Chapter 26 Marcus
MARCUS
The trip to France to give the coven a heads-up about Maximillian starts with a knot in my gut.
It shouldn’t, because my company does this for other people all the time.
But it’s one thing doing it for clients, another under these circumstances.
I booked everything under a fake name through my company, forged documents, and ensured there would be no direct flights to the coven because that would be too risky.
We’ll land hours away, then take a hired car the rest of the way.
On paper, everything should run smoothly, and yet the weight of responsibility presses down on me like a boulder.
I’ll only breathe easy once this is all over.
Once we’ve done all we can to warn the coven and have stopped Maximillian before he can burn the world down.
I glance at Esmerelda as she wheels her designer suitcase behind her, ponytail pulled through the opening of her cap.
From the outside, she looks casual—yoga pants, a fitted T-shirt, pristine sneakers—but I can read her like a book.
The set of her shoulders is too rigid, her jaw too tight.
And those oversized sunglasses? They’re not for style.
They’re hiding the dark circles I saw under her eyes this morning.
Proof she didn’t sleep any better than I did.
After last night—after sex that still hums through my body if I think about it too long—neither of us could settle. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to her heartbeat thundering next to me. Too fast, too alive. I’d bet anything her thoughts were running wild, same as mine.
Mine wouldn’t stop. I kept circling back to the same questions, the same truths I don’t want to face.
Is this intensity I feel for her, the pressure in my chest, the rumbling in my gut, just the instinct of an alpha who can’t let his pack come to harm?
Or is it more than that? Something I’m not ready to admit out loud?
I tell myself it’s duty, that I’d feel the same if it were Leonard or Minerva.
But I know that’s a lie. The thought of Esmerelda being in danger does something to me I can’t name.
It makes me reckless. Feral. Last night proved that much.
And now, standing here in this airport, responsibility clawing at me from every angle, the truth presses in harder than ever.
I’m not ready to face it. Not yet.
The airport feels overwhelming, tense. Too many eyes, too many ears. We’re escorted toward a private runway, guards shadowing us like ghosts and my wolf prowls under my skin, claws itching, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.
And then trouble walks right past us.
A group of six moves through, their strides raise my awareness. They look too casual, too rehearsed. One of them hands over papers and says, “Marcus Benyamina. Party of six.”
My gut twists. Hearing my own name being claimed by a stranger feels like a violation.
Wait. It is a fucking violation. Esmerelda’s head snaps toward me, eyes flashing beneath her sunglasses.
Minerva stiffens, muttering a curse under her breath.
Leonard shifts his stance, already sizing them up like he’s calculating how fast he can take two down before the third reaches for a weapon.
Esmerelda blinks. My stomach twists. “That’s—”
“Not us,” Belvedere cuts in smoothly before I can even draw breath.
I wait for the attendant to notice, to frown, to stop the passengers.
If they look suspicious to me, surely they look the same to staff trained to sniff out trouble.
But no—the woman just stamps the papers and turns her attention to Belvedere like nothing’s wrong.
Shock fogs my brain, my mouth opening, ready to protest—but Belvedere slides a hand to the small of my back, the subtle pressure a silent command: calm down.
Calm down? What the hell is going on? My instincts scream to call out the impostors, to bare my teeth and demand justice.
But against every shred of sense in me, I don’t.
I hold my tongue. Because as much as it kills me, I trust Belvedere.
He produces a different set of reservation papers as though they’d been waiting in his sleeve all along.
“My deepest apologies, darlings. We had a very late night and woke up with the wrong file in the wrong briefcase. Happens all the time.” His laugh is smooth, his bow a performance polished by centuries.
The attendant takes the papers, brows knitting.
For a beat too long, silence drags. My stomach knots.
She flicks her gaze between the papers and our faces, lips pursing like they’re about to ask another question.
My throat dries. It doesn’t make sense to me that the real impostors got waved through without a moment’s glance, yet she’s surveying our paperwork as though we’re the criminals.
