Page 42 of The Wolf and his Witch

Better yet, Annabelle didn’t sense any magic. Cordelia’s wards were strong. She’d expected Annabelle to use her magic to tryto break the wards to escape. It had never occurred to her Annabelle might simply use her brain.

* * * *

On all four paws, Gabriel surveyed the run-down building nestled in the forest outside Fairfax. Roof shingles hung askew, some looking as though a slight breeze was all it would take to dislodge them. A tattered curtain poked out through a hole in a broken window. The porch railing bowed at one end, and half of the first step leading to the front door had rotted away. Two brick chimneys bookended the building—one covered in moss and vines but intact, the other crumbling. And parked in front of the cabin was the white van he’d followed from the accident scene.

Gabriel skirted the cabin, keeping within the camouflage of the trees. Only one door, but four…no…five windows. The cabin had a basement. That would be where Dutton had Annabelle. He edged closer to the grimy window and the hackles on the back of his neck prickled. A ward. He took cautious steps forward. The sensation of being repulsed grew. This ward was stronger than the one Annabelle had placed on the grimoire. Would Annabelle be able to break it? Would she be in any condition to try?

He opened all of his senses, searching for a trace of Annabelle. Nothing. As though the ward not only physically kept a person in, but also all sound and all scent of them, too. Or did it? His eyes narrowed on a row of freshly planted flowers along the back wall of the cabin. He snarled. Wolfsbane. Of course thefuckingFaucherians were using wolfsbane.

If he somehow managed to get past the ward, the wolfsbane was meant to be his undoing. Looked like the Faucherians hadn’t figured out the importance of their wrist cuffs. One point for team Langeais wolves. But it did confirm one thing.Something important was in that basement. Something they didn’t want him to get to. He’d bet his life on it, it was Annabelle.

Gabriel slunk back to the front of the building. He sniffed around the vehicle, careful to stay in the shadows and out of view from the windows. The scar-faced man, a man he knew as Gerard Boucher, was no fool. He picked up the scents of four men and Annabelle. Dutton, Boucher, and two others—friends of Dutton’s or Boucher’s, he couldn’t tell.

He couldn’t believe the Faucherians were here. With Dutton. They followed the writings of Eveque Faucher and hunted all things supernatural, witches included. It made no sense they’d be working with the Kings. This was all aimed at the Langeais wolves. It had to be. That two of their enemies—the Faucherians and a time-traveling witch—had created an alliance did not bode well.

Faucherians—what a stupid fucking name. Despite that, experience had taught Gabriel those who subscribed to Faucher’s zealot ideals, men like Boucher, weren’t stupid, and they were well trained. It was the only thing that had kept Boucher alive, though he bore the scars of their last encounter. This time, Gabriel wouldn’t settle for wounding him. Boucher was involved in Annabelle’s kidnapping. Gabriel was going to end him.

Nose to the ground, he circled the building again, venturing as close as he could using the van to shield him from sight of the windows.There. Another scent. Days old, but no less potent, the musty scent of age mingled with that of a female. He sniffed at the trace again. Beneath her scent, the taint of decay and… Could evil have a smell? If it did, Gabriel suspected this was it. There was a malignancy to it, the smell of cancerous rot, not of the body, but of the soul. Jealousy, cunning, rage and deceit all rolled into one. This must be Cordelia King. The wards were of her making.

His heartbeat set up a staccato rhythm in his chest. In all his years as the front line of security for the Langeais wolves, he had never felt the like of it. He was afraid. Not for himself, but for Annabelle. For his mate. He wanted to leap up the steps, take on the men inside and tear out their throats. Go in and scoop up his Annabelle before any more harm could come to her.Now.

He dug his claws into the earth and forced himself to retreat into the shadows of the forest. Nothing would be served by rushing in. He couldn’t risk trying to take down four men at once. Not when at least one of them was a highly trained killer, and another capable of magic. Stef was coming, and she wouldn’t be alone. He needed the expertise of the coven to break down the wards. It couldn’t be too long now before she found the abandoned vehicle with his phone and his clothes inside. She would know what it meant. She would track him here.

Hang on, Belle. I’m coming.

Chapter Nineteen

Another brick dropped with a soft thud to the earth outside, and a whisper of breeze floated the scent of the forest through the hole she’d made. Annabelle paused, listening for any sound, any movement—a door opening, a footstep on the stairs. Nothing. Good. The hole looked big enough to squeeze through.

Dutton had her blood. The thought kept reverberating in her brain. Once Cordelia arrived, Annabelle’s time would be up. Cordelia would perform the spell, and Annabelle would become nothing more than a puppet, a human shell with no one home inside. They could make her do whatever they wanted, tell them whatever they wanted. Then they’d have her and the grimoire.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Annabelle, gritting her teeth against the pain in her right shoulder, pushed up on her toes and pulled her body up to the hole in the brick chimney, forcing her head and torso through. Cordelia, Dutton and Scarface—they were going to pay for what they’d done to Gabriel. She wasn’t the only person for whom Christmas would forever be painful. She’d make sure of it.

Her hips scraped against the brittle edges of the bricks, but she didn’t stop, and with a few mental curses and some determined wriggling, she pushed through and fell to the ground. She grunted, muzzling her cry as her throbbing shoulder hit the dirt.

Fuck.

She lay there for a few moments, blinking back tears. The earthy scent of the forest filled her lungs and she breathed it in, the pain in her shoulder settling back to a dull throb.

A car engine…no…several car engines roared up the gravel road. Cordelia? Already?Shit, shit, shit.

Annabelle stumbled to her feet, flattened herself against the rough timber of the cabin and inched her way forward. Taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner. Her mouth dropped open. Four familiar cars pulled up in a scattering of gravel, and out poured members of her coven—Isobella, Aunt Marjory, her mom and her stepdad, Emmanuel, Roger, the Milners and the Tisdales. The cavalry had come. How had they known where to find her?

A big black wolf with green eyes leaped out of the first car, its hackles standing on end and its lips curled back in a snarl revealing vicious-looking canines.

Stefanie?

Holy crap. The woman…wolf…washuge.

The front door banged against the side of the cabin, flung open from inside, and Annabelle pulled her head back. The porch creaked. Annabelle risked another peek. Scarface, with a mean looking sawn-off shotgun in his hands, walked to the edge of the rickety porch.

Aunt Marjory stepped forward, no hint of fear on her face. “Release my niece.”

Annabelle grinned. Oh, yeah. Her great aunt was a badass in high heels and designer suits.

“Or?” sneered Scarface.

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