Page 82 of Wolf's Keep
“It hurts. Itburns.” She moaned, twitching in his arms.
Gaharet ached to take away her pain, her fear. “Stay with me,ma petite pouliche.”
Unintelligible words spilled from her mouth. He must get her away from here, take her somewhere safe.
Ulrik uttered a guttural groan, collapsing onto his stomach, his breathing ragged and shallow, struggling to maintain one form or the other.
“Ulrik, can you crawl beyond the wolfsbane?”
Ulrik shook his shaggy wolf’s head, his body shuddering as he partially shifted, his upper torso wolf, his lower half human. His body shifted to human again, and he dragged himself up onto his knees, reaching beneath his armor. He wrenched off his amulet, tossing it at Gaharet’s feet.
“Throw me yours. If they think you are dead, they will stop hunting you.”
He shifted again, his tunic ripping, his hauberk restricting his shoulders. His groan turned into a growl, his jaw shifting, his canine’s extending before his bones slipped back into place and he was human again. He sagged to the ground, his chest heaving with the effort to maintain control.
“All the pack knows of our struggle. If I say I attacked you, they are likely to believe it. Take your mate, hide her and unearth this betrayer.”
With care, Gaharet placed Erin’s shuddering body against a tree and removed his amulet from around his neck. He held it in his hand, staring at the bloodstone. Ulrik had once challenged him for this, and now he was preparing to give it to him. He clutched it tight against his palm. The Ulrik he had once known would never betray them. The Ulrik he had called friend would leap to the aid of a woman without a second thought. Tonight, Ulrik had sacrificed himself for the good of the pack. For him. For Erin. He truly was his friend, as he had once been. Gaharet owed him everything.
He tossed the binding amulet at Ulrik.
Picking up Ulrik’s, he stared at the plain gold piece. Where he once saw a dark red stone, now he saw script. Like the one Erin had found in the underground cell. She would be upset if she knew. He turned to her, slumped against the tree, her dress stained with her blood, her face flushed and tremors racking her body.
Coating his hand in the dead mercenary’s blood, Ulrik smeared it across his mouth and down his throat. His body shifted to wolf and back again. He groaned, clutching at the ground.
“Go, Gaharet. Before it is too late. Take her to the witch in the woods.”
Gaharet nodded. The horses were almost upon them. He doubted the one who betrayed them would be among the riders. No werewolf would willingly come this close to wolfsbane, but Gaharet did not want to take that risk. He wanted to be well down wind to avoid detection.
Slipping the amulet over his head, he scooped up Erin. With one last look at Ulrik collapsed on the ground, his body rippling beneath his mail with another shift, Gaharet left his friend behind and slipped into the trees.
* * * *
Lothair cantered into the clearing with two score of mounted guards at his back, their weapons drawn in expectation of conflict. Behind him rode Archeveque Renaud, flanked by his own men—mercenaries. He reined in his horse and stared at the bloody clearing. He counted. Nine dead mercenaries. And Ulrik Voclain, on his knees, clutching his sword, his head hanging low.
“Well, Renaud,” he said, swinging out of the saddle, striding toward the chevalier. “Your little herb seems to have caught us a werewolf. The wrong one.”
Renaud barked orders and two of his men stepped past him, lifted Ulrik’s head by the hair and kicked his sword out of his grasp as he attempted to swing it. As Lothair stared at the chevalier, contemplating his next move, Ulrik grimaced and his body contorted. Popping and cracking sounds accompanied the sudden appearance of sandy fur across his face. A muzzle formed and Ulrik’s legs shrank, his breeches swamping him. Right before his eyes man became wolf. A very large wolf.
Lothair took a step back. “Now that is something I never thought I would see.”
Renaud came to stand beside him. “Wait until his body is completely human again,” he said to his men. “Then put the silver shackles on him quickly, before he can reach for the amulet.”
No more than a moment passed, and the fur receded, the breeches filling out, and once again a human male knelt before him. One of Renaud’s men snapped a silver manacle around Ulrik’s neck. Ulrik howled and pulled at the shackle with his hands. He hissed as a mercenary clamped shackles around his wrists. They released his hair, and he slumped to the ground. Around the edge of the silver, a redness spread, blisters forming in its wake. Lothair leaned closer to get a better look. Interesting.
“Is silver going to be strong enough to hold him?”
Renaud smirked. “It does not need to be strong, Mon Seigneur Comte. It only needs to be silver. The metal itself will do all the work. He is helpless against it. Voclain could not break it if he tried. He cannot even shift into his wolf form now, even with the wolfsbane affecting him.”
“That is comforting to know. I have never seen a wolf this big. He’s enormous.” He nudged Ulrik with his boot. “Where is Gaharet?”
“Dead.”
Muffled, and muttered into the ground, the word was barely intelligible.
“Really? I see a lot of dead bodies here, but none of them are Gaharet’s. This rabble would have been no challenge for him.” He grasped Ulrik’s hair, jerking him to his knees. “I will ask you again. Where is Gaharet?”
“He is dead.”
