Sorcerer's Legacy by Caroline Spear

a conversation with your friend. You may want to know—”
    Ian raised his hand to stop Cyrus. “Don’t worry, Cyrus. I have everything under control.”
    Cyrus’s dark eyebrow cocked as he narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure?”
    “Positive.”
    “As you wish.”
    The big man rolled his eyes and muttered as he stalked to the door. He passed Becca in the doorway as she hurried in with her notebook and pen. Ian’s heart jerked and jealousy clawed in his belly when Cyrus gave his woman an overly thorough appraisal.
    His woman.
    Damn it. Whether he liked it or not, the fates had chosen this woman as his mate. He didn’t want another mate, didn’t want the pain of losing another part of his heart. Any proclaimed mate of the council was a prime target.
    He smiled at her as she approached. Thankfully, his balance had returned following the ritual on the beach. Calmer, he could shield his thoughts and emotions though sharing his entire being with her called to his heart. Only his chosen mate could fulfill all his needs, make him whole. Duty and honor refused to put her in harm’s way.
    Her irritation showed in the jut of her chin and the tightness of her jaw. No reason to hold anything back from the translation. No reason to hold anything back from her at all. After the spell, she’d forget everything. Even him.
    He shoved down the bitterness rising in his throat. Letting her go would be a knife to his heart, but she’d never be safe with him. Given the choice, she would take the leap of faith and go with him. She trusted him; she’d shown her absolute faith last night when the werewolf attacked. He refused to lose another person. Allan’s foiled abduction proved how desperate the rebel factions were. He shuddered to think what they’d do to sweet Becca.
    Now seated next to him, she watched him with a furrowed brow. Had she asked him a question?
    He focused on the scroll. “How did this come into your possession?”
    She leaned back in the chair. “When my grandmother died, this was in her safe deposit box.” She raised her right hand and twisted the ring on her finger. “This, too.”
    He took her hand in his to better see the ring. A cabochon ruby winked in an antique copper scrolled setting, the kind he’d seen on members of his own family. The ring spun freely on her middle finger, indicating it had been made for a man’s hand.
    “How did they come to your grandmother?”
    “I believe they belonged to my father.”
    “What was your father’s name?” Maybe the man had been a thief or con man, not that he’d tell her that.
    “I don’t know.” Her quiet answer expressed more confusion and disappointment than the actual words. Pieces fell into place. Not all of them, but enough to explain her lack of self-confidence.
    “Your mother’s and grandmother’s last name is Jones?”
    “Yes. Was.”
    She impressed him as she battled back tears. “I’m sorry.”
    “I don’t remember my mother. She died when I was only three. It’s strange, though. I feel like she’s near me.”
    “She is, Becca. Our loved ones watch over us.”
    A soul-deep sigh escaped her. “I just want to know who my father is. Maybe he’s alive. Maybe he doesn’t know I exist.”
    She was lost and needed to find her home. His heart broke a little.
    Perhaps the scroll could provide clues, but would her father be an honorable man? Or a para who might hurt her? Or worse, be a member of the Mundus Novus or another faction? This scroll had been lost for centuries; one of her ancestors could have been a witch or a sorcerer who’d forsaken their oath to do no harm. Power corrupts.
    Only one task remained: translate the scroll.
    Two hours later, Ian had gained insight into his forefather but hadn’t found anything to help Becca with her quest. Her drumming fingers and frequent sighs didn’t diminish his delight in his ancestor’s words.
    “Healing potions and scrying spells. This is no more helpful than a cookbook.”
    Becca banged