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Grace crossed her arms. “Doesn’t make it right.”

Didn’t make any of this right. Cordelia, Alain. Grace trying to do one’s bidding and steal from the other.

He opened the car door, bathing them in the car’s interior light. “There are also studies linking frequent cussing to much higher levels of integrity. And lower levels of deception.”

She met his stare head on. It wasn’t like he was innocent in all this. That grimoire should be destroyed. Or locked up in the council’s vault, guarded against the likes of Cordelia. And anyone else who might want to use it.

“As I recall,” he said, “it was not I who broke into someone else’s apartment, non?”

Two wrongs didn’t make a right. Something her daddy was fond of saying. But in the wrong hands, that grimoire could be a weapon, and she wasn’t the one who coveted it.

“Nor did I try to incapacitate the owner with a strong combination of herbs mixed into his wine.” He hopped out of the car and leaned back in. “I am, however, the one who can speak more than one language.”

Maybe the smart thing to do would be to walk away. To let him have it. She had no idea what he wanted it for. Perhaps he was a collector. Leaving the grimoire in his hands might be the better option. But though she had a snowball’s chance in eternal damnation of snatching it away from him, and she’d give anything not to deliver it into Cordelia’s evil hands, Grace didn’t have a choice. She had to try. For her mama’s sake.

Alain straightened, a low growl rumbling in his throat. A pair of headlights caught them in their beam. More cussing in French from Alain, then another man stepped into the light. Tall, as tall if not taller than Alain, and muscular like him too, he stood, feet planted apart and his arms crossed, his face in shadow. This must be Maxime.

Chapter Sixteen

It took everything Alain had not to shift and launch himself at Maxime. First the connard had changed the code on the gate. Now the fils de pute was here at his home. The place he considered his sanctum. Where he came to unwind, to get away from everything—the world, the pressure he placed on himself, the pack. Maxime.

Security would have informed Maxime that Alain had spelled the gate open. Hell, they’d been tracked from the moment they’d turned onto the access road. He’d expected it. Maxime was no fool. He’d known Alain had had no intention of turning up at the manoir. Alain avoided it, and Maxime, as much as possible. Now he had one more reason to. Grace.

Her emotions had been all over the place since he’d told her about Irena and Dubois. So had his. Not a feeling he was familiar or comfortable with. All Alain wanted to do was get her inside his home, his den, and get her settled in. Calm his own damn mind and his wolf. Make her a coffee, warm her feet, give her something comfortable to sleep in. He loved her in that gown, loved the way it hugged her curves, but she’d look better curled up on his rug where he could watch over her while she slept.

He slammed the car door and stalked toward his alpha, stopping shy of going toe to toe with him. That wouldn’t end well for either of them. “You changed the gate code.”

Maxime stood his ground. “Oui. Ça ne t’a pas arrêté.”

“You think a locked gate would stop me?” He snarled at his alpha. “I’m not doing this right now, Maxime.”

“C’est pas ce que tu veux qui compte.”

Behind him, Grace exited the car.

“In English!” he snapped at Maxime. “Grace doesn’t speak French.” He half turned to Grace, not prepared to take his eyes off Maxime for a minute. “Stay by the car,” he ordered her. She flinched but did as she was told. It’d been hard enough having Laurent in the car with them. Letting the twins so close to her, Louis making wisecracks, had tested his patience. But Maxime near his mate…

Maxime frowned and crossed his arms. “Very well. If you insist. We’ll do it your way.”

Alain didn’t believe that for a second. With Maxime, it was always his way, or he’d take you down and pound your face into the dirt until you acceded to his will. He was the alpha.

Alain didn’t give a fuck who Maxime was, or what he wanted. Not when it came to Grace.

“This is not about what you want, Alain. Your instructions were to come to the manoir. I have questions. For you.” Maxime looked past him. “For Grace.”

“Non.”

“Non?” Maxime took a step toward him. “You need to remember who is in cha—”

Alain’s wolf roared to the surface. Dark hair sprouted across the bridge of his nose, his jaw elongated and his canines punched through his gums. Though logic insisted Maxime was no threat, that he’d met his mate and no woman, not even Grace, as beautiful as she was, would ever capture Maxime’s attention, instinct ruled. He would kill this man, his alpha, rip his throat out, if he so much as took another step closer to her.

Maxime stilled. His scent deepened, and dark shadows danced in his eyes. His wolf was close.

A low rumble rose in Alain’s chest. Amène-toi. Bring it on. It’d been years since they’d sparred. In human or wolf form. Their matches, though done in the name of training, had been far too close to the edge. Too real.

They hovered on the verge of battle, Maxime studying him, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Then Maxime nodded, his wolf retreating, and though it must have killed Maxime, as it had every time Alain had bowed to his alpha’s dominion, he held up his hands and backed away.

“Easy, Alain. You win. I’ll give you tonight.” He jerked his head in Grace’s direction. “Only because of her. But I expect you at the main house first thing in the morning.” Maxime grabbed a bag from the hood of the car and tossed it at Alain’s feet. “Clothes for Grace.” He retreated, opening the driver’s door. “Don’t make me come out here and fetch you.”