Page 5 of The Wolf and his Witch

“…we would like to know how you plan to send someone back through time.”

The woman barely blinked, masking her thoughts and her emotions. Most people’s bodies would betray them, and Gabriel never had any trouble reading them. No shifter would. But Marjory Jackson gave nothing away.

The spell would have to be here. In this office. She’d want to keep it close. Same with an amulet, if she had one. The bookshelf, perhaps? That was the obvious place. Or on the Christmas tree, hidden in its faux branches. Or boxed up asa present artfully arranged at its base? Could a shiny bauble conceal an amulet within?

“I’ll consider it, depending on how useful you prove to be.”

Gabriel smiled. “That’s all we ask.” He’d break into this office every night he was here, rip that tree and every bauble on it to pieces if he had to. They would have their answer before they were done. “Now,” he rubbed his hands together. “Who’s the lucky witch—or warlock—you plan to send back to the tenth century?”

“Our strongest and most proficient member of our coven.”

Gabriel doubted that, knowing where, and in what condition, his ancestor had found Bella Rodriguez.

Dutton beamed and his chest puffed out. “Well, thank you, High Priestess, for your confidence—”

“My niece. Annabelle.”

What?Annabelle. His Annabelle.Putain. No. She’s the wrong witch. Merde. They had their work cut out for them here.

Dutton gaped at the High Priestess. “But…but…I…” He snapped his mouth shut and glared at Annabelle.

Annabelle smirked. “Like I said before, Dutton, I don’t needyou.”

Marjory turned to her niece, all business. “Annabelle Jackson-Rodriguez, do you consent to undertake this task for the benefit of your coven and all witches, past, present and future?”

Gabriel’s lungs seized as he stared at Annabelle. No, it couldn’t be. She was… But…Annabelle. Jackson. Rodriguez. Bella Rodriguez. It wasn’t possible. He’d thought… With a name like Bella Rodriguez… With the olive skin and dark brown eyes his family were known for, he’d thought… Hell, they’dallthought the American Bella Rodriguez was Hispanic or Latino. Annabelle,his Belle, was blonde and blue-eyed.

Since when had her name been Rodriguez? Or Jackson? She’d told him her name was Annabelle Newman. She’dliedto him.

You lied to her, too.

He had, but…Merde,what sort of excuse for a shifter was he that he’d failed to scent her lie?He was head of pack security, for fuck’s sake. But he’d been so caught up in her, in that sexy smile, in her determined independence, that he’d missed it. His nose had let him down. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find her. How many months had Pierre and Louis wasted trying to track an American woman named Annabelle Newman for him? He’d never live it down if his brother’s found out the truth.

Annabelle squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Yes, High Priestess, I do. Thank you for believing in me.”

“Well, then, it’s settled.” Marjory clapped her hands together. “Time to get to work. We have history to change.”

Chapter Three

“Annabelle, wait.”

Annabelle ignored Gabriel. Yes, they had to work together, but right now she needed a little fresh air. A moment to think. She was taking a trip back in time to the tenth century—Ugh! No toilets, no coffee, no equality for women—Dutton had bypassed her refusals and gone straight to the High Priestess requesting—no, probably demanding—her hand in marriage, and Gabriel was here, reigniting the passion she’d thought she’d laid to rest. No, not dead, just buried. And not deep enough, if the dampness of her panties and the rub of her clothes against her peaked nipples was anything to go by.

She stomped her way down the hall.Merry fucking Christmas to me.

“Sending a woman back to that barbaric time is a mistake,” grumbled Dutton as he kept pace with her. “It should be a man. It should be—”

Annabelle stopped and spun on Dutton. “It should be you? Newsflash, dude, it’s the twenty-first century. It’s politically incorrect and downright misogynistic to think a woman couldn’t do this job as well as, if not better than, a man. Especially whenyou’rethat man.” She sneered up at him. “You may think you’re the bee’s knees, Dutton, but you’re going down that road alone.” She raked her gaze over his sweater to the reindeer in the center, where its red pompom nose bobbled about. “Really, Dutton? A Rudolph sweater? Could you possibly be any more of an embarrassment to the coven?”

As handsome as he was, Dutton was no Mark Darcy. Not to Annabelle. No matter what he wore. Everything about Dutton made her skin itch.

Dutton ran his hand over the woolen Rudolph. “My great aunt knitted it for me. The woman is in her eighties. There are very few pleasures left in her life. Wearing it is the least I could do.”

If Dutton was trying to make her feel bad, he’d failed. His great aunt was no sweet, doddering old lady who spent her days knitting by the fireplace and giving sweets to her grandchildren any more than the High Priestess was. She was a wizened old crone who ruled the King clan with an iron fist and a wicked tongue. Her idea of pleasure was making everyone in a fifty-mile radius jump to do her bidding and raining down hellfire on them when they didn’t move fast enough. If Dutton himself wasn’t reason enough not marry into the King clan, Cordelia King certainly was.

Gabriel and Stefanie exited her great aunt’s study. They paused, and Gabriel said something to Stefanie she couldn’t hear, something that made Stefanie frown and her body stiffen. What Annabelle wouldn’t give for shifter hearing right about now.

Then Stefanie retreated into the High Priestess’ office and Gabriel walked toward her.Nope.She was not ready for that conversation. Not yet. She turned and headed for the front door, desperate to get away and to clear her head.

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