Page 9 of Wolf's Return
His brother nodded. “All our wolf senses and abilities are stronger in that form, yes. What are you suggesting, Farren?”
“Could it be he is choosing to stay in wolf form because he is afraid?”
Ulrik snorted. “He is here.” He gestured at their surroundings. “In his home. Surrounded by his pack. What is there to fear?”
Gaharet held up his hand. “Let us hear Farren out, Ulrik. He may be onto something.”
His brother had not changed. Still the same responsible man he remembered. Cautious, thoughtful, smart enough to know he did not have all the answers and willing to listen to all ideas and opinions before making a decision. Unlike Ulrik, who seemed as impetuous as ever.
“I do not suggest he is afraid of us, or anyone.” Farren inclined his head at Ulrik. “As you pointed out, he stood his ground when Gaharet commanded he shift. Many a warrior, werewolf or no, would be hard-pressed not to obey. It made the hair on the backof my neck stand on end. But what if what he fears is being human? It was as a man he fought on that battlefield, and it was as a man he nearly died. If we are right in thinking the person who attacked him was also a werewolf, this traitor to the pack, perhaps he feels stronger facing him as a wolf.”
D’Artagnon leveled his eye at Farren. He was not afraid. And he wasnotstuck. At least, he did not think he was stuck. He could shift any time he chose. To prove his point, he called forth the change, letting it hover close below the surface.
Gaharet’s nostrils flared, and he turned, watching him.
D’Artagnon ignored him, his heart thudding loud and fast in his chest, and his stomach curdling. A tremble started along his spine, and the darkness of his nightmares threatened. He pulled back from the shift, letting his human half slip back into the depths of his subconscious. The sensation subsided.
He could not meet his brother’s gaze. Could Farren have the right of it? He shook his head. No. He was out of practice, nothing more.
His brother was not the only one who had sensed his attempt to shift. The healer jerked her gaze away, a flush rising up her neck. The woman from the cottage in the forest. With her wheat-colored braids and her unusual eyes. Nary a day had gone past since he had watched her through the storm had she not slipped into his thoughts, distracting him from his purpose. And he had the right of it. Hehadencountered her before. He had not needed Anne’s confirmation to know he had seen her in this keep. Once, long ago. Though she had been but a child and he on the verge of adulthood, he remembered.
A mere half-score and four years, he had snuck out from under the sharp eyes of his brother, avoided the kitchen should Anne catch him and box his ears, and gone to the village. A pretty, dark-haired human girl, whose name he could no longer recall, had agreed to meet him at the edge of Old Tumas’ cabbagepatch. It was the night of his first fumbling kiss, all teeth and tongues and inexperience.
Sneaking back in, he had spied his father and mother in the library and the three strangers gathered there with them. One, a woman in a snug black dress that left her legs bare, and strange red shoes that had her standing on her toes. He would come to know her as Marie. The other two, a mother and her child—a little girl with blonde curls and eyes of different colors—one blue, one green. The little girl, now a woman, sitting at the table.
But recognition alone was not enough to warrant his reaction to her.
The woman, Constance, snuck a peek in his direction and caught him staring. She flushed again and looked away, rubbing her hands across her book, her heartbeat elevated. Did he frighten her? With his scarred body and missing eye, he was no longer the handsome youth many had once proclaimed him to be. As a wolf, he had borne the evidence of his failings, but…
D’Artagnon gave a shake of his head.Why do I care what she thinks of me? And why am I still here?
He should leave now while they were all otherwise occupied. He had agreed to a meal, and there was little meat left on the bone. D’Artagnon could be out of the door before any of them, alpha or no, could stop him. He had a promise to keep. Deaths to avenge. A wolf to hunt and kill. He would spare his newly mated brother the responsibility of this. See vengeance done himself.
Yet, he could not force himself to move toward the door, nor shift his gaze away from the woman. From the loose strands of hair that escaped from beneath her head veil and her upturned nose. From her sun-kissed skin and calloused hands. The woman eked a living out in the forest. It was written all over her, though the quality of her dress belied it.
Her scent tickled his nose, drawing him in. He focused, narrowing in on her alone, and did what he had longed to doback at the little cottage in the forest, taking her in with all his enhanced senses. A chasm of pain and loneliness so deep it almost matched his own flowed from her. Whereas anger and his need for vengeance colored his, hers was dull and smothered, as though she had resigned herself to the vagaries of her existence. Life had not been kind to her. That made him want to rend, tear and destroy.
A deep growl rumbled in his chest, and all eyes turned to him. He ignored all but hers.
D’Artagnon abandoned his place by the fire and padded across the floor to the table. To her. No one moved, nor made a sound, but he sensed their scrutiny in the prickle across his ruff. Her fingers fluttered against the bodice of her dress, but she did not shrink away. He opened his senses again and this time the aching loneliness was subdued by curiosity and thin tendrils of…hope?
Interesting.
He edged closer, sniffing at her feet and working his way up her dress to her knee, taking her scent deep into his nostrils. There was something about this woman. He sniffed her hand, and her fingers curled into her palm.
“He will not hurt you.” His brother’s voice, deep and confident, cut through the baited silence.
He narrowed his eye at Gaharet. What made his brother so certain? He was not the same man—wolf—he had been when last they had fought side by side. After the incident with Anne, Gaharet should be more cautious.
Constance eyed him, wary and yet still curious. “I believe you.”
Her soft, melodious voice washed over him, soothing some of the sharp edges in his mind. D’Artagnon flicked his ears forward, longing to hear her speak again. He inched closer and settled his chin on her knee, fixing his gaze on her face.
“Would you look at that?” Ulrik rasped. “L’enfer.Could this mean…”
“I believe it could.” Awe tinged his brother’s voice.
His brother’s words should concern him, but when Constance raised her hand and set it on his head, gently stroking his fur, D’Artagnon no longer cared.
