Page 83 of Wolf's Keep

Louder and clearer this time.

Ulrik chuckled. “I killed him. I finally bested him. It has only taken me a decade.” Groaning, his shoulders slumped.

Renaud stepped closer. “I have been told Voclain once challenged d’Louncrais for the leadership of the pack. He failed the first time, but… D’Louncraiswasvulnerable with the woman. I believe they fight in their other form, try to rip each other’s throats out. Barbaric.”

Leaning forward, Renaud pulled open Ulrik’s torn tunic, pushing the shackle out of the way to reveal scars lacerated across his throat.

Ulrik hissed, silver touching a fresh patch of skin, then he spat at them, a mixture of blood and saliva.

“Charming.” Lothair stepped back, studying the chevalier—the blood around his mouth and the scars on his throat. He snapped the amulet from around Ulrik’s neck. Letting Ulrik go, he held it up. “I finally get to see one of these things.”

Renaud’s eyes lit up. “Thatis no ordinary amulet. Interesting. The inscription they recite mentions a bloodstone. This must be it.” Renaud’s eyes narrowed. “I imagine such an amulet would only be in the hands of the alpha. It appears Voclain is telling the truth. D’Louncraisisdead.”

Lothair’s gaze narrowed at Renaud’s satisfied smirk.

“Very well, then. If we have the new alpha, let us get him back to the keep.”

He beckoned two of his keep guard, who stepped in, lifting Ulrik up under his arms, dragging him away.

“You may return to the keep, Renaud. I will send for you when I return.”

“Mon Seigneur Comte?”

“Leave, Renaud. I need a moment to think.” He turned his back, dismissing the archeveque.

“Of course, Mon Seigneur.” Renaud retreated. “I will await your summons upon your return.”

Lothair paced within the circle of wolfsbane, staring at the ground until the jingle of harnesses and the pounding of hooves dwindled in the distance. He paused, and lifted his head, peering into the forest, searching for his vassal. Unlike Renaud, he was not so gullible as to believe the words of Ulrik Voclain. Not when the evidence in the clearing suggested otherwise.

“Gaharet,” he called out, his voice carrying on the night air. “I know you are not dead, Gaharet. You may have fooled Renaud, but you have not fooled me.” He swung the amulet about as he talked. “Ulrik is an impressive fighter, but he is no match for you. He is too impulsive and has too much of a temper.”

He stared into the gloom between the trees, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow. Was it foolish to believe Gaharet was nearby? Watching. Listening.

“Either way, you have given up the pack. Now Ulrik can give me what I want.”

Not a sound greeted his ears. Not the hooting of an owl, or the scratching of rodents. It unnerved him, and he settled his hand on the pommel of his sword. Should he draw it? Was he at risk of Gaharet attacking him? He did not think so. He stood in the middle of a ring of wolfsbane that had already taken down one werewolf tonight. That gave him all the protection he needed. And he was as good a swordsman as Gaharet. He dropped his hand from his sword, annoyed at his moment of weakness.

“You were right, Gaharet.” He huffed. “You are always right. And I should have listened to you. Renaud is up to something, and he caught us…me…unprepared. Divide and conquer. That is his game. A good strategy. It could work. If we let it.”

He peered into the gloom between the trees. Nothing. Damn it.

“You were always better at keeping Renaud in check. I think that is why he needed you out of the way.” He chuckled. “He is after me, you know. Think of the notoriety, the advancement he will achieve for bringing me to my knees. The comte the church loves to hate.”

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, but all else remained quiet.

“Well, it has been nice chatting with you again. You have proved you can get out of my keep without detection. I suspect you can as easily get into it unseen when you are ready to talk. Just talk. Do me a favor. Do not leave it too long.”

He turned to leave, and a shadow shifted amongst the trees. He halted. Gaharet stepped out of the shadows and into his line of sight, cradling his betrothed in his arms. Lothair stood his ground, making no move toward his sword. He needed Gaharet and if tonight had shown him anything, Gaharet needed him, too. With a simple nod, Gaharet turned and disappeared into the forest.

Lothair smiled. Once again, they were a team thwarting that weasel Renaud. Gathering his reins, he mounted, turning his horse toward the keep. He glanced down at the amulet in his hand. He would have these werewolves under control. They would do his bidding. He was their comte, God damn it. They belonged to him.

* * * *

Unseen by all, a white, blue-eyed wolf lay hidden among the trees, belly to the ground. The news Gaharet was dead had sucked the wind from his lungs. He could not believe it. Did not want to believe it. Not Gaharet. He had wanted to howl his grief, force his way into the clearing and savage Ulrik for what he had done. Selfish, conniving wolf. How could he have sunk this low? But the bloodstone did not lie. And yet…

The clearing, rank with death, confused his senses. Or was it this wolfsbane they spoke of? From Ulrik’s condition, he could well believe it possible. Gaharet had, at one point, been in the clearing, but had he died here? Lothair, it seemed, was no more convinced by Ulrik’s confession than he.

Bewildered, uncertain, Aimon moved to slink away, go somewhere quiet and safe and try to make sense of it all, when a shadow moved amongst the trees. His relief, when Gaharet stepped forward, all but knocked his legs out from under him. As quick as he had appeared, Gaharet was gone, disappearing amongst the trees. Giving the clearing and the wolfsbane a wide berth, Aimon trotted after him.

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