Page 13 of Wolf's Prize

Why is this happening? Now?He came. The one vassal out of all of them she had hoped to attract. She wanted to smile at him, converse with him, but for his own safety, he must leave.

“Have you gone mute, Monsieur Aimon, or do you often skulk in the forest, catching unsuspecting women off guard?” She cringed at her harsh words, but he had left her little choice.

He tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you often wander the forest unaccompanied and barefoot?” he countered.

She flushed and snatched up her boots and veil from where she had discarded them. If he would not leave, then she must. “Good evening, Monsieur Aimon. I suggest you call on us in the morning.”

She spun on a barefooted heel and headed toward the keep. Of course he had noticed her state of undress. How long had he stood there watching? Had he seen her alight from the wagon? Spied on her as she had spun around, barefoot and her hair loose, reveling in her freedom? Kathryn’s heart ached. In all likelihood, after witnessing such wanton behavior, after the way she had spoken to him so rudely, he would decide against presenting himself to the keep, and she would never see him again. She had ruined everything.

A rush of air whooshed past her, and suddenly Aimon stood in front of her, cutting off her retreat. Her momentum propelled her into his chest.

“Oh!” She stumbled away from him.

He reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her.

“How did you…?” She looked back over her shoulder to where he had been, then back at him, clutching her boots and veil to her chest. “You moved so fast, I…” Intent on fleeing, had she not noticed his pursuit of her? She raised her eyes to meet his, much closer now. Too close. A shiver raced up her spine and a soft growl rumbled in her chest. She sucked in a panicked breath. If he heard it, he gave no hint.

He reached out and touched her hair with a gentleness that was almost reverent. “You have the most glorious hair.” He let the strands slide through his fingers. “The color is like nothing I have ever seen on a woman before. Like the leaves of the maple tree in the autumn.”

Her knees wobbled.He likes my hair.

His fingers delved into her hair again, brushing against her neck, and his gaze dipped to her mouth. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips, suddenly gone dry, and his blue eyes flared with heat. Her breath came in shallow pants, and she leaned closer. Would he kiss her?

His hand slipped from her hair, down to cradle her neck, and he drew her closer. Another bone in her hand cracked, but she could not make herself move. She swallowed hard. He stilled, his mouth hovering a mere breath away from hers, her lips tingling in anticipation.

This may well be the only chance she got.

Kathryn bridged the gap between them, and he pressed his mouth to hers. She gasped, her lips softening, and her eyes fluttered closed.

L’enfer.

Her heart’s pounding beat echoed in her ears. She leaned into him without thought or conscious effort, her hand reaching up of its own volition, and she placed her palm on his chest. This one kiss, this light touching of lips, stoked a fire within her she had not dreamed could exist.

The change roared up, powerful, insistent and threatening to strip away the last shred of her humanity. She wrenched herself from his grasp. Hiding her shifting hand beneath her veil, she pushed past him and slipped beyond his grasp so he could not stop her.

Hand over her mouth, her lips still warm from his kiss, she sobbed as she raced from the forest. She had to get away from him before she let the beast loose. He would not like her hair then. Not when she had the power to hurt him, to physically tear him to pieces.

The color draining from her face, and the fear in her eyes, had Aimon letting Kathryn go. His breathing labored, he clenched his fists to his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Please do not run,” he whispered after her, not certain he could hold himself in check.

As soon as Kathryn cleared the tree line, she broke into a run. Aimon gritted his teeth and sunk his claws into a nearby tree trunk, resisting the primal urge to chase after her, bring her down beneath him, and seduce her until she cried out his name in the throes of passion.

Merde. What am I thinking? Have I lost my mind?

Panting, reinstating the control Gaharet had taught him how to master, he steadied himself—his human brain, and his conscience, reasserting themselves.

Only three years a wolf, he did not yet suffer the growing desperation of the others who longed for their mate. Their desire to find the one they would cherish for life a consuming force, only stronger now their pack teetered on the verge of extinction. Gaharet assured him, in time, it would engulf him, too. But, catching Kathryn’s werewolf scent, seeing her fiery auburn hair tumble about her shoulders—a beacon of flame in this cool forest of greens and browns—hunger had stormed through him stronger than he had ever experienced before. It made his heart pound and his cock as hard as stone.

She was beautiful, from the smattering of freckles across her nose down to her tiny bare toes. Her musky werewolf scent mingling with the tantalizing notes of her innocence had called to him, to his baser half. The change had roared up on him fast, catching him by surprise, and he had struggled to keep it in check. Aimon could only surmise the combination of her innocence, her werewolf scent, and a spirit with a vibrancy to match her hair, were the reason for his powerful response. And she was, most assuredly, a werewolf. He could not mistake it, not here in the clean air beneath the trees.

He straightened himself, retracted his claws and pushed his wolf into the deep, dark recesses of his mind. Kathryn, innocent Kathryn, deserved more than a single moment of pleasure. His way forward was clear. An untouched, previously unknown female werewolf, Kathryn needed safeguarding. From Lothair, Renaud, from his pack mates, perhaps even from him. Gaharet would expect nothing less. He would not let his urges jeopardize her wellbeing. Whatever the cost to himself, Aimon must protect her. Keep her safe. Keep her alive.

Chapter Six

Aimon entered the keep walls as the guards were unloading the last of the Beauchenes’ possessions from the wagons. Stable boys unhitched horses and servants hustled the Beauchenes’ belongings up the hill to the keep. They scarce glanced at him, but the gazes of Lothair’s keep guard followed him as he rode up the hill. By the morrow, when the guard returned to Langeais, Lothair would know of his attendance here.

He ignored them, making his way past the stables and the smithy to the large entrance doors of the tower. He could do little about their presence. Delaying until they were gone would have been the wiser course of action, but Aimon feared he did not have time to wait. Kathryn would not fail to inform her father of their encounter in the forest. What would she have told him? Would Farren be angry to know Aimon had kissed his daughter? He had every right to be. Delaying the inevitable confrontation would not make any easier the conversation he must have with Farren. And there was no telling if another of the pack would come calling on Kathryn.

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