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“Astral projection?”

“Mmhm.”

Joséphine swept her gaze over the forest. “He actually wasn’t here at all, but…”

An open gate creaked in the night breeze, an eerie sound that set her teeth on edge.

“Yep. Right now, he’s sipping wine and eating cheese like all you French people do, ensconced in the lion’s den.” Dutton chuckled. “Or, I should say, wolf’s den.”

Joséphine gave Dutton a flat stare. It was a damn good thing her father had taken a dislike to Dutton, for if he’d ever entertained a match between them, she might well consider taking up with the werewolf a viable alternative.

Dutton laughed harder, then he coughed. And coughed some more, leaning on the door, covering his mouth with his hand until the spasm passed. He grimaced at his palm, covered in blood. Oui, Alain’s ward had done a number on him.

“What?” Dutton wiped his bloody palm on his pant leg.

She shrugged. With any luck, it would finish him. “Is Alain d’Louncrais really a descendant of Cordelia’s?” Joséphine had never met the old witch, but she’d grown up on enough stories about her to know she never wanted to. To think one of the Langeais wolves, a d’Louncrais, had a genetic connection to her, to Dutton… It boggled the mind.

Dutton licked a smear of blood from his lips. “How the fuck do I know? It’s probably a coincidence, his eyes being the same color. Who cares? It works for us. Grace believed it.”

“And you think Grace will do what we need her to do?”

Dutton shrugged. “Grace is a goody two shoes. She’s predictable. Now she’s read some of the grimoire and her mother is safe, she won’t hand it over to Cordelia. But after what Bernard convinced her of, she won’t want Alain to have it either.”

Now she’s read some of the grimoire? What the hell was in that damn book?

“My bet is, right now, she’s thinking about how to get it away from the wolves. All Bernard has to do is convince her to give it to him. Who’s she going to trust? Alain? She’s known him, what? A week? A week and a half? Or her sweet, loving stepdad who treats her and her mama right?”

Joséphine shivered. The more she discovered about the King family, and the lengths they would go to, the more she wanted to distance herself from them. If Grace were smart, she’d trust the wolf shifter.

Her father finished his call and strode back to them. “Zeems you were right, Josié. Bernard ’az confirmed ze estate doez belong to ze Langeais wolves.” He smiled at her and patted her on the head.

Joséphine ducked out from beneath his touch. She wasn’t a child or a pet dog to be rewarded.

Dutton smirked. Joséphine wanted to punch him in the solar plexus. And her father in the face. It might force him to stop using that ridiculous accent.

“All right. Let uz go. Everyone iz moving into place. We storm ze d’Louncrais manoir tonight.” He turned to Dutton. “Bernard can pull zis off, non?”

Dutton’s grin slid off his face. “He got you the coordinates, didn’t he? He’ll convince her to hand him the grimoire. All we need to do is to be in place to receive it. Make sure you have enough firepower, old man.”

Her father’s grin was vicious. “We do. We ’ave silver bullets. And wolfsbane.”

Dutton rolled his eyes and slid into the driver’s seat, wincing as he buckled up his seatbelt. “If silver bullets and wolfsbane were all it took, the Langeais wolves would have been extinct a long time ago.”

Her father hopped in the front passenger seat. “Don’t be afraid, Dutton. I ’ave, ’ow you say, an ace up my sleeve.”

Joséphine buckled up in the back seat. An ace up his sleeve? She had no idea what it was, but she had a bad feeling about it. And for some inexplicable reason, Joséphine found herself crossing her fingers and hoping it had nothing to do with the werewolf who’d claimed he was her mate.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Grace retreated from the bedroom, from the suite. In the darkness of the hall, leaning against the closed door, she steadied herself, sucking in a few deep breaths.

“Grace?”

Grace’s heart nearly stalled. “Nathalie?” She clutched her hand to her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Are you okay?”

Grace wanted to trust Nathalie. She’d seemed so nice. But trust wasn’t something she had a lot of for anyone right now. Not Alain, or Bernard, and not Nathalie, who’d been skulking outside her parents’ suite in the dark. “Has Alain returned yet? I saw him going for a run earlier.”