The Billionaire Werewolf's Princess. Michele Hauf
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No woman deserves to be treated so poorly.”
Indi paused at the top of a stairway that led down to the building’s entry. She lifted her skirts and imagined she must look a nightmare to him. A kind man who had only wanted to ensure that she was safe last night.
“My name’s Indigo,” she said, then took the stairs, hands firmly clutching both railings for support.
By some strange luck that she was not accustomed to, a cab was parked curbside. Indi climbed into the back seat, gave the driver her address in the eighth arrondissement, then flopped down, hugging the seat as if it were a life raft. Shoving her hand in her skirt pocket, she was relieved her phone was still in there. She checked her texts. There were none.
Had she expected to hear from Todd after his night with Melanie?
Oh, that she could even think of him again. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She needed to talk to Janet. To spill all the details of her horrible, terrible, no-good very humiliating night. She’d call her when she got home.
Ten minutes later, the cabbie offered to help her to the front door, but Indi said she’d manage. She paid him with a scan of the credit card app on her phone and then meandered up to the house.
Her head wasn’t quite so spinny now, but her limbs felt heavy. As if she’d run a marathon. Exhaustion hit her hard as she opened the front door and wandered inside. She could only think to lie down. Right. Now.
She eyed the alpaca rug before the white velvet couch and stepped down into the sunken living room. Dropping the phone on the couch, and then falling to her knees, Indi collapsed onto her stomach on the soft, inviting rug. She curled her fingers into the fur and closed her eyes.
And then she fell asleep.
For a very long time.
* * *
Ry strolled into the small office he kept in the fourth arrondissement. His secretary, Kristine, blew him the usual good-morning kiss and handed him a full and steaming mug of coffee.
“How’d hunting go last night?” she asked while focusing on a spreadsheet she had opened on the laptop before her. Her long purple nails clattered on the keys.
“It was...” Ry sipped the coffee and winced. He could never get her to add even a smidge of cream to the wicked black concoction she brewed. “Different.”
That got her attention. Turning on the swivel chair and crossing her legs, she dangled a very large pink vinyl high heel and eyed him through a flutter of thick false lashes. She didn’t need to speak. He could hear her thoughts plainly.
“A human woman stepped onto the scene while I was slashing through collectors.”
“Oh, mon cher. That is not acceptable. How did that happen? I thought FaeryTown wasn’t something we humans could even access.”
“Exactly. Not unless you’re wearing an ointment to see the sidhe. I’m not sure how she saw me or the collectors, but she did, and...” He sipped again. He probably shouldn’t tell Kristine everything. But then, she was a confidante, and he trusted her with the information about his nature. “She was scratched by one of them. Would have died had I not rushed her to a healer. By the way, I need to send Hestia a million-euro check.”
Kristine sighed. “Really? The old girlfriend? I’ll take care of that.”
“She was not a girlfriend. More a—”
Kristine put up a palm. “Nope. Don’t want you to mansplain that one to me. So, what happened after that big adventure?”
“I took her home with me, and she spent the night on the floor under the coffee table.”
“Ryland Alastair James.”
He winced at the admonishing tone. “I put her on the couch, but she wouldn’t stay there. She was drunk and...the healer drugged her with some wacky faery stuff. I’m surprised she could even stand to run away from me this morning.”
“You let her run away? Without making sure she got home safe? Who are you?”
He sighed heavily. Kristine knew him well. Normally he would never allow a woman to run off like that without seeing to her safety. But she had been freaked by him. And he’d not been given an opportunity to explain the cut on her chest, which might have been a good thing, all things considered.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “And both collectors are dead. No babies stolen last night.”
Kristine crossed her arms, and her dangling foot increased in bobbing speed.
“I don’t know her last name, so it’s not like I can look her up and check in on her. She was dressed fancy and I think she’s probably well-off.”
“Doesn’t mean she made it home safely.”
“I accept your admonishment, and confess I’m worried about her, too. But there’s nothing I can do now.”
“Can’t you track her down with your sniffer? Didn’t you once tell me you werewolves can smell a peppermint candy five miles away?”
“She wasn’t wearing peppermint. She smelled like champagne and roses.” And not just any kind of rose perfume. She’d smelled like fresh-from-the-garden roses.
“Was she pretty?”
“Does that matter?”
“No, but she’s going to stay in your brain until you know what became of her after she fled your place. Fled! Seriously, Ry, what did you do to her?”
“I offered her coffee.”
Kristine chuckled and turned back to her work. “Only you can manage to simultaneously slay weird faery marauders and hook up with a pretty young thang.”
“We didn’t hook up. I set her on the couch and...in the morning I found her under my coffee table.”
Kristine raised an eyebrow in judgment.
“And that’s the end of this conversation. Did you compile research on the Severo Foundation?”
“I did. And I’ve a report for you. I’ll print it up and bring it into your office in two twitches. This is a good one, cher. You’ll want to donate to them.”
“Thanks, Kristine. Give me ten minutes before you come in. I need to—”
“Think about the poor sweet thang that fled your place this morning?” She winked at him. “You have some weird problems.”
Ry entered his office and closed the door behind him, thinking Kristine was right on. But oddly, the human interference last night had been the weirdest. Not the faeries.
Only a desk, a chair and a couch decorated his tiny office space. The far wall opposite the door was completely window, and no cabinets blocked the view of the nearby Seine River. He didn’t do the fancy. Much as his multibillion-dollar philanthropic foundation could afford it. He wasn’t into the bling or showing off his riches. It wasn’t him. And while he could put on a suit and blend in with the wealthy at the snap of a finger, he preferred the casual look and lifestyle.
Yet he did do the expensive watch. He liked to know the time to the exact second. And right now it was eleven fifteen, on the nose.
He sat on the leather sofa and stretched his arms along the back of it. Clouds were rolling in, and rain was in the forecast, yet the color of the sky was wildly vivid.
“Indigo,” he muttered.
Interesting name for a woman. She’d been more of a soft pink last night, mixed with a few streaks of jet-black mascara. Poor thing.
Kristine was right. He should have followed her out of his building this morning. But he’d watched from his loft and seen the waiting cab. She’d beelined into it and it had pulled away. She’d made it home safe.
What