Though his wolf protested at any show of submission, Louis dropped his gaze, breaking the standoff between them. Every sense attuned to the tiny animal, he followed Manchu’s slow progress up Melinda’s leg, one hesitant paw after another. The cat crested Melinda’s hip and paused again. Louis risked a peek. Amber eyes regarded him, accompanied by a furious swish of a ginger tail and a hiss.
Louis kept his breathing steady and his body still, avoiding eye contact. His wolf wanted nothing more than to put this impudent feline in its place, show it who was the dominant animal, but that would achieve nothing except reinforce the cat’s fear of them.
Manchu continued his journey up Melinda’s body, dipping at her waist, then climbing up her arm and onto her shoulder. There, he settled, wrapping his tail around his little body and tucking his paws beneath his chest. Sitting there between him and Pierre, guarding Melinda.Brave little fucker. Loyal, too.
Keeping his movements smooth and slow, Louis reached for the bag of fishy cat treats he’d stashed in the bedside drawer. He held one out to Manchu.
Suspicion flickered in those amber eyes. Louis kept his hand steady, and stretched a little closer to the ginger furball. Manchu sniffed the air.
“That’s a good boy. Take the treat. It’s tasty.” Louis wouldn’t eat it, but he hoped it would appeal to a cat.
“What are you trying to do, Louis?”
He should’ve known his brother would be awake, too. Nothing much got past a wolf. “Tempting Manchu with food.”
“Just because the way to your heart is through your stomach doesn’t mean that approach will work with the cat.”
“No,” Louis conceded. “But the way to Melinda’s heart is through Manchu. Have you got a better idea?”
Manchu extended a paw, then retreated. Louis held his breath. Manchu made another pass, this time snagging Louis’ hand, drawing it closer, until he could snatch the treat.
Louis lay back down next to Melinda. Manchu eyed him with slitted eyes, but Louis caught the subtle rumble of a purr.
Louis closed his eyes. In this moment, he could believe all was right in their world. It wasn’t, but that was a worry for tomorrow, and morning would come soon enough. Cordelia was still out there. Their deception yet to be revealed. When it was, when everything came to light, Louis worried it could destroy everything.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The San Francisco Bay came into focus as the vision left her, and Cordelia hid her satisfaction by sipping her tea. If the Langeais wolves thought sending her grimoire to the wolf witch, Alain d’Louncrais, would stop her from coming for it, they were sadly mistaken. She would storm the Bastille in the eighteenth century to get it back if she had to.
Whitecaps dotted the water, and dark clouds loomed on the horizon. A storm was coming, and the Langeais wolves would bear the brunt of it. As would the Bayside coven. Less than a block away was the home of Marjory Jackson, former High Priestess. Cordelia smirked. She was right under their noses and they had no idea. Not in some abandoned warehouse down by the docks. Or some rundown cabin in the woods. No more mud huts, peasant villages, or poverty for her. Not anymore.
Cordelia turned from the window, her gaze lighting on the two men in her parlor. Dutton, her grandson—though still recovering from the stab wounds inflicted by Annabelle, he could yet be of use—and Regis Veilleux, the vaunted leader of the Faucherians. She suppressed a snort. If the man had any brains, he would change the damn name of his organization. But his hatred, and subsequently his people’s hatred, of the Langeais wolves made for good, expendable foot soldiers.
He’d first sent her Gerard Boucher, but with Gerard dead at the hands of Gabriel Montagne, Veilluex had come in person. Boucher had been little more than a thug. In Veilleux’s eyes glimmered keen intelligence with a side serving of cunning. Hewas the true mastermind behind the rise of the Faucherians. Rumor had it he had connections in some very high places. Connections that could prove useful to her. Or they could turn on her at a moment’s notice.
She’d played the long game for decades. Across centuries. She had patience and money and power. At her age, what she no longer had was time. Despite the deep well of magic at her fingertips, even she couldn’t stop the inevitable. Death would claim her like everyone else. At eighty-five, her days were numbered. The return of her grimoire, and the spells within it, would help her stave it off a little longer.
Her gaze narrowed on the Frenchman. “Your men were a little too enthusiastic in their charade, Veilleux. I have bruises on my arms.”
Vielleux snarled. “Six of my men are dead. Where wereyourpowers when zey were dying?” Veilleux’s French accent was not normally as pronounced, but in his anger it thickened. “Zink yourself lucky all you ’ave are bruises. Do we even want ze same zing,Cordelia? Mm?” He said her name as though he’d tasted something foul on his tongue.
Her wrinkled, age-spotted hands gripped her tea cup. She wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to like a mere human. She could turn him into the very thing he hated. That which he hunted. The thought had some appeal. She doubted Veilluex would have the fortitude to master the beast within ashehad.
She breathed through the temptation. Not yet. “I told you to send more men.” She infused enough ice in her voice to freeze over San Francisco Bay.
Men never listened. It wasn’t her problem if he’d paid the price. Itwasher problem those blasted twins still walked the earth. Them, and their brother, were thorns in her side. As was the hacker she’d used. The bleeding-heart crusader hellbent on saving her. She’d suited her purpose until the Montagne twinshad tracked the stupid girl down. Blast her second sight for the lack of warning. On this, it had been silent.
“I underestimated the twins.” A grudging admission from an arrogant man. “They’repirate informatiques,not soldiers.”
Fool. They were werewolves first. Had he thought them weedy little men hunched over their desks, squinting at their computer screens? “Where are they now?”
“At the Ritz-Carlton.”
“And the girl?”
“With zem. I ’ave men on it. Ze ’otel is crawling wiz shifters. Taking ’er from ze ’otel is too risky, but ze moment zey make a move, we’ll know.”
She turned to Dutton. “The others?”
