When the man ripped his gaze away from her, she stumbled backward and gasped air. Mason was watching her with a confused expression, but dragged his attention to Mr. Daye as she took another step back. Her shoulder blades hit the wall, and she clenched her hands against the urge to flee.
She knew this man. Right? She knew him from somewhere. The first shooting pain of one of her debilitating headaches slashed through her mind, making her wince.
“Damon,” Mason said low.
“Damon,” she whispered. Something about that name…
The man’s reptilian eyes tightened, and he stood slowly, arms locked on the desk, muscles flexing against his white oxford shirt. “Please tell me she’s not who I think she is.”
All around him, the air wavered and darkened. Three shadows, no four, stood behind his desk, about the same height as Mr. Daye. She couldn’t tell if the apparitions were men or women. Only that he was, in fact, being haunted. The veil that stood between this world and the next made them look like nothing more than gray mist.
“You have,” she said, pointing a shaking finger, “g-g-g…” She tried again, digging deep to find her bravery that seemed to have left the 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.”