Page 23 of Wolf's Prize

Dropping the damp linen, Kathryn slipped beneath the covers.

“Now, if I were you, I would be telling someone all that happened to you and your aunt the day of your attack. It is important for the pack to know.”

Kathryn pulled the covers under her chin. “Who would I tell? Gaharet is the alpha, and he is not here. Doyouknow why he is not here?”

Anne’s brow furrowed. “I do not, and I am a mite worried about him and his lovely mate, Erin. But, as he is not here, the handsome man downstairs is where I would start. He certainly has an eye for you.”

Kathryn snorted and snuggled beneath the bedcovers. “If he ever did, I doubt he does still.”

A bone-deep weariness settled over her and she stifled another yawn. She doubted she could stay awake much longer.

“Mmm. If you say so. Sleep well, Kathryn. You are safe here.”

With that, she left Kathryn alone in her warm bed. Slinking into sleep, images of Aimon dancing behind her closed lids, an errant thought snagged in her mind. Who were all those lives lost? And why? But she could not hold on to her concern for long, and soon drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Anne closed the door on a sleeping Kathryn, and hurried down the stairs as fast as her old knees would take her. She needed to speak to Gascon. Elise attacked? Killed by one of her own kind? Something had to be done about that. Gascon would ensure Aimon knew, if he did not already.

Chapter Nine

Aimon settled into his saddle and cantered out the gate, away from the d’Louncrais keep. Worry about his decision to leave Kathryn behind pressed tight against his sternum. He had spoken with Gascon and Anne about Kathryn’s safety, and they would do everything they could to protect her. They could use the training room and lock her in from the inside if the situation became dire. They would ensure she stayed within the safety of the walls until he returned. Still, he wondered if he should have brought her along with him.

Aimon had also spoken to Kathryn’s father. Farren had not slept at all last night and had spent his time in the library drinking and castigating himself for the choices he had made on Kathryn’s behalf. While Aimon did not agree with how Farren had handled things, they could not change the past. He saw no point in adding to Farren’s guilt.

Farren had agreed to send word to Lothair of Aimon’s arrival. Lothair’s men would report his presence, anyway. While it could prompt a visit, or a summons from the comte, delaying it would not work in Farren’s favor. Neither of them wanted Lothair anywhere near Kathryn, but disobeying a direct command from the comte would only provoke him. Nobody provoked Lothair. Not if they could help it. He had also enlightened Farren about the situation with Gaharet’s other vassals. One more person to protect Kathryn in his absence.

The only person he did not speak with was Kathryn. As he had donned his mail and sword, she had slept on, a consequence of a stressful day, a complete transition from human to wolf and back again, and several mugs of Anne’s chamomile brew. As Anne had predicted, he had spent most of the night slumped outside her bedchamber on the cold floor, leaning up against her door should she stir and need him.

She had slept well. He had not. Plagued by the memory of her in the forest, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, her feet bare and her werewolf scent spicing up the breeze, he had fought the temptation to slip into her bedchamber and into her bed. Much to his disquiet, he desired her. Fiercely. He craved the feel of her in his arms again, wanted to kiss her lips, caress every inch of her, stretch his naked body over hers and tease her to sublime release.

Her petite, flame-haired package contained this intriguing duality that taunted him. He wanted to kiss her, tumble between the sheets with her, but he also wanted to protect and comfort her. Her untamed wolf shone through, enhancing her spirited nature and giving her a fire that burned from within. Alongside it lived the frightened woman, unsure of her abilities, ill at ease with whom, and what, she was.

It was a powerful combination. It made him forget his purpose and forgo his common sense. Not good. That could get them both killed. He needed reminding that lust was no excuse to throw his conscience away in favor of sexual pleasure. He would not take an innocent for one night of bliss. Especially not one he was honor bound to protect. Perhaps a few days away from her would be a good thing.

As the first light of dawn crept across the sky, he cantered away from the d’Louncrais keep and turned his horse’s head toward the rendezvous clearing near Langeais. A place they once had considered safe. A place where they had met many a time when summoned to Langeais. It had almost become their downfall. He had no need to go there to track Gaharet, but he had told the pack he would. Whoever had betrayed them may very well visit the clearing himself and would expect to find Aimon’s fresh scent. And the clearing may yet have more to tell him.

He rode into the clearing as the sun beat down from its zenith. The bodies were gone, darkened blood stains and wilted sprigs of wolfsbane the only visible traces of what had transpired. He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. Lance, Aubert and Edmond, so they had said, had all come here, while Godfrey had turned back when he caught sight of Lothair’s mounted men. With the mild autumn weather of the last few days, he should be able to pick up everyone’s scent, including his own. Except for Godfrey’s.

He started where Ulrik had kneeled, weakened by wolfsbane and bound in silver. The power of the herb had dissipated as it had withered. Now it was but a minor distraction, a slight deadening of his senses. Not enough to make him as vulnerable as it had Ulrik, or to affect his ability in any considerable way. He picked up Ulrik’s scent, faint but lingering, along with Erin’s, Lothair’s, Renaud’s and a number of others belonging to mercenaries and keep guards.

Moving out from the scattered ring of wolfsbane, Aimon sought the residual traces of his own scent. From there he widened his search, finding where Gaharet, Erin and Ulrik had entered the clearing. A few steps further, he confirmed the spot Gaharet, cradling a wounded Erin in his arms, had revealed himself to Lothair before disappearing into the forest.

Closer to where he had hidden, he found Aubert’s and Edmond’s scents. Not surprising. They had chosen to stay downwind as he had. Had they seen what he saw? They made no mention of it, only that the wolfsbane had addled their senses. He kept searching.

Toward Langeais Keep, he found a confusion of scents where the mounted men had crossed the threshold from forest to clearing. What he could not detect was Godfrey or Lance. Puzzled, he retraced his steps around the clearing in ever-widening circles. The lack of Godfrey’s scent confirmed his admission he had not approached the clearing at all. True to his word, on seeing the mounted men, he had avoided the area. Not detecting any trace of Lance bothered him.

Aimon tried again, backtracking everyone for a few meters. Still nothing.

Lance lied? Why?

Did he not think Aimon would discover his falsehood? He may not have the decades of experience the others could claim, but his wolf shared the same advantages. Did Lance regard him as inferior because of his turning? Did the others, too? The thought stung. He stood and regarded the clearing. He could learn nothing more here.

He gathered his horse’s reins and followed Gaharet’s trail toward the witch’s cottage. Staying on foot, leading his horse, he weaved across the path, trying his best to overlay Gaharet’s older scent with his own. No one else had come this way yet. With any luck, the wind would pick up and disperse any trace of Gaharet before they did.

After a league or so, he remounted his horse and nudged him into a canter. As much as he loathed leaving Kathryn unguarded for so long, he had another task to complete. One which weighed heavily on him. He must talk to Gaharet. He did not want to be the one to open up old wounds, but he owed it to Gaharet. His alpha deserved to know the truth about his mother’s death.

As Aimon neared the little cottage deep in the forest, he reined in his horse. Everything looked as he had left it. He dismounted and focused his senses, catching the hint of ash and old smoke from the fire, the bite of drying herbs and a familiar musky scent. Gaharet. He searched the surrounding gloom. Nothing. But his alpha was there.

“Aimon.” Gaharet stepped into view. Dressed in his armor with his sword drawn, he scoured the forest behind Aimon. Finding no threat, he sheathed his sword. “You have news?”

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