Page 10 of Wolf's Return
Chapter Five
Beneath Constance’s hand, the wolf’s fur was thick and coarse, not soft and luxurious as it looked. He was real, present, not a notation in her grimoire or a character in the tales of her ancestors. His blue eye, with dark shadows flitting across it, held a pain so deep she may never comprehend the depths of it.
She brushed her hand across his fur again, avoiding the scar. The wolf may not be sensitive about such things, but the man might be. Monsieur D’Artagnon. She should think of him as Monsieur D’Artagnon. For as much as he appeared a wolf from the wild, in truth that was who, what, he was. A man. One who had once lived in this keep. Who had survived much to return all these years later.For whatever reason he persisted in his wolf form, the man inside remained. Somewhere.
She set her free hand on her grimoire and turned her attention to Seigneur Gaharet. “There are only two things I know of that can affect a wolf’s ability to shift.” She absently picked at the edge of the worn leather-bound book. Were they desperate enough to go to such extremes? “Wolfsbane and silver.”
Monsieur D’Artagnon snatched his head from beneath her hand and retreated, his lips peeled back to reveal large canines. Seigneur Ulrik snarled. Monsieur Aimon reared back. Seigneur Gaharet’s gaze never wavered.
They had asked for her aid, and she must give them all the information, no matter how unpleasant. Constance pushed on. “I would counsel against wolfsbane, for it elicits an inability to maintain form—human or wolf. As you well know, shiftingrequires energy. Too long an exposure to wolfsbane, too high a concentration, and a wolf will soon collapse from exhaustion. Neither wolf nor human have a never-ending supply of energy. Silver, however,willsubdue a wolf.”
Seigneur Gaharet tugged at his beard. “Not entirely.”
“I assure you, Mon Seigneur, it will.” She tapped the grimoire. “According to my ancestors’ experience.”
“Not according to mine. During a turning, a wolf is so strong it is possible for them to break free of any bonds of silver.”
What?Constance opened her book and flicked through the pages until she came to the one she was searching for. She ran her finger beneath the curling script, reading it line by line. There was no mention of any wolf breaking free of silver.
“Are you sure, Mon Seigneur?” Constance dropped her gaze, her cheeks heating. “I am sorry, I do not mean to question—”
“No apology is necessary, Constance. You are right to doubt it. I would not have believed it myself had I not seen it with my own eyes.”
Constance slid her gaze to Monsieur D’Artagnon. The wolf seemed to grow larger, broader as he stared her down. If Monsieur D’Artagnon had resisted his alpha’s command to shift, could he resist the power of silver? He raised his head, a determined set to his shoulders and jaw, and a certainty settled in her chest, common with her visions and her second sight. Whether his fear of being human was preventing him from shifting or something else, it mattered not, for her mention of silver had set her against him. It could well see him refusing to shift on principle.
“Be that as it may,” continued Seigneur Gaharet, “I would not use silver on any werewolf. Especially not my brother, who has been through so much. What sort of welcome home would that be? We need to find another way.”
That made her task more difficult. “Of course. I will study my grimoire and see if I can find something else that may assist.”
Monsieur D’Artagnon huffed and retreated, though he did not take his eye off her, and a new wariness flickered in its depth.
“Anne.” Seigneur Gaharet beckoned the old woman. “Show Constance to a room.” To Constance, he said, “You have had a long journey. Rest and refresh yourself. We will discuss this again anon.”
Constance closed her book and got to her feet.
The old cook’s eyes narrowed at the black wolf. “May I suggest the room at the top of the stairs, Gaharet?”
A slow smile spread across Seigneur Gaharet’s lips. “A splendid idea, Anne. Make it so.”
D’Artagnon jerked his head to stare at his brother.The room at the top of the stairs?My room?He glared at the little healer. She had drawn him in with her soft voice and her sense of otherness that mirrored his own until her mention of binding him with silver had snapped him from his stupor.
Anne gathered up the Constance’s bag and cloak, her eyes twinkling. “Come, come now, dear. Let us get you settled in.”
There was a knowing look in Anne’s eyes that had D’Artagnon’s hackles rising. The old cook was planning something. He gritted his teeth. Had the woman not learned anything after what had happened earlier? He snorted. What did it matter? Why should he care what Anne was plotting, or where Constance would sleep? Now was his chance to leave.
Constance followed Anne. “Time alone would be good. I must study the writings of my ancestors. I have not seen, nor read, of such a case as Monsieur D’Artagnon before, but…” She paused, and glanced back at him, consternation flickering in the depths of her eyes. “I will endeavor to resolve it.”
D’Artagnon snarled.I am not a problem for you to solve, little healer.
His brother’s shrewd gaze settled on him, as though sensing his resistance. It was difficult to hide anything from a wolf, especially one as perceptive as his brother.
Let him see. Let him make of it what he will. I am not staying.
In the guise of following Anne and Constance, he slipped into the corridor.
“D’Artagnon.” His brother’s voice followed him.
D’Artagnon paused and looked over his shoulder.
