Frowning, he held a hand out to her but checked himself. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said tightly, staring.

She hadn’t sensed his Power until she had looked into his eyes, which meant he must have a titanic amount of control over himself in order to keep it so tightly contained. How could one person hold that much Power and still remain sane?

Giving her a pleasant smile, the man said, “Would it be all right if I carried your flowers for you to your car?”

Her options ran through her mind at supersonic speed. The gun was buried deep in her purse, not her best, first choice should he try to attack. She would have to hit him with either the confusion spell or with the telekinesis, but with his kind of Power, he might shrug off the spells. So the gun might be the only effective weapon against him.

If it came to that.

Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t answered his question. “No,” she told him bluntly. If he was going to try to do anything to her, she would make him do it on the high street, in front of everybody, not tucked away in a side parking lot. “It’s not all right with me. Who are you, and what do you want?”

His smile never dimmed, and his body language remained open, easy. There were slight lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. If he hadn’t been setting off all the alarm bells in her head, she would have found him quite attractive.

“I want a few moments of your time, that’s all,” the man said. His quiet voice remained as nonthreatening as his body language. “Just a quick conversation, I promise. Are you by any chance Sophie Ross?”

“How did you learn that name?” she countered, taking another step back.

“The people in town speak highly of you,” the man said. “They say you saved the lives of the pub owner and his wife during an attack from lycanthropes. That was very brave.”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” she said, eyeing him narrowly. She was going to have to drop the cake to get the gun, and she didn’t like what that would signal.

His smile never wavered. “My name is Morgan.”

Morgan.

The sound of his name was like a punch to the kidneys. The town wavered around her. Oh God, no wonder he held such Power. If he chose to do anything to her, she was toast.

She whispered, “Could there possibly be more than one Morgan in the UK who carries the amount of Power that you do?”

His smile dimmed. He said, “It was not my intention to frighten you. I apologize.”

“Why are you here, talking to townspeople about me?” she asked through numb lips. “What do you really want?”

“I meant what I said, Sophie Ross,” Morgan replied. “I just want to talk and to ask you a few questions, that’s all. I mean you no harm. For the moment, you are safe.”

“For the moment?” she echoed. Then because he had frightened her so badly, a wave of anger hit. She held the cake as if she might throw it at him. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the shopgirl watching them worriedly. Morgan noticed her too, and as he waved the fingers of one hand in a subtle gesture, the shopgirl appeared to lose interest and wandered into the back of the store.

Morgan turned his attention back to Sophie. The smile in his eyes had disappeared. He said in a quiet, courteous voice, “Right now, my Queen knows nothing of your existence, and I am free to act as I choose. And I choose to wish you no harm, Sophie Ross. But if my Queen does learn about you, and she orders me to do a thing, you must understand—I will do it. I must.”

As reassurances went, this one basically sucked donkey balls. Still angry, she asked, “Why would your Queen learn anything about me? What am I to her?”

“She has misplaced her pet, and she wants him back,” Morgan said. “She wants him back badly enough, she sent me to search for him. At the pub, the owners told me that you had brought a stray dog into town when you arrived. If I might ask, what happened to him?”

The question fanned her anger into outright fury, and she jettisoned straight into Stupid and Crazy™.

Advancing on one of the most dangerous men she had ever met, she said between her teeth, “That dog was a pathetic mess. He had been tortured and starved. What kind of man are you to serve someone who could treat a creature with such cruelty? Do you have any ethics or morality, or any sense of decency?”

His expression slammed tight as a vault, while a muscle flexed in his lean jaw. Morgan said, still with that terrible, even courtesy, “My Queen commands, and I must obey. Do you still have the dog?”

“No, I do not still have the dog,” she snapped, throwing the weight of all her fury into a perfect blend of truth and misdirection, and she knew instinctively that she had hit the exact right note. “It disappeared at the time of the pub attack, and I haven’t seen it since.” Looking him up and down, she added contemptuously, “But if I did see that dog again, you can be sure as fuck I wouldn’t tell you anything about it.”

“No, I can see that you would not,” Morgan said, holding his body still, his expression calm and stony. “At any rate, not by choice.” He offered her the bunch of flowers. “I wish you well, Sophie Ross. Enjoy your day. Pray there’s no need for us to meet again.”

Breathing hard, she accepted the flowers gingerly, as if they might bite. In an archaic-seeming courtesy, Morgan inclined his head to her, then strode away.