Page 12 of Wolf's Prize

Lance frowned. “The witch in the forest?”

“She has herbs that could help with a turning. We mentioned her to Gaharet. Ulrik was there. Aimon, too. Perhaps Gaharet sought her out that night.”

“I will visit her,” offered Aimon. Gaharet and Erin were still there. He could not risk another of the pack sniffing around. “Perhaps Gaharet’s trail will lead me to the witch, and, with any luck, Erin as well.”

“Very well. Ask the witch about wolfsbane, too. We will meet again in fourteen days hence. Unless any of us finds something important, it is best we all lie low.” Lance gathered his horse’s reins as another wagon loaded down with hay trundled into view. “Stay safe. We cannot afford to lose any more of our kind.”

Taking up their reins, they separated and cantered off to their respective tasks. As soon as he was out of sight, Aimon changed direction and headed for Gaharet’s keep. To see Kathryn. He had to know for sure. He wished he could tell the others of his suspicions. It pained him more than anything that he could not trust them. But if Kathryn were a werewolf, keeping her secret was the only way to keep her alive.

Chapter Five

Dusk eased across the sky as the three wagons carrying all their possessions wound their way toward the d’Louncrais keep. The clop of the horses’ hooves slowed, and the idle chatter of the keep guard escorting them petered out. The walls of Kathryn’s new home loomed before her, a formidable barrier to protect the inhabitants. A barrier to confine her to her new circumstances. Her throat tightened.

The unfairness of it rankled. Her choice of the man who would be her husband now taken away from her. Despite her father reassuring her they had some sway, that they could manipulate Gaharet’s vassals into an outcome of her choosing, Kathryn was far from convinced. Would Lance Vautour defer to the much younger Aimon if she expressed a preference for him? Everything she knew about Lance told her no. Would they fight over her? Or would they simply decide amongst themselves who would claim the prize of the d’Louncrais estate, and her along with it?

Her darker half roiled inside her, feeding on her emotions—a persistent force determined to break free. When her emotions ran high, the surging call of the curse was stronger—a rush of heat through her body, an aching in her bones and an overwhelming compulsion to change. Right now, with the beast closest to the surface since her turning, it would only take a moment of inattention for it to gain the upper hand. If she could not regain some measure of equilibrium, she might lose control. She could never allow that to happen.

She eyed the expanse of forest stretching beyond the walls. Its shadows beckoned her, offering sanctuary and a temporary relief. The forest soothed the beast and helped give her the strength to resist it.

“Father?”

He smiled at her. “Go on, then.”

Her father understood her, understood her need. She stepped from the slow-moving wagon, ignoring the startled looks from Lothair’s guard, and darted toward the trees. A muttered oath from a guard, and hoof beats followed her.

“Let her go,” her father called out. “She wishes to explore a little. She knows not to be too long.”

“Willful girl,” muttered the guard, but the hoofbeats retreated.

Leaving the wagons behind, Kathryn slipped past the tree line, pressing into the forest and out of sight. Breathing in the pine and earthy scent, feeling the cool darkness of the woods on her flushed skin, the beast ceased its restless pacing. Kathryn removed her head-veil and unpinned her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders. She unlaced her boots and discarded them, reveling in the earth beneath her bare feet. She closed her eyes, and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Relief.

A bird screeched, and Kathryn’s sensitive hearing caught the subtle brush of wings in flight. A rodent, a dormouse by its scent, scurried nearby in search of food. The creak of limbs and the rustle of leaves in the breeze whispered their soothing song in her ears. Kathryn had long grown accustomed to the enhanced senses her curse afforded her. She resisted using them, terrified calling on them too often would allow the beast a foothold on her consciousness, one it could use to consume her. But being here in the forest, the one thing that never failed to placate it, she relaxed. Opening herself to them, she let the sounds and smells of the forest wash over her, a balm to her agitated mind.

She tilted her head back, pointed her face to the leafy canopy above, stretched her arms out wide and turned in slow circles. A laugh bubbled up inside her. Mayhap her father was right. Perhaps they could turn Comte Lothair’s bequest to their favor, and determine the man she would marry. And with the forest this close, she may even find contentment.

The breeze shifted, bringing with it a strange yet tantalizing scent. She halted her spinning and turned her head toward it, breathing in deep through her nostrils. The scent grew stronger, filling her lungs, its tendrils curling through her body starting an unexpected tingling between her thighs. Strong, musky and animal, but with a hint of…human? Her nipples tightened, and the beast writhed, pushing forward.

She gasped and her eyes popped open.What is it?She had calmed the beast and yet it stirred again. What was this…this intoxicating aroma? Her eyes darted about, searching the shadows for its source. Her gaze locked on a figure shrouded in shadows.

Aimon Proulx.

Standing in the gloom of the trees, he watched her. Silent. His long white-blond hair fell about his shoulders, his blue surcoat rustled in the breeze and his hand rested on the pommel of the sword belted to his waist. There he was, the chevalier from her dream, looking every bit the angelic warrior she had imagined him to be.

Her pulse raced and her thighs clenched. The beast hammered at her consciousness. A bone in her hand cracked and claws extended from two fingers. She hid them behind her skirts.

No. Please, no.

Aimon stepped closer, his musky scent intensifying, and his gaze fixed on her with a fervor that stirred feelings in her no man had ever elicited before.

The beast thrashed within. Another bone popped in her finger. Kathryn held her breath. If she looked, she would see coarse red hair sprouting across the back of her hand. She fought the change, and it halted, but it did not regress. Aimon could not be here with her. Not now. Not with the beast so close to breaking free. She must make him leave before she lost all authority over the darkness within. Before she lost the battle and shifted into a slavering monster. Before she attacked him.

“I suspected my change in circumstances would attract men to our door,” she said, attempting to keep any hint of her panic from entering her voice. “I did not imagine it would begin so soon.”

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving her face as though mesmerized. Never had she been the focus of such scrutiny. It unnerved her and scratched at the frayed edges of her control. The sharp point of a canine scraped against the inside of her mouth. She willed it to recede, testing it with her tongue to ensure it had.

“Perhaps you would do me the kindness of visiting the keep, Monsieur Aimon.” She pointed in its direction. “My father and I would be happy to receive you.”

The breeze floated his scent to her, and her nostrils quivered. His scent. Like the siren song of mermaids, it called to her monster, luring it from the depths of her mind. Oh, why did he not smell like other chevaliers? Of horsehair, stale sweat, blood and steel? She wished he did, rejoiced he did not.

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