Page 55 of Purchased

He doesn’t respond. I restrain myself from throwing things at him. Eventually, the hour is up, and I leave.

“Asshole,” I say as I exit the room, swiftly shutting the door and running down the hall to Armand’s office, where I burst in practically seething with rage.

Armand looks up at me, brow raised because yeah, it’s rude to throw a door open, but his expression quickly turns to concern as I lay out my complaints.

“He didn’t fucking say anything! He didn’t fucking do anything. He just sat there, charging God knows what per hour, wasting everyone’s time. It was bullshit. It was a complete waste of time. I won’t be going back. I hate him.”

Armand frowns. “He didn’t say anything?”

“He said his name was Mr. Volkov, and he asked me how it felt when people don’t talk to me, and that was it. That was the whole session.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Good luck with that,Maître!”

Armand throws a look at me that tells me using his pack’s term for him might very well backfire on me later. I grin. At least I can still get a reaction from him.

* * *

Armand

I find Mr. Volkov on the balcony outside the library, smoking a cigarette. He has shed his jacket and is down to shirtsleeves that are rolled up to his elbows. He is leaning over the railing, but stands straight up when I get closer.

“Maître,” he nods.

“Mr. Volkov. How was your first session?”

His thick brows rise just a fraction, as if he finds the question surprising, or as if he expects me to feel as though the question was out of place. He is still facing the garden, not me.

“I cannot discuss private sessions.”

“I see. Well. From the sounds of it, there’s not much to discuss. You sat largely in silence, doing nothing, saying little. Beatrix was confused and concerned. Why did you antagonize my mate?”

Mr. Volkov glances at me briefly then responds in a slow drawl tinged with a Nordic accent that makes him sound simultaneously superior and disinterested.

“Why does the fact that your mate is unhappy with me, though unharmed in every way, make you so defensive? Why can’t she be annoyed without you coming to her aid?”

“I paid you to help her, not piss her off.”

“You paid me to help establish healthier dynamics. I have my own methods for doing that. You agreed, at the outset, to try these methods. Now that your mate is complaining, you want to fix the problem, and you’re furious with me.”

“I’m not furious. I’m curious.”

He offers me a sidelong smirk, still not giving me the courtesy of looking at me directly. This man is arrogant. He was more pleasant when I initially interviewed him, but that was over Zoom, and he had to look at the camera.

“If you don’t feel able to offer services, we are happy to host you at the nearby town…”

“You mean the one where your mate murders people?”

Blunt. Rude. And not something that should ever be said out loud. We have managed to keep Beatrix’s murderous outburst quiet. The villagers believe it was a freak wolf attack, and the distance of police means that there was no investigation.

“You may pack your things,Monsieur,” I say.

He turns to me, a smile on his face.

“You really don’t like the truth, do you,Maître? Too used to dealing with people who have to submit to you in conversation and deed?”

“This is not about me. I retained your services because I want help for my mate. I will participate because you told me that it would help her. But I did not consent to be spoken down to by…”

---