Page 44 of From the Shadows

“What’s with the fit?” Teague’s voice is low, teasing, but his face shows nothing but marked concern.

Because I messed up. Big. I have never worried in my time here that someone could be cleaning up my remains.

Until now.

I take a slow breath and shove my unease down. The time for my little tantrum is done. I need to shake off the past—what has it been, an hour?—and salvage what I can of my reputation. My job.

“Where’s Christophe?” I ask in my most mature and rational tone.

Teague huffs a laugh through his nose. “Why? You want to stomp your foot at him as well?”

“Rude.” My confidence is finding its way back to me. “With all I did for you after Tru saved your ass, making sure you had what you really needed to hasten your healing, after Hibou was done slapping a Band-Aid on your booboos, this is how you treat me? I don’t think you ever thanked me properly for that basket of goodies I left for you, by the way.”

“You want me to thank you for helping me get laid?” Teague just fucking stepped in a heaping pile of shit and doesn’t have a clue.

“You did what for him?” Eddie’s question is low and lethal, and if it weren’t for the halo of pale curls on Teague’s timid treasure I just saw dart back out into the hallway, I would consider swooning.

I press my hand to his chest and say, “Don’t get your tail in a twist, I’ll catch you up later.” Turning to face Teague, I continue, “And you. Before you go apologize to the precious woman whose feelings you just shit all over, tell me where the fuck Christophe is.”

Teague’s brows drop, and he closes his eyes as if that can somehow keep the reality of what he just said at bay.

It won’t.

“Fuck me.” He’s static motion, vibrating in place at the thought of his egregious snafu and the best way to fix it. Truie is Teague’s entire world—he saved her from monsters I can’t even imagine—I have no doubt he will drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness.

“Where is he?” I demand ignoring the scowls of both of the men in the room. I’m wading through my own existential crisis.

And like we need it, a third makes an appearance. “Miss Lapin, if you’ll just come with me.” Garrick stands in the place Truie just vacated, his arm out showing me the way.

“Thank you, Garrick.” I hustle out of the very tense great room and follow the butler, pushing past him to barge into the big boss’s office. “Christophe, what are you doing? You can’t push off the wedding, you—” I come to a stop mid stride, my mouth hanging open.

The floor is strewn with flower petals, the blanket of pristine white dotted with deep red from the cabbage roses, like flecks of blood splashed across white silk. And on the far side of the room a huge, gilded mirror leans against the wall, with my boss and his bride-to-be in a compromising position. A very private, intimate, not meant for others, compromising position.

“Shit, sir, I’m so sorry. I—” I stop, exit, and pull the door shut behind me. I didn’t need to see that. Not ever, in a million years, did I need to see Winnie getting railed by the big bad boss of le Milieu.

“Jessaline.”

I lift my gaze from the very safe to look at floor to find Eddie staring at me. I shake my head slowly from side to side. Not fast enough to clear away all my confusion but not slow enough for a simple no thank you to everything this day has brought me. I think I’m just done. Overloaded and overwhelmed, upset and scared, freaked out and so, so disappointed.

All of the wind has officially left my sails with the realization of all of that. My shoulders slump, and everything else seems to droop as well. Even the beautiful bright sun from earlier seems to have given up and allowed the clouds to come in and overtake it.

“How did I fuck this all up so badly?” I ask.

“Baby, you did not fuck this up. Nothing is fucked up,” Eddie soothes. “Let me take you home. We’ll come back for your van tomorrow… or the next day.”

“But—”

He sighs. And it’s a good one because he’s being all kinds of sweet and caring and protective of me. Me… Then, with his voice low, his tone firm, he growls, “Jess, get in the car. Now.”

Chapter 18

Home

EDDIE

Domesticity is bliss. It’s happened in bits and bits and then—finally—fully and completely. And now, we’re trading oral favors for extermination jobs.

There are worse bartering relationships out there, but this one… I only want it with Jess. Only ever with Jess.