Page 6 of Wolf's Keep

Lance’s words brought Gaharet to a halt. He faced his friend, nodding, suspecting what Lance wished to discuss. It had also been on his mind for several months now.

“The men are getting anxious. They need to know what you plan to do to increase our numbers.”

Gaharet grunted. “It is not like we have a lot of choices, Lance. We either turn them or breed them and considering our lack of females…” They had no option either way except to turn others, but Gaharet was hesitant to take that step. He had seen only one turning in his lifetime, a turning he had instigated. He let out a long exhalation. Not an experience he was eager to repeat.

“Aimon is grateful, Gaharet. He does not regret what he has become. You saved his life.”

Gaharet nodded. “I know and I am aware I have no choice. We must rebuild our numbers. We are too few and too vulnerable.”

“The men have a preference for taking wives, Gaharet, turning women, not soldiers.”

“You think I do not wish for that myself? A woman to warm my bed, to confide in, someone to stand by my side, bear me sons? Tell me, Lance, which woman would you choose? Which one woman would you think would accept what she has to become, would put herself through the agony of a turning?”

Lance dropped his gaze.

“What woman in this county would not run screaming from us if she even suspected what we were? If I knew of a woman who would be brave enough to take that on, I would wed tomorrow.” Gaharet shrugged. “And I would not care if she were a maid, a peasant or a duchesse, nor where she came from.”

No, none of those things mattered to him. She need only accept him, stand by him and keep his secret. He would have liked to find a woman who would love him, need him in equal measure as he would love and need her. He hung his head. That was not to be. Though he longed for it with every fiber of his being, he had given up on that ideal some time ago, their survival taking precedence over his own desires.

To initiate a turning was not a decision made lightly, and he would not sanction the turning of random women in the hopes of finding love. If he expected his men to forsake finding the love of a mate,hemust be the first to do so. Lead by example. He need find but one woman to accept him, one woman to take as his wife and he had no idea where to find her.

His thoughts troubled, he joined his men beyond the wall as they divested themselves of their tunics and breeches. Concerns or not, the darkness called to them, a sibilant whispering enticing them out into the night. With a melding of bone, their naked, human bodies disappeared, and they slipped into the forest as swift, dark shapes.

Chapter Three

Frankia

999

Gaharet stood surveying the forest, the bulbous orb of the full moon spilling out from behind black clouds, illuminating a patchwork of land. The familiar scent of wood smoke from his farmer’s cottages filled his nose and recognizable shapes of trees he had climbed as a child swayed in the breeze. Everything was as it should be. That should have comforted him, but it did not. Right now, Langeais did not feel far enough away.

A storm was brewing, the smell of rain heavy in the air. His keep stood dark behind him, silent for the night. He regarded the moon’s fullness, a sense of disquiet brushing against his already troubled mind. A fourth full moon this season was an unusual aberration. What further misfortune did it portend? He banished the thought. He did not need to add to his worries.

His visit to Langeais Keep had not gone well. Detained in Langeais village by an insistent horse trader, the meeting between Archeveque Renaud and Comte Lothair was almost done when he had arrived. Knowing what he knew now, he suspected the man waylaid him on purpose. Their suspicions about the archeveque had proved well-founded.

Gaharet grinned, his large canines extending, pushing at his gums. To have seen Lothair’s face when Renaud had used the term werewolf to describe his kind… Gaharet’s smile turned to a snarl. Any shock or disbelief on Lothair’s part had worn off by the time he had intruded on their meeting, coalescing into something more sinister. A dark and twisted desire to use his kind, force them to do his bidding, to pursue Lothair’s more malevolent ambitions.

Gaharet had underestimated Renaud, his cunning, his influence and his reach. The archeveque had got his claws into one of his pack. Betrayal had come from within. How else could Renaud know of things more sacred, more secret than their very existence? Things like the amulets and their inscription. Only one of his kind could have imparted such information. The thought seared his mind, unsettling him in a way the threat of discovery never had.

Gaharet glanced down at his chest, the gold disc of the alpha’s amulet resting near his heart. The red stone in its center, the bloodstone, at this very moment, remained dark. He did not wish to see it glow again anytime soon. Too often of late he had awoken to find the body of a friend—half-human, half-wolf—and the bloodstone glowing. In mortal danger they had recited the inscription, the bloodstone acting like a beacon drawing them in, only to have them die at his feet. Would Lothair’s desire to use them, to control them, halt the slaughter of his kind? He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He did not know.

Gaharet returned his attention to the forest, focused in on its sounds and its smells and let its familiarity wash over him, a soothing balm to the brittle edge of his thoughts. It pulsed with life—insects scurrying about, night owls preening on their perches, the scratching of rodents hunting for food. He picked them out one by one. A light breeze touched his face, and he inhaled deeply, catching the scent of damp earth, leaves and pine.

Standing naked, his eyes closed, he listened, he breathed. The worries and cares of the past few months slipping away to a distant part of his mind, he allowed the change to flow through him. His bones shifted beneath his skin, rippling, flowing, melding and realigning. First his hands and feet, then in one fluid movement his spine, pelvis, jaw and limbs, making cracking and grinding noises. The stabbing pain of transformation was brief as he snapped into the shape, his bones contorting and rearranging. Dark, coarse hair sprouted, nails became claws and teeth became fangs until he stood on all fours as a very large black wolf.

If Lothair could only see me now.

Leaving his garments behind, Gaharet trotted off into the forest.

* * * *

2016

Erin squinted at the image on the gold disc again. Had they found him? Gaharet d’Louncrais?

Don’t get too excited, Erin. It’s a clue, not definitive proof.

She stared at the disc in her hand, running her fingers over it, flipping it over, studying it. She grabbed her brush and cleaned the dirt from the grooves.

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