Page 73 of Purchased

“Listen, we can’t all spend all our time unearthing the horrors of our past for the amusement of some tattooed sadist who never has anything useful to say anyway.”

“Ouch,” he says flatly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude, I just don’t think this is helping us. If anything, it’s making it much worse.”

“Ah. So talking is making things worse, but commissioning reports that dig into your mate’s history that she discovers in your office, killing gendarmes, summarily executing your own pack members without warning, they’re all very helpful?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said we don’t need therapy.”

“Understood.”

I hate how smug he is. No matter what I say, he has the upper hand because he has the position of power. He has become our priest, the authority we go to for absolution, presenting our thoughts and feelings for his inspection. It’s humiliating and I will not miss doing it.

“I don’t want you talking to Beatrix again either.”

“Even if she tries to talk to me?”

“What do you mean? She would never.”

“She asked to speak this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“I told her I was going to send you away. She seemed happy about that.”

“It’s almost as if she is a very confused young woman who does not know what she wants and needs,” he deadpans.

Jealousy shoots through me.

So Beatrix is going to talk to him about her past, and I will know nothing. I should be pleased she is addressing her problems. I tell myself that I am happy. I’m not at all offended that he is her confidante and I am not. That’s fine. That’s totally fine and very healthy.

This is good.

This is what should be happening.

* * *

We have a whole crate of stuffed wolves that we give out at the festival in the village once a year. It’s a midsummer full moon celebration, and it’s fun for the pack and for the people. I don’t know that this year’s will go ahead after the incident in the town square.

The air is full of fluff and I am full of rage as I try to work these feelings out without having to talk to anybody.

Daniel interrupts me, smirking at the chaos I’m causing on the rooftop. I didn’t intend for anybody to see this, but of course there’s no privacy in a pack.

“What are you doing,Maître?”

“Nothing.”

“It looks like you’re using a ceremonial sword to cut the heads off stuffed toys.”

“Does it?”

He picks up one of them and holds it out, headless.

“What did Mr. Fluffy do?”

“Nothing.”

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