“You have a file on me. On my parents. You have a list of my high school friends. Why?”
“You know why.” He glared at her again. “You became unusual.”
“You had no right to dig into my past like that!” she snapped.
He snatched up a wrapped sandwich and stalked into the bedroom.
“Quit walking away from me!” Following him, she found that he had sat at one end of the bed.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees while he tore the wrapper open. With his gaze fixed on the food in his hands, he said between his teeth, “You’re rattled and spoiling for a fight. I get that. But I’ve been up all night casting spells, I didn’t have supper, and I’m going to eat a fucking sandwich. So get out of my face for a few fucking minutes.”
Gah! She wanted to strangle him. Her hands closed into fists, but after a moment she asked, more or less calmly, “Did you bring one for me?”
“What do you think?” He snapped off one end of his sandwich with strong, white teeth.
She thought maybe she needed a few fucking minutes too. Striding over to the fridge, she yanked open the door to stare at the food he had brought. There were three more wrapped sandwiches, two turkey and cheese, one beef and tomato. She snatched at one.
The only two places to sit in the basement were the bed or the desk chair. She wasn’t about to join him, and she didn’t feel like walking into Creepy Monitor Room again, so she ate her sandwich mechanically while standing in front of the microwave, forcing each mouthful down her throat. It tasted like sawdust and she could only manage to eat half, so she rewrapped the rest and put it into the fridge. Then she went back into the bedroom.
He had finished his sandwich and had lain back on the bed, one tanned forearm draped over his eyes. She took in details she had been too preoccupied to notice before. He wore a pair of faded jeans and well-used athletic shoes, and a gray T-shirt stretched tight over his wide chest and muscled arms.
And while the bedroom had only basic furnishings, there was an antique, faded rug that gave the room a sense of richness. The old dresser, the bedside table and lamp—they might be used, but they were all quality pieces.
She walked to the bed and sat beside him. “Who are you really?”
His arm obscured half his face and highlighted the sensuality of his firm mouth. “I’ve been Josiah Mason for the past forty years. I carefully targeted the DA position and constructed and executed a successful campaign strategy to win the election.”
Did that really answer her question? A chill went down the back of her neck as she thought of how he had worded his reply and what he didn’t say.
And very Powerful witches could live much longer than the normal human life span. He had told her that himself.
She asked quietly, “What was your original name?”
“That was a long time ago, and it belonged to a different man.”
“Was it Russian?”
No answer. He lifted his forearm to frown at her. “What are you doing up, anyway? You should still be out.”
“I dreamed about Austin’s attack. It woke me up.” She rested her folded hands in her lap. “I may not be an expert on what safe houses should look like, but even I can tell this place isn’t normal.”
“No, Molly. It is not.” He let his forearm rest against his eyes again.
The food sat uneasily in her stomach, and she fought against the urge to lie down. She had too many questions she needed to have answered. “Why are there protection spells all over the basement? Why not the rest of the house?”
“The ground helps to absorb and hide the magic. The protection spells might be sensed if they were aboveground.”
“And for some reason you need the protection, because… because Atlanta is a place of interest to a certain dangerous Power, isn’t it?” She thought of all the security monitors in the other room, and for the first time she felt like she was starting to piece together the bits of what he had told her over the past several weeks. She asked, “Possibly something or someone that might love to sink its teeth into someone’s bones and suck the magic out of them like sucking the juice out of a ripe peach?”
“I really wish you were asleep. You’re too smart for your own