Page 6 of Wolf's Return
D’Artagnon ignored the request. He had not shifted since that fateful day he had crawled from the bloody battlefield. His brother’s determination to seek the man who had cut him down only stoked his resolution to remain a wolf. If he could do one thing, he would protect his brother.
Gaharet’s shoulders sagged. “Very well. I did not wish to do this, but you leave me no choice. D’Artagnon,shift.”
The order rolled over him—the compulsion, the command. He braced against it, flattening his ears. Gaharet scowled and loomed above him, dark shadows in his eyes as his wolf hovered barely below the surface. A strong wolf, powerful, more so than their father.
“Shift,now.”
The words, little more than a guttural growl, rumbled deep in his brother’s throat. The group gathered around the table shrunk into themselves. Kathryn shivered. Ulrik’s nostrils flared, and he gritted his teeth. The thin, balding servant’s eyes bulged and Anne, the woman who had dared slap him across his snout, gulped and retreated. Not D’Artagnon. Though his knees shook and the urge to obey his alpha sizzled up his spine, he remained resolutely, doggedly wolf.
His brother’s jaw rippled, dark hair sprouted across the bridge of his nose, and the sharp point of a canine peeked out beneath his top lip. His brother’s control was slipping, his wolf pushing forward, angry at D’Artagnon’s defiance.
“Shift.”
The command, ground out through gritted teeth and a mouth part transformed into a muzzle, hit him with the force of a granite boulder thrown from a catapult. He whimpered, but did not obey.
A startled gasp from the doorway had them both turning.
Two wide eyes—one blue, one green—stared at them. With tendrils of blonde hair escaping from beneath her hooded cloak, the woman stood in the glow of an oil lamp like an angel sent from the heavens above, clutching a book to her chest.Her.The woman from the cottage in the woods. The one he could not banish from his thoughts. That tingle of familiarity that had scratched at his mind since he had spied on her at her cottage in the forest burned through his brain like wildfire.
“D’Artagnon.D’Artagnon!”
He ignored his brother and took several steps toward the woman in the doorway. All the other occupants in the room ceased to matter as he took her in. Her worn coat, her sun-warmed skin, the way she clutched the book to her body as though it were her most prized possession.
Whatisit aboutherthat commands my attention so?
He raised his snout and sniffed the air. Horse, herbs, flowers and a soft earthiness—she smelled of the forest. Of…home. He shook his head. What a ridiculous thought.
The white-haired wolf, Aimon, stepped into the room and nudged the woman forward with a gentle hand to her shoulder.
No. He will not touch her.
D’Artagnon lunged, his teeth snapping and his hackles raised.
Once again, his brother threw him to the floor and held him down. The woman retreated, her eyes wide, her knuckles white as she gripped her book. Aimon, his hands held up, backed away from her. D’Artagnon stopped fighting his brother’s hold.
Why do I care if Aimon touches her?
Gaharet’s grip on his scruff eased. “D’Artagnon, this is Constance, our healer. Constance, this is my brother, D’Artagnon.” Gaharet’s attention flicked between him and Constance. “Have it your way, brother. For now.” Amusement coated Gaharet’s words as his gaze settled on Constance. “At some point, something, or someone, will make you shift.”
Chapter Three
Constance’s breath whooshed from her lungs, and her heart stalled.Anotherblack wolf. Staring at her. Seigneur Gaharet’sbrother? Constance almost dropped her grimoire. A fluttering in her chest eased some of the tightness that had been her constant companion the last few months. Could this be…?
She gaped at the black wolf. “I… I do not understand. I thought—”
“That we had lost him?” Seigneur Gaharet’s hand remained on his brother’s neck. “So did I. By the scars he bears, we nearly did.”
The wolf, Monsieur D’Artagnon, blinked.
Oh. He has only one eye.
A large, puckered scar, a savage white line against black fur, slashed across his head where his other eye should have been. Another one curved behind his shoulder, down across his ribs and disappeared beneath his body. Either of his injuries would have killed a human. Two of them would have posed a significant challenge to a werewolf. This wolf was lucky to be alive.
The black wolf fixed his singular blue gaze on her.
“Where…? What…?” She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around this new development. D’Artagnon was supposed to have died almost a decade ago. He hadsurvived? Where had he been all those years?
Seigneur Gaharet shrugged. “We do not know. I would ask him if he were to shift, but he has not.”
