Page 71 of Wolf's Redemption

Gaharet’s expression softened. “We are pack, Ulrik. We are friends. No. More than friends. We are brothers. We will not let you face this alone. Let us help you.”

For so long he had sat on the periphery of the pack—shunned, a pariah. Now, both Gaharet and Aimon were willing to risk their lives, and the lives of their mates, to help him. The enormity of it choked him.

“I would be honored if you would accompany me.”

Gaharet gripped his shoulder. “Welcome back, Ulrik.” He turned to Farren. “Lower the portcullis after we leave. Gascon, send a man to the herbalist in the woods. Due east of Langeais Keep, no more than five leagues. The woman’s name is Constance. Tell her I sent you. Tell her we will need the same brew she gave to Erin during her turning.”

Ulrik raked his hands through his hair, a bitter taste souring the back of his throat. “Rebekah does not wish—”

“She is your mate, Ulrik. Can you tell me you would let her walk away?” There was no judgment in Gaharet’s eyes, only the knowledge of a lived experience. “Let us have the brew now, so we are prepared for any eventuality.” He strode toward the door. “Come, Ulrik. It is a half-day ride to Langeais Keep. Let us go rescue your mate and bring her home.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

The early rays of dawn streaked across the sky as Bek and her captors cantered into a village. Little mud huts gave way to more substantial buildings the closer they came to a tower atop a hill. The Keep. Home to the notorious Count Lothair. Bek had only seen it once. Beneath a red moon. Tainted by her shock at its existence and colored by her experience within its walls, it had appeared monstrous and forbidding. Here, now, it loomed over the village, a menacing presence no less sinister in the cold half-light of the early morning.

Bek shivered, her weary body bruised and her earlobe throbbing dully. She’d forced herself to stay awake, seeking opportunities to escape. Nothing had presented itself. She was right back where she’d started this…Adventure? Nightmare?This time, she had no Ulrik to help her escape.

How she’d feared him in those initial moments. When he’d stalked her in the pitch-black dungeon. How she’d railed at him when he’d thrown her over his shoulder, unwilling to go wherever he’d planned to take her. Now, she’d give her right arm to see his face, to have him come riding up behind them, rescuing her like some fairytale knight in his shining armor.

She choked on a laugh. Ulrik was more rogue than gallant knight. His armor more scarred with use than polished. She liked him like that. Better a battle-experienced warrior than some fancy show-pony. Fairytale knight be damned. Bek wanted Ulrik. But he wasn’t here, and chances were, he wasn’t coming.

You can do this, Bek. You survived Bronzefield Prison. You can survive this.

But Bronzefield had had rules, regular mealtimes and standards that the staff were legally bound to. Sure, it had been no picnic, and things had gone on that weren’t supposed to, but it was a far cry from that hole in the ground. That dark dungeon she was most likely destined for. The keep had no oversight committee, no OHS, no medical and no parole board. Just a count and his whims.

The gate swung open as they approached, and guards rushed over and pulled her from the horse with their rough hands. Despite the early hour, the keep was bustling with activity. Stable hands scurried by and guards strode about with purpose. Some stopped to look at her, their curious stares unnerving. Others ignored her, hurrying about their business.

They dragged her up the hill to the stone fortress, her legs heavy and refusing to cooperate. Her ears rang, her vision blurred and memories assaulted her. The hard stares of the prison officers, the sense of dread as she faced the unknown, the open curiosity, and in some cases, malice that emanated from the other detainees. It all came flooding back. The numbness that had settled over her as they’d fingerprinted her and taken her mugshot threatened to descend. She shook her head and fought it. The guards had not brought her here to serve out a predetermined amount of time. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to get herself out of this. Somehow.

They halted in front of another guard. Words were exchanged, few of which she understood. The new guard ran his fingers through her hair, tilted her chin and turned her face from side to side, as her captors had done. He pushed up her sleeve to reveal her tattoos. He exchanged more words with her guards, then her captors led her into the tower.

She barely had time to take in the stone walls of the dimly lit corridors as they whisked her past servants, along corridors and down several sets of stairs to the bowels of the keep. They stopped in a room she had been in before. A room with a table, a few chairs and the familiar grate covering the hole in the floor.

God, I hate it when I’m right.

More guards joined them and as they settled about the table, someone produced a pair of dice, another a wineskin, and yet another threw a few coins onto the table. One of her captors dipped beneath his armor and held up an item. The amulet glinted gold in the candlelight. He said something, his grin wide and boastful, and tossed it on the table amongst the silver coins. Bek lunged for it, only to be dragged back against her captor and hauled over to the grate.

With a screech of hinges, a guard flung the grate open and shoved her into the hole. It clanged shut, and a key turned in a lock. What little light penetrated from the room above revealed the narrow stairs chiseled out of the rock, disappearing into the dark. This time, she did not have her phone to light up the room. This time, there was no Ulrik to save her.

Bek slumped against the wall. The guard’s laughter filtered down to her, and she eyed the steps as she inched away from the grate. She paused. Had they moved the dead guard? Or had they left him there to rot? She gagged.Nope. Not going down there if I don’t have to.

She settled herself on the steps at the very edge of the darkness and leaned her head against the rough stone wall. Once again, she was on her own. Dependent on no one and free to make her own decisions. Something she’d beensodetermined about and fiercely protective of from the moment she’d stepped out of Bronzefield. Except now, instead of feeling empowered, a hollow emptiness settled behind her sternum and gripped her tight.

She stared down the darkened stairs. Her future had never seemed so bleak.

* * * *

Bek started from her restless doze at the sudden lack of raucous laughter and the scraping of chairs. She eased herself closer to the grate, peering between its bars at the dusty boots surrounding the table. The game of dice had stopped.Why?A voice, deep and authoritative, cut through the silence and a pair of boots scurried toward her. Bek retreated down the steps and into the pitch-black room, her hands following the rough stone to the farthermost wall. All she could smell was damp and mold. Fingers crossed, that meant she wasn’t sharing this space with a corpse. Her pulse racing, she pressed herself into the corner.

Hinges screeched, then soft footfalls descended the stairs, the flickering light of a candle preceding whomever had come to see her. The captain of the guard? The count? As the cheers, the belching, the clatter of dice and the clink of coins had not resumed, she doubted it was someone as mundane as a servant bringing her food and water.

She had a moment to appreciate the confirmation there was no decaying body in the dungeon with her, before polished black boots appeared, followed by muscular calves in fitted black trousers. Her gaze traveled up a knee-length black tunic shot through with gold thread to a jeweled belt cinched across lean hips holding in place a sword. Further still to the embroidered gold dragon spewing fire that flowed across broad shoulders and up around the collar. Bek tensed.The count it is.

Would he be as bad as Erin had made him out to be? Could she eke out some measure of empathy for a woman stranded out of her time? Her hopes died with one look at his face. If this man had ever had a benevolent bone in his body, it was long gone. Handsome in a sharp-edged kind of way, there was a hardness tohis face, to the thin line of his lips, the set of his jaw, and the dark gaze that raked over her, stripping her bare and flaying her soul.

She swallowed—her mouth drier than the Sahara Desert in the middle of a drought. He prowled toward her with the grace and menace of a predator. If Erin hadn’t told her otherwise, Bek would have taken him for a shifter, a werewolf. An alpha at that. Power, confidence and menace rolled off him in waves. He was the type of man she wouldn’t have wanted to meet in a twenty-first century dark alley, let alone in a dark dungeon.Hisdark dungeon. He made Spider look like a toothless tiger. Even Mrs. Wu would cower before this man.

He stopped in front of her, holding the candle aloft, his eyes taking in every inch of her. There was no sexual heat to his gaze, no leer advertising lecherous intent, but Bek shivered all the same. He reached out. Bek flinched, then locked her knees to prevent herself from shrinking away. She’d not let him see her fear.

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