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She recognized the Wolf waiting at the VIP rope by his voice immediately.
“Welcome, Fey.”
“Hello Ferus,” she purred. She took in the sight of him, even bigger than the massive Shifter she’d met outside.
Ferus lifted the rope without another word, letting her through.
Jasper was right—Alastair wasn’t in his office when she entered, and the door was unlocked. The room smelled like him, she noticed immediately when she entered. Like cloves and wood smoke and whiskey. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with it.
It was quiet here, the sounds from downstairs barely audible. It was… cozy.
Fey trailed her fingers over the books filling the wall shelves. She recognized a few, but most of them were… different from the books she was familiar with. Plucking one from the wall, she frowned at the cover.
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.
Then, with nothing better to do than wait, she curled up in the armchair and began to read.
Chapter 23
Fey didn’t have to wait long. Within the hour, the door to the office opened, and in he walked.
Alastair was furious. It radiated off him as he stalked inside his office, as he angrily ripped off his suit jacket and reached up to loosen his tie. Tension rolled off him in waves, and Fey recalled what Jasper had said, that he had some sort of family engagement tonight.
Some family, Fey thought to herself.
Alastair sensed her almost immediately, and he stopped dead, his hand on the knot of his tie. His nostrils flared, and his eyes snapped to where she lounged in his chair, legs curled up against the armrest.
The fiery rage in his eyes flickered and extinguished, and his lips curved into a slow smile.
“Alastair,” Fey greeted him, slipping a scrap of paper into the book to mark her place. Her voice was cold and casual, but his presence made her pulse jump.
His smile grew. “Well, well, well,” he purred. “This is a surprise.” He continued to loosen his tie, pulling it off his neck smoothly and tossing it aside, eyes locked on her as he stalked closer.
She held the book up for him. “What is this?” she asked.
“A book,” he answered. “Don’t they teach you Witches anything?”
Fey snorted. “This isn’t like any book I’ve read before.”
Alastair glanced at the cover. “Oh. Yes. I collect literature from before the war. This one is a unique piece. One of my favorites, too.”
Fey frowned at the book in her hand. “This is from before the War of the Fallen?” she asked. It was amazing to her to imagine a story that existed for so long, traveling through hundreds of years to end up in her hands.
Alastair chuckled. “No, it’s even older. This book is from before the Great War—the war of the ancients.”
Fey just blinked at him, and Alastair sighed. “They really don’t teach you Witches anything, do they?”
Fey shrugged, setting the book down. “I know enough to get by,” she said. “My schooling was more physically focused.”
Alastair stood over her.
“Is that why you’re here, Witchling?” he asked. He reached down, tracing a finger over her cheek. “To raid my library?”
Fey’s breath hitched, and she leaned into his touch without thinking.
“Oh, Witchling,” he chuckled darkly, a smug smile forming on his lips. “Don’t tell me you finally came here to beg for me.”
“My name is Fey. Not Witchling,” she managed to snap.
