Page 46 of Wolf's Return
With a nod and purse of her lips, she turned her attention back to the curling script and the secrets it held.
“The evil witch attempted to seduce Alexandre away from his beloved. In a fury at Alexandre’s rejection, she swore vengeance. The villagers were right about her. She had an uncommon power, and she cursed Alexandre.”
Could a name in itself carry evil? This Cordoylla was no less malicious than the Cordelia who had terrified Old Tumas and killed farmer Brun.
“That night, a terrible pain struck Alexandre. His body burned with fever and shivered with chills. For three days he suffered, before falling into a deep sleep that lasted for a week.”
The turning. D’Artagnon had not experienced it, but he had heard the tales.
“When he awoke, he was no longer a man but a large, black wolf.”
The skin on the back of his neck prickled. This was how it had all started. With a scorned woman. A witch. And yet, D’Artagnon could dredge up little resentment. Never had he seen being a werewolf as a curse. More a blessing. It made them stronger and gave them abilities humans did not have. It had kept him alive.
“Keep reading,” he said, his voice rustier than old iron. He sensed there was more of the story to be told.
Constance nodded and dropped her gaze to her grimoire. “But the evil witch had not counted on Alexandre’s ability with animals, nor his love for Genevieve. He soon mastered the wolf, taking control of his mind, if not his form. Genevieve remained by Alexandre’s side as they searched for a cure.”
D’Artagnon could guess what came next, but he did not stop Constance.
“There were whispers of those who had a power to match the evil witch, who used their powers for good. They found such a one in the small settlement of Langeais by the river Loire.”
Constance’s ancestors.
“The good witch agreed to help them but warned them she had not the power to undo the curse of another. No one did. But she could alter it, allowing Alexandre to be both man and wolf, though she cautioned him of its limitations.”
D’Artagnon cocked an eyebrow over his good eye.
“It would be impossible to repress the beast forever and live only as a man, for this would surely drive him mad. As it would be impossible for him to remain a wolf, least he lose his humanity. He must spend time as a man and time as a wolf.”
Constance’s breath hitched, and she glanced up at him. Time as a man,andtime as a wolf. For nearly a decade he had remained as a wolf, not once shifting to human. Had he been standing on the precipice of losing himself?
Constance squeezedhishand. Expecting pity, he saw nothing but kindness in her eyes.
She dropped her gaze to the text and pressed on. “Alexandre and Genevieve would rather be together half the time than not at all, and the witch used her power to alter the curse.”
Constance paused, halting her finger beneath the last character she had read. It was but halfway down the page. There was more.
“But a curse is never a simple thing. The true horror of what the evil witch had done soon became clear. As a werewolf, Alexandre’s body could heal itself far beyond that of a man. He was resistant to disease and he would live longer than his peers and his beloved Genevieve. He would live to watch her age and die.”
A tightness squeezed in his chest. Living without his mate had all but killed his father, that he suspected someone had murdered her, the only thing that had kept him from taking his own life.
“They pleaded with the good witch to do something. Unwilling to disturb the flow of nature, she gave them one option. She would devise a spell to allow Alexandre’s bite to turn his beloved into a werewolf. Mindful of the pain of his turning, Alexandre begged her to ease the transition. Fearful of unleashing werewolves on the world in ever greater numbers, she would not relent.”
D’Artagnon had heard the tales. Of those succumbing to the pain, their hearts giving out. Others thrust to the brink of madness by it. It was no small thing to undergo a turning, and something rarely sanctioned. He had never experienced one.
Constance looked up from her grimoire. “My ancestors did develop a potion to ease the turning, but it was many, many years later. At the same time, and for the same reason, we created the amulets. But that is a story for another day.”Constance turned the page. “Such was his love for Genevieve, Alexandre refused to have her suffer. He fled, disappearing into the forest.” Constance sighed. “I always found that part of the story so sad.”
“It did not end there.”
Constance’s face brightened with a smile. “No, it did not. That you are sitting here now is proof of that. Genevieve was not about to let her beloved roam the forest alone. For him, she was willing to suffer the turning, and nothing would dissuade her.”
“With the good witch’s potion, her courage, and hired hunters, she tracked Alexandre through the forest, and cast the witch’s spell. Though she pleaded with him to bite her, Alexandre refused. Counting on a werewolf’s ability to heal, she snatched up a hunter’s knife and plunged it into her heart. If Alexandre would not bite her to save her life, she would rather die than live without him.”
Such courage. Such love that she would risk death to be with her beloved. “She was an exceptional woman.”
Constance’s lips pressed into a thin line, the corners turning down. “Yes, she was. Those who are the mates of the Langeais wolves all appear to have that in common.” She closed her grimoire, retracted her hand from within his grasp, and got to her feet.
“You have not finished the tale.” D’Artagnon did not know what he had said, but something had changed.
