Page 11 of Wolf's Keep

He shivered—the feel of her was still imprinted on his mind if not his body. His beast had stirred, a restlessness taking hold deep within his psyche. His vision had shifted, and his control hanging only by slender threads, threatened to snap at any moment. Not since childhood, as an unpracticed youth, had his darker half pushed for the change, uncalled for, unbidden. She excited him in a way no other woman ever had.

He gathered his wits and ignored the demands of his body, much to its annoyance. There would be time enough for passion as soon as he knew who she was, where she had found the amulet and how she had known how to use it. She was not one of them. That he knew for certain. Even if everything else about her presented a disturbing conundrum. He would find out who she was soon enough. She would remain at his keep until he had his answers.

He looked down at her unconscious form, her lips slightly parted and her breathing soft but steady. His body agreed wholeheartedly with his plan. It would get no satisfaction tonight, but it could live in hope, and with her in his keep, it would have plenty of chances for success.

Even if Renaud has paid her, or Lothair?

A sacrificial lamb sent by his enemies to tempt him, she may be, but Gaharet would not ignore an opportunity, especially not one as compelling as the woman in his arms.

Shifting her weight, he entered his keep via the kitchen, the wide girth of his cook, Anne, standing by the stove stirring the contents of an enormous pot.

“Do you need any help there, lad?” she asked.

“Not tonight, Anne. Perhaps tomorrow. Can you alert Gascon that we have an unexpected visitor, and she is not to leave? Not without my direct orders. Understood?”

Eyeing the woman in his arms, Anne raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, lad,” she said, returning to her cooking.

Climbing the back stairs to a chamber down the corridor from his own, he kicked the door open, crossed to the bed and laid her down on the cool linens. It took all his willpower not to strip off her dusty clothes. If he did, he would not wish to leave the room, so he contented himself with removing her boots and stockings before pulling the covers over her. Best to hide temptation before he changed his mind and tempt him she did. A lot. But he needed answers first. Then he could better assess the risk.

Leaning over her sleeping form, unable to resist, he gently wiped the smudge of dirt from her nose with his thumb, his fingers lingering in a caress against her cheek. Such soft skin, so beautiful. He brushed her hair from her face, letting the strands glide against his fingers. Could she be a sign their luck was turning? He hoped so. After the hardships of recent months, it was about bloody time.

Leaving the room in darkness, he slipped out of the door, closing it behind him, her boots and socks in one hand, the amulet in the other. She would not get far barefoot. At least not far enough he could not hunt her down. He had her scent now and could track her should she run. He exhaled a long, slow breath. It would also drive him crazy. He palmed himself, trying to ease some of his discomfort.

Perhaps shewouldrun. He grinned at the thought, growling low in his throat. Perhaps he should have let her run tonight. The thought of it made him hard, compounding the pain in his poor throbbing groin and he grimaced. With gritted teeth, he moved down the corridor to spend the rest of the night in his bedchamber. Alone.

Chapter Five

“Is it Renaud or not?” asked Edmond, voicing what Gaharet suspected they all wanted to know.

Once again, his men sat at his table, the fire lit, food and wine before them. Outside, a storm raged, but here within the solid walls of his keep his own tumultuous thoughts deafened him. Briefing his men would do little to calm his mind, but perhaps telling them what transpired between him, Archeveque Renaud and Comte Lothair, and observing their reactions, would provide some answers. He would keep to himself Renaud’s knowledge of the amulets and Gaharet’s belief one of their own had betrayed them.

One of these men, sitting at his table, eating his food and drinking his wine had sold them out and for what? Money? Power? Or did Renaud hold something over them? If so, why had they not come to him? Why had they betrayed them all? God help them when he discovered who. Unlike he had with Ulrik, he would not give them a second chance.

“It is Renaud,” said Gaharet. “He was imparting knowledge of our existence to Lothair when I arrived at Langeais Keep. Does Lothair believe him? Unfortunately, yes. He does not trust Renaud, but he knows he would not try to spin him fanciful tales.”

A murmur rumbled about the room, a shuffling of weight, and Gaharet eyed each one searching for a hint, a look, an expression, a racing pulse, any indication they were not true, that they were not as disturbed about this as he. He detected nothing.

“So Lothair knows we exist. Did Renaud explain how he fills his spare time killing us off?” Ulrik raised his eyebrows, casting a doubtful glance at him. “I bet not.”

“Not surprisingly, Renaud left that part out. Lothair would not be happy if he knew Renaud has killed his chevaliers and their families without sanction, werewolves or not.”

Godfrey leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “But does he have names? Can he expose us to Lothair?”

Gaharet sighed. “None of you have been named as far as I am aware.”

“But you have?”

At Aimon’s question, six shrewd gazes focused on him.

Gaharet shrugged. “Not in so many words, but Renaud gave him enough that he suspects.”

“Then you must leave. Protect yourself.”

Gaharet understood Aimon’s concern, but the wellbeing of the whole pack was his responsibility. They would expect nothing less from him. He would expect nothing less from himself. His own fears, his own desires, were irrelevant.

An image of the woman upstairs strode defiantly into his mind, and he inhaled a slow, steady breath. Now there was a desire he could focus on with enthusiasm. Who was she? Where had she come from? Could he take her as his wife?

He frowned. Now was not the time to be thinking about her. He had already spent many an hour doing just that. Many an uncomfortable hour. His attention needed to be here, in this room, on these men—on determining which one he could no longer trust.

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