Page 31 of Wolf's Prize

“Kathryn tried to leave the keep?”

“She wanted to, but I made her promise not to.”

Aimon raised an eyebrow. A promise would not stop a determined wolf.

“She will not break a promise. She never has,” said Farren, a hint of pride in his voice.

The man loved his daughter, he had no doubt of that. If only he had consulted the d’Louncrais years ago.

“She has sequestered herself in the armory. Has not left it all day. We have kept an eye on her.”

Kathryn had taken her father’s deception hard. That he could empathize with. Who knew what state he would find Kathryn in? Tears, recriminations, perhaps one very angry auburn wolf. He nodded at Farren and headed inside.

“Be gentle with her, Aimon. These last two days have been difficult for her. Mostly because of me,” Farren called after him.

Aimon paused in the doorway. “Mostly?”

“She was not happy with your orders to remain in the keep. Some of her ire may also be directed at you.”

Aimon grunted. Steeling himself, he mounted the stairs to the armory. He had not expected Kathryn to like her new restrictions. In his own experience, he had chafed at his initial loss of freedom, had resented it and had not comprehended the reason for the imposition. Now he understood the wisdom of Gaharet’s edict. And during his early days as a wolf, he had not faced treachery within the pack, or a comte determined to use him as bait.

He halted in the doorway of the armory and peered in, the darkened room no challenge to his enhanced eyesight. Within the room full of hauberks, hunting bows, sheaths of arrows, lances and shields, stood Kathryn. Before her, shelves lined with cloth wrapped swords and daggers. Her back to him, with a sword gripped in her hand, she stiffened. Tilting her head, she sniffed the air. At least he had found her in human form.

Wary of the tension radiating from her, Aimon approached her with slow, measured treads. She did not turn to face him.

“Kathryn.” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to precipitate an uncontrolled shift. “I have spoken with your father.”

She growled and her grip tightened around the sword’s pommel.

He halted and opened his senses. Beneath the heat of her anger was a sorrow so deep it took his breath away. His heart ached for her.

“Kathryn, I do not agree with the decision your father made for you, but it is done. We cannot change it.”

She spun around and leveled the sword at his chest. She was a sight to behold. Her dark auburn hair hung loose and disheveled. Anger burned in hazel eyes puffy and red from crying, her cheeks tear-stained and flushed. It awakened in him conflicting needs to gather her in his arms to comfort her or to kiss her anger into submission.

“My father is not the only one to make decisions on my behalf. You are equally guilty, are you not?”

He inclined his head in agreement. “For your own safety.” Did she know how to wield a sword? Had her father taught her?

She snorted. “Not unlike my father’s reasoning.”

“I suppose it would seem that way to you.” His gaze locked on hers.

“Yes, it does,” she said, pushing the tip of the sword against his armor.

He looked down at the sword, then back at her. “Do you plan on using that? Assuaging your anger at me, and at your father, by taking my life?”

Uncertainty shimmered in her eyes. “Maybe.” She pushed the tip a little harder against his mail, thrust her chin out and glared at him.

Her defiance did nothing to ease the burgeoning constriction of his breeches. With a shifting of weight, he sidestepped the sword, closed the gap between them and disarmed her in seconds. He brought the flat of the blade up against her throat. Kathryn gasped, and his gaze fixed on her pretty, parted lips.

“Be careful picking up a sword, Kathryn. Or any weapon. Make sure you are prepared to use it. If you are not, it will most assuredly be used against you.”

Her pulse throbbed in her neck, and dark shadows flitted in her hazel eyes as her wolf rushed to the surface. But it was not fear he scented. His cock roared to attention, and his own wolf pushed against his mind. Two days away from her had done nothing to quell his desire for her. Rather, the separation had intensified it.

He backed away from her, her body so close to his more dangerous than the sword she had held against his chest. He re-wrapped the weapon in its protective oil cloth and returned it to the shelf. There was nothing he could do about his raging erection.

“I would not know how to use it anyway,” she muttered behind him. “Yet another choice taken from me.”

---