freaking building. “You have…”
Mr. Daye gritted his teeth and leveled her with a brutal glare. “Spit it out.”
“G-g-ghosts.”
Damon looked behind him with a slit-eyed glare, and the rumble in his chest grew stronger. Now, the terrifying sound vibrated off her skin and made her wish she could disappear into the wall.
When he returned his inhuman gaze to her, he said, “Tell me, Mrs. Sutterfield. What is your occupation?”
This was usually where she embellished to hook customers, but with Mr. Daye, she couldn’t seem to fib. “I’m a shite psychic. Tarot cards and palm readings. And apparently ghosts, as of just now. I’m not very good. Terrible at it, in fact.”
“A psychic?”
“Mmm hmmm.”
“A seer?” Mr. Daye dragged his pissed attention to Mason, who had the good sense to be cowering against the other wall right along with her.
Mason dipped his chin once, his lightened gaze on the carpet. “She is of Feyadine’s line, ancestor to her brother, Nall, and a grizzly shifter.”
Mr. Daye’s eyes tightened at the corners as he sat slowly into his chair. “Leave us.”
Okie dokie then. Clara went to high-knee her ass out of the office, but Mason beat her to the door. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking regretful as he pulled the door closed. From the other side, the click of a lock sound. She gave the handles a stout yank to no avail. “Son of mother-fluffin’—”
“Ms. Sutterfield, please have a seat.”
“Polite decline,” she said in a mousey voice, afraid to turn around and face him. His furious expression was so much worse than the ghosts standing patiently behind him.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and turned around with her eyes squeezed closed. When she popped one open, Mr. Daye was studying her with his head cocked and a frown marring his features.
Somehow he’d grown even more handsome in the time she’d tried to escape.
“Do you know why Mason has brought you here?”
“To exorcise your ghosts?” Please lawd, let it not be to serve as dinner for this monster shifter.
“I’m afraid not. Apparitions don’t bother men like me.”
She pointed. “There’s one right there and another right there—”
“Didn’t say they weren’t there, Ms. Sutterfield. Only that they don’t bother me.”
“Are they people you’ve…”
Damon’s eyes narrowed to slits. “People I’ve what? Say what’s on your mind.”
“Are they people you’ve killed?”
Damon cast another quick glance over his shoulder, then rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. With a challenging look in his eyes, he smiled coldly and said, “Perhaps.”
She cleared her throat so her voice wouldn’t come out all pitchy and terrified. “You don’t have to call me Ms. Sutterfield. Please call me Clara.” Yes, that’s right. Make him realize she was an actual person and maybe he wouldn’t serial kill her.
“Clara, you can call me Damon. Now, please have a seat.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Thank you, Damon, but I’d rather stand.” Over here where the man couldn’t reach her.
He angled his head, never taking those bright silver eyes from her. “As you wish.” He sighed and pulled a stapled stack of paperwork from a drawer in his sprawling desk. “Mason brought you here to see if you would be agreeable to breeding with me.”
Clara’s mouth flopped open. “Say what now?”
“I would pay you a substantial amount of money in return for bearing my offspring.”
“Sex?” Really? That was the only word she could push past her tightening vocal chords right now?
“No sex. I like it less personal than that. We would let the doctors help us get you pregnant.”
“Less personal. Right.” She was floating. With a frown, she looked down at her neon pink flip flops, but nope, they were still embedded in the thick carpet. “This looks expensive.”
“The carpet?”
“Yeah.” The word came out
Mr. Daye gritted his teeth and leveled her with a brutal glare. “Spit it out.”
“G-g-ghosts.”
Damon looked behind him with a slit-eyed glare, and the rumble in his chest grew stronger. Now, the terrifying sound vibrated off her skin and made her wish she could disappear into the wall.
When he returned his inhuman gaze to her, he said, “Tell me, Mrs. Sutterfield. What is your occupation?”
This was usually where she embellished to hook customers, but with Mr. Daye, she couldn’t seem to fib. “I’m a shite psychic. Tarot cards and palm readings. And apparently ghosts, as of just now. I’m not very good. Terrible at it, in fact.”
“A psychic?”
“Mmm hmmm.”
“A seer?” Mr. Daye dragged his pissed attention to Mason, who had the good sense to be cowering against the other wall right along with her.
Mason dipped his chin once, his lightened gaze on the carpet. “She is of Feyadine’s line, ancestor to her brother, Nall, and a grizzly shifter.”
Mr. Daye’s eyes tightened at the corners as he sat slowly into his chair. “Leave us.”
Okie dokie then. Clara went to high-knee her ass out of the office, but Mason beat her to the door. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking regretful as he pulled the door closed. From the other side, the click of a lock sound. She gave the handles a stout yank to no avail. “Son of mother-fluffin’—”
“Ms. Sutterfield, please have a seat.”
“Polite decline,” she said in a mousey voice, afraid to turn around and face him. His furious expression was so much worse than the ghosts standing patiently behind him.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and turned around with her eyes squeezed closed. When she popped one open, Mr. Daye was studying her with his head cocked and a frown marring his features.
Somehow he’d grown even more handsome in the time she’d tried to escape.
“Do you know why Mason has brought you here?”
“To exorcise your ghosts?” Please lawd, let it not be to serve as dinner for this monster shifter.
“I’m afraid not. Apparitions don’t bother men like me.”
She pointed. “There’s one right there and another right there—”
“Didn’t say they weren’t there, Ms. Sutterfield. Only that they don’t bother me.”
“Are they people you’ve…”
Damon’s eyes narrowed to slits. “People I’ve what? Say what’s on your mind.”
“Are they people you’ve killed?”
Damon cast another quick glance over his shoulder, then rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. With a challenging look in his eyes, he smiled coldly and said, “Perhaps.”
She cleared her throat so her voice wouldn’t come out all pitchy and terrified. “You don’t have to call me Ms. Sutterfield. Please call me Clara.” Yes, that’s right. Make him realize she was an actual person and maybe he wouldn’t serial kill her.
“Clara, you can call me Damon. Now, please have a seat.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Thank you, Damon, but I’d rather stand.” Over here where the man couldn’t reach her.
He angled his head, never taking those bright silver eyes from her. “As you wish.” He sighed and pulled a stapled stack of paperwork from a drawer in his sprawling desk. “Mason brought you here to see if you would be agreeable to breeding with me.”
Clara’s mouth flopped open. “Say what now?”
“I would pay you a substantial amount of money in return for bearing my offspring.”
“Sex?” Really? That was the only word she could push past her tightening vocal chords right now?
“No sex. I like it less personal than that. We would let the doctors help us get you pregnant.”
“Less personal. Right.” She was floating. With a frown, she looked down at her neon pink flip flops, but nope, they were still embedded in the thick carpet. “This looks expensive.”
“The carpet?”
“Yeah.” The word came out
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