Owen’s hand winds with hers when they approach the large wrought-iron gate, secured between two white brick fences. The house isn’t visible, but the shine of light filters through the trees.
“Tell me this is the right thing to do,” Owen whispers in her ear. Quinn looks back at the sound of his voice. Astrid nods. It’s the right thing. A crazy thing, but the right thing. They’re caught in the middle of a showdown between two desperate, greedy people, and right now Demetria seems like the least dangerous. They need her on their side, at least until they shut Kincade down.
The gates slowly open and the car travels up the winding driveway. Twinkling lights hang from the trees, giving everything a magical glow. None of this is a surprise, of course, including the treehouses tucked just out of sight. Owen’s hand tightens in hers and she hears the uptick in his heartbeat and the quickening of his breath.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
His green eyes lock with hers and she feels the tug of her glove as he slips it off her hand. Her own body reacts in fear. What is this? What is he doing?
Their fingers touch and she’s slammed with his echo.
Owen, younger—boyish—standing before Demetria. Her eyes skim over him. Absorbing him. Her smile is predatory. “I’ve waited a long time for you to come home, Lost Boy. So many games we’ll play.”
Astrid’s eyes pop open, meeting Owen’s. “What was that? When was that?”
The car comes to a slow stop at the top of the hill. She tugs her glove back on, trying to calm her pounding heart. The driveway curves next to the enormous home. It’s not a home. It’s a castle; like something out of a fairytale. White stone with turrets on each corner. Stained glass fills the glowing windows and giant topiaries line the walkway. Perfect for Demetria and her delusional fantasies. The instant the door opens and they’re out of earshot of the driver, Astrid turns to Owen and hisses, “What is going on?”
“I’m telling you she’s fucking crazy and she got in my head when she found me a few years ago. I don’t want her doing it again.” He looks at Astrid. “What if she backs out of your deal?”
“Hey,” she says, squeezing his hand. “We’ve got this.”
Dark sadness fills his eyes. “I’m not used to relying on other people. I’m sorry.”
Lord, he really is Peter Pan. Trust issues and everything.
“Owen, do you think this is a trick?” Astrid finally asks. She has one foot on the step. “A trap? Are we walking into something we’re not prepared for?”
He takes a deep breath and his eyes dart to the door. They’re waiting on them. “I know you made a deal with her to stay away from us, but I don’t buy it,” he says. “Me and Quinn. Casper. It’s some kind of obsession and you’re messing with her fantasy. She’s Wendy. I’m Peter.”
“Who does that make me?” she asks.
“Tinkerbell.”
Astrid racks her mind for the story. “Wendy hates Tinkerbell because she takes Peter and the other Lost Boys’ attention away from her.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Quinn asks, rubbing his head. “Stay in reality people. Don’t go to this level.”
Owen shakes his head. “I don’t know how this will go, but here is my suggestion. Be nice. Flirt a little. Do not insult her. Let’s see what she wants and get out of here, okay?”
Astrid sighs and shares a look with Quinn. He nods. “Okay, but if you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, let me know.”
“Got it,” Owen says.
“And remember,” she tells them both, “you aren’t her Lost Boys. You’re my men. My teammates and my lovers. No one is taking you away from me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Quinn
“Astrid,” Demetria says from her position in the foyer. She’s been waiting for them to arrive. If she’s annoyed that they lingered in the driveway, she doesn’t reveal it. With her, it’s hard to tell. Everything is an act—or a fantasy. Reality is lost somewhere in between. “Darling, I am so sorry to hear about the terrible incident at the old school. I had such exciting plans for that place! But once again, Kincade got there first. But regardless of all of that, I’m glad to see you healthy.”
“Thank you, Demetria,” Astrid says. She’s got on her game face for sure. Pleasant, grateful. He had no idea she could pull off such niceties. Her outfit, though, looks like some kind of bad-ass warrior, and Quinn is thankful she’s on their side.
“And you must be Quinn,” she says, stepping close. Her eyes linger on his bruised face and bloody lip. “Who did this to your handsome face?”
“Just a little mishap at the gym.”
She frowns with worry and touches his cheek. It takes everything in him not to jerk away, but Astrid watches him carefully, willing him to behave. “Next time be more careful. I don’t like to see violence like this.”
“I’ll try.”
“Demetria,” she says, drawing the woman’s attention away. “Your home is lovely.”
“It’s taken me years to get it exactly the way I like it.” She looks around the enormous room filled with flowers and gilded mirrors. A huge staircase sits behind her going to the next level, and a massive crystal chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling. The jewels are pink and purple. “It’s a bit much, I admit. But it’s perfect for charity events and hosting important guests.” She smiles. “Like you.”
Owen squirms uncomfortably and Quinn tries to squelch his anger at him for his last-minute freak out. He shouldn’t judge. He gets it. They all carry baggage. Their relationships are new. Trust is hard to come by when they’ve been told all their lives they’re alone and their abilities must be a secret.
Demetria leads the way, gesturing for them to follow her into the dining room, giving him a chance to assess their hostess.
Demetria is dressed like a princess, down to the jewels in her hair. As much as he was against taking the altered PD-1 earlier, he’s now glad he did. This place smells like a trap—a glittery nightmare, and it’s possible they may have to fight their way out of the house at the end of the night. It’s a paranoid thought, but he can’t help but notice the way her eyes linger over both he and Owen.
Especially Owen.
“I designed the house after my favorite movies. Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty.” Astrid nods in appreciative approval. Quinn has no real idea what she means other than everything in the house is over-the-top and looks straight out of a fairytale.
“Owen.” She pauses until he falls in step with her. Then she links his arm with his. “Did you tell everyone we’re old friends?”
“Aren’t we all old friends?” he replies, with a smirk. “But, yes, I told them we’d met.”
She smiles wide. So weird. So creepy. “Owen and I reconnected years ago after the tragic death of his aunt. He was a sad soul back then, even more than during our childhood. I should have known he’d find his way back to you, Astrid.”
“Yeah, that was a strange coincidence.”
The dining room is as ornate as the rest of the house. Soft music carries through the air and candlelight flickers in silver holders on the table. A familiar figure waits for them at the door.
Draco.
“Draco, you’ve met Astrid, obviously. These are her partners, Owen and Quinn.”
The man acts as though they’ve never met—never sparred and beaten the crap out of one another. He certainly doesn’t act as though he’s given Quinn a busted lip, provided them intel on his boss, or supplied them with the one way to overpower her.
“Mr. Perfect,” Astrid says, smiling at the man. Both Owen and Quinn stare.
Mr. Who?
“Astrid,” he says, taking her gloved hand and giving it a squeeze. “Nice to see you again.” He nods at the men in greeting.
“Well, I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Please sit,” Demetria says, pointing out chairs for each of them. Astrid and Draco on one side. Owen and Quinn on the other. Demetria herself at the head of the table. Servants appear and set a bowl of soup before them. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know why I’ve called you here.”