Page 26 of Wolf's Prize

Merde. I challenged my alpha. Why? What am I thinking?

Aimon slumped back in his seat and offered his neck in submission. “My apologies, Gaharet. I…I do not—” He shook his head. “I do not know what came over me. The thought of you with Kathryn…I… Forgive me.”

Gaharet regarded him with no hint of anger or rebuke in his expression. He should be furious. Why had he not transformed and taken Aimon down, reminded him of his place in the pack? It was his right. Aimon deserved it. He had behaved no better than Ulrik, challenging his alpha.

“All is forgiven, Aimon.” Gaharet studied him, no hint of anger in his scent, only curiosity. “You feel a certain protectiveness toward Kathryn?”

“Yes, I think I do. She is so…innocent, so frightened, and yet she faces every day with such courage. I want to help her through this. Show her the advantages of being a werewolf. That it is something she may come to embrace and not shun. Help her find joy and pride in what she is, as I have.” Aimon rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I have found myself doing all manner of foolish things since I have met her. Challenging you, snapping at Anne.”

Gaharet gave him a wry grin. “You are taking your life into your own hands there.”

“Anne threatened to rap me over the knuckles,” Aimon admitted.

Gaharet chuckled, and some of the tension left Aimon. “She would do it, too. She has given me a few sharp slaps across my snout over the years, especially when I was younger.”

“No one messes with Anne,” agreed Aimon.

Gaharet tapped his fingers on the table. “Given you have revealed yourself to Kathryn, and you understand how it feels to be turned, perhaps you should train Kathryn, not I. I will need to speak to her, though, about this attack.”

“Of course. Do you want me to bring her here?”

“No. It is unsafe for us to remain here much longer. When you return to the keep, tell Gascon to prepare the farmer’s cottage by the stream. It has lain empty for a few years now. I will cover our tracks from here as best as I can, and nobody, not even Lothair, would expect me to turn up on my own lands. Give me a sennight, then bring Kathryn to the farmer’s cottage. Gascon will direct you. It may be helpful for both her and Erin to know they are not the only female among us.”

“What about the others? If I am training Kathryn, how can I help uncover the traitor?”

“Right now, Kathryn’s safety is more important. You may yet find answers by staying in the keep. If someone is after my estate, or my position, they may very well make an appearance.”

“And Ulrik? We cannot leave him in that cell. Nor can we leave his rescue to the pack.”

“We can do nothing until we have a way of counteracting the effect silver has on us. And wolfsbane. I will talk to Constance. She may know of something. Until then, there is little we can do.”

Aimon nodded and drank down the last of his mead. He got to his feet and headed for the door. “Stay with Erin. I will keep watch tonight.”

Gaharet watched Aimon leave the cottage, his heart heavy with renewed grief, but his mind alive with possibilities. Not so long ago, he had reacted as strongly as Aimon had at the mere suggestion of Erin in another wolf’s company. Gaharet had not understood his own uncharacteristic reaction at the time, but he did now. His wolf had known Erin was his mate, though he had spent but a few moments in her presence. Listening to Aimon talk of Kathryn, watching his eyes dance with dark shadows and his voice full of admiration, Gaharet knew he was right. Aimon had found his mate. The question was, did Aimon realize it?

Chapter Ten

Kathryn awoke to sunlight streaming into the bedchamber and smooth linens cool against her skin. She stretched, a languid arching of her back, and a smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

“Good morning, child. How are you feeling?”

Kathryn’s gaze followed Anne as she stirred up the coals in the brazier.

“I feel…good.” When had she last woken feeling so rested?

“Are you planning on staying abed all day, or shall I help you dress?”

Kathryn rubbed her body against the linens—a quality of which she and her father could never have afforded—reveling in their silky slide against her skin. Shecouldstay here all day, but she pushed aside the covers and clambered out of bed. She had questions. Anne had opened her eyes to a world she had not known existed, but there were things only another werewolf could answer. Aimon.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach, and she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her eyelids snapped open. She could scent him. By the door. Yes. Not strong enough to indicate his presence, but he must have stood outside her door during the night, long enough for his scent to linger. The quivering in her stomach intensified. Did that mean she had not ruined any chance she had with him?

“Come, child. Let us get you dressed.”

Anne slipped a chemise over Kathryn’s head, then a linen under-dress, buttoning it up, and finally an over-dress of blue. Kathryn laced up her boots then, leaving Anne straightening up the bedcovers, slipped from the bedchamber and descended the stairs. Anticipating Aimon, or her father, in the hall, it surprised to her to find it deserted and silent. The large table she remembered from her childhood visits to her aunt sat empty. The only sound was the flutter of flame over the oil lamps and the crackle of a small fire in the central fire pit as it chased away the encroaching autumn chill.

As she stepped into the room, memories assaulted her. Memories of grand meals at the table with her aunt, her uncle and all the estate’s staff. Of her cousins, Gaharet and D’Artagnon, racing through from the kitchen, laughing, with an angry servant on their heels. Of her aunt, pointing to the embroidered figures in the beautiful wall hanging and telling Kathryn its story. A second, newer wall hanging now hung beside it. Much had changed since those visits so many years ago. For her and for the d’Louncrais.

Kathryn skirted the fire pit and crossed the floor to stand before the familiar wall hanging. She picked out the figures of her aunt and uncle, taking in the scene—a hunt, a battle and a victory. As a child, her aunt’s explanation had made no sense to her. Women did not go into battle. Now, looking at the figures dancing across the wall, understanding dawned.

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