Page 71 of Marked By Moonlight
“Another capitalist Anastasia won’t approve of,” Marius decided.
“Well, he certainly has the funds,” Henrik said.
Roux looked to me. “Who did you have?”
I held up the candidate I planned to push as much as I could. “The Marguerite Tobler Arts Trust. It sounds perfect.”
Roux rubbed his fingers together. “Do they have the cash to compete with Nils Øren Jensen?”
I grimaced. Probably not. I leafed to the second candidate. “This one has potential. Raisa Kepke, former Cultural Minister of Latvia.”
“Former?” Marius asked.
I made a face. “She was until she was implicated in a corruption scandal involving EU arts funding.” I sighed. “Another friend of Gordon’s, I suppose.”
“Mina is finally catching on,” Bene stage-whispered to Henrik.
“According to the file, she’s also a raven shifter,” I added.
“Makes sense. They’re sneaky as hell,” Bene said. “And they love shiny new things, a little like dragons.”
“Nothing like dragons,” Marius grumbled.
“She now runs an NGO that claims to protect European cultural heritage,” I finished. “But it’s a little murky, at best.”
“Just like Gordon,” Bene pointed out.
I snagged the last chocolate croissant from the breakfast platter, desperate to improve my mood.
Roux pointed to Marius. “Who’s your guy?”
“Notmyguy,” Marius grumbled.
“He’s an arms dealer, right?” Henrik asked.
Marius nodded. “Bogdan Karachanov. Bulgarian. Bear shifter.”
“Wait. What about the client?” Bene asked.
Marius shook his head. “She’s human. No reason to believe she knows about shifters.”
Bene stroked his chin. “Well, if this Bogdan guy is an old-time Marxist, that could appeal.”
“Who do you have?” I asked Roux.
Roux held up a picture of a smiling platinum blonde. “I’m not sure what to make of this one.” He glanced down at his notes. “Charlotte de Mézières.”
Bene did a double take. “The countess?”
Clearly, the lion shifter kept up with the society pages.
“Aristocrat slash influencer,” Roux read. “A former beauty pageant contestant from America who married a Belgianaristocrat. Now she runs social media accounts underThe Philosophy of Beautylabel.”
Bene nodded cheerfully. “That’s the one.”
“She ‘curates private spiritual retreats in Provence where guests commune with select masterworks,’” Roux read.
I shook my head. “Anastasia will never go for her.”
