Page 8 of The Wolf and his Witch

He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

His cock didn’t agree. It pressed up against his zipper, throbbing in tandem with his balls. He took a deep breath, willing it to calm down. He couldn’t very well step out into the hall and front up to the High Priestess with a raging erection.

The door to the bathroom swung open and Stef leaned against the door frame, her arms folded across her chest. “Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did?”

He rubbed his hand across his chin. “Nope.”

“Oh, please. I can smell her on you, and I could hear you.”

“I didn’t fuck her, Stef. I wanted to, and she wanted me to, no matter what she might say, but I didn’t.” He clocked her skeptical expression, and waved his hand in front of his groin. “You think I’d still be in this condition if I had?”

Stef blew out a breath. “So, want to fill me in? Before this becomes a complete mess and the High Priestess sends us packing.”

“Annabelle and I have history.”

Stef chortled. “Big surprise there.” She tilted her head and regarded him with those piercing green eyes of hers.“This must be difficult for you, finding out you’ve slept with your ancestor.”

He shook his head. “She’s not. She can’t be. Look at her, Stef. She’s blonde and…and…Caucasian.”

Stef shrugged. “We wouldn’t be the first to make assumptions based on racial stereotypes. There could be any number of explanations for your features. One of your more recent ancestors may have been Spanish. Any one of them in the last thousand years, really, when you think about it.”

“That’s possible, I suppose, but…”

“Bella Rodriguez. AnnabelleJackson-Rodriguez.It seems pretty conclusive to me.” She slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Come on, Gabriel. We’re werewolves. More than most, we should know better than to judge someone by their appearance.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oui.I know, but…She can’t be my tenth-century ancestors’ mate. Edmond and Aubert can’t have her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’smine.”

Stef pushed off from the door frame. “Are you sure?”

Washe sure? Yes. He recognized the signs. The way he growled at Dutton when the warlock had staked his claim. Even in Paris, he’d known. When he’d touched her, and his body had shot to attention in a heartbeat. The way his cock no longer responded to any other woman but her, no matter how often he’d tried. He’d given up in the end and,putain, he was tired of using his own hand. Three long years of celibacy had sucked. If that didn’t tell him she was his mate… “Oui.”

“Well then, this is going to be interesting.”

“Oui.”He adjusted himself in his jeans. “Can you liaise with the High Priestess? We need to set up a meeting with Annabelle, and at least appear to be coaching her for her trip back in time. See if you can find out anything about other coven members. Maybe suggest we need a standby, a back-up plan, should something happen to Annabelle. With any luck, she’ll suggest the right Bella and not thatconnard, Dutton.”

She shrugged. “Okay, but you know, if thereisno other Bella,she has to go. If she doesn’t, you won’t exist.”

“There has to be another Bella.” He pulled out his phone, searched his contacts and hit dial when he found the one he was looking for. “I’ll see if Pierre and Louis have finished their deep dive into the coven. Maybe they’ll have something.”

“Good luck.” Stef retreated to the High Priestess’ office.

Therehadto be another Bella. All the Montagnes in a long line of Montagnes had dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin. They’d believed they’d gotten it from Bella Rodriguez. Racial stereotypes aside, with a name like that, what they knew about her, and their appearance, it wasn’t a big leap to assume she was Hispanic or Latino. Had they got it wrong?

Stef was right. It could have come from any ancestor between then and now. Knowing of Bella, they’d looked no deeper into the Montagne family tree.Putain.What if the woman he knew as Annabelle Newman, blonde-haired and blue-eyed,wasthe woman who was supposed to go back in time? His gut clenched and a hand fisted around his heart.

No. She’s mine. I’m sure of it.

Merde.Why the hell couldn’t his ancestors have been more like Stef’s? It was the d’Louncrais journal that had warned them about Erin Richardson, the archaeologist who disappeared on a dig site in Langeais in 2016, only to turn up in the tenth century as the mate of Gaharet d’Louncrais. Apparently, Stef had inherited her green eyes. Next had come Rebekah Clarke, a bartender from London who’d disappeared one rainy night in two thousand and twenty-two. She’d mated Ulrik Voclain.

Then there was Bella Rodriguez—a witch from the United States. She’d traveled back to the tenth century some time in 2024 and mated his ancestors, twins Edmond and Aubert Montagne. Though the journal had mentioned Rebekah and Bella, the only one with any detail, any description, had been Erin.

The ringing stopped, and the phone clicked.Finally.

“Pierre—”

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