But then Belvedere leans in just enough, lowering his voice conspiratorially, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know how it is,” he says with a wink. “Too much wine, not enough sleep.”
The tension splinters. The attendant exhales a short laugh, shaking her head as if amused against her better judgment. She stamps the corner of the papers, hands them back, and waves us through with a clipped nod.
The knot in my chest loosens, but my jaw tightens slightly.
That was too easy. I don’t like it, but I force my feet to keep moving. Every step feels like it’s one step closer to exposure. Esmerelda’s lips part, outrage flashing in her eyes, but just like Belvedere did to me, I press my hand to the small of her back as a warning. Not here. Not now.
Minerva mutters under her breath, sharp enough for only me to catch, “This stinks.”
Leonard’s nostrils flare like he’s scenting the air for a fight.
Serafina stares at her nails, looking like she’s inspecting her manicure but I can feel her tension.
We walk on, the polished floor echoing under our steps, the fake “Marcus Benyamina” and his party disappearing behind us. My wolf rages under my skin, claws itching to rip through my forced, calm facade.
We board the plane and take our seats. Only then do I lean across the aisle, voice low and sharp. “Explain. Now.”
Belvedere stretches out, one ankle draped over the other, looking like he’s lounging at a cocktail party instead of playing games with our lives.
“It’s possible we have a leak,” he says, tone smooth as glass.
“Thought I’d mix things up, see who showed up for the wrong flight.
I called in a few favors. It turns out a surprising number of people will impersonate you when it comes with a week in Italy on a private jet. ” He shrugs. “Practical, really.”
My jaw tightens. “Practical? You could have exposed us.”
Belvedere doesn’t even flinch. He merely locks eyes with me and gives me that silly, flirtatious grin I’ve grown to ignore. Hell, I’ve even found it funny at times. But now isn’t that time.
Esmerelda folds her arms over her chest. I can feel her bristling without even looking. Minerva mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like “insufferable prick”. Leonard just watches, face unreadable, but his eyes flick between us like he’s gauging how close I am to losing it.
Closer than you think.
The engines roar louder, rattling through the cabin. My wolf paces beneath my skin, snarling to be let loose. I clamp down on it hard. If I start now, I won’t stop.
“You complain, dear Marcus,” Belvedere says, fiddling with his cufflink, “yet here we are. Safe. Flying. I pitch in where I’m needed, Marcus. You’d do well to get used to that.”
I stare at him, grinding my teeth. Safe? Flying? That’s not the point. He gambled with all our lives and called it pitching in?
My hands curl into fists in my lap, nails biting into my palms, because if I open my mouth right now, I’ll tear into him. And I really want to.
Esmerelda’s soft, incredulous scoff cuts through before I can explode, her gaze turning to the window instead of him.
Minerva mutters, “He’s insufferable,” and I catch the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes.
“You can say that again.” Serafina giggles as she brushes a piece of stray lint from Minerva’s coat. The two share a look that I’m too keyed up to interpret at this time.
I force myself to breathe slowly. To sit back. To stay in control. Because if Belvedere thinks I’ll just get used to it, he doesn’t know how close I am to proving him wrong.
The rest of the flight passes in uneasy silence.
We land hours later in the French countryside, drizzle clinging to everything.
The taxi takes us to a low-key hotel. It’s plain, forgettable.
Exactly what we need. It reeks of history but not the kind I like to study.
More the kind that screams cheating husband and business deals gone wrong.
Chandeliers hang overhead, glass catching the light in a way that tries for opulence, but the cracks in the marble beneath my boots tell the truer story.
It’s all surface. A polished rug that curls at the corners. Couches that sag under the weight of a thousand forgotten patrons. Staff who smile a second too late, like they’re trained to hide their disinterest but never quite manage it.
I breathe in. Is that bleach? Yes, disturbingly enough it is.
I worry about what the bleach is masking.
Underneath that is dust, damp stone, and a hint of mildew that no amount of cleaner can bury.
