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Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 114

Chapter 114: Conclave

In the end, Logan doesn’t give me answers.

Not exactly, anyway.

Or, well—he kind of does. But it’s in a backward kind of way.

"Hello, Ms. d’Armand." Marcus Ashby wipes down the seat in my room, as if it’s full of incurable diseases. The sharp smell of antiseptic wafting from his sanitizing wipes makes me sneeze.

"Hello, Mr. Ashby."

Marcus perches on the edge of the sanitized chair like it might bite him. His perfectly pressed suit doesn’t have a single wrinkle. "It’s good to see you’re doing okay, Ms. d’Armand."

"Okay is a bit of an overstatement." My throat still burns a little, and my muscles ache like I’ve run a marathon, but my physical condition is the least of my concerns right now.

I’m honestly shocked Logan’s lawyer isn’t in one of those biohazard suits.

He waves off my comment with an elegant flick of his wrist. "Speaking of matters that require attention, your... cat." The way he says ’cat’ makes it sound like a particularly offensive word. "I’ll be quite grateful when you’re able to take it back."

"Princess Paws? What’s wrong with—"

"It has developed quite the taste for Italian silk. My curtains, specifically. The ones in my office."

Horror creeps through me as I imagine my tiny kitten shredding what are probably thousand-dollar curtains. "I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for—"

"Please." Another dismissive wave. "The fault lies entirely with Logan. He’s the one who insisted on bringing it to my office. You’re the victim in all this, Ms. d’Armand."

Then why bring it up? But rather than upsetting the man taking care of my poor kitten, I just keep my mouth shut.

A sharp ringtone cuts through our conversation. Marcus pulls out his phone, checks the screen, and answers with crisp "Yes" and "Understood" responses that tell me nothing.

He ends the call and pulls a sleek timer from his pocket, setting it for ten minutes before placing it on my hospital bed. "You have questions. Now’s your chance to get answers."

My heart pounds. This feels too good to be true. But I’m not about to waste this opportunity.

"Who’s really behind Logan? This isn’t the Supernatural Enforcement Division. The SED doesn’t have access to dragon repellent wardstones or tactical teams equipped to fight dragons." I pause. "Or do they?"

Marcus raises one perfect eyebrow. "Tell me, Ms. d’Armand, what do you know about Logan’s family?"

The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth, then close it. Despite everything we’ve been through, despite sharing a bed and adopting a cat together, I realize I know almost nothing about Logan’s background. No mentions of parents or siblings. No childhood stories. No family photos. Only rumors Penelope’s heard from her obsessive vampire stalker.

The timer ticks away on my bed.

"Nothing," I admit. "He’s never talked about them."

Marcus straightens his tie. "The Everetts are one of the oldest Lycan bloodlines in existence."

"Lycan?" The word feels strange on my tongue.

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