Page 50 of Purchased

“Yes.”

“Figures. Women.”

“Women,” I agree, downing a good four fingers of whiskey.

It is not enough.

I sleep in the lounge that night. Someone puts a blanket over me, someone who understands about women, I imagine. When I wake up, Beatrix is apologetic in the shape of her body, but not in actual words.

I will deal with her, but only when I am ready to.

Life has already begun to absorb her at the chateau. I have a hard time imagining the time before Beatrix was here. She is a bold presence in the pack, never shy with an opinion, but with a sense of care for the pack that is as innate to her as breathing. She truly was made to be an alpha’s mate.

But she also appears to hunt and kill men for sport.

I retire to my office to think and to do business. It feels like a much safer and reliable thing to put my effort into.

“Maître, we have a problem.”

If only he knew what an understatement that was. Antoine is supposed to be investigating the mystery of my mate, but he is back for some reason, something about consulting with the librarian.

Antoine is one of the higher-ranking members of the pack’s administration. He is a solid, soft-spoken wolf with dark hair and eyes so light brown they almost appear red in certain lights. He is older than I am, as many of the upper ranks are, but he has never made the mistake of speaking down to me.

“What’s the problem?”

“Someone is killing in the village.”

I clear my throat, my first instinct being to cover for Beatrix.

“Why would that be of concern to us?”

“A man was carried off in the night then disemboweled in the town square, his chest opened for the vultures who made their meal in the early morning light. I am told it was a disturbing scene for all those who viewed it.”

Antoine’s version of events certainly is dramatic, but that is how these stories go. Every retelling will add some embellishment. The vultures are a nice touch.

I draw in a deep breath. I knew this was going to come up.

“If it is not overstepping to make the assumption, your little bride has a talent for dispensing a very primal form of justice,Maître.”

I draw in another breath. Breathing has very much become something I must manually control in this moment in which I seem to control nothing else.

“It is not overstepping. I do not like disrespect, but I do not deny that there is a chance she could be involved.”

I do not like that I am effectively lying to my pack. I do not want them to know what happened, but it seems they have already put two and two together and come up with a bloody corpse.

I can avoid the matter no longer, and so I summon Beatrix to the office. We need to discuss this one way or another. It may as well be here and now.

She comes looking sheepish. The irony is not lost on me as she looks up under her lashes at me. I know she is guilty as sin. She knows I know. Antoine knows. I would say there are cubs in the pack who already know. The question is what charade of justice and discipline will play out here. Killing humans is deeply taboo, for obvious reasons.

“Beatrix, you killed a man last night,” I say.

She smiles, looking almost proud. Antoine’s brows rise as he takes in this expression of hers. He will remember this and add it to the story, I am sure. So much for a tearful, repentant mate.

“Yes,” she says.

“I want to know why.”

The smile slips away, and her eyes go flat the way they do when she has no intention of talking. This vault of hers is the thing that most frustrates me. In moments like these she seems entirely impenetrable.

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