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As he approached the gravel driveway, dread settled like a stone in his gut. The front door was wide open, and a man he did not know guarded the door. He snarled his fury and tore across the driveway. He didn’t bother shifting as he raced across the gravel, past his discarded clothes. A bullet grazed his flank—silver by the sting of it—but it didn’t slow him down.

Alain launched himself at the Faucherian as the man lined up for a second shot, sinking his teeth into the man’s neck. He savaged the man’s throat, obliterating the Faucherian tattoo. Alain growled his satisfaction.

He shifted and retraced his steps to his clothes, pulling on his pants, wiping his face with his shirt, then tucking it in his waistband. He was strong as a wolf. He was stronger as a witch with all his wolf abilities. All around him growls and howls echoed through the forest. A yelp had him turning. One of the Proulx brothers. He eyed the front door and staggered, his vision wavering.

He was in Maxime’s office. Four people were in the room, none of them Maxime or Grace. He recognized three—Bernard, Irena King and Dubois. The fourth, from his features alone, was also a King. As he watched them through the distance of his vision, Bernard flickered once, twice, then disappeared.

Alain’s vision cleared, and he was once again standing on the front porch. There was only one reason Bernard could be there and yet not there. Bernard could astral project. That clever fuck. He turned away from the Proulxs and barreled through the front door, heading for Maxime’s office. Grace needed him. If anyone had hurt her, he would bring everything he had as a wolf and a witch to make them pay.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Grace’s heart hammered wildly as the four of them entered the room. She hit the button next to the speaker, turning on the sound.

Dubois pulled a laptop out of his bag, set it on the desk, and started tapping away at the keys. “I’ll see if I can hack into the security system and shut off that sprinkler.” His voice was tinny through the small speaker. “If there’s any security behind that ward, I can help there, too.”

Irena and Bernard skirted the desk and stood in front of the painting. Dutton shut and locked the door. He coughed. And kept coughing, rounding his shoulders and holding a hand against his chest. He straightened, wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, and stared at the dark smear on his skin. There was something really wrong with Dutton.

“There’s the ward.” Irena turned to Bernard. “So, where’s Grace?”

Dutton joined them, staring at the painting. “You said she’d be here, old man. With the grimoire.”

Bernard looked up and straight into the camera. “She is here. She’s inside.”

Grace stepped back from the screen. How could he know that? Because that wasn’t Bernard out there in the office. It was his astral projection. Then Bernard disappeared from view. She peered at the black-and-white image. Where did he go?

“Hello, Grace.”

Grace screamed and flattened herself against the wall. Bernard stood inside the safe room.

“Be a good girl now. Open the door and hand over the grimoire.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s right there.” She pointed at the archive boxes sitting on the shelf. “Why don’t you try to take it, Bernard, you slimy snake?”

He couldn’t. He wasn’t here. Not in the flesh, and his shade couldn’t touch or pick up anything.

“You know we’ll get through to you eventually. Come on. Don’t make this harder on yourself. Give me the grimoire.”

Not in his lifetime. Grace fisted her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin.

Bernard snarled, and all traces of the fatherly man she thought she’d known dissolved and a coldness, a meanness more familiar with Cordelia, took its place. “Give us the grimoire, or your mother will suffer the same fate as your father.”

Grace’s lungs seized, and she found it difficult to breathe. “What? What are you saying?”

“That’s right. I killed him.”

Grace grabbed a shelf for support, all the grief from her daddy’s passing resurfacing in a rush. “How…how could you do that? Why would you do that?”

Bernard shrugged. “For the same reason I married your mother. To get to you. We needed you. Cordelia had foreseen you as that mutt’s mate.”

Wha— Oh. It all made sense now. Why Cordelia had sent her. How Irena had been waiting in the wings. Dubois, too. Why she’d not been told Alain was a shifter. Grace was an unwitting weapon deployed against Alain. He was never going to say no to her. He’d brought her to his home, his pack. If it weren’t for the twins finding the tracker in her shoe, the Kings invading this estate would’ve happened much sooner. “You’re despicable. The lot of you.”

“Come, now. Nobody has to get hurt. Give us the grimoire and your precious mama will remain unharmed.” Then he was gone, reappearing on the screen. “What do you choose, Grace? The grimoire or your mother?”

It was an impossible choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her mama, but giving Cordelia her grimoire back could mean devastation of a worse kind. And there was no guarantee Bernard wouldn’t kill her mama if she did give him the grimoire.

Grace glared at Bernard on the screen. While Bernard’s shade was here, he couldn’t kill her mama. And he was vulnerable. One look at him astral projecting, her mama would know what Bernard was doing. Emmeline Williams was kind and gentle, but she was one heck of a witch. Bernard would find he’d got more than he bargained for if he took her on.

Grace pressed the speaker button. “Bernard?”