Page 8 of Wolf's Keep

Zen breaths, Erin. Breathe in, breathe out.

Inhaling deep diaphragm filling breaths, she steadied herself. She should be able to find her way to the keep wall. From there, she could feel her way around to the chain-link fence. Security guards did the rounds regularly. She’d simply wait for one to turn up. He’d have a torch and he could help her. No big deal.

Erin stood, hesitating.Damn, it’s dark. Strange. The lights from the château should be visible. A city-wide blackout? And where had that full moon gone when she needed it? Trust this to happen the one night she’d stayed back alone. If she’d gone back to the hotel with Greg, she’d have showered, eaten, been in good company and be two or three glasses into a bottle of red instead of here in the dark. She rubbed her arms against the chill that engulfed her.

Okay, time to make a move.The longer she stayed put, the more she’d freak herself out. She stepped away from the entrance to the cell, lifting her feet a foot off the ground, avoiding the string lines marking out the grid. She’d no plans to take another tumble. She took a few more steps. So far, so good.

Keep going. Keep going. Don’t think about the darkness. Don’t think about where you are.

Too late. Her mind had already gone there. Gone to the steep steps, down to the macabre underground chamber where a man and a wolf had died horrible deaths. It wouldn’t be the first castle, or keep, to sport ghosts. Not that she believed in them, not during the bright light of day when reason and logic held all the power. She shivered. In the inky darkness, her imagination held sway, not logic. She would not think of the skeleton. She would not imagine a ghost of the prisoner climbing those narrow, steep stairs, rattling his chains.

Keep moving, Erin.

She took another step. A low growl cut through the darkness. Close. Erin froze.What the hell is that?Her skin prickled.

Silence.

There. Her head snapped to the left, and she winced at the pounding the sudden movement produced in her temple. Staring into the darkness, her ears primed, she waited.

She flinched. There it was again. The oddest sound—a popping, cracking noise. Someone cracking their knuckles? She swiveled to face it, breaking out in a sweat.

“Is someone there?” Her voice, a high squeak, disappeared into the blackness.Or something.A faint odor of wet dog reached her nose, and her mind went back to the skull of the wolf.This cannot be happening.She shook her head, reining in her wayward imagination.

“Hello?”

* * * *

Gaharet stood preternaturally still, pulled to an abrupt halt at the sight of the woman not two yards in front of him.Where the hell has she come from?He had not caught a hint of her scent for leagues, yet here she stood. Close, too close for him to not have sensed her presence until now. Impossible. No human had ever caught him so unawares.

Her heart beat an erratic rhythm loud in his ears, her nostrils flared and her green gaze darted about, but she did not flee. His eyes narrowed in on the gash on her forehead, the scent of her blood sharp on the air. An innocent, injured woman or a trap? Was this how his kind had fallen? Lips curled in a snarl, muscles tensed, he searched his surroundings. Apart from the smells and sounds of the forest, he found nothing unusual. Only her.

The vision before him thrust out her chin, her lips trembling. Long strands of blonde hair escaping from a tie at the back of her head fluttered over her forehead. She gave a huff of breath, blowing them clear of her eyes, and they settled, framing her pale face. Shoulders stiff and hands on her hips, she stood her ground. This little slip of a woman had courage.

How intriguing.

Strange attire clung to her like a second skin, concealing nothing from him—not the soft swell of her breasts, nor the gentle curve of her hips. Clothing that would tempt the most pious of men.

Something stirred within him, something long forgotten, and he licked his lips. He swallowed hard, a fire sparking in his imagination and another, much lower part of his anatomy, his blood flowing south at a rate of knots.

Tantalizing glimpses of creamy bare skin, from her low-cut neckline to rips in the fabric at the knees of her breeches, taunted him. An unexpected longing to touch, to taste, stormed through him unchecked. He bit back a groan as desire pulsed low within his gut and shot straight to his cock.

He sniffed the air again, catching her scent. Citrus and orange blossoms, and a hint of fear, yet still she made no move to retreat. She was either brave, foolish or had ulterior motives. His wolf did not care which. The combination of her assaulting his senses awakened the beast, pushing it to the surface. A growl rose from deep within. He had a sudden need to know this woman—who she was, where she had come from—for reasons beyond the safety of his pack.

La petite séductrice!

Gritting his teeth, he tamped down on his primal instincts. He could not, would not, let his baser urges hold sway over his body or his mind. One look at her, and he had all but forgotten his responsibilities, forgotten what was important. Such as focusing on where she had come from and how she had caught him off guard. A difficult thing to do.

He reined in his lust and searched for clues to her identity, inspecting every inch of her from her well-worn boots and dusty blue breeches to the smudges of dirt on the slender curve of her throat and nose. A farmer’s daughter perhaps, helping in the fields? Not one ofhisfarmers.

His gaze dipped to her hands, catching sight of something clutched in her slender fingers. His eyes jerked down to his chest. The bloodstone glowed.

“Merde!”

Chapter Four

Taking a shaky breath, Erin peered into the darkness. The spidery tingling on the back of her neck, the low growl, the strange cracking sounds, told her she was not alone. Either that or her imagination had gone into overdrive. Like the time she’d watchedThe Conjuringand didn’t sleep for two days.

Her heart pounded and her throat tightened, but she pulled herself together.

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