“This is Mr. Blackwood,” Andrew says, his voice taking on an obsequious tone I’ve never heard before. “He’s come a long way to meet you.”
“In the middle of the night?” My voice comes out smaller than I like. “Andrew, what’s going on?”
“Business, my dear,” Blackwood says, his voice oily smooth. “Very profitable business.”
Andrew’s entire demeanor has changed. Gone is the gentle man who brought me flowers this morning. In his place stands someone eager, hungry, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“This is the wolf I was telling you about,” Andrew says, gesturing toward me like I’m livestock being presented for inspection.
The word “wolf” is a punch to my gut. The casual way he says it—like I’m just some animal, like I’m his property—makes my blood freeze. Andrew knows about me. He
