Page 39 of Purchased

The pack is having breakfast, but I leave my mate sleeping. She had a very big day yesterday and undoubtedly needs her rest. I need to see how everybody is reacting to the events. A death in the pack is an occasion, no matter how it comes about.

Breakfast, held in the conservatory, is busy as ever. The chateau contains thirty bedrooms and a good two-thirds of them are occupied at the moment. This is a place of respite for many, but not all of the pack.

Madame Foisin approaches me with a broad smile on her face. There is flour on her apron, and a little in her hair. She is a lovely woman who cooked for my father when he was a child, which gives some indication of her age. She is the most senior of us all, and the kitchens are her domain.

“Maître, I was wondering, do you think I should make agateauor atarte Tatin?”

“For…”

“For the funeral. We will be laying Duplante to rest later today.”

I had not thought of catering the murder I committed, but I suppose that is part of the natural order of things.

“Ask his mate, perhaps.”

“Jennifer is in mourning and will not eat.”

I feel a deep pang of guilt at those words. “Don’t worry,” she says. “The man was terrible, and she will be better off for it. Sooner or later, every alpha makes his mark on the pack. Sometimes is it a terrible thing, but it is always necessary.”

I was concerned that the pack might react poorly to Duplante’s passing, but as a group they simply began to plan the funeral. His mate is in mourning, but not in a particularly deep way, I think. She has been relieved of a terrible burden.

* * *

Beatrix

I wake up, knowing exactly where I am because I have dreamed of it all night long. My mind has been working overtime to try to integrate everything that has happened since I last slept.

I was terrified that the auction at the orphanage would lead me to ruin, but so far I seem to have fallen on my feet. I have a handsome, incredibly passionate mate. I belong to a pack of wolves, which means I am no longer alone in the world. I am finally with my own kind. I have every reason to be happy.

I don’t know where Armand is, but that doesn’t worry me. I have the sense that in this place, he is everywhere. His essence fills every inch and corner of this ancient French castle, which feels like a true home for our kind.

I find myself shedding a tear of relief. This is everything I never dared dream of. I had come to expect life to hurt, and to be empty of everything I need. I never imagined there was a place I belonged.

Getting up and dressing in the simplest of the dresses in my new wardrobe, I go and explore the place. There are wolves everywhere, but the chateau is by no means crowded. It is full of little nooks and secret spaces, each of which I want to come to know.

As I wander, I hear the unmistakable sound of someone crying. I am drawn to it, just as I was when I lived in the orphanage. If someone is hurt, I want to help.

I turn a corner and stop, realizing who it is.

The woman from last night. The one whose husband lost his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for intruding on her. And maybe slightly for the other thing, but probably not.

She looks up at me with a tearful gaze.

“I’ve lost my mate,” she says. “He was a good man.”

I know you’re not supposed to argue with sad people, but I can’t help myself. I care, I really do, but I have a hard time talking like I do.

“He was demonstrably not a good man.”

“He was my mate,” she sobs. “He was all I had in this world.”

“You should consider getting more things. Maybe a hobby. Maybe stamp collecting.”

My words do not hit the way I want them to. They don’t help in the slightest. Actually, they make things a lot worse, because they turn her sadness into anger. Her face screws up and her eyes narrow with vicious anger, and she looks at me with true fury.

“You’re a little bitch. You’ll see. The alpha is sweet with you now, but over time he will treat you just like my man treated me. And maybe one day someone will kill him, and then you will know the pain I feel.”

---