It’s the scent of a place that’s endured more than it should have, and not all of it kind. I’m relieved I don’t smell blood.
In the corners, there are plants. Real ones. Their leaves stretch toward the light, green and stubborn against the backdrop of old lace and faux velvet. It’s almost funny how plants thrive where people just pretend.
I don’t trust places like this. Too many masks. But I catalog every detail anyway, because when the surface cracks, it’s always the smallest things that betray what’s underneath—like the tiniest spot of mold in a bathroom.
Since we have to wait for nightfall, Esmerelda calls dibs on the shower. Before anyone else can argue, already dragging her suitcase toward the bathroom. The door shuts behind her, and I hear water running a second later.
Minerva tosses her bag onto the sofa and flops down beside it, phone in hand. “I’ll order groceries,” she says, thumb already scrolling.
“I’m going to lie down,” Serafina says.
Belvedere sweeps his gaze around the room like it personally offends him. “Groceries? Darling, how can you worry about something so trivial. We’re about to meet ancient vampires who still think velvet capes are chic. You can’t exactly show up looking like you crawled out of an airport lounge.”
Minerva doesn’t even glance up. “Says the guy who showed up to plan a changeling attack with a bottle of whiskey under his arm? Please.” She flicks her hand dismissively, bracelets jingling. “And if you think I’m doing a shopping montage, you’ve officially lost your damn mind.”
“That’s fine,” Belvedere replies breezily, already moving toward the door. “I wasn’t planning to let your tragic fashion sense slow me down anyway. I’ll handle the wardrobe.” He winks at her. “With love.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and the sound echoes in the space. Like the world just narrowed to this room and what happens inside it.
Minerva sighs. “I’ll say it again. The man is insufferable.”
I don’t say anything because I’m still insanely pissed at him. It wouldn’t have killed him to give us a heads-up.
Leonard and I drift into the suite’s sitting room. He sprawls across the couch with a sigh, boots on the table, and I take the chair opposite. The quiet feels different here—easier. Almost like old times.
“It’s been hectic lately,” he states.
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
“We’ve been in binds before.” Leonard leans back, giving me a crooked smirk. “Remember Prague? When I thought I could take two shifters at once?”
I huff a laugh. “Thought? You went through a tavern wall. The whole place collapsed before I could drag your sorry ass out.”
His grin widens. “Worth it. Pretty sure I still have a splinter lodged somewhere inappropriate.”
I shake my head, lips twitching. “Gods, you’re an idiot.”
“Bold talk,” he fires back, “coming from the man who tracked a drunk hunter for two days because you thought he was a rogue.”
An unguarded laugh bursts out of me. “He reeked of ale—I was convinced it was blood.”
Leonard chuckles, and the sound loosens something in me I hadn’t realized was clenched. Scars, mistakes, close calls—we tell them like they’re jokes, and maybe they are. But beneath the laughter is the truth: we survived. And right now, that feels like enough to believe we’ll survive this too.
Then Leonard tilts his head, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. “Never thought I’d see you like this. Almost settled. Almost like a man falling in love with his sworn enemy.”
The words snag. Just for a second. I school my face quickly before it can betray me. A laugh slips out, lighter than I feel. “Don’t start.” I wave him off, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.
“She’s not the enemy anymore—at least, not judging from the sounds coming out of your room late at night.”
I cut him a look. “If you think I’m discussing my sex life with you, you’re insane.”
Leonard slaps the arm of the couch, grinning like a wolf. “Aha! I knew it.”
“Leonard.” My voice comes out as a growl.
He raises his hands in mock innocence. “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. But I am saying ‘I told you so’.”
I grab a coaster off the table and whip it at him. It nails him square on the nose.
“Fuck, Marcus!” he yelps, clutching his face.
“I warned you.”
He peeks over his hand, grinning through the wince. “For what it’s worth? I like her.”
I don’t answer, just lean back in the chair, but something in my chest eases. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted his approval until he gave it.