Page 15 of Wolf's Prize

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Aimon found Farren Beauchene seated beside the brazier, a goblet of wine in hand, his expression dark and his brow furrowed. The d’Louncrais’ vaunted collection of tomes, books and scrolls filled chests lining the walls, but Farren showed no interest in them. His dark hair, graying at the temples, gave no hint of where Kathryn’s vibrant, copper locks had come from, but Aimon saw her in the hazel eyes that bored into him as he entered the room.

Farren did not offer him either a chair or a drink, eyeing him up and down. Aimon stood his ground. Old enough to be Aimon’s father—quite an accomplishment under Lothair’s rule—Farren deserved respect for that alone. And he was Kathryn’s father. Aimon would need his help with keeping Kathryn safe. He would take whatever tongue lashing Farren gave him. And apologize for his behavior.

He sampled the air, catching Farren’s scent. Human. Whatever had occurred had happened to Kathryn alone.

“I understand us being here in Gaharet’s home must be difficult for you.” Farren took a long sip from his cup. “It is difficult for us, too.”

Aimon held his silence.

“We did not ask for this. We are here only because Comte Lothair has ordered it so.” His face flushed, and his fist thumped down on the arm of his chair. “There was no need to upset my daughter.”

“You have my apologies, Farren. Upsetting your daughter was not my intention. But I did come to see her.”

Farren nodded. “Comte Lothair suggested some of Gaharet’s vassals might.” He waved Aimon to a seat.

Aimon hesitated, puzzled by Farren’s easy acquiescence. Had Kathryn not detailed their interaction in the forest? Mentioned their kiss? He pulled up a chair, adjusting his sword aside, and sat opposite Farren.

“You have come for Kathryn, and the d’Louncrais estate?”

Aimon gave a slow shake of his head. “No. We know Lothair is using you as some form of trap for us.”

“Then why are you here?”

Does Farren know what his daughter is?As sheltered as he had kept her, how could he not? Aimon leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “Farren, I…I came here to confirm something I suspected. Something about Kathryn.” He paused, unsure how to broach the truth. “I believe…I believe she is different. Not entirely…human.”

Farren choked on his wine. “You know?”

Relief washed over him. He did not have to tell a father his daughter was a werewolf.

Farren’s shoulders slumped, and he put his head in his hand. “I thought we had hidden it well. That no one knew, that—” He groaned. “I should have anticipated a vassal of Gaharet’s would recognize the signs.”

Aimon gaped at Farren. “What did you say?”

Farren shrugged. “You would know. Of course you would know. You are one ofthem.”

Aimon’s head jerked back, and his muscles tensed.

“It surprises you I know?”

A wariness crept over Aimon. Ithadcaught him by surprise. Was the knowledge of their existence more commonplace than they had thought? “How?”

“Gaharet’s father, Jacques, married my sister Elise.” He waved a dismissive hand at Aimon when he frowned. “She tried to hide it from me, but I could tell she had changed. Then one day I saw her. Quite a shock, as you can imagine. But she was my sister, and I loved her. I swore I would keep her secret. I did and I still do.” Farren locked eyes with him. “You will keep Kathryn’s secret? Protect her from Lothair?”

Aimon dropped his gaze to his hands. “I am sorry, Farren. It is too late for that. Lothair is aware of our existence. As is Archeveque Renaud.”

Farren’s face paled. “Mon Dieu.” He crossed to a small table and refilled his goblet. With a glance over his shoulder, he poured a second one and handed it to Aimon.

“I am sorry, Farren, I need to ask. How did Kathryn become one of us? What befell her?”

Farren grimaced. “It happened many years ago,” he said, resuming his seat. “She liked to run in the forest and swim in the pond. After losing my wife, I confess I indulged her and gave her freedoms perhaps I should not have.” His hands fiddled with the stem of his goblet. “One day she returned from the forest, bleeding from a deep wound in her arm—an animal bite. She was hysterical, not making much sense, telling me a wolf-man had attacked her. She was always an imaginative child, prone to flights of fancy. I thought a wolf had attacked her. A real wolf. Elise had promised me your kind were of no danger to Kathryn. That she was safe with them, with the d’Louncrais. That they would never hurt a child.”

Farren dropped his gaze to stare at his wine. “But then she took ill—her body burning hot, then freezing cold, convulsions, extreme pain. At first, I thought the wound had turned bad, but her body began to change into…” He drank deeply from his goblet. He sighed. “It was then I knew. I knew what she had seen, what had attacked her and what she was becoming.”

Aimon shook his head. “I…I do not understand. You knew what Elise was. Why did you not seek help from the d’Louncrais? They could have helped you, helped her. Why did you not tell your sister?”

“Elise died in the attack! Who was I supposed to trust? I lost my sister to one of your kind. I was not about to lose my daughter.” Farren stood, turned his back to him. “Perhaps I could have trusted Jacques, but he was in mourning, and my daughter was distraught. She believed herself to be a monster. She does still and I…I cannot say I blame her.”

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