Page 69 of Wolf's Prize

“Aimon? Is everything all right?”

He forced his wolf down and regained control of his horse. “All is well, Kathryn.” He would not worry her with his concerns.

When they broke from the forest, he urged his horse into a canter, knowing she would be sure to follow his lead. Kathryn pulled abreast of him, an eager smile lighting up her face and her eyes full of challenge. Loosening his reins, he gave his horse his head. Laughing, she did the same, and they raced across the meadow. He let her pass him. Her face flushed and her glorious dark copper hair streaming behind her, she was magnificent in her abandon. His heart beat in time with his mount’s pounding hooves. He would not be the only one enamored with her.

Out here, away from the concerns of the world and the pack, he could well imagine Kathryn choosing him, being his. But they could not stay this way forever. With reluctance, he steered his horse along the forest trail and guided her back to the keep.

Crossing the bailey, they dismounted and handed their reins to a waiting Henri.

“Thank you for today, Aimon. For the ride and for taking me to see—”

He touched his finger to her lips, cutting off her words. Her pupils dilated, and she leaned into him, the scent of her arousal swirling around them. At her response, his mood lightened. If her reaction was anything to go by, she felt the pull as strongly as he did. Maybe that would be enough.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, and he meant it. Making her happy, seeing her smile at him, drove him to give her whatever she asked for. Right now, with her head tilted back and her lips moist and parted, she was asking to be kissed. He leaned down.

“Hmm, hmm.”

His nostrils flared, and his wolf snarled, but he pulled away. Anne raised her eyebrows, daring him to challenge her. Aimon scowled and stepped away from Kathryn.

“Come, come, child. I have a lovely hot bath prepared for you to ease the soreness after your ride today.”

As she entered the keep, Kathryn looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. Aimon raked his gaze over her, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Kathryn’s scent deepened, and her eyes glazed over. His wolf howled, triumphant. She would welcome him into her bedchamber again. Anne had won for now, but Aimon would have Kathryn tonight. Again and again and again. Satisfied with that knowledge, Aimon entered the keep.

* * * *

The evening meal was interminable. With Kathryn sitting opposite him, sneaking heated glances his way from beneath her lashes, Aimon struggled to pay attention to the surrounding conversation. How could he sit still and eat when what he hungered for sat across the table from him? Her eyes danced with mirth at a comment from the grizzled farmer, Brenton. Her brow furrowed at a grumble from grumpy, old Tumas. When Brenton touched her hand in conversation, it took every ounce of control he had not to launch himself across the table at the old man.

He wanted to sequester her in her bedchamber, kiss every freckle on her nose, nibble at the base of her throat and taste every inch of her, especially the sweet essence between her thighs. Its scent teased his nostrils. He could barely contain himself from dragging her from the hall—to hell with decorum.Will this damn meal never end?

As the food dwindled and wine jugs emptied, servants bid their farewells, and the kitchen staff cleared the table. Kathryn begged tiredness, throwing a heated glance in his direction as she left the hall. He waited several tense moments, then rose with plans to follow her.

Farren refilled his goblet, and Aimon’s, with wine. “Stay a moment, Aimon.”

Aimon sank back into his seat. His gaze darted to the doorway of the hall, where Kathryn had disappeared. Did Farren intuit what was happening between him and his daughter? What had happened already? Had Farren been quieter, more somber during the meal? Aimon cursed his inattention. He opened his senses and reached out to Farren. He picked up a confusing mix of anger, bitterness and vulnerability from him.

Farren tapped his fingers on the table and twirled his goblet. Aimon waited.

“I am sure Kathryn has plied you with many a question about…about werewolves, but I have a few things I must put to rest myself. If you do not mind.”

Uncertainty settled in his gut, and Aimon resisted the lingering scent of Kathryn that teased at him. “Of course.”

“Perhaps I should have asked you before now, maybe directed my concerns to Jacques while he still lived…” Farren’s voice trailed off, and he stared at his wine goblet.

Aimon schooled his breathing and focused on keeping his body, and his mind, on the conversation. Farren took a long sip of wine, then set the goblet down with deliberate slowness. Aimon resisted the urge to shift in his seat.

“You said they turned you. That you were not born a werewolf.”

“Yes.”

Farren’s eyes searched his. “You do not mind being a werewolf?”

“No.”

“You are not angry Gaharet turned you into something…not human?”

Aimon met Farren’s gaze. “It is a better alternative than being dead, which is what I would have been had Gaharet not intervened.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose it would be.” Farren took another slow sip of wine.

---