work magic and along with it the jobs of thousands of employees. He couldn’t let them down. He fought back the urge to vomit, pressing his knuckles into his temples until the spots in front of his eyes faded. The two-hour hike back to his car would help clear his head but he had no desire to break a limb on his way down the mountain.

After a few minutes of deep breathing he felt recovered enough to start walking. The trail was steep but he was well equipped with top-of-the-line boots. It wasn’t his first trip to the peak and he’d learned from experience to come prepared for anything. He carried a small backpack containing bottled water and energy bars. A thick jacket and a pair of weatherproof pants—great against the elements, not so functional against pointy stones—ensured he stayed warm. The downward trip was still a slog and Nathaniel gave thanks for the many hours he’d spent in his home gym building stamina. Magic burned calories better than any sweaty spin class but he still needed to swim and run to keep up his fitness levels. It was a matter of survival, not vanity—and that was excellent motivation.

After a couple of hours, the path leveled out and Nathaniel covered the last half-mile quickly. On an unpaved road normally reserved for maintenance vehicles sat his gleaming Bentley Continental. There was no trace of the thick coating of dust it had collected earlier that day and his driver was leaning against the highly polished exterior. Nathaniel shook his head as he approached.

“Hey, Felix.”

“Welcome back, sir.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Nathaniel. You make me feel like my grandfather. I’m thirty-one, not a hundred and one.”

“And your grandfather has long since passed, sir.” Felix flicked a speck of dust from his pristine white cuff. “How are you feeling?”

“You mean for a warlock who’s just manipulated the elements?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“Like crap. I think that sums it up.”

Felix frowned. “You know I’d help more if I could, sir.”

“I know.” Nathaniel sighed. “And if you ever fancy batting for my team for a change, you let me know. In the meantime, I’ll manage.”

Felix raised a blond eyebrow. He twitched his lips into a smile. “I’m not your type, even if I were…so inclined.”

Nathaniel gave his fair, blue-eyed driver an appraising examination. He matched Nathaniel’s height of six feet two and had broader shoulders as well as bigger muscles. There was no question he was handsome, and Nathaniel could appreciate him as a fine specimen of manhood, but he preferred his partners small, dark-eyed and submissive. Felix would never fit the bill.

“Sadly, that’s true.” He shrugged. “Now tell me how the fuck you managed to clean the car out here, and why you bothered when it’s just going to get dirty again.”

“Drivers never reveal their secrets, sir.”

“Or those of their employers.” It wasn’t a question. Nathaniel trusted Felix implicitly. He’d been with him since Nathaniel had come into his power at twenty-one. He was a friend, a confidant and utterly indispensable. Felix gave his usual enigmatic smile and opened the car door.

“Why don’t you get in before you collapse and I have to haul your heavy ass in there? Sir.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at Felix’s insubordination but scrambled into the passenger seat anyway. It was good to get the weight off his legs. He reclined the back a little then relaxed into the leather with a relieved sigh. Felix got behind the wheel, closing his door gently. The two of them were cocooned in temperature-controlled luxury.

“You should sit in the back,” Felix said, turning the key in the ignition.

“And you say that every time I get in the damn car. I never sit in the back.” Nathaniel closed his eyes. “Take me home, Felix. It’s been one long-assed day.”

It was a three hundred and some mile trip from Tehachapi back to Atherton, where Nathaniel had his main residence. Felix usually managed it in a miraculous four hours or so but Nathaniel was glad they only needed to make the trip once a month. His other wind farms were closer to home. Every time he tweaked the elements in his favor, the power he expended left him drained. Without Felix to shepherd him back to the house, he would have to camp out until he regained his strength.

“God forbid,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath.

“Dreaming of tents and the great outdoors again?” Felix’s tone no doubt reflected the smirk on his face, but Nathaniel couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes and check.

“I need to get less predictable.”

“You need to rest.”

Nathaniel grunted. There was no way he was going to give Felix credit for being right. The steady thrum of the Bentley’s engine soon lulled him into a doze but it was hard to rest. Channeling his power through so many anonymous bodies always left him unsettled and twitchy. It allowed him to work without the need to vent every other day, but was nowhere near as effective as if he had a life partner to take some of the strain. His semi-waking dreams let him picture who that man might be. Someone eager to please but with an energetic spark. Independent, but willing to be taken care of. Submissive in the bedroom and able to deal with the unique needs of a sometimes-cranky control-freak of a warlock. And there was the problem. The whole warlock thing was a major road block to finding the right man. Any man.

A sudden, sharp pain speared Nathaniel’s temple. “Fuck!” He jerked into full consciousness. “What the hell?” He knuckled his head in an attempt to ease the pain.

“What’s up?” Felix asked, sounding concerned. “You’re white as a sheet. Do you need me to stop somewhere?”

Nathaniel took a couple of cleansing deep breaths and the pain receded. “No, it’s okay. Someone’s messing with the elements. Someone with vast power. I’ve felt this a few times in recent months.” His stomach churned. “Perhaps we should stop. I need some air. And it’s about time I gave Gregory Thanet a call. Apparently we have things to discuss.”