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And there it was. The real release she needed. He let her sob as he held her. “You haven’t forgotten about her, chérie. You’ve taken a reprieve from the trials of the day in a moment of pleasure, that’s all” He brushed her hair from her face. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “But I’m here and she’s…she’s…”

“You broke into my apartment, drugged me. You put your life on the line and risked punishment from the council. You didn’t do that for you. You did that for her.”

She sniffled. “But…”

“We’re doing everything we can to find her. And Bernard. Pierre, Louis, Gabriel and your High Priestess, Annabelle. We’ll find them, Grace.” What he wouldn’t give for a vision right now. To lead them to her mother. Not a single fucking glimmer. He snagged the bottle of water from the bedside table and unscrewed the lid with his teeth. “Here, drink this.”

She pushed his hand away. “I don’t want…”

“You need to drink something. For me.” And her. She’d be dehydrated. And exhausted, emotionally and physically.

He held the bottle to her lips and she took a sip. Then another, taking the bottle from him. Warmth spread through his chest. Caring for her like this was almost as satisfying as having her beg him to make her come.

She drank most of the bottle, then pushed it back at him. He swapped it for some chocolate, which she took without complaint. “Tell me about her. Your mother. What is she like?”

She leaned her head back on his chest. “She’s kind and gentle.” She hiccuped. “She has a beautiful voice. Always singing. In the garden as she tends her herbs, in the kitchen, lullabies to me before bed when I was a child. We used to sing in the church choir together. My voice wasn’t a patch on hers.”

Another sniffle, but she took the piece of chocolate he gave her.

“She was always helping people and animals and things.” She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Daddy used to say there was not a stray cat, a wilted plant or a lost soul my mother wouldn’t try to save.”

He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and wiped her face. “How did a witch, two witches, end up being in the church choir?” It seemed an anathema to him. Practicing witches as part of a congregation that, from his understanding, would condemn their souls to hell if they knew.

He handed her another tissue, and she blew her nose. “We didn’t shout what we were from the rooftops. And everyone in our district attended some church or another. It would’ve been strange if we didn’t. We’ve been hiding in plain sight for generations.” She popped another square of chocolate in her mouth, chewing it slowly. “It wasn’t odd in a farming community to have a large herb garden, or to use it for basic ailments. I didn’t know there were any other types of witches until after my daddy died, when a witch from California visited my mama needing some of her healing magic. It opened my eyes.”

A witch from California? Alain’s senses were tingling. Not a vision, but a knowing. Somehow it was connected to the Kings. “So, you moved to San Francisco?”

“I visited the witch’s coven first. Mama didn’t want me to leave, but I wasn’t a child anymore. I wanted to go so badly, to connect with other witches and not feel so alone with my magic. Go somewhere where I wasn’t so different from everyone else, and didn’t have to hide it. They were nice, most of them, but they were different. So worldly and sophisticated. And so open about being witches. It was…exhilarating. And there was an opportunity for me to use my knowledge and open a store, which was a sorely needed resource.” She shrugged. “I moved there, and that’s what I did.”

The prickle at the base of his skull told him to dig deeper. “The witch who visited your coven, was it Annabelle, or Isobella?”

“No. It was Irena King.” She sighed and scrunched up her nose. “I realized after I’d joined their coven what she was really like. And most of the King family. My mama married the only nice one out of the lot of them.”

Bernard. His instincts were screaming at him.

The door to the suite opened. Nathalie with more sustenance. Sugar and carbs were a good start, but Grace would need protein. Nathalie left as quietly as she came, with Grace none the wiser. “Come on.” He scooped Grace up and carried her to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll have something to eat.”

While he attended to Grace’s needs, he thought about Bernard and where he fit in to all this. Alain would wager his entire collection of illuminated manuscripts that Grace was wrong. That Bernard was not nice. That he was no different from any other King.

* * * *

Maxime sat in his office with a half empty bottle of cognac and Cordelia’s grimoire closed on the desk in front of him. He’d tried to continue on alone once Alain and Grace had left the hall, but his mind wouldn’t focus. Not with what he knew was going on in the East Wing. Alain’s roar had confirmed it. For him and any wolf within a kilometer radius. Hell, the wolves manning the front and back gates wouldn’t have missed it.

He took another sip of cognac, wishing alcohol affected wolves the same as it did humans. Alain bedding his mate highlighted his own failures, but it wasn’t what had him on edge. That privilege went to Alain’s vision.

In all the years Alain had shared his visions with him, he’d never known him to be wrong. Which meant, at some point in the future, he would end up in some sort of medical facility. It was what he’d feared most from the moment he’d suspected DGSE involvement. That one of the pack would become a science experiment. A subject of this doctor Pierre and Louis had learned about from the Faucherians.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. He hadn’t let on, given anything away to Alain, but the woman Alain had described, the woman in his vision, was Maxime’s mate.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Grace lay surrounded by Alain. His arms, his body, his scent and the soft inhale exhale of his breathing, his chest rising and falling against her back. In the periphery of her vision, the blindfold, the familiar restraints, a tube of lube. The accouterments of Alain’s preferences.

Over the last week, Alain had introduced her to his world, taking her to heights she’d never thought possible. She’d done things, let him do things to her, that not so long ago would’ve made her blush thinking about. After that first night, when she’d had a meltdown about getting so caught up in him and his sex games she’d forgotten about her mama, and Bernard and Cordelia, she’d wondered if she’d ever want to do something like that again.

But she had. The next night. And the night after that, and every night following. On the bed, in the bath, across the back of the couch as she’d faced the door to the suite, naked and vulnerable, worried someone might walk in. Not an impossible proposition, when every night a tray of food and refreshments was brought in for them, left on the coffee table. The one Alain had set his toys out on, giving her a glimpse into how the night might unfold.