Chapter 5

Lucian's POV 

"I'm here about the nanny position," she said, holding up a folded piece of paper like it might vouch for her.

I could hear her voice shake slightly even though she seemed to be trying hard to hide it.

I didn't answer right away. I was still looking at the spot where the last woman had stood only minutes ago, still hearing her voice climbing the way the others had before her.

Nine women, nine failures and none of them lasting more than a day.

The staff shifted quietly behind me. They had seen this before too. Every one of them already knew how this would end, and so did I.

I looked at the woman in front of me properly for the first time. Plain clothes that looked slept in. Tired eyes. The stiff posture of someone holding herself together by force.

She had walked straight past the wreckage of my last hire without flinching. It's either she hadn't noticed, or she just didn't care.

Neither of those being a good sign, anyway. 

"What's your name?" I finally spoke. 

"Zara."

She didn't offer anything else. No list of qualifications, no speech about how good she was with children. Just her name, and the paper still clutched tightly in her hand.

Most people talked when they were nervous but she stayed quiet and waited. I know what that was and I wondered what kind of desperation brought someone to my door looking like this.

I also wondered how long her desperation can last for and in just how long she'll run. 

She didn't look away, even though I could tell it cost her something.

Part of me almost felt sorry for her. Whatever had brought her here clearly hadn't been kind.

But I stopped wasting sympathy on strangers a long time ago. I had learned exactly what happened when I let my guard down around people who said they could handle Mira. 

They promised everything in the interview, and the first time my daughter screamed, they were gone.

"You know this position has failed nine times already?" My voice came out sharper than I meant it to.

"I heard." Her other hand clutched a part of her dress. 

That was all she said. Two words, no attempt to soften them.

I studied her a moment longer than I needed to. There was something different about her, and I couldn't put my finger on what just yet. 

It didn't matter though. Different didn't mean capable. I had stopped confusing the two after the third nanny or perhaps it was the fourth.

"Do you have any experience with children?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Any experience with children like mine?"

Her eyes flickered for half a second. "No."

At least she was honest about it.

I turned toward the hallway without waiting for her to say anything else. I already knew how this afternoon would go. 

"Come with me," I said.

We walked down the hallway in silence. She stayed a step behind me, her footsteps light against the floor, and she didn't ask where we were going.

I stopped outside the playroom door.

"Here's how this works," I said. "You get five minutes with my daughter. If she screams, it's over. If she hides, it's over. If she tells you to leave, in any way she can, it's over."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then we'll talk again."

I hadn't said that to any of the others. Why was I compelled to let on more than I usually do with her?

"Whatever Mira decides, I honor it," I continued. "You don't get to argue the outcome. You don't get to ask for more time. And you don't get to blame her afterwards."

“Like those other women did” but I didn't add that. 

She nodded slowly, like none of it surprised her. Like she was used to being handed impossible conditions and told to make them work anyway.

"Understood," she said.

That should have been the end of it. It wasn't. How easily she accepted it sat wrong with me. Most people bargained. Most people asked about the salary, the hours, the rules, before they even met the child.

She hadn't asked about a single one of them.

"You haven't asked about the pay," I said.

"I'd like to meet her first."

I looked at her a second longer than I should have. 

Behind us, two maids had followed at a distance, pretending they weren't. They had the look of people who already knew how this would end.

So did I.

"Five minutes," I said again, and pushed the door open.

The playroom was quiet. Too quiet.

Mira was curled into the far corner, knees pulled to her chest, back pressed against the wall. She was already watching the door. She always was.

She saw me first, and her shoulders eased, just slightly. Then she saw the woman behind me, and they went stiff again.

I've watched this happen several times. The way she pulls in. The way her eyes go to the exit before anyone has said a word. I've lost count of how many times I've stood in this exact spot, hoping.

Every nanny who walked out taught her the same thing without meaning to. People leave. Trusting them is a mistake.

I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that I'm the one bringing strangers through that door and watching her brace for them.

I stayed near the doorway with my arms crossed and my face blank. If she looked at me, I wanted her to see someone calm.

I wasn't calm.

In the hallway, one of the maids already had a hand halfway to her mouth, like she'd seen the ending and couldn't bear to watch it again.

Zara stopped a few steps inside the room. She didn't move closer. She didn't say anything. She just looked at Mira, then at the small stuffed wolf sitting on the floor beside her.

Mira's fingers closed around its ear.

I held my breath and waited for the scream.

The scream didn't come, not yet. 

Zara lowered herself onto the floor, far enough away that Mira wouldn't feel cornered. She didn't look at my daughter. She looked at the wolf toy. 

"Hi," she said softly. "You look like you've had a long day."

Mira's fingers tightened on its ear.

"I've had one too," Zara went on. "I'm not very good at them lately."

I noticed her hands then. They were in her lap, and they were shaking. She kept pressing them flat against her knees to hide it, but it didn't work. This wasn't confidence. 

It wasn't a technique she'd practiced.

She was terrified.

She needed this job. I could see it in the way she kept her eyes on the wolf and never once glanced at the door. She knew exactly what it would mean if this failed.

Minutes passed. Nobody spoke. One of the maids shifted her feet, and I shot her a look that made her go still.

"Come on, Mira," I thought. "Please."

Then she moved.

She let go of the wolf, pushed herself off the floor, and walked across the room. Slowly. One step, then another. I didn't breathe. She stopped in front of Zara and looked at her for a long moment.

Then she put her small hand into Zara's palm.

Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound.

Relief hit me first, so sharp it almost brought me to my knees.

Then something else stirred underneath it. Something old, and awake, and very sure, maybe too sure. 

“Mine.”

I heard my wolf call out in a way he never has. 

"Mate."