Page 63 of Wolf's Keep

Gaharet sighed. Denying Lothair anything was a good way to start a battle, but Renaud had left him with little choice. “There are things it is best not to ask for,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “Things you should not, and would not, ask for if you knew the consequences. Beyond that, I will serve you as I always have. As will my men.”

Gaharet matched Lothair’s stare, concentrating on keeping his breathing even.

“You do not deny it, then? That you are one of…them?” Lothair’s eyes lit up, a hunger dark and tainted, barely contained, shimmered in their depths.

Imprisonment, torture, death—the ever-present threat hanging over them should anyone uncover their existence. Gaharet had made his peace with that. Had lived with the possibility all his life. Not this, thisfascination, this longing to subvert his kind for a darker purpose. How on God’s dear earth would he keep them out of Lothair’s clutches?

He squeezed the arm of his chair, keeping a tight rein on his inner beast. Patience. Calm. Renaud’s time would come. He would make sure of it, Lothair be damned. “Is there any point?”

Lothair’s eyes bored into him. “No, I suppose not. And your men? Your vassals?”

Gaharet inclined his head.

“Well, my friend.” Lothair chuckled, though it held no mirth. “I am glad I am the one who owns you.”

Lothair sipped at his wine, settling back in his chair, his limbs loose, purveying all that was his. “Now tell me, Gaharet, who must I speak to so I can achieve my end goal? Who do I need to have kneeling at my feet, submitting to my will? Please tell me your leader is not the Comte de Blois.”

Gaharet remained silent.

“Will you not tell…?” Lothair’s eyes widened, searching Gaharet’s face. He sat up in his chair. “You.Youare their leader? This… Alpha?” Lothair shook his head, incredulous. He pressed his lips together. “You know what I want, Gaharet. Iwillask it of you. Perhaps you might want to rethink your position.”

“Perhaps.” Gaharet nodded. “And perhaps you may want to consider why the archeveque is so keen for you to ask for something his profession clearly defines as evil.”

Lothair’s eyes narrowed, and he rubbed his chin. Gaharet had bought time, not a reprieve, but he would take what he could. Lothair would ask and Gaharet would deny him. The battle lines were drawn. How much time he had he did not know. Lothair was notoriously unpredictable.

Gaharet pushed himself out of his chair, stepping down from the dais.

“Do not go too far, Gaharet. I am sure I will need you before long.”

“The only place I plan to be,” said Gaharet, allowing a hint of a smile to curl up at the corners of his mouth, “is finishing up what I started this morning with my betrothed. You know which chamber to find me in. Please do not interrupt me this time. I do plan to be busy for quite a while.”

Lothair laughed, raising his goblet in Gaharet’s direction. “Make sure you enjoy yourself, my friend. Tomorrow we get down to business. Tomorrow we begin this new project of mine.”

Gaharet repressed a shudder, stepping into the sea of armored men. Lothair did not shift from his position, following him with his gaze as Gaharet moved among the assembled chevaliers. He needed to alert his men, tell them… Tell them what? Prepare to fight? Prepare to flee? He could not, would not, create an army of werewolves for Lothair. The consequences were too terrible.

Gaharet stopped to talk to a group of chevaliers, accepting a mug of ale, spending a few moments among them idly conversing. He congratulated a young lad on his new position in their ranks before slipping away from them. The hairs on the back of his neck continued to prickle, awareness of Lothair’s gaze following him about the room.

Nodding and smiling his way around the hall, Gaharet did his best to appear relaxed. He came across Aubert, Edmond and Aimon and paused long enough to alert them. They had to make plans, prepare to leave Langeais and slip away in the early hours of the morning when the keep went quiet, when the servants and guests slept, using the cover of darkness that favored their kind over man. Even with their enhanced abilities, Gaharet and his men were no match for Lothair. The comte had an army, and the numbers were all in his favor.

After only a few moments, they separated, mingling amongst their fellow chevaliers, engaging in conversation and revelry. Stopping by Lance and Godfrey, Gaharet passed the word to them before moving off into the crowd again. Scanning the room, he searched for Ulrik. His vassal had a lot to answer for.

Ulrik appeared in a doorway. Cradled beneath his arm, Erin, her body pressed familiarly against his. Rage boiled up inside Gaharet. His hackles rose and his lip curled in a snarl. He bared his teeth, the need to shift and defend his claim over this woman, an overpowering urge. A hand rested on his shoulder, and Gaharet spun around, growling at the person who had taken such liberties.

“Easy, Gaharet.” Lance cast his gaze to the end of the hall, to the dais where Lothair watched them, curiosity burning bright in the comte’s eyes. Gaharet took a deep breath, forcing his wolf back under his control and tucked the hand already changing, out of sight. He turned his head away from Lothair, letting his jaw slide back into place.

“Changing in the middle of the hall? Not the smartest thing you have ever done.”

“I am going to kill him.” Gaharet snarled, his hands clenched by his sides in an effort to restrain himself.

“Who? Ulrik or Lothair? Both deserve it, I am sure.”

Gaharet tried pushing past his friend, but Lance blocked him, gripping his arms. “Now is not the time, Gaharet. You know that.”

“I know. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, ground his teeth together. He glanced at Lothair, but his comte had gone. His attention returned to Ulrik and Erin, and he growled deep in the back of his throat. Chevaliers turned to look at him.

“Stay calm, Gaharet. Give Ulrik a chance to explain. Perhaps there is reasonable justification for him to be with your woman.”

“Perhaps.”

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