Louis, once again human, the blood cleaned from his face and chest, strode into their apartment. One look at his tight expression told Pierre the situation was about to get worse.
“Faucherians,” Louis mouthed at him.
Faucherians?How? Why? Was Louis sure?
Louis pointed to his neck.Oui, Louis was certain. They’d all seen the neck tattoo one too many times to mistake it. Faucherians. A vigilante group who followed the writings of Faucher, a tenth-centuryevequewho’d made it his life’s mission to track down and destroy anything supernatural—witches, demons, werewolves. And he’d had a special kind of fervor for the Langeais wolves. His followers were fanatical zealots. In eleven centuries, their obsession with wiping out the Langeais wolves had only intensified. Dedicated, well trained and well supplied, they were more than a thorn in the side of the Langeais wolves.
But what did the Faucherians want with Melinda?
He left their mate in Louis’ care and stepped out of their apartment into the quiet corridor. No sign of the police. Yet. He put a call through to Gabriel, the Langeais wolves’ head of security and their older brother. Pierre had to get this mess cleaned up before the emergency services arrived. With any luck, since the siren had stopped, they’d treat the call as a false alarm and take their time getting here.
The call rang out.Merde,Gabriel. Answer your damn phone. Ever since he’d mated Annabelle, Gabriel was hard to get a hold of. Pierre called again, and he would keep calling until his brother answered.
Gabriel answered the phone with a grunt. “This better be important, Pierre. I’m busy.”
A feminine giggle echoed over the phone line. Annabelle. He didn’t need two guesses to know what his brother had been up to.
“Well, unbusy yourself. We’ve got a problem.” Pacing, he outlined the situation as quickly as he could.
“Are you sure it was a Faucherian?” Gabriel groaned. “I feel like animbecileevery time I say that word.”
Oui,it was a stupid name for stupid, bigoted people. Unfortunately, as each century had passed, they’d grown larger and more influential, adding some wealthy and powerful people to their ranks.
“We’re sure. We don’t know why they targeted Melinda. Maybe because of us?”
“She’s the cipher working for Cordelia, no?”
“Oui.”
A weighted sigh from Gabriel. “Cordelia’s working with the Faucherians.”
“What thefuck?”
“Oui,it surprised me, too, but the Faucherians will do just about anything to destroy us, even, it appears, work with a time-traveling witch.”
“Melinda wasn’t easy forusto find? How did they? I don’t believe they have anyone that good.”
“You’re assuming she didn’t tell Cordelia herself.”
“I don’t think so.” A hacker who created new identities for people, some deserving, some not, all desperate, wouldn’t advertise where they live.
“There is the possibility…” Gabriel trailed off and there was weight in his silence.
“What, Gabriel? The possibility of what?”
“We, that is Maxime and I, think they might have infiltrated the DGSE.”
The Directorate-General for External Security, France’s foreign intelligence agency? That changed things. With government resources at their disposal, almost anything was possible.
Annabelle’s voice floated across the phone, asking if everything was all right.
“It’s Pierre. There’s trouble in London,” Gabriel replied to her. To Pierre he said, “I’ll call Laurent. Have him do clean up. Hopefully, he can get there before the police do. If not, maybe he can run interference. The important thing is, you get the information out of the cipher about Cordelia. Weneedit.”
“Melinda. The cipher’s name is Melinda.”
“Pierre.” The warning in Gabriel’s voice was clear. “There’s no time to fuck around. We need to get Isobella back to the tenth century. We can’t put it off much longer, and I sure as hell don’t want Cordelia, any of her minions, or the Faucherians showing up to interfere.”
“It’s not that simple, Gabriel,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
