Page 28 of Wolf's Keep
“Why not? You are clearly old enough?”
She laughed, and he delighted in her smile, glad something he had said elicited it and had her fear of him receding.
“As I’ve said, things have changed a lot over the centuries. Finding a husband isn’t the only option for women. Some marry young, some later in life and some choose to not marry at all. I have a job that I love, I am financially independent and I guess I haven’t met a man I wish to marry yet. Iwassupposed to meet up with a man to watch the rising of the blue moon but I ended up here instead.”
She was supposed to meet a man? His hand curled into a fist. Suppressing a growl, Gaharet slipped his hand beneath the table, hiding the coarse fur sprouting across his knuckles. His hand tightened, his claws cutting into his palms. The thought of another man touching her, kissing her, ignited an unexpected fury within him and had his beast roaring to the surface. He fought it with every ounce of control he had, the struggle to resist the shift, to remain on his side of the table very real.
“This man…he is looking to marry you?” He did his damnedest to keep his voice level. He had already frightened her once this evening.
“I don’t know. It’s much too soon for that,” she protested. “I’ve only known Greg for a little while. He’s an archaeologist, like me. My boss actually, but he asked me to go on a date, to meet him after work for a romantic evening.” She gave a weighty sigh. “I should’ve gone. I probably wouldn’t have ended up here if I had.”
He released a long, slow breath. There was no flush of arousal when she spoke of this other man and her pulse rate remained steady. Some regret, perhaps, but not for the missed chance of meeting this man. He could not fault this Greg for trying to win her affections—what man wouldn’t want to—but he had not succeeded. She had chosen to work over spending time with him, over viewing this blue moon. He unfurled his hand, unblemished by hair or claws — his shift averted.
“A blue moon, you say?” he asked. “I have never seen the moon turn blue.”
She chuckled. “The moon doesn’t actually turn blue. It’s what we call it when there are four full moons in a season. It’s not common and we call the fourth one a blue moon.”
Gaharet thought back to the night he had found her. There had been this blue moon phenomena here, too. Could that explain how the spell had brought Erin through spaceandtime? Brought her here, to his time specifically, not any other? Had the two blue moons across time amplified the spell? Knowing the effect of the moon on his kind, he would never discount its power.
He refilled her wine goblet and his. “What else does your history tell you about Lothair?” Perhaps something she knew, something seemingly insignificant to her, might be the key to unraveling the circumstances around his death.
“Well, history remembers him as a brilliant tactician, despite his atrocities. After Marguerite’s death, he remarried. Had five children. He died in 1068 at ninety-eight or nine. Rather long-lived, given the average lifespan of this time period.”
Gaharet stilled. Very long-lived. Even for a man with all the luxuries afforded by his status as a comte. Could it be… Had one of his men…“Nothing about his preoccupation with lycanthropes?” An offhand question he did not expect a response to, but her eyes narrowed, and a fleeting look of puzzlement crossed her face, gone in an instant. Had he not been watching her so closely, he would have missed it, thought he had imagined it. A tingle of awareness raced up his spine.
“Werewolves? I thought Lothair was a well-educated man. I didn’t think he’d believe in myths and fairy-tales,” she said.
But her focus was elsewhere, on something she had read, or something she had discovered, mayhap where she had found the amulet. He waited for her to elaborate, wanting to hear more, not willing to seem too eager lest she retreat into silence. Or push for more information on the amulet. He had told her as much as he dared. He could not risk telling her more. Not yet.
“Science has debunked that myth, well and truly. There are plausible explanations for the things that convinced people such creatures existed. For one,” she held up her thumb. “There’s a psychological state where a person believes they can turn into a werewolf. And two,” she raised her index finger. “There’s also a physiological condition called hypertrichosis that produces excess hair growth all over the body. It’s rare, but perhaps this is where the legends of werewolves began. The nonsense about eyebrows that meet and long ears and noses being signs of a werewolf is just that—nonsense.”
He observed her across the rim of his goblet, gauging her reactions. Werewolves were real. He was one—a walking, talking, living myth. He hid a smile behind his goblet. Her words were confident, even a little derisive, but he sensed a hesitancy in her convictions even as she rattled off the scientific conclusions founded on hundreds of years of research. Research which meant nothing. Gaharet could have told her. He could haveshownher. He did not. Instead, he amused himself imagining the look on her face had she known sitting across the table from her was the very thing she was trying to convince herself could not possibly exist.
It posed a real problem. If he were to take her as his wife, his mate, she would need to know the truth. His amusement died a quick death. Would she accept him, or would she fear him? Would she be willing to become like him?
His attention shifted to the doorway as Anne lumbered into the room.
“Shall I bring you more wine, Gaharet?”
He looked over at Erin, the large bruise marring her forehead. “No, it is late, Anne. We will retire. Thank you.”
“As you wish,” she said, bustling around the table collecting the jug and the goblets. “I will take these down to the kitchen and then I will see you in your chamber, Erin. I have a poultice prepared for that wound of yours. It will help it heal much faster.”
As she bustled out of the room, Gaharet rose from the table, and Erin followed suit. Reaching the doorway, he stopped. “Please wander my keep and explore as you will. I will inform the servants you have free run of it.” He wanted her to relax, to feel comfortable.
“And if I leave the keep?” She stood before him, this diminutive, gutsy woman, barely reaching his shoulder. Such defiance, so beautiful. Did she not know how much she tempted him? Not sense he struggled to keep the beast in check so he would not ravish her right there in the hall? Strip her naked and bend her over the table? His hunger to take up her challenge nearly overwhelmed him.
Glancing down at her bare feet, her toes peeking out from under the linen hem, he caught and held her gaze. Unsaid, but implied, was his exhilaration for the chase and he let all his desire for her show. She swallowed hard, her face flushing a delightful shade of pink. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed past him through the doorway, making her way up the stairs.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll ever give youthatsatisfaction again.” Her grumbled words, barely above a whisper, floated down the stairs.
He let her get around the corner before chuckling loud enough for her to hear. She paused, then on light feet raced up the stairs. It took every ounce of his control to not chase her, his hands gripping the door frame, the effort leaving him breathless. When his breathing calmed, and he was sure she would have reached her chamber, he climbed the stairs to his own room.
Lying stretched out on his bed, dying embers in the brazier giving off a soft glow, Gaharet stared at the ceiling mulling over everything Erin had said. Unsure what to do with this new information, he knew one thing—he would do everything in his power to change his fate. Aside from the problems it would create for the pack, he had no intention of dying. Not now he had found Erin.
Even aware of his impending death, he could not stop his mind from wandering back to her, sleeping down the hall. In another four hours, he must face her again. He groaned at the thought. Her presence in his keep he found difficult enough but lying in his chamber trying to banish her from his mind was a special kind of torture.
Her scent clung to everything, especially the clothes she had left behind. Citrus and orange blossoms and an erotic scent lingering in her breeches—the sweet aroma of her arousal. It drove him almost wild.
