Page 46 of Wolf's Redemption

Each afternoon Ulrik would call a halt, and he would slip into the forest to scout ahead, to ensure they were not being tracked and to hunt. He would light a small fire and a meal before night descended, then they would curl up together on his surcoat. By dawn, they would once again be on the move. His days were filled with her chatter, her attempts at Franceis as he set about teaching her his language, her observations about his world and, surprisingly, his laughter. His nights, as she snuggled in his arms for warmth, were filled with longing and a persistent throbbing in his groin.

Ulrik’s hand strayed to the small, wrapped bundle secured in his scabbard. A tiny rod of silver with a ball on each end enfolded in a strip of his tunic. Giving his thanks to Constance, he had spied it on the table beside Rebekah’s mug. The silver had burned his fingers as he had picked it up. Was this the tongue ring she had spoken of? He believed so. Knowing she hadremoved it, and what it meant that she had, did little to ease the constant tightness in his breeches.

Yet, she had not asked, and he would not break his vow to her. In truth, it was for the best. For if he had the chance to bury himself in her, he would not want to stop. Not for anything. With the keep guard and his own pack searching for him, they did not have that luxury. Not yet.

He paused. A splash of water tumbling over rocks told him they were close.

Rebekah turned to him, concern in her eyes. “Why have you stopped?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Well, you’re doing that stillness thing again. You know, where you just kind of freeze as though you hear something, and you’re waiting to hear it again. Whenever you do that, I keep expecting a wolf or wild boar or something to come crashing through the trees. Or some of those keep guard.”

Ulrik regarded her, his body tense.

“And you tilt your head, too, and sniff the air. Is that something they teach you in chevalier school or is it a tenth-century woodsman skill thing?” She scrunched up her nose. “Does it help at all? Because I tried it, and I still couldn’t hear or smell anything different.”

Lord, the woman was sharp. In mere days, she had noticed things other chevaliers had missed, or simply ignored, though he had spent most of his life amongst them. Given time, would she unravel the secret of his true nature?

“We are close.”

“We are?” She scanned the forest. “There’s nothing here. Just more forest. No village or castle. Obviously, your lord can’t go back to his own castle, but don’t people, wealthy people, seek refuge with friends? Other rich and titled folks?” She lookedaround her. “I can’t imagine a lord and his wife, all decked out in their fancy clothes, sleeping on the forest floor.”

A scent carried on the air, and Ulrik’s nostrils flared.

He pressed a finger to his lips, motioning her to be quiet. She froze, poised to run. Ulrik tilted his nose to the air. Rebekah raised her eyebrows and pointed her finger at him. Yes, he was proving her observations right, but there was no help for it. He breathed in deeply, searching for the scent again. There. Aimon. And ashe-wolf?Not Erin. Had Aimon turned a woman in his absence? Taken a mate. For there were no she-wolves left. Renaud had killed them all.

With Aimon and the she-wolf standing between them and their objective, there was no way for Ulrik to get past Aimon save going some distance out of their way. Even so, a slight shift in the breeze and Aimon would know of their presence. Constance had told him Aimon could be trusted, but could he trust the witch? She had not betrayed Gaharet, and had given them shelter from the storm and his enemies. He pushed forward, with Rebekah close behind him.

He trudged through the trees, down an embankment, and followed the trickling creek as it wound through the forest until they reached a sheltered, clear pool bordered by moss-covered rocks. Muted sunlight filtered through the canopy, giving the water an orange glow. At one end, water spilled from a rocky outcrop, creating a small waterfall that splashed into the pool.

“It’s beau—”

Rebekah gripped his arm. She had spotted them. Two wolves. Across the pond. One white, and one a dark coppery red. Aimon and the unknown she-wolf.

“Ulrik.”

Her voice wavered and she edged closer to him. He tucked her behind him. No matter Constance’s assurances, Ulrik was taking no chances.

“Is that an…Arctic wolf?” Her words were a whisper of breath as she peered around him. “And the red one… I didn’t know wolves came in that shade of red.”

He dared not take his gaze off Aimon to look at her.

“Wow. They’re so beautiful, so… I never thought I’d say this, but… You’re not going to kill them, are you?”

Aimon settled into a crouch, curled his lips in a snarl and laid his ears flat against his head, his hackles bristling, guarding the she-wolf. His mate. Their scent did not lie. Aimon had mated, and he would protect the she-wolf. He would die for her if need be.

Ulrik held up his hands, keeping them away from his sword, but he called his wolf close. He stayed still, meeting Aimon’s blue-eyed stare. Not in challenge, but he would not cower. He would protect Rebekah as Aimon did the red she-wolf.

The air bristled with the threat of violence as neither he nor Aimon moved. Then the white wolf dropped his snarl and shook his big head, raised his muzzle to the sky and howled. Then, keeping his body between them and his mate, he nudged her away from the pond. With one last look over his shoulder, Aimon herded the she-wolf away, and they disappeared into the trees.

Ulrik let the tension drain from his body. Gaharet now knew of his arrival.

“Phew.” Rebekah stepped out from behind him. “That was a little freaky. For a moment there, I thought he might attack us.”

Ulrik brushed a strand of green-streaked hair from Rebekah’s face and smiled. “He would not have attacked us. Not unless I gave him cause.”

“But…”

---