of raw meat, blood trickling down his chin.
“Not enforcement as much as elimination,” Bran explained.
At Willie’s confused look, Francois continued, “Guilty until proven innocent. The Council employs the best fae assassins.”
“They’d seriously kill you?” Willie sounded as disgruntled as a Were denied food.
“In a heartbeat.” Francois nodded, before turning and spearing Bran with a piercing look. “Which is why it’s even more imperative that Willie heads to Versailles. Not you.”
“My fight,” Bran protested, hearing the we ariness in his own voice as he stood, then grabbed the kitchen divider to steady himself.
“You’re a right mess. ” Francois stepped forward, his distress revealed in his upper crust British accent. He grabbed Bran’s arm and steered him to the couch.
Bran appreciated the gesture, though nurturing wasn’t Francois’ s forte. More calm, collected and cutthroat. Sitting down helped still the dizziness washing over him. He cleared his throat before he trusted his voice. “I plan to use a cloaking spell as much as possible.”
“Which takes an enormous amount of energy,” Francois shot back . Willie nodding his head in the background.
Truth be told , the shoulder was bleeding again. Bran might be able to accelerate the healing process with a spell, but Francois was right. He couldn’t be using two spells for opposite means. Even he wasn’t that good.
“Fine.” He glanced at Willie. “I’d appreciate your taking a quick run out and look around.”
Willie gave a one-finger salute before jamming the last of the steak in his mouth.
Francois’s shoulders eased a bit as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks. “I’d go myself, though Willie is a better tracker …”
“I hear a but ?” Bran braced himself.
“Home office called me . Some big hush-hush crisis is coming down.”
“Aren’t they all? ” Bran leaned back against the cushions, using the movement to hide his disappointment. He’d counted on having Francois’s help for at least a day or two longer.
“Sorry, mate. If there was any way—”
Bran raised his hand as he closed his eyes. “Appreciate what you’ve already done.”
“First moment I can, I’ll return.”
“Thanks ,” Bran mouthed the word, even as he knew the MI-6 agent would be too late. What was coming down between Bran and the Council was going to happen soon. Fast and furious.
Better to say their goodbyes now . Plan for the worst. Hope for the best. Even if there was little hope.
As if following his dark train of thoughts, Francois offered, “If you can find Alex, she can back up your story.”
“ Oui. ” Bran knew he was tired when he reverted to his childhood tongue. Finding Alex alive was a long shot. As long a shot as expecting her brother Van to remember enough about his captivity to convince the Council that Bran had nothing to do with drugging and using him.
A right old cock-up, as his da would have said.
“I’m heading out then,” Francois’s voice came from far off.
Bran cracked open one eye and raised a hand. “Thanks, mate. For everything.”
It was a final farewell and they both knew it.
Chapter Four
“This agency is finished,” M.T. Stone snarled, surprised he managed to get the words past the rage clawing through him. Ops that went FUBAR were one thing. Ops that were suicide missions were another. “I’m not sending out any more recruits until they’re prepared.”
The IR, for Invisible Recruit, Agency Director, Ling Mai, calmly set down her Mont Blanc pen and turned from the paper she’d been notating. She looked at home in this Parisian hotel, the Hotel Le Meurice . Elegant, cool, remote. The room’s shades of blues and white complimented her Anglo-Asian features, highlighted the blue-black tones of her hair swept back from her face, the fineness of her bones. She could have been about his age, mid-thirties, or a very young fifty. Hell, when she was in