Page 80 of Wolf's Keep

L’enfer.He could not see the wolfsbane, but it was there. Hidden amongst the meadow grass and flowers, it formed a tight circle in the middle of the clearing. In high concentrations, too. Stepping into that circle would make him weak, unable to escape and unable to fight. Unable to solidify a form—human or wolf. Clever. Diabolical. Already heart sore, the betrayal cut deep. Wolfsbane. How could they?

“You were right to suspect betrayal. Someone has been talking,” said Ulrik.

“Yes.” Gaharet gritted his teeth. “Lothair and Renaud know about the amulets, too.”

Ulrik gaped at him. “The amulets?”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze never leaving Ulrik’s face. “Renaud has an informant. For him to know of the amulets, and now wolfsbane, it has to be one of us.”

Ulrik snarled. “How could one of our own do this? So many have died—children, women, family—for what?”

Gaharet did not answer him.

Ulrik stiffened. “You think it is me? That I have done…this?” He shook his head. “No, Gaharet. You and I have had our disagreements, but I would never betray the pack.Never. I know what it is like to lose my whole family. You know that. I would not wish that on anyone. This”—he pointed to the ring of wolfsbane—“I vow to you, is not of my doing.”

Gaharet could detect no lie in Ulrik’s words. If not Ulrik, then who?

A scream split the night air.

“Erin.” He spun around, fear twisting his gut. A man in mismatched armor dragged her into the clearing.

“Get your hands off me! Let me go!”

Erin fought him, striking out with her feet and her hands, twisting in his grip.

“Be still, woman, or I will stick you with this.”

The man wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing a dagger to her side. The blood drained from Erin’s face, and she looked to him to help her.

A mercenary had his Erin, his mate. His blood boiled, his vision blurred and the urge to change, to tear the man apart, ripped through him.

“Keep calm, Gaharet.” Ulrik’s voice of reason punctured his fury, his fear. “We need to keep him out of that ring of wolfsbane.”

The mercenary grinned, his mouth full of broken, yellow teeth, his gaze shifting a few feet beyond them. “Stop me if you can.”

Gaharet risked a glance over his shoulder. More men were advancing from the cover of the trees—six, seven, eight of them, their armor poor, but their weapons still sharp.Merde.

His beast prowled within, clamoring to get out. It screeched for blood. He forced it down. Changing now would only leave him caught up in the constraints of his mail. He must stay in control. Keep his head. For her. He would not let his mate die.

Ulrik turned and faced the men. “It seems wolfsbane is more powerful than we realized. I did not smell or hear them at all.”

Neither had he. He had not sensed their approach. No hint of their movements through the long grass had alerted him to their presence. He was as weak as any human, his senses more addled than he thought possible. Senses he had always relied on. That had never failed him in all his thirty-five years. Being caught off guard unnerved him. Even so, these mercenaries were no match for them. With their superior weaponry and experience, even with their abilities blunted, they out-classed these men.Ifhe could keep a clear head. He would kill every one of them to save Erin.

He descended on the men, unleashing his fear for her, and his rage at being betrayed, upon the poorly trained and ill-equipped men. It was not a fight, but a slaughter. Gaharet felt no release as he cut down mercenary after mercenary, deflecting their blows with ease. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Ulrik killing as many of the rabble as he did, but he could not prevent the one mercenary from dragging Erin into the circle of that damned herb.

As he separated the last mercenary’s head from his shoulders, blood spurting, the body dropping with a thud, Gaharet turned his focus to the single mercenary still standing. The man grinned, though his eyes darted about wildly, his grip on Erin tightening.

“Going to come and get her?” he said, taunting them, secure within the ring of herbs.

Gaharet snarled. “The only way you get to live is by sending her out to us while you remain safe inside your little circle of herbs.”

“I suggest you bring her here,” said Ulrik growling, flecks of blood, not his own, spattered across his face. “If we have to come in and get her, you are a dead man.”

The mercenary chuckled. “I do not think so. I am getting well paid to deliver you up to Comte Lothair, and I have what you want. You either step into the circle”—he motioned at Gaharet—“or I kill her.”

Gaharet growled, an inhuman sound coming from his very human throat.

“I might just kill her, anyway. Such a shame. Pretty little thing.” He turned his head into her cheek and licked her face.

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