“The Duskoff have been taking many vulnerable witches lately,” he said finally. “Older witches, too.”

She whirled. “Who are you calling old, buddy?”

“For the Duskoff, over eighteen is old. Normally, they don’t try and recruit any older than that.”

“Recruit me? That’s what they were trying to do?” She made a scoffing sound. “Man, they suck at it.”

He sighed and rubbed his face. The fight at the farmhouse had been brutal and he was tired and drained. Either she was telling the truth and he’d mistreated her, or she was a great actress with something to hide.

Stefan Faucheux didn’t deal with just any witch. Only those highest in the hierarchy held court with him. It seemed unlikely he’d be giving this kind of specialized attention to a recent abductee. Stefan didn’t get his hands dirty, that’s what the underlings were for.

So, what to do about this woman while he decided if she was a victim or a villain?

His mind flicked through possibilities. He could hand her over to Claire and Adam for the night, or maybe Isabelle, but they were all busy with the real abductees and dealing with the warlocks at Gribben that they’d managed to round up and bring in. Anyway, he didn’t trust anyone but himself to keep an eye on her.

But did he really want to bring a possible fire warlock into his abode for the night? That was a little like volunteering to sleep with a black mamba, wasn’t it?

“Just let me go home,” Sarafina said in a low, quiet voice. Her shoulders slumped. “That’s all I want. I just need for this nightmare to end.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Come with me.” He turned and walked to the door, the dog trotting at his heels.

Sarafina followed. “You’re letting me go?”

He scoffed. “Hell, no.”

“Then where are we going?”

“My room. Let you take a shower, eat, then sleep. We’ll sort this out in the morning.”

Silence.

He stopped and turned to see she’d halted in the middle of the corridor. Hip cocked. Toe tapping. “I’m not sleeping in your room.”

“You don’t have a choice, princess. Anyway, I’m not attracted to you. Get over yourself.” He turned on his heel and continued on.

To his gratification, the dog panted along right beside him, ensuring she’d follow. Fuck, he should’ve grabbed the stupid dog first thing.

HE PUT A PLATE WITH A PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY sandwich down in front of her. Theo, apparently, wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, or any kind of chef. Her stomach growled, anyway, and she fought not to fall on it like a starving dog.

Speaking of dogs, Grosset was digging into a bowl of SPAM, the only thing Theo could find in his kitchen for him.