Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“We’re having dinner delivered to bed and we’re staying here. This is the one place I can be assured we’re not getting into more trouble. Nobody gets murdered in the bed.”
“Is that like a rule, or…”
CHAPTER 21
Armand
I decide to be responsible. I’ve avoided Volkov for quite some time for all the obvious reasons, the fact that he’s a judgmental fucker and is only of dubious use, and says things that piss me off every time he opens his mouth, and the fact that his big old tattooed self seems to think he is better than me.
But I’m going to see him, because he’s the one person I can say things to who can’t freak out about them. If I tell any of my pack mates all that happened, or how certain I am that Beatrix is so out of control that there is no reasonable, rational way to imagine containing her, I will sow discord and uncertainty.
“Surprised to see you,” he says.
He is such an asshole.
“I thought you were supposed to be quiet and kind and empathetic. I thought that’s what therapists are. Every time you open your mouth it’s snark.”
He smiles. “I simply said I am surprised you made another appointment.”
“Why?”
“I’m a therapist, Mr. de Lune. I am not an assassin for hire. Or a crime scene cleaner.”
“Oh, I see,” I growl. “You’re rubbing it all in my face.”
“I don’t know if I am rubbing it in your face, but the outdated, useless, and rather cruel practice of rubbing a pup’s nose in its business if it does it in the wrong place does come to mind.”
“So you are. I’ve come for therapy, and you’ve decided to be antagonistic.”
“No,” he says. “I’m sorry, Armand. This is a safe space.”
I laugh at that declaration, my voice taking on a slight edge of madness at the idea of any space being safe.
“The chateau is in chaos.”
“I don’t know that it is. I think you are, but the pack, as a whole, seems very calm and orderly to me. Most of the chaos seems to be contained to you and your mate.”
“That’s good,” I say. But I know there is a point at which it will affect them.
“Shall we discuss what happened a couple of days ago?” he suggests.
“Beatrix handled the whole situation much better than I did. She’s ahead of me in so many ways. The pack could be brought down completely. My lineage could end. And she is happily running about the place, evading the law…”
“Would you like to sit down?”
I stay standing—and pacing.
“She’s a monster. A menace. And I should be capable of handling her. And sometimes I think I am, but the police are…”
Pew!
A bullet comes through the window, shattering the glass and missing my head by a hair. I’m so stressed about the detective situation I can barely be bothered worrying about it, but I suppose it’s one more thing I have to address.
“And now someone’s trying to kill me,” I sigh, stepping away from the window, taking refuge by a bookcase with some level of inconvenienced annoyance.
“Jenny, I imagine.”
“Shit. I forgot to deal with her. Can we do this another time?”
“A time you’re not mid-assassination attempt? Certainly.”
“Thank you.”
I have a good idea where she shot from. To hit the room from that angle from outside, you have to be in bushes at a particular spot. I have thought about this a thousand times over. An alpha must know all the potential assassin lairs around his abode. The place she shot from is a series of bushes that will have to be cut down now. Pity, really.
I could call on the pack security, but I don’t bother. I go down by myself, circle around the back and follow the smell. The widow’s scent has been quite strong lately, bitter and sad and afraid. I follow that smell while skirting out and around in case she has a smaller weapon. I have to wonder where she got a rifle from, but I suppose the old man of hers might have had one.
“Jenny. I think we need to talk,” I say, standing behind her with my arms folded over my chest, an expression of faintly paternal disappointment on my features.
The woman lets out a small shriek and scrambles away from the gun, her eyes wide.
“That was quite a good shot,” I say. “If you’d accounted for the wind then right now I wouldn’t have any problems anymore.”
She stares at me, as if she expects me to kill her on the spot. Fortunately for her, killing women is not on my agenda, and given the spate of murders I’m already desperately trying to cover up, adding an extra body to the count feels like a bad idea.
I offer her my hand.
She doesn’t take it.
I reach down and I pull her up by the fabric at the scruff of her neck. “In my office, Jenny. Now.”