Page 31 of The Wolf and his Witch

So this was what they were reduced to? All those weeks spent together in Paris and now they were talking in the third person? “It depends on what book one was looking for?”

Gabriel shrugged. “A grimoire.”

Annabelle stiffened. Did he know? Was it possible he’d known all along where the spell had come from? He’d said their pack had once protected a witch, back in the tenth century. Was the grimoire hers? What did that say about the Langeais wolves if it was? “I imagine covens would guard their grimoires well. We do. The chances of them ending up here, or on the open market, would be slim.”

He smiled, those dark eyes of his boring into her. “But one did end up here, didn’t it, Annabelle?”

“No,” she squeaked. She stared down at the counter, her fingers tracing a deep scratch, its origins long forgotten.

His hand nudged her chin up. “Liar.”

Damn shifter senses.

“I know about the grimoire you stole from here, Annabelle.”

She pulled away from him. “How could you possibly know that?” Her shoulders slumped. If he’d been guessing, taking a stab in the dark, she’d just given herself away.

“Your boss keeps really good records. It didn’t take Stef long to find what we were looking for.”

There was no point in hiding the—What did he just say?“Stef was inhere? Last night?” Her eyes narrowed on Gabriel. “Let me guess, she also broke into Aunt Marjory’s house.”

His silence was all the answer she needed. Hurt blossomed in her chest. “I get it now. While we were…” She cleared her throat,trying to dislodge the lump that had taken up residence there. “While we were otherwise occupied, Stef broke into our High Priestess’ house, into heroffice. When she couldn’t find what she was looking for, she came here. I’m surprised you didn’t have this place ransacked, too.”

Annabelle took in a few deep breaths. She didn’t know whether to be angry or to cry. “Go back to France, Gabriel. We’ll figure this mission out on our own.” She skirted around the counter and flung open the door for him. “We don’t need your kind of help.”

Gabriel didn’t move. “Did you say someone ransacked Marjory’s office?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t know. Stef wouldn’t do that.” He gestured to the store. “She came here, too. Does the store look trashed to you?”

Annabelle looked around. Nothing was out of place. No books thrown about, the counter untouched. He had a point. If Stef had trashed Aunt Marjory’s office, why would she not have done the same here? She let the door swing closed.

Gabriel stalked toward her. “Annabelle, where’s the grimoire now? Is it safe?”

She took a step back, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s a lot safer now than it was this morning.”

Her phone rang, an urgent trill from behind the counter, muffled in her backpack. She moved to answer it, but Gabriel blocked her. It stopped ringing.

“Belle, you need to show me the grimoire.”

“No. And stop calling me that. You lost that right three years ago.”

“Annabelle—”

Her phone rang again, and she dodged Gabriel. “I need to answer that. It could be important.”

She grabbed her bag, digging it out. “It’s the High Priestess.” She hit answer. “Aunt Marjory.”

“Annabelle, whatever you do, don’t say another word to Dutton or any of the King family about your task,” she said.

She caught the tilt of Gabriel’s head. He was listening in. “Okay, sure. I wasn’t planning on it, anyway. Before you say anything more, you should know Gabriel’s right here.”

“Good. You can trust him.”

“But Stef—”

“Annabelle, while cleaning up the mess in my office, we found an electronic listening device. That must have been how Dutton knew of your meeting at The Ritz-Carlton last night.”

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