Golden and mysterious, the coin in Hannah Stiles’ hand hinted that there was hope. That, maybe, just maybe, there was a path out of this disaster.

From downstairs, she caught snatches of her parents’ hushed debate.

“…extremely generous offer… we won’t see another like it…”

“…but we’ll lose everything!”

“Everything except our son.”

Silence fell. There was no arguing against that last point. Four months ago, a hit and run driver struck her seventeen-year-old brother Danny as he walked home one evening. Bills mounted. Insurance, that had promised the world, delivered far less protection than they needed. Hannah didn’t know the details. Even though she was six years older than her brother, her parents still treated her like their little princess. They tried to shield her from life’s ugly truths.

But things had come to a head and there was no hiding now. Her parents owed the hospital $72,300. As much as their small farm made in an entire year! With their savings drained, a ‘savior’ had appeared, a real estate developer who made them a very generous offer for their farm. Enough money to cover their debts and set up somewhere else…

…if they were willing to abandon their home. A house that had been in the Stiles’ family for centuries. The place where she and her father had grown up. Her parents hated the idea – but there was no other option.

Except this coin.

Hannah took a deep, shaky breath and prayed it was as magical as Grandpa had said. “When things are darkest,” he’d told her, “when there’s no hope at all, show this to the Protectors. They are bound by blood and honor to aid us.”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t told her how to find those ‘Protectors’. His grandfather hadn’t bothered to pass that important detail along. Being a modern girl, Hannah didn’t believe in ancient debts and magic coins. But if this thing had truly been in her family for 300 years, it must be valuable. Maybe valuable enough to save their home. And she had a good idea where to find a ‘Protector’ of her own.

Online.

A quick image search didn’t turn up anything that looked similar. The coin itself didn’t offer many clues about its origin. No date, no sign of what country it came from. One side was blank. On the other, a dragon curled around the edge, circling two words: “Noraste Mel.” Google couldn’t translate that. When she posted on a rare coins forum, no one had ever heard of anything like it.

Until yesterday, when an email arrived:

Ms. Stiles,

I am keenly interested in the coin you describe. If I am right about its origins, it is priceless. Though, surely, its Protector has told you that?

I need to see the coin to be certain. I will arrange a video conference tomorrow night at 6:00. Do have the coin with you.

Sincerely,

Brandon Lorde

Two words sent butterflies winging through her stomach. ‘Priceless’ – because that could save them. And ‘Protector’ – a strange echo of her grandpa’s own words. Quickly, she’d agreed to speak to Mr. Lorde tonight.

Her computer’s clock read 5:58pm. Hannah set the coin down and ran a hand through her long blonde hair. Nervously, she swept a wrinkle out of her sleeve and worried that perhaps jeans and a faded state fair t-shirt weren’t the best choice to impress a stranger.

Nonsense, she scolded herself. This isn’t a date. He’s interested in your coin, not you.

The exact moment the clock ticked over to 6:00pm, a soft ping announced that Mr. Lorde wished to begin a video chat.

Hannah licked her lips and clicked ‘accept’.

She had expected some little old man surrounded by cats, coins, and dusty antiques. Instead, a Greek god appeared on her screen.

Black hair, thick and light as a raven’s wings, framed his strong, angular face. Everything about him radiated strength, from his muscular arms to the sharp cut of his jaw and his full, firm lips. And his eyes…!

They caught her and held her as tightly as a hare in a hawk’s grasp. She had never seen eyes like them before. Rich, sapphire blue. For a moment, she swore there were lights in them, tiny flecks of purest gold that swirled around the pupils’ dark center.

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. She simply stared, like a deer in headlights, wishing, once again, that she’d changed clothes after coming in from the barn.

For a moment, those luscious, mesmerizing eyes scanned her, drinking in every detail of her face, her clothes, her hair. Perhaps it was crazy, but he seemed… eager? Anxious? No, nothing that weak. But clearly, whatever this coin was, it held great importance to him.

“Ms. Stiles?”

Even his voice thrilled her, a deep, rich bass that transformed her plain, boring name into something enchanting.

He cleared his throat. “Ms. Stiles?”

Oh heavens! He expected an answer? Blood rushed to Hannah’s cheeks as she realized she’d been sitting there staring at him. “Yes? Uh, yes! I’m, uh, Hannah. Hannah Stiles.”

“Good. Please hold the coin up to your computer’s camera.”

No small talk? No ‘Hi, how are you, nice to see you?’ For the first time, she felt a twinge of uneasiness, but she ignored it. Of course, he was all business. A wealthy, elegant man like him would never care about a plain farm girl like her. Still blushing, she raised the coin, so he could see it.

Immediately, he gasped. Some bright emotion lit his azure eyes. Hope? Joy? She couldn’t tell. For one moment, a dazzled smile brightened his face and he began to speak in a deep, musical language.

What it was, she had no idea. Certainly nothing like her high school Spanish. He fell silent, awaiting an answer. Hannah winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that language.”

At once, clouds of suspicion darkened his handsome face. He repeated the last sentence, his smile fading.

“Sorry, I really don’t have any idea what you’re saying.”

“Marakeen?” Those brilliant eyes bored into her now, seeking traps and deceit. “This word means nothing to you?”

Hannah shook her head. “Is that the name of the coin?”

His eyes closed, freeing her. Every muscle in his lithe body tensed, as if some fierce battle raged inside him. When he opened his eyes again, they were as cold as glacial ice. Chin raised, he stared through the computer at her with chilly disdain. “So, tell me, where did you steal the coin from?”

Steal?!? Now her eyes flashed. “Excuse me? How dare you accuse me of theft?”

“How dare I?” he sneered. “You have no idea what you hold in your hand. Clearly, you are a thief.”

“This coin has been in my family for hundreds of years!”

“And yet, you know nothing of the Marakeen?” She glared back at him, unwilling to answer, and he gave a short bark of laughter. “Then let me correct myself. You are not a thief – you are the descendent of thieves.”

“I think this conversation is over,” Hannah hissed. Gorgeous or not, he didn’t get to sit there and insult her family like that.

As she reached for the mouse, his lip curled in mockery. “Don’t you want your money, thief’s child?”

Hannah froze, and now it was her turn to fight back anger.

Money. That was why she was here. She couldn’t forget that. Couldn’t let her anger… her disappointment, cloud her mind. Yes, her ‘Greek god’ seemed to be more of a devil. Yes, he was arrogant, and dismissive, and…

She swallowed and scrubbed her eyes, quickly wiping away any trace of the shamed tears his taunts had summoned. None of that mattered. What mattered was that, judging from the luxurious furniture she saw behind him, he was rich. And he wanted her coin.

“Well?”

His scornful gaze burned through her, hitting her soul like a hammer’s blow. Yet she forced herself to meet it. To lift her chin and defy his unjust accusations. “Yes. $72,300. That’s what this coin will cost you.”

He didn’t even blink at that crazy price tag. “An oddly specific price.”

She held her tongue. He didn’t deserve an explanation.

“Very well.” Clearly, his interest in the subject had died. “$72,300 it is. I will mail you my address. Send the coin to me and I will give you what you want.”

“I want the money first!” Her lips pinched. “I don’t trust you.”

“Well, I don’t trust thieves,” he countered, “and I have the money. You will not be paid until the coin is in my possession.”

As she opened her mouth to argue, he waved dismissively. “We’re done here,” he said, as the video conference ended.

For a moment, Hannah sat there, shaking with shame and rage. How could someone so heavenly, so gorgeous, be so cruel? What had she done to deserve that kind of treatment?

By all rights, she ought to be dancing with joy. She’d done it! She’d found the money her family needed to save their land! But all she could think about was his eyes, and the way the hope and joy they held had died. She hadn’t done a thing wrong, and yet here she sat, feeling vaguely guilty. Sure that, somehow, she’d disappointed this stranger.

Rude stranger, she reminded herself. He was in the wrong, not her.

A ping announced the arrival of his address. New York City – not so far from her upstate home.

She stared at it until her mother’s voice called her to dinner. And when she rose, she had a plan.

Mr. Brandon Lorde of New York City would get his coin alright.

But not the way he expected.