Page 79 of Wolf's Redemption

Aimon nodded, encircling Rebekah’s waist with his arm. Though it burned to see another male, even a mated one, with his arms around his mate, he repressed his need to go to her. To rip her out of Aimon’s arms. He had to let her go.

Certain Aimon had Rebekah safe, her foul curses ringing in his ears, he stopped struggling. He had made his choice.

Lothair raised an eyebrow at a particularly foul shriek from Rebekah involving a man’s anatomy. “She is feisty.” Lothair crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I will—”

Ulrik brought the beast as close to the surface as he could without shifting. “You will never touch her. She leaves with Aimon.”

Lothair studied him, his eyes narrowed. “And you will give me what I want?”

Ulrik snarled at Lothair, revealing a canine sliding into place. Lothair held his ground. His comte must have pure steel flowing through his veins.

“I always get what I want, Ulrik.” Lothair’s smile was smug. “One way or another.”

A door slammed behind them. The crowd gasped, and the guards drew their swords.

“Gaharet? You are…alive?”

The choked words had come from behind him. From Lance.

With studied calm, Lothair faced the intrusion. “Gaharet, what a surprise.”

The slide of steel against his scabbard rang loud in the sudden silence as Lothair drew his weapon.

Gaharet, his bloodied sword held nonchalantly by his side, prowled into the hall. “You wanted to talk, Lothair. Here I am.”

Ulrik tensed. What was Gaharet doing?

Lothair eyed the packed hall. “Then we shall talk.” Lothair motioned to his guards. “Get them all out. And once you are done, leave.”

“But Mon Seigneur—” Lothair’s snarl cut off the capitaine and he gulped. “Of course, Mon Seigneur Comte. As you command.”

With a wary eye on Gaharet, he began issuing orders to clear the hall. The guards started to drag Ulrik away.

“Not him. He stays.” Lothair waved his sword at Rebekah. “And so does she.”

Ulrik struggled against the guards. “No. She leaves with Aimon.”

Lothair gave him a look that could have cowed an army. “You are in no position to make demands, Voclain. She. Stays.”

As soon as the two guards released him, he had Rebekah in his arms. He rested his cheek on her head, breathing in her scent. He had thought he would never have this again. And while it may only be for this moment, he would take it.

A sword pointed at his throat snapped his head up. Lothair. His comte grabbed a startled Rebekah by the arm, and Ulrik had no choice but to let her go.

“The rest of you”—Lothair swung his gaze to Aimon, Edmond, Aubert and Lance—“leave. Now.”

They stood their ground.

Lothair glared at them. “You would dare defy me?”

They stood resolute, looking to Gaharet.

Lothair’s jaw tightened and the cords on his neck stood out. “Do not look to him. I am your comte. You obeyme!”

Gaharet inclined his head. “Go.”

The twins turned and followed the crowd. Lance hesitated, the older chevalier’s lips pinched and white, concern etched across his weary face. Then he, too, slunk away. Aimon, his shoulders slumped, was the last to leave. He had done his best. It was Ulrik who had failed to keep Rebekah safe, not Aimon.

The last of the guards filed out of the hall, and the large double doors swung shut, leaving the large room empty but for the four of them. Ulrik hoped his alpha knew what he was doing.

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