Hierarchy by Madelaine Montague Read Free Book Online Page B

and look for the good in people instead of the bad. “I find you a fascinating novelty, too,” she said teasingly.
    He chuckled, seemed to think it over, and then laughed outright. “You have no idea,” he murmured at the questioning look she sent him.
    “Then tell me,” she demanded. “I want to know all about you … where you come from, for instance. You never did tell me.”
    Constantine sobered. “I’ve lived in many, many places.”
    Bronwyn frowned curiously. “Really? How old are you anyway?”
    Constantine stared at her a moment and found himself struggling with the urge to laugh again. “Centuries,” he said, mock solemn.
    “Fine! If you don’t want to tell me!”
    “How old do I look?”
    “Oh no! You’re not dragging me in to that one! If I guess wrong, you’ll be insulted.”

    26
    His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’m betting you’ll guess wrong.”
    Bronwyn turned in the seat to study him. There was absolutely no clue in his face. He could be anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five. He looked mature, not baby faced, but there were no lines deep enough to point to the possibility that he might be older than he looked.
    His hair wasn’t a clue either. It was a pale blond—but definitely blond. And yet she was obliged to admit there could be any number of gray hairs hiding there for all she knew.
    She decided it would be better to err on the side of caution regardless of what he’d said. “Twenty-five?”
    He gave her a look. “I thought you were serious.”
    She frowned. “Warm, hot, or cold?”
    His lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”
    “How close?”
    “I thought you wanted to guess.”
    Bronwyn tsked. “Well! I have to have some clues! Twenty-nine?”
    “No.”
    “Was that warmer or colder?”
    “How old would you like for me to be?”
    “Oh! That isn’t fair! I like you just the way you are.”
    The amusement in his eyes dimmed. “Do you?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Then it doesn’t matter, does it?”
    “Of course not! I just want to know about you.”
    “I was born long, long ago in a tiny village called Runstadt.”
    Bronwyn frowned. “Really? That sounds … German,” she decided.
    “Now you.”
    She laughed. “I was born in a tiny village called Greenville—long, long ago!”
    He studied her assessingly. “Twenty-five.”
    “Oh, you wonderful man! That’s so sweet! I’m not going to tell you! Besides, it’s my turn.”

    27
     

Chapter Four

Constantine had thought he was prepared. He’d found it surprisingly difficult to contain his impatience to claim Bronwyn, but he’d used the time to his advantage. The protection spell the old hag had woven around her, he’d discovered, was beyond his abilities to break, which had enraged him more than anything he could recall in centuries.
    Once he’d managed to contain his anger, however, he’d focused on scouring the city, and then the country, for a day-walker with magic comparable to the old witch Bronwyn so fondly referred to as Nanna.
    The most powerful one he’d found had merely shrugged and informed him that no one but the witch who’d woven the spell could break it. He’d suggested Constantine seek her out.
    His amazement when he’d been informed that the witch had been dead nigh a decade was only surpassed by his amusement when he realized how infuriated Constantine was at the news. If he hadn’t been protected by a powerful spell himself, Constantine would’ve crushed the life out of him.
    Damned day-walkers and their dabbling in magic!
    Who would’ve believed that, in this day and age, there would be mortals still capable of wielding such powerful magic! He’d thought the knowledge had long since been lost to mortals.
    He’d flown into another rage when the warlock had left with the advisement that he work within the parameters the witch had allowed him if he wanted the woman.
    “Meaning?” Constantine asked coldly.
    “Your powers will avail you nothing in this instance. You’ll