Page 41 of Wolf's Redemption

He cupped her face in his hands. “Believe me when I tell you, we must move now. Trust me, Rebekah.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Okay, fine, but I’m not a sack of potatoes. I can walk.”

He grimaced, but dropped his hands to clasp her arm, tugging her along through the forest as fast as she could go. If he’d thought she would go quietly across his shoulder, he would have given her no option.

He eyed the darkened sky. More heavy raindrops fell as the heavens opened, dousing the landscape in water. His torn and sodden tunic whipped about in the bitter wind and the rain soon plastered his hair to his skull. He released her and spun around, his arms out and his head thrown back to the sky, laughing into the stinging rain. Any trace of their scent was now gone. All he had to do was stay ahead of them and get lost in the storm.

Rebekah stared at him. “Trust him, he says. We have to movenow. They’ve found us. Then he stops to dance in the rain. The guy’s not right in the head.”

He laughed at her muttered words and grabbed hold of her hand. “Come, Rebekah. The rain has washed away our scent, but we must keep ahead of them lest they stumble across us by chance.”

Ulrik forced her on through the rain-drenched forest, league after league, lightning slashing across the sky and the roll of thunder reverberating through the trees. He pushed against the wind, avoiding falling branches, each squelching, muddy step hard won. He dodged a falling limb, pulling Rebekah out of harm’s way and clutching her to his side. She pressed her face against his chest, her woolen dress sodden and her body shivering. He pulled his surcoat from the sack and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Let me carry you,” he shouted over the driving rain.

She shook her head. “No!”

L’enfer.Stubborn woman.

She pushed out of his arms, took a few more steps and slipped, falling to her hands and knees in the mud. Ulrik cursed.

Before she could get to her feet, he scooped her up and cradled her in his arms. “Hold on, Rebekah. We are almost there.”I hope.

This time, she did not fight him. Tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his neck, she let him carry her through the rain.

* * * *

The sight of the small hut huddling in the sheltered clearing, smoke curling from its thatched roof, nearly brought Ulrik to his knees. The rain had been a boon, but also a hindrance. He had worried he might not be able to locate it. With Rebekah shivering and pale, he had more than one reason to find it.

The door swung open and a glow from the fire inside illuminated the woman standing in the doorway. She beckoned them in, closing the door behind them, shutting out the bitter wind and muffling the sound of the rain. The room was small but cozy, with herbs hanging along the walls and crystals and jars of powder lining the shelves. Faint, but discernable to his sensitive nose, was the lingering scent of his alpha and his alpha’s mate. It was all the confirmation Ulrik needed. He had found the right place.

“I am Ulrik. This is Rebekah.”

“I am Constance.”

She smiled, and Ulrik stared. The pretty young woman with the unusual eyes was not at all what he had expected.

“Put her over there.” Constance directed him to a small cot on the far wall, and Ulrik eased Rebekah down. He raised an eyebrow at the pile of women’s clothing laid out.

The witch met his gaze. “Your arrival is not unexpected.”

Gaharet.“Erin? Did she…”

What state would Gaharet be in if Erin had died?

“Survive the turning? Yes.”

A hint of sadness hung over Constance, teasing at Ulrik’s nostrils. Perhaps Erin’s determination to leave had resulted in success. And what did this witch know of the turning? Of them? Had Gaharet confided in her?

“She is well? They are well? Does Erin remain with Gaharet?”

Rebekah groaned and curled in on herself, her body wracked with shivers. He gently brushed a strand of wet hair from her face. She barely registered his touch. It would surprise him if she had caught the witch’s words. He did not believe she spoke his language. That was a good thing. Some secrets were not meant to be shared.

“Yes.” Again, the hint of Constance’s sadness teased him. Ulrik frowned. Not sadness for Erin and Gaharet then. He brought his wolf forward, reaching out with his senses. A soul-deep loneliness wafted off her in thick waves. No. The sorrow was the woman’s own. He reached out a hand to offer what little comfort he could.

“Go,” she said, jerking her head toward the door. “Make sure we are safe. That the other two wolves have not followed you here. I will tend to your mate.”

Ulrik shook his head. “She is not…”

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