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“Yes. It’s the ability to move your soul out of your body and project it, along the spiritual plane, to somewhere else. It’s a genetic anomaly, like…like Alain’s second sight. He’ll have told them where we are, and they’ll be coming for the grimoire.”

Maxime unfolded himself from the chair and skirted the desk, and she backed up until she brushed against the painting.

Maxime stopped beside her and looked up at it. “You’d never have got off the estate. Not with all the wolves I have patrolling the grounds. But you would’ve got through Alain’s ward, wouldn’t you, Grace? Like you did the one on Alain’s apartment. And the one on his cottage.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her like she were something interesting. Or a specimen in a jar. “I wonder why that is? Because I can guarantee you, no one else can do it. Not Alain’s parents, his cousins, any other witch I know. Not even me. Unless Alain works an exception into his warding spell.”

Maxime was right. She shouldn’t be able to walk through Alain’s wards, but she could. “I don’t know why.”

Maxime slipped his hands into his pockets and stared up at the keep high on a hill rendered in oil.

Grace turned and faced it, the ward a persistent hum. Why could she walk through Alain’s ward? She brushed her fingers along the edge of the frame and warmth flowed up her arm like a caress. Her nipples peaked and her core clenched. The hint of a moan escaped her.

Maxime’s nostrils flared and he rocked back on his heels, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Oh, I think you do.”

There weren’t a lot of wolf shifters in Alabama, but there were bear shifters. And Grace knew enough about them. About their fated mate bond. It was special, strong and sometimes it defied logic. And there was more than her ability to walk through Alain’s wards. All those nights, all the time he’d taken with her, introducing her to his toys, explaining things to her, never rushing her. The way he was so protective of her around other men. Louis and Pierre. Maxime. And Bernard.

“Am I… Am I his mate?” Blood roared through her veins. If she’d talked to Alain, is this what he would have told her?

Maxime’s phone binged. He checked the message, dropped into the seat behind the desk and tapped a few keys on his desktop computer. “They’re here.”

“What?” She searched for a release on the painting. “We have to get the grimoire out of here.”

“Non. The grimoire is safest here.”

She found the release along the right edge of the frame. With a click, the painting slid sideways. “Oh.” Behind it was a door that would be at home on a bank vault. Thick steel, a wheel lock, and a keypad barred her way into the secret compartment. It would’ve made no difference had Maxime not caught her, she’d have never got to the grimoire. Maxime was right. This was the safest place for it.

“Putain, it’s her,” said Maxime.

Grace’s lungs seized. “Cordelia?”

Maxime peered closer at the computer screen. “Non. It’s no one of consequence to you. But the property is swarming with intruders.” He was out of his seat and standing beside her. He spun the wheel lock and punched numbers on the keypad. It beeped, there were several thunks and the door seal broke. “Come on. In you go.”

Maxime ushered her into the space behind the painting, and as before, she walked through Alain’s ward with a prickle of heat and a rush of desire. Grace steadied herself against the cool steel wall until the wave had passed.

Maxime followed her in. He flicked on the light, revealing a small space with a screen set into the wall, a speaker and a few shelves of books. Amongst them, in pride of place, the three most important books to the Langeais wolves. The two grimoires and the journal. “Here, you can keep an eye on what’s happening in the office.” He pressed the button near a screen, and it lit up with a vision of the office.

“What? No. I can help. I can use my magic—”

“Non. Alain would never forgive me if something were to happen to you, so stay here. Do not open this door. Alain will come for you. I’ll bet my life, and those grimoires, he’s already on his way. Tell him…” He cocked his head, listening. There were wolves howling, and shouts, faint but getting closer. “Tell him I’m taking my second chance.”

Then he closed the door on her, shutting her in the safe room, and hit the switch, sliding the painting back in place. Second chance? She followed him on the camera feed as he shut his computer down and tucked his phone in his pocket. With one last look at the painting, he flicked off the lights and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Grace waited. The office remained dark. Maybe they wouldn’t get into the house. There’d be security. There were cameras and locked gates. Her plan to sneak off with the grimoire had been foolish, but they had Dubois.

A tightness settled in her chest. She hoped Alain was okay. He was a wolf shifter and a powerful witch, but the thought of him going up against the Kings and the Faucherians…

The door slammed open, and the light blazed. On the black-and-white screen, Bernard stepped through the doorway. Close behind him were Dutton and Irena King, and the man she knew as Dubois.

Well, poop fire and save matches.

* * * *

Alain skidded to a halt as a familiar heat and desire ripped through his body. Grace. She’d stepped through one of his wards. The one in Maxime’s office. Putain. The grimoires. He spun on his heel and raced back through the forest toward the manoir. What the hell was she up to?

Halfway to his objective, he picked up unfamiliar scents on the breeze. He dug deep for more speed, pushing himself to the edge of his limits. A motor broke the silence, and he caught the unmistakable damp, earthy aroma of wolfsbane. He growled. The Faucherians were here. And it wasn’t likely they’d come alone.

Wolves howled, the sounds converging on the eastern boundary. The sprinkler system started up with a hiss and spit, and a light mist coated his fur. It burned a little, but his grin was feral.

After the Faucherians had captured Louis using large amounts of wolfsbane, Alain had spent weeks coming up with a solution. Ionic silver. Positive charged silver atoms suspended in liquid at thirty parts per million, hooked into the sprinkler system, spraying a fine mist over everything. It dampened the effect of wolfsbane without depriving them of their wolf with excessive amounts of silver. Wolfsbane was no longer the advantage the Faucherians thought it would be. Not